er. He remained there a few days, and then
returned to his work.

Such was his history: a few months sober, industrious, and obliging in
my shop; kind, attentive, and affectionate in his family; then a week
furiously drunk, absent from my shop, violent and abusive in his family;
then at the workhouse; and then sober, and at home again.

He had already been excommunicated from the church for his intemperance,
had become a terror to his wife, who frequently sent for me to protect
her from his violence, and seemed to be utterly abandoned.

In the month of May, 1833, he was again missing; and no one, not even
his wife, knew what had become of him. But in the course of the summer
she received a letter from him, in which he said he had got employment,
and wished her, without informing me where he was, to come and live with
him. She accordingly removed to his new residence, and I heard nothing
from either of them.

About two years and a half after this, he came into my shop one day; but
how changed. Instead of the bloated, wild, and despairing countenance
that once marked him as a drunkard, he now wore an aspect of
cheerfulness and health, of manliness and self-respect. I approached,
took him by the hand, and said, "Well, ----, how do you do?" "_I am
well_," said he, shaking my hand most cordially. "Yes," said I, "well in
more respects than one." "_Yes, I am_," was his emphatic reply. "_It is
now more than two years since I have tasted a drop of any thing that can
intoxicate._" He began by abstaining from ardent spirits only; "But,"
said he, "I soon found that what you had so often told me was true; that
I could not reform but by abstaining from all that can intoxicate. I
have done so, and you see the result."

I then inquired after the health of his wife and child: his reply was,
"They are well and happy." I asked him if "his wife made him any
trouble" now. "Trouble," said he, "no; and never did make any: it was I
that made the trouble. You told me so, and I knew it at the time. _But
what could I do?_ So long as I remained here, I could not turn a corner
in your streets without passing a grog-shop. I could not go to my meals
without coming in contact with some associate who would try to entice me
to drink with him; and even the keepers of these shops would try every
artifice to induce me to drink; for they knew that if they could get me
to taste once, I should never know when to stop, and they would be sure
to get a good