We had all we could carry. We couldn't save the last one." "Man the
life-boat again!" shouted Hardy. "I will go. What! leave one there to die
alone? A fellow-creature there, and we on shore? Man the life-boat
now! We'll save him yet." But who is this aged woman with worn
garments and disheveled hair, with agonized entreaty falling upon her
knees beside this brave, strong man? It is his mother! "O, my son!
your father was drowned in a storm like this. Your brother Will left
me eight years ago, and I have never seen his face since the day he
sailed. No doubt he, too, has found a watery grave. And now you will
be lost, and I am old and poor. O, stay with me!" "Mother," cried the
man, "where one is in peril, there is my place. If I am lost, God surely
will care for you." The plea of earnest faith prevailed. With a "God
bless you, my boy!" she released him, and speeded him on his way.
Once more they watched and prayed and waited--those on the shore--
while every muscle was strained toward the fast-sinking ship by those
in the life-saving boat. At last it reached the vessel. The clinging
figure was lifted and helped to its place. Back came the boat. How
eagerly they looked and called in encouragement, and cheered as it
came nearer! "Did you get him?" was the cry from the shore. Lifting
his hands to his mouth to trumpet the words on in advance of their
landing, Hardy called back above the roar of the storm, "Tell mother
it is brother Will!"

My friend, simply talking and praying will not save our loved ones
from drunkards' graves. We must man the life-boat of municipal, State,
and National reform, and vote for principle and Christian temperance
until we save the last man. He may be "brother Will."