p. 314 | A DRUNKARD'S APPEAL

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Mar 19, 1894

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 20, No. 20.

A DRUNKARD'S APPEAL.

THE liquor business of necessity blunts the finer sensibilities of the man who engages in it. His heart becomes adamant. His conscience is hardened. His soul becomes imbruted. But occasionally the sting of remorse arouses him to a proper view of the awful situation in which he has placed himself.

A young man entered the barroom of the village tavern and called for a drink.

"No," said the landlord; "you have had the delirium tremens once, and I can't sell you any more."

He stepped aside to make room for a couple of young men who had just entered, and the landlord waited on them very politely. The other had stood by, silent and sullen, and when they had finished he walked up to the landlord and thus addressed him:—

"Six years ago, at their age, I stood where those two young men now are. I was a young man of fair prospects. Now, at the age of twenty-eight, I am a wreck—body and mind. You led me to drink. In this room I formed the habit that has been my ruin. Now sell me a few more glasses and your work will be done. I shall soon be out of the way; there is no hope for me. But they can be saved. Do not sell it to them. Sell it to me and let me die, and the world will be rid of me; but for heaven's sake sell no more to them."

The landlord listened, pale and trembling. Setting down his decanter, he exclaimed, "God help me, it is the last drop I will sell to anyone!" And he kept his word.—Zion's Watchman.