speaks eighty-one times in one place on the same subject he gets pretty well pushed for matter: so I told this story there. The first thing he said when I entered his place of business was, "Oh! you gave somebody a terrible rub last Monday, didn't you?"

"You didn't mind it?"

But, Mr.

"Mind it? No; I liked it. The man next to me kept a-nudging me and saying, 'That means you.' Gough, just look at that cellar!"

"I see the cellar."

"I want to show you this letter. I have a letter from Manchester ordering me to send them five hundred pounds of fruit. Now, do you suppose anybody would have ordered that of such a fellow as I used to be? Look at that cellar. I spent a whole Sunday in that cellar, on a heap of rotten vegetables, with a rope to hang myself by. I heard the bells chime for church, and knew when they were singing and when they were praying and when they were preaching. They little thought a poor wretch was down here fighting; for it was a steady fight all that day between that rope and me and my conscience. Now, sir, I lease that cellar and clear a hundred pounds a year. Here come my children-just from boarding-school-four of 'em. Shake hands with 'em.

Oh, how I wish you lived where I do!"

Perhaps you are getting tired of these incidents; but there is one more of which I would like to speak to you, because it shows that we who work among the hardest and vilest outcasts are repaid by the fact that we are working for men. I was to speak in a certain place, and a poor fellow came with what is called a "fly,"-that is, a one-horse cab,-to take me some six miles to the railway station where I was to speak. I noticed that he was leaning forward, and then took

a handkerchief out of his pocket and tied it around his face, I said: "Have you a cold?"

"No."

Then he tied the handkerchief up this way.

"Have you the toothache?"

"No."

He seemed to lean forward and sit so uneasily that I said to him, "Why do you sit forward in that way?"

"Why, sir," he said, "the window of the carriage is broken, and I am trying to keep the wind off of you, sir."

"The Lord bless you, my friend! what do you mean by that? Are you putting your head in that hole to keep the wind from me?”

"Yes, sir, I a .."

"And why?"

He burst into tears: "It's because I owe everything I have in the world to you. When I first heard you I was singing ballads in the streets with my half-starved wife following me with a baby in her arms. Now I have a comfortable home. God bless you, sir! I'd stick my head in any hole under heaven for you.'

The next morning I breakfasted with him at six o'clock. I have breakfasted and dined where they have had footmen,— with a great preponderance of calf, and top-knots, or whatever they call them, on their shoulders,-snatching your plate away before you got half through; but I have never had such a breakfast as that in my life. I believe that man and his wife had been up all night to get it ready for me. There was no floor except an earthen floor; the ceiling was of great rafters, blackened with smoke; but such a breakfast!

These are the men we are working for; and we defend the principle of total abstinence as a lawful principle in the

highest sense of the term; as an expedient principle; as a benevolent principle calculated to do this one work of rescuing the drunkard.

And another thing you will allow me to say, though certainly I did not intend or expect to make a long speech. I came laboring under this heavy affliction which has been referred to and I felt that it would be almost impossible for me to face an audience to-night; and therefore you must bear with me under the circumstances if I speak chiefly of these reminiscences of the past. I love this temperance movement. I ought to love it, and in that day for which all other days were made it will be seen that my love for the temperance movement has been next to my love for the blessed religion of the Lord Jesus Christ nearest to my heart. Do you suppose I can look at a scene like this and not recur to the past?

The past is ever before me; the past is to me one perpetual photograph that will never fade out; that grows more and more distinct the longer I live. The fire that scorched me in the distance seems to burn brighter, the iron that entered my flesh seems to be sharper the further I remove from it. For the love I bear the temperance movement I take no credit to myself. The temperance movement has made me what I am, if I am anything, if I am worth anything in this world; and for the temperance movement I mean to work to the day of my death. And I pray you that when I die I may die in the harness. I come back to you here. I see your young men plunged in dissipation. Oh, it is pitiful to go through the streets as I have in Boston to-day and see boldly and openly displayed the signs that tell us of the dreadful, horrible traffic that is carried on in spite of the will of the people. Who are these few men that dare to ignore the expressed will of the people? Who are they that dare to fill the lower

parts of your city with the horrible stench of the accursed distillery? Who are they that dare do this when the people say they shall not? Up, up, up, men of Boston! Crush it out! You can do it! Can? Some people say it is impossible. A great many begin and end all their effort by saying it is impossible. Do you remember the incident that occurred when Mr. Webster delivered his great oration at the foot of Bunker Hill monument? The crowd was pressing up on all sides toward the platform, and the committee said "Gentlemen, stand back." We can't," said the crowd, and they never attempted it. They continued to press up.. The platform began to crack, endangering life and limb. "Stand back."

"We can't stand back," said the people and made no effort. Mr. Webster rose to his feet and said, "Gentlemen, you must stand back."

"Mr. Webster, it is impossible to stand back." Impossible?" said Webster; "On Bunker Hill nothing is impossible," and down the hill they went. They felt they could and they did. Impossible! It is not our business to create results; we cannot create results, but it is our business to work for results; and the highest position a man can occupy in this world is to stand as a machine, connected with his Maker by a band of loving faith,--God the motor-power, and man the machine. That is your business,-working where he will, when he will, as he will. No matter if you don't see a dramshop closed; that is not your business; work as if the next blow was to dash to pieces the Moloch of drunkenness; and if no results are visible till you lie down to die, die in faith that others are coming up to gather a full harvest on the field that you have planted and tended and prayed over, but have not been able to reap. It is ours to work.

CAMPOAMOR

AMON DE CAMPOAMOR

RA

Y CAMPOOSORIO, a distinguished Spanish

poet and statesman, was born at Navia in the ancient province of Asturias, September 24, 1817. He entered literature and political life at almost the same time, in the former field being the earliest Spanish writer of his century to free himself from the spirit of romanticism; in the latter revealing himself a conservative with strong royalist sympathies. During the reign of Isabella he was successively governor of Alicante and Valencia, and while a member of the Cortes he engaged in a long discussion with Castelar in the columns of "El Estudio," his articles being subsequently reissued in a volume as "Polémicas con la Democracía" (1862). In the reign of Amadeo he held the position of director-general, and under Alfonso XII was counsellor of state. He is the inventor of a new species of composition frequently imitated by the younger school of Spanish writers, consisting of small, humorous, sentimental poems with a touch of morality or philosophy, called "Doloras." His principal works in verse include "Ternezas y Flores" (1840); "Ayes del Alma " (1842); "Fabulas Morales y Politicas (1842); Colon (1853); "El Drama Universal (1873); El Amor y el Rio Piedra (1882); "El Trén Express (1885). Among dramas by him may be named "Dies Iræ " (1873); Cuerdos y Locos " (1887); "El Honor" (1874). His principal philosophical writings include "Filosofía de las Leyes (1865); El Idealismo " (1883). A collection of his verse, in three volumes, "Obras Escogidas " was made in 1885.

(1846);

"Lo Absoluto

"

SPEECH AGAINST THE PRESS LAW

"Fortune gives favors

That are not written.”"

SAY this because we formerly had some liberty of the press, but we had no law on the subject. We are now going to have a press law, but in exchange we shall have no liberty.

I have risen to speak against the enactment of the press law because this press law has no other object, and will have no other result, than to put the press outside of the law.

Law, gentlemen, is a compact that joins two parties in equal rights and equal duties. In this project for a press law