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Water is Best.

153

JOHN. Why, what harm can come from drinking good beer?

HARRY. You may get to like it so much that you cannot leave off taking it however much you may want to do.

JOHN. Nonsense. Beer is a lot better than water, I can

tell you.

HARRY. Nay, but water is best.

JOHN (disdainfully). What can water do?

HARRY. What can beer do?

JOHN. Make people strong, of course.

HARRY (knowingly). But how does it make people strong, I should like to know?

JOHN (looks puzzled and scratches his head).

you that.

cannot tell

HARRY (triumphantly). I thought not. It would puzzle wiser heads than ours to answer that.

JOHN. Well, but what can water do? tell me that.

HARRY. Almost everything! Look how it turns our great mill wheels, and carries the big ships from place to place, to say nothing about the little boats. Just think how the rain refreshes the land, and causes the grass, the flowers, and the corn to grow. Why, if there was no water you could not have the beer you seem to think so much of.

JOHN. How so?

HARRY. Because there would be nothing to make it of. The barley would not grow without rain; and then you must have water to brew with before you can make beer. We could do without beer a great deal better than with it, but we could not get along without water at all.

JOHN. Oh, I see. But how do you make it out that water is a better drink than beer?

HARRY. Because it will satisfy you when thirsty, and beer won't. People know when they have had enough water, but drinkers never seem to know when they are satisfied, for they are always drinking and always dry. And besides, water is one of the principal elements in the composition of our bodies;

154

Water is Best.

and when we drink it, we are taking something which will become a part of ourselves. But our stomachs cannot digest the alcohol which is the principal thing in beer, and without which people would never think of taking it. If someone gave you a shilling and you had a hole in your pocket and lost it, you would not be any the richer for having had it, would you? JOHN. Oh no! certainly not.

HARRY. Well, if you drink beer to make you strong you will be no better for it, because it comes out of your body just as it went into it. In fact, it will make you worse instead of better.

JOHN. How can it make me worse?

HARRY. Because the alcohol, which I have just mentioned, is a deadly poison. So when you drink beer you are taking an enemy into your system which will do you harm just in proportion to the quantity taken and your strength to resist its ravages.

JOHN. Well, I did not know that before. You mean to say then that beer actually does people harm?

HARRY. Of course I do. And I think I have proved it already. Our bodies were never intended to have such a fiery thing as alcohol put into them. God who made our bodies, and knows what is best for them, gave us pure water to drink. But He did not give us beer, and therefore I think we may be sure He never intended us to have it.

JOHN. I never thought of that before. If father offers me any of his beer to-night I shall say "No, thank you!"

HARRY. That's right. I hope you will come with me, when I have fetched water for mother, to our Band of Hope Meeting; and our Secretary will be very glad to enrol you as a member.

JOHN. I shall be right glad to do so when I have taken this pitcher home.

HARRY. You have been trying beer-drinking a good while now. And when you have tried water-drinking as long, I think you will have learned from experience what I honestly believe to be a fact, that-WATER IS BEST.

[Exit.

The Unwavering Young Teetotaler. 155

THE UNWAVERING YOUNG TEETOTALER.

REV. DAWSON BURNS.

(Many young teetotalers, as well as old ones, are tempted to do what they believe to be wrong. Sometimes these temptations are more in jest than in earnest. An account which the writer remembers to have read, of the reward given to a boy whose fidelity was thus proved, suggested the following lines.)

OHN FAIRFIELD was a temperance lad,

JOHN
Firm as a rock was he;

Temptations we are sure he had,
But he stood gallantly.

A gentleman John did entice--
"Drink, like a man, this glass;
And this bright shilling in a trice
From me to you shall pass."

"No manliness," saith honest John,
""Twould be to yield to you ;-
Perhaps I should be entering on
A path I long should rue.'

"Tush! stop that timid, idle talk,"
The stranger quickly said;
"Those who in moderation walk
Lose neither heart nor head.

"A little drop good cheer ensures
To veteran and to boy;

Drink, and this broad crown-piece is yours!
Come, taste, and show your joy!

"In vain you tempt me; I am bound
To taste not nor to touch;

And true to temperance I'll be found,
Though offered twice as much."

"Ah!" said the stranger," how I find
The colour does not take;—

If yellow better suits your mind,
The prize a pound I'll make."

With flushing cheek and flashing eyes
The young abstainer spoke ;-
"Your sovereign bait, Sir, I despise ;
My pledge shall ne'er be broke."

156

Deeds of Kindness.

"Well settled," quoth the gentleman :-
"I did but feel your pulse:

Stick to your noble temperance plan,
And every foe repulse.

"The sovereign take, you've earned it, John,

'Tis yours to save or spend;

And from this day as years roll on,

Count me your faithful friend!"

DEEDS OF KINDNESS.

UPPOSE the little cowslip
Should hang its golden cup,
And say, "I'm such a tiny flower,
I'd better not grow up,'

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How many a weary traveller

Would miss its fragrant smell,
How many a little child would grieve
To lose it from the dell.

Suppose the glistening dewdrop
Upon the grass should say,
"What can a little dewdrop do?
I'd better roll away."

The blade on which it rested
Before the day was done,
Without a drop to moisten it

Would wither in the sun.

Suppose the little breezes,

Upon a summer's day,

Should think themselves too small to cool

The traveller on his way;

Who would not miss the smallest

And softest ones that blow,

And think they made a great mistake

If they were talking so ?

How many deeds of kindness

A little child may do ;

Although it has so little strength

And little wisdom too.

It wants a loving spirit,

Much more than strength, to prove

How many things a child may do

For others by his love.

A Brother slain by Drink.

A BROTHER SLAIN BY DRINK.

157

"Write on my tombstone," cried a dying drunkard once," write on my tombstone, and make the letters large and deep; write but one word: 'Despair!'"-Rev. W. H. MURRAY, 1876.

COME

near my bed. Nay, do not fear,
I am not now insane;

That fiend has left, and now the drear
And melancholy pain

Gives way to death, whose chilly breath
Sweeps by me, and in whisper saith
One word-" Despair!"

Ah, hope is past! I once had hope
And thought to break my chain;
But vain my strength with fiends to cope,
They drew me back again :

The tempting glass in friendship passed,
"Till drink's foul cords had bound me fast,
And brought "Despair!"

You'll put a tombstone o'er my head;
There is one o'er my heart!
You'll lay me gently with the dead;
But death can never part

My soul from grief, nor give relief.
So, on my tombstone write-be brief-
One word "Despair!"

Ah! write it bold, and hew it deep,
That all who pass me by
May hush my body's fitful sleep

With tear-drop and with sigh.

Let not the wear of time come there-
Preserve, preserve the word with care;
One word Despair!"

There it shall show my life's sad end,
And there the warning tell,

And prove a stern, but faithful friend,
To all who heed it well:

And let them know, by my sad woe,
The end of drink's enticing flow
Is but " Despair!"

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