THE following narrative sets forth, not only the tremendous struggles of some men who battle with themselves to reform and overcome habit, but also the noble spirit of some women who patiently endure:— I was endeavoring to work in the field after one of my customary debauches, and while steadying myself by means of a rail, I stared straight ahead at a corn-stalk. It soon began slowly to wriggle and curve! With bursting eyeballs and all the strength of mind I possessed, I forced that corn-stalk back from the animal to the vegetable kingdom, and then I staggered feebly out into the open air. I leaned against a fence, and for fear I should see more of those horrible twisting things, I clung to a post and closed my eyes. "Time is called, Jim," I said to myself, "whisky and you part company to-day," and soberer than I had been for many months, though with no more strength than a baby, I managed to get back to the house. There was a fight, though! I didn't tell my wife, for I had made a good many promises that hadn't been kept, and I thought I'd go on alone for a while. I got up in the morning, after a terrible night, with the thirst of a chased fox upon me. Water wouldn't quench it, and I tried milk. I crept into the milk-room, slipped a straw into the edge of a cream-covered pan, and sucked out the milk until only the cream was left, lowered smooth and unbroken to the bottom. Then I tried another, and another, until the fierce craving was somewhat dulled. It was a household mystery what became of the milk. No cat could lap it, my wife said, and leave the sides and cream untouched, and where did it go? I let them talk, for the struggle was too sore and fearful to be spoken of, and I went on drinking the milk. The road from my house to my shop lay by the groggery. When I left my gate in the morning I took the road, and on a dead run, as if pursued, I made the distance. I ran hard all the way home to dinner, and back after that meal, never, in fact, trusting myself to walk, or even take to the sidewalk for months. The cure was slow. I keep all the brakes hard set yet. A single glass of hard cider would undo the work of all these years, but that glass doesn't touch my lips while the memory of those little crawling black reptiles stays with me! "And did your wife finally learn what became of the milk?" he was asked. "Yes," and his voice broke, "I told her on her death-bed. " 'Jim, dear,' she said, when I had finished, with her hand clasped in mine, 'Jim, dear, I knew it all the time.'"