isters
too, are moderate drinkers, and never exceed; and we must not be carried
away by a mistaken enthusiasm to brand their use of fermented drinks as
sinful because such frightful evils are daily resulting from immoderate
drinking. We must think and pray, and our path will be made plain; and
we must be prepared to walk in it, cost what it may."

"Yes," said her husband; "I am getting more and more convinced that
there is something exceptional in this matter--that we cannot deal with
this sin of drunkenness as we deal with other sins. But we will wait a
little longer for guidance; yet not too long, for souls are perishing,
and ruin is thickening all round us."

They had not to wait long; their path was soon made clear.

It was on a bitter and cheerless November evening that Mr Oliphant was
returning to the rectory from a distant part of his parish. He was
warmly clad; but the keen wind, which drove a prickly deluge of fine
hail into his face, seemed to make its way through every covering into
his very bones. He was hurrying on, thankful that home was so near,
when he suddenly stumbled upon something in the path which he had not
noticed, being half blinded by the frozen sleet. With difficulty he
saved himself from falling over this obstacle, which looked in the
feeble moonlight like a bundle of ragged clothes. Then he stooped down
to examine it more closely, and was horrified at hearing a low moan,
which showed that it was a living creature that lay on the path. It was
plainly, in fact, some poor, half-frozen fellow-man, who lay coiled
together there, perishing of cold in that bitter night. The rector
tried to raise the poor wretch from the ground, but the body hung like a
dead weight upon him.

"Come," he said, "my poor fellow; come, try and rouse yourself and get
up. You'll die if you lie here."

The miserable bundle of humanity partly uncoiled itself, and made an
effort to rise, but sunk back again. Mr Oliphant shouted for help.
The shout seemed partly to revive the prostrate creature, and he half
raised himself.

"Come," said the rector again,-- "come, lean on my arm, and try and get
up. You'll die of cold if you stay here."

"Die!" said a thick, unearthly voice from out of that half-frozen mass
of flesh and blood. "In Adam all die."

"Who and what are you?" cried the rector, in extreme astonishment and
distress.

"What am I? Ah, what am I?" was the bewildered, scarce audible reply.

By thi