hes. Elegant scarfs. Elegant flutes. People stand with a
pleased look gazing at these things; but I look in with a shudder, as
though I had seen into a window of hell.

Whose elegant watch was that? It was a drunkard's watch!

Whose furs? They belonged to a drunkard's wife!

Whose flute? Whose shoes? Whose scarf? They belonged to a drunkard's
child!

If I could, I would take the three brazen balls hanging at the
door-way, and clang them together until they tolled the awful knell
of the drunkard's soul. The pawnbroker's shop is only one eddy of the
great stream of municipal drunkenness.

Stand back, young man! Take not the first step in the path that leads
here. Let not the flame of strong drink ever scorch your tongue. You
may tamper with these things and escape, but your influence will be
wrong. Can you not make a sacrifice for the good of others?

When the good ship _London_ went down, the captain was told that there
was a way of escape in one of the life-boats. He said--"No; I will go
down with the rest of the passengers!" All the world acknowledged that
heroism.

Can you not deny yourself insignificant indulgences for the good of
others? Be not allured by the fact that you drink only the moderate
beverages. You take only ale; and a man has to drink a large amount of
it to become intoxicated. Yes; but there is not in all the city to-day
an inebriate that did not _begin_ with ale.

"XXX:" What does that mark mean? XXX on the beer-barrel: XXX on the
brewer's dray: XXX on the door of the gin-shop: XXX on the side of
the bottle. Not being able to find any one who could tell me what this
mark means, I have had to guess that the whole thing was an allegory:
XXX--that is, thirty heartbreaks. Thirty agonies. Thirty desolated
homes. Thirty chances for a drunkard's grave. Thirty ways to
perdition.

"XXX." If I were going to write a story, the first chapter would be
XXX.; the last--"A pawnbroker's shop."

Be watchful! At this season all the allurements to dissipation will be
especially busy. Let not your flight to hell be in the winter.

I also remark that the winter evenings, through their very length,
allow great swing for indulgences. Few young men would have the taste
to go to their room at seven o'clock, and sit until eleven, reading
_Motley's Dutch Republic_ or _John Foster's Essays_. The young men
who have been confined to the store all day want fresh air and
sight-seeing; and they must go somewhere. The mo