in. Abroad you are despised. Home is a
desolation. A heart-broken wife weeps over you, yet does not forsake
you. She hopes, she waits for your reform and for better days.
Conscience bids you stop. But appetite, companions, and custom say, _One
glass more_. That is a fatal glass. You rise but to fall again, and you
feel that you can never reform. But you CAN REFORM. Thousands and
thousands around you have reformed, and would not for worlds go back to
drinking. They are happy at home; respected abroad; well dressed; well
employed; have no thirst for the dreadful cup. They feel for you. They
say, "Come thou with us, and we will do thee good." Come _sign the
pledge_, the pledge of total abstinence. In this is your only hope. This
is a certain cure. Touch not, taste not, handle not rum, brandy,
whiskey, wine, cider, beer, or any thing that intoxicates, and you will
be a new man, a happy man. Begin now. Try it now in the strength of the
Lord. From this good hour resolve that none of these accursed drinks
shall ever enter your lips. The struggle may be severe, but it will soon
be over. Say then, "Come life, come death, by the help of God I will be
free."

PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.

TOM STARBOARD

AND

JACK HALYARD.

A NAUTICAL TEMPERANCE DIALOGUE.

[Illustration: Tom Starboard and Jack Halyard]

JACK. Halloo, shipmate; what cheer? Mayhap, however, you
don't choose to remember an old crony.

TOM. Why, Jack, is that you? Well, I must say, that if you hadn't hailed
me I should have sailed by without knowing you. How you're altered! Who
would have supposed that this weather-beaten hulk was my old messmate
Jack Halyard, with whom I've soaked many a hard biscuit, and weathered
many a tough gale on old Ocean? and then you used to be as trim in your
rigging as the Alert herself; but now it's as full of ends as the old
Wilmington brig that we used to crack so many jokes about at Barbadoes.
Give me another grip, my hearty, and tell me how you come on.

JACK. Bad enough, Tom--bad enough. I'm very glad, however, to overhaul
you again, and to find you so merry, and looking so fat and hearty. The
world must have gone well with you, Tom.

TOM. You may well say that, Jack, and no mistake. The world has gone
well with me. My appetite is good, my sleep sound; and I always take
care to have a shot in the locker, and let alone a snug little sum in
the seamen's savings-bank, that I've stowed away for squally t