.
Fiend, brandishing his fist, cries--"Out! Out! What are you doing
here!"

Did I call this house the second? No; it is the same house. Rum
transformed it. Rum imbruted the man. Rum sold the shawl. Rum tore
up the carpets. Rum shook its fist. Rum desolated the hearth. _Rum_
changed that paradise into a hell!

I sketch two men that you know very well. The first graduated from one
of our literary institutions. His father, mother, brothers and sisters
were present to see him graduate. They heard the applauding thunders
that greeted his speech. They saw the bouquets tossed to his feet.
They saw the degree conferred and the diploma given. He never looked
so well. Everybody said, "What a noble brow! What a fine eye! What
graceful manners! What brilliant prospects!" All the world opens
before him and cries, "Hurrah! Hurrah!"

Man the second. Lies in the station-house to-night. The doctor has
just been sent for to bind up the gashes received in a fight. His hair
is matted, and makes him look like a wild beast. His lip is bloody and
cut.

Who is the battered and bruised wretch that was picked up by the
police and carried in drunk, and foul, and bleeding? Did I call
him man the second? He is man the _first_! Rum transformed him. Rum
destroyed his prospects. Rum disappointed parental expectation. Rum
withered those garlands of commencement-day. Rum cut his lip. Rum
dashed out his manhood. RUM, accursed RUM!

This foul thing gives one swing to its scythe, and our best merchants
fall; their stores are sold, and they slink into dishonored graves.

Again it swings its scythe, and some of our best physicians fall into
sufferings that their wisest prescriptions cannot cure.

Again it swings its scythe, and ministers of the gospel fall from the
heights of Zion with long-resounding crash of ruin and shame.

Some of your own household have already been shaken. Perhaps you
can hardly admit it; but where was your son last night? Where was he
Friday night? Where was he Thursday night? Wednesday night? Tuesday
night? Monday night?

Nay, have not some of you, in your own bodies, felt the power of this
habit? You think that you could stop? Are you sure you could? Go on
a little further, and I am sure you cannot. I think, if some of you
should try to break away, you would find a chain on the right wrist,
and one on the left; one on the right foot, and another on the left.
This serpent does not begin to hurt until it has wound around a