was the pet of the good. Then he fell--in the gutter; and there was
general sorrow and lamentation. But the noble sisterhood rescued him
again. They cleaned him up, they fed him, they listened to the mournful
music of his repentances, they got him his situation again. An account
of this, also, was published, and the town was drowned in happy tears
over the re-restoration of the poor beast and struggling victim of
the fatal bowl. A grand temperance revival was got up, and after some
rousing speeches had been made the chairman said, impressively: "We are
not about to call for signers; and I think there is a spectacle in
store for you which not many in this house will be able to view with dry
eyes." There was an eloquent pause, and then George Benton, escorted
by a red-sashed detachment of the Ladies of the Refuge, stepped forward
upon the platform and signed the pledge. The air was rent with applause,
and everybody cried for joy. Everybody wrung the hand of the new convert
when the meeting was over; his salary was enlarged next day; he was the
talk of the town, and its hero. An account of it was published.

George Benton fell, regularly, every three months, but was faithfully
rescued and wrought with, every time, and good situations were found for
him. Finally, he was taken around the country lecturing, as a reformed
drunkard, and he had great houses and did an immense amount of good.

He was so popular at home, and so trusted--during his sober
intervals--that he was enabled to use the name of a principal citizen,
and get a large sum of money at the bank. A mighty pressure was brought
to bear to save him from the consequences of his forgery, and it was
partially successful--he was "sent up" for only two years. When, at the
end of a year, the tireless efforts of the benevolent were crowned
with success, and he emerged from the penitentiary with a pardon in
his pocket, the Prisoner's Friend Society met him at the door with a
situation and a comfortable salary, and all the other benevolent people
came forward and gave him advice, encouragement and help. Edward Mills
had once applied to the Prisoner's Friend Society for a situation, when
in dire need, but the question, "Have you been a prisoner?" made brief
work of his case.

While all these things were going on, Edward Mills had been quietly
making head against adversity. He was still poor, but was in receipt of
a steady and sufficient salary, as the respected and trusted