his air and manner were wild and thrilling. His friends at the asylum
knew that he must be drinking, and while hesitating as to their wisest
course, waited anxiously for the result. One day he was grandly
eloquent. Such power in the pulpit had never been witnessed there
before--his appeals were unequalled; but so wild and impassioned that
some began to fear for his reason. At the close of this day's services,
the chaplain of the institution of which he was an inmate, returned with
him to the asylum, and on the way, told him frankly that he was
deceiving the people--that his eloquent appeals came not from the power
of the Holy Spirit, but from the excitement of drink; and that all
farther conduct of the meetings must be left in other hands. On reaching
the asylum he retired, greatly agitated, and soon after died from a
stroke of apoplexy. In his room many empty bottles, which had contained
brandy, were found; but the people outside remained in ignorance of the
true cause of the marvelous eloquence which had so charmed and moved
them.

We have already extended this chapter beyond the limit at first
proposed. Our object has not only been to show the thoughtful and
intelligent reader who uses alcoholic beverages, the great peril in
which he stands, but to make apparent to every one, how insidious is the
growth and how terrible the power of this appetite for intoxicants; an
appetite which, if once established, is almost sure to rob its victim of
honor, pity, tenderness and love; an appetite, whose indulgence too
often transforms the man into a selfish demon. Think of it, all ye who
dally with the treacherous cup; are not the risks you are running too
great? Nay, considering your duties and your obligations, have you any
right to run these risks?

And now that we have shown the curse of strong drink, let us see what