ght
him not to sell to her son--"her only son." He replied roughly that he
would sell to him "as long as he had a dime." Another mother, an old
lady, made the same request, "lest," she said, "he may some day fill a
drunkard's grave." "Madam," he replied, "your son has as good a right to
fill a drunkard's grave as any other mother's son." And in one of the
Hillsboro saloons a lady saw her nephew. "O, Mr. B----," said she,
"don't sell whiskey to that boy: if he has one drink he will want
another, and he may die a drunkard." "Madam, I will sell to him if it
sends his soul to hell," was the awful reply. The last man is a
peculiarly hard, stony sort of man; his lips look as if chiseled out of
flint, a man to be afraid of. One morning, when the visiting band
reached his door, they found him in a very bad humor. He locked his door
and seated himself on the horse block in front in a perfect rage,
clenched his fist, swore furiously, and ordered us to go home. Some
gentlemen, on the opposite side of the street, afterward said that they
were watching the scene, ready to rush over and defend the ladies from
an attack, and they were sure it would come; but one of the ladies, a
sweet-souled woman, gentle and placid, kneeled just at his feet, and
poured out such a tender, earnest prayer for him, that he quieted down
entirely, and when she rose and offered him her hand in token of kind
feeling, he could not refuse to take it.

During the Crusade, a saloon-keeper (at Ocean Grove) consented
to close his business. There was a great deal of enthusiasm and
interest, and we women decided to compensate the man for his
whiskey and make a bonfire of it in the street. A great crowd
gathered about the saloon, and the barrels of whiskey were
rolled out to the public square where we were to have our
bonfire. Myself and two other little women, who had been chosen
to knock in the heads, and had come to the place with axes
concealed under our shawls, went to our work with a will.

I didn't know I was so strong, but I lifted that axe like a
woodman and brought it down with such force that the first blow
stove in the head of a barrel and splashed the whiskey in every
direction. I was literally baptized with the noxious stuff. The
intention was to set it on fire, and we had brought matches for
that purpose, _but it would not burn_! It was a villainous
compound of some sort,