an, tidy and
bright; and he wasn't ashamed to look anybody in the face. And now see
what he is!"

The crowd looked, and saw a slovenly and dissipated man, who hung his
head, with a dull feeling of shame. The people gazed upon the wretched man
in silence. They were awed by the solemn and impressive manner in which
they had been addressed.

"This man," resumed "Cobbler" Horn, "once had a thriving business and a
comfortable home. Now his business has gone to the dogs, and his home has
become a den. His wife and children are ragged and hungry; and I question
if he has a penny piece left that he can justly call his own. The most
complete ruin stares him in the face, and he probably won't last another
year."

The crowd still gazed, and listened in silence.

"And, do you ask," continued "Cobbler" Horn, "what has done all this? No,
you don't; you know too well. It's drink--the stuff that many of you love
so much. For there are many of you,"--and he swept the crowd with a
scrutinizing glance--"who are far on the same downward way as this poor
fool. He was my neighbour and friend; and he had as nice a little wife as
ever brightened a home. But it would make the heart of a stone bleed to
see her as I saw her but a few days ago. But, there; go home, Richard!
And may God help you to become a man once more!"

So saying, he released his captive; and the wretched creature, partially
sobered with astonishment and shame, crept through the crowd, which parted
for him to pass, and staggered off on his way towards home.

Then, like some ancient prophet, upon whom the Spirit of the Lord had
come, "the Golden Shoemaker" turned and preached, from the living text of
his besotted friend, a telling impromptu Temperance sermon to the motley
crowd. The whole incident was quite unpremeditated. He had never dreamt
that he would do such a thing as he was doing now. But that by no means
lessened the effect of his burning words, which went home to the hearts,
and even to the consciences of not a few of those by whom they were heard.

When he had finished, he passed on, and left his hearers to their
thoughts. But, for himself, there had been shown to him yet another way in
which he might work for God; and, thereafter, "the Golden Shoemaker" was
often seen at the corners of back streets, and in the recesses of the
slums, preaching, to all who would hear, that glorious Gospel of which the
message of mercy to the victims of strong drink is, after all