flattered me really _despised_ me." He told us some humorous
tales,--how he used to mortify some of them by claiming acquaintance
with them in the street, and in the presence of their respectable
friends. He returned scorn for scorn. "Gough," said a man once to him,
"you ought to be ashamed of yourself to be always drinking in this
manner." "Do I drink at your expense?"--"No." "Do I owe you
anything?"--"No." "Do I ever ask you to treat me?"--"No." "Then mind
your own business," &c. He introduced this to show that that mode of
dealing with the drunkard was not likely to answer the purpose.

"Six years ago," said he, "a man on the borders of Connecticut, sat
night after night on a stool in a low tavern to scrape an old fiddle.
Had you seen him, with his old hat drawn over his eyebrows, his swollen
lips, and his silly grin, you would have thought him adapted for
nothing else. But he signed the pledge, and in two years became a
United States senator, and thrilled the House with his eloquence."

In one place, after Gough had delivered a lecture, some ladies gathered
around him, and one of them said, "I wish you would ask Joe to 'sign
the pledge,"--referring to a wretched-looking young man that was
sauntering near the door. Gough went up to him, spoke _kindly_ to him,
and got him to sign: the ladies were delighted, and heartily shook
hands with Joe. A year after Gough met Joe quite a dandy, walking
arm-in-arm with a fine young lady. "Well, Joe, did you stick to the
pledge?" said Gough to him. "Yes," said Joe with an exulting smile,
"and the lady has stuck to me."

For more than an hour Gough kept the vast audience enchained by his
varied and charming talk.