found three little girls upon a bed of straw in one corner of the room.
They were clad in rags. They would have been beautiful girls had they had
the proper care. They were expecting the body of their dead father, and
between their cries and sobs they would say, "Papa was good, but whisky did
it."

In a little time two strong officers came bearing the body of the dead
father in a rude pine box. They set it down on two old rickety stools. The
cries of the children were so heartrending that the officers could not
endure it, and made haste out of the room.

In a moment the manly boy nerved himself, and said, "Come, sisters, kiss
papa's face before it is cold." They gathered about his face and smoothed
it down with kisses, and between their sobs cried out: "Papa was good, but
whisky did it! Papa was good, but whisky did it!"

I raised my heart to God and said, "O God, did I fight to save a country
that would derive a revenue from a traffic that would make a scene like
this possible?"--_Youth's Outlook_.



MY MOTHER'S RING


I am living now on borrowed time. The sun of my allotted life-day has set,
and with the mellow twilight of old age there come to my memory reflections
of a life which, if not well spent, has in it enough of good at least to
make these reflections pleasant. And yet, during all the years in which I
have responded to the name Carter Brassfield, but a single fortnight of