“Stop!” he suddenly exclaimed.  Mr. Pump nearly dropped the bottle.  It was as an electric shock to him:  an ashy paleness came over his face.  “Stop!” he again exclaimed.  All eyes were fixed upon him.  Some tried to laugh, but could not.  Dago set down the bottle, and the glasses, half filled, stood upon the bench before him.

“I have been thinking,” said he who had caused this strange effect, “is it right for us to drink that?  It does us no good; it brings upon us much evil; that’s what I’ve been a-thinking while ’twas being poured out.”

“So have I,” exclaimed another.

“And I,” said a third.  “I would have been worth fifty thousand dollars, this day, had I never touched stuff like that.  I tell you what, coveys, let’s come out.”

“Hurra!” shouted yet another; “I’ve spent a good fortune in rum-shops.  That’s what I say; let’s come out.”

“Yes,” said the first speaker, “let us come out.  We have been in long enough;—­in the gutter, in the grog-shop, in misery, in disgrace, in poverty, in jail, and in ruin.  I say, let us come out, out of all these.”

“Amen!” responded all.

“Let us come out,” he continued; “but what can temperance folks do?  I have signed the pledge, and signed, and signed, but I cannot keep it.  I had no friends; temperance folks never came to me.  I have often thought that, if a friend would reach forth his hand, and help me from the gutter when I have lain there, I would do anything for such a friend.  But when I am drunk they laugh at and jeer me.  Boys stone and cuff me, and men stand by and laugh at their hellish sport.  Yes, those calling themselves ‘friends of temperance’ would laugh at me, and say, ’Miserable fool, nothing can save him!  When such are dead, we can train up a generation of temperate people.’  I am kicked and cuffed about like a dog, and not a hand is extended to relieve me.  When I first tasted, I told him who gave it me the blame should rest on him if I fell.  Where he is now, I know not; but, wherever he is, I know his is a miserable existence.  Years have passed since then, and here I am, a miserable drunkard.  My wife-where is she? and my good old aunt-where is she?  At home in that comfortless room, weeping over my fall, and praying for my reform.  Brothers, let us arise; let us determine to be men-free men!”

“It is done,” said one and all; and the keeper of the cellar dashed bottle after bottle against the wall.

“Yes, let us renounce these habits; they are hard to renounce; temptation is hard to resist.”

“The present pledge is not safe for us,” said the keeper of the cellar, as he took a demijohn of liquor up the steps, and emptied it in the gutter.

“Then let us have one of our own,” said the first speaker.  “Let it be called ‘The Hope of the Fallen;’ for we are indeed fallen, and this, our last refuge from more fearful evils, is our only hope.  May it not disappoint us!  May we cling to it as the drowning man grasps the rope thrown out for his rescue!  And not for us alone shall this hope exist.  Let us go to every unfortunate in our land, and speak kindly to him.  Al, my friends, we know the value of a kind word.  Let us lift him from the gutter, place him upon his feet, and say, ‘Stand up!  I myself also am a man.’”