he case, and he was right nine times out of ten! Oh, what a
future that man had thrown away for the Devil's stuff, rum! Those
lawyers would go away with advice from that man worth thousands of
dollars, bought with a few bottles of whiskey. He told me he had left
his wife and family to save them from shame. He has sons and daughters
in good standing. They never see him want for anything and pay his
room-rent yearly, only he must not go near them.

FORGIVING FOR CHRIST'S SAKE

Where I am located at this writing, at the Squirrel Inn, No. 131 Bowery,
is a grand place for my work. I come in touch with all classes, and when
I see a man or a boy that I think will stick, I rig him up, put a front
on him and back him until he gets work. I wish I had more clothes so I
could help more men, but at least I can give them a handshake, a kind
word, and a prayer, and that, by God's grace, can work wonders for the
poor fellows. There's not a man or boy comes in that I do not see, and I
mingle with them and get their hard-luck stories, also their good-luck
ones. Sitting there at my desk, I glance down the room, and I can tell
at a glance the newcomers and the regulars. I can tell what has brought
them there.

Over at one of the tables trying to read sat one day a man about fifty,
his clothes worn and threadbare, but wearing a collar, and that's a good
sign. I beckoned him to come over to me and I pointed to a chair,
telling him to sit down. If that chair could only speak, what a tale it
could tell of the men who have sat there and told their life stories!

I asked him how he came to be there, and he told me the same old story
that can be summed up in one word--drink! He came from up the State, at
one time owned a farm outside of Oswego, and was living happily. He was
a church member and bore a good name. "I used to take an odd drink, but
always thought I could do without it," said he. "Eighteen years ago I
lost my wife and to drown my sorrow I got drunk. I had never been
intoxicated before, and I kept at it for over three months, and when I
began to come to myself, I was told that I had to get out of my home. I
couldn't understand it, but I was told I had sold my farm and everything
I owned for a paltry $200 to a saloon-keeper, who I thought was my
dearest friend!

"That happened eighteen years ago, and I've been pretty near all over
the world since then, sometimes hungry, sometimes in pretty good shape,
but I'll never forget that