was done to cure her of the habit, but without much effect. She began
to inject the drug into her flesh with a hypodermic needle and also to
mix it with cocaine. Thus she soon became a mortification to her
husband, relatives, and friends, and erelong they felt that she had
forfeited all claims to their consideration. They forsook her,
absolutely refused to recognize her. In process of time the husband
procured a divorce and sole guardianship of the children.

Soon she disappeared from her home neighborhood and for the future was
lost sight of by all except police judges, and officers, prison
companions, and habitue of morphine dens. Every home missionary I know
of in San Francisco had made some attempt or sacrifice for the
redemption of this unfortunate woman, but apparently with little, if
any, effect. One day she told me that _I was wasting my time, for she
loved her drug better than her God_. I wondered if she really meant it.

You ask if this is an exceptional case? Not by any manner of means. I
am able to relate many others, all different in detail, but all alike
in the main, the family physician being primarily responsible.

My heart goes out tenderly for the younger inmates of the prison, most
of whom are there for a first offense, and who are now in great danger
of contracting bad habits, such as cigarette-smoking, from older
offenders. "What!" you exclaim, "do they permit women and girls to
smoke?" I'm sorry to tell you it is only too true. Furthermore, the
weed is procured from those in authority over them. And from that habit
and others acquired during incarceration, deeper demoralization
results, so that many come forth worse than they ever were before their
imprisonment. Nevertheless, realizing the limitless value of even one
soul, the home missionary keeps, ever keeps in view Gal. 6:9--"And let