nmistakably to the weariness of his
audience. Brent was glad when he sat down. Then there followed
experiences from women whose husbands had been drunkards and from
husbands whose wives had been similarly afflicted. It was all thoroughly
uninteresting and commonplace.

The young man had closed his eyes, and, suppressing a yawn, had just
determined to go home, when he was roused by a new stir in the meeting,
and the voice of the wheezy man saying "And now, brothers, we are to
have a great treat: we are to hear the story of the California Pilgrim,
told by himself. Bless the Lord for his testimony! Go on, my brother."
Brent opened his eyes and took in the scene. Beside the chairman stood
the emaciated form of his chance acquaintance. It was the man's face,
now seen in the clearer light, that struck him. It was thin, very thin,
and of a deathly pallor. The long grey hair fell in a tumbled mass above
the large hollow eyes. The cheek-bones stood up prominently, and seemed
almost bursting through the skin. His whole countenance was full of the
terrible, hopeless tragedy of a ruined life. He began to speak.

"I' ll have to be very brief, brothers and sisters, as I have n't much
breath to spare. But I will tell you my life simply, in order to warn
any that may be in the same way to change their course. Twenty years ago
I was a hard-workin' man in this State. I got along fairly, an' had
enough to live on an' keep my wife an' baby decent. Of course I took my
dram like the other workmen, an' it never hurt me. But some men can't
stand what others kin, an' the habit commenced to grow on me. I took a
spree, now an' then, an' then went back to work, fur I was a good hand,
an' could always git somethin' to do. After a while I got so unsteady
that nobody would have me. From then on it was the old story. I got
discouraged, an' drunk all the more. Three years after I begun, my home
was a wreck, an' I had ill-treated my wife until she was no better than
I was; then she got a divorce from me, an' I left the town. I wandered
from place to place, sometimes workin', always drinkin'; sometimes
ridin' on trains, sometimes trampin' by the roadside. Fin'lly I drifted
out to Californy, an' there I spent most o' my time until, a year ago, I
come to see myself what a miserable bein' I was. It was through one of
your Bands of Hope. From then I pulled myself up; but it was too late. I
had ruined my health. I started for my old home, talkin' and tellin'