legislator.

But, of course, such high honors cast dark shadders, and one night after
he'd made a powerful speech at the openin' of a saloon he owned, a old
one made over into gorgeous beauty, he got a good hoss whippin', and by
some wimmen too.

Perkins had made a great speech himself and wantin' to show off to the
world that it wuz real respectable (they had this saloon kinder graded
off, weaker drinks in one place leadin' up gradual to brandy and
whiskey), he got a minister, a well-meanin' man, so I hearn, who made a
prayer and then they all sung the Doxology:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow--

Askin' God to bless what He'd cursed. What must God thought on't! For He
and they well knew all the sin and pain, poverty and crime that flowed
out of saloons, the ontold losses and danger to community, the
brutality, fights, murders, crimes of all kinds.

Praise Him all creatures here below--

When that minister knowed the stuff he wuz dedicatin' rendered all
creeters here below, no matter how smart they wuz nachully, incapable of
tellin' whether they wuz on their head or their heels, blessin' or
cussin'. When a man is drunk as a fool how can he praise anything? It is
all he can do to navigate his own legs within' and weavin' along under
him, ready to crumple down any minute into the gutter. He'd look well
tryin' to sing gospel hims when he can't tell what his own name is, or
speak it if he could.

Praise Him above ye heavenly hosts

Why, I don't see how they dasted to sing that when they knowed that the
Heavenly Host couldn't have flowed through such places without bein'
liable to git their feathers pulled out in some of the drinkin' carouses
held there. As liable agin for their pure eyes must be dimmed with
tears, tears for the eighty thousand victims turned out yearly from
these resorts. Innocent youth changed to reckless wickedness, noble
manhood turned to brutes falling from honorable places in society down
into drunkards' loathsome lives, drunkards' dishonored graves.

How could these pityin' sperits help weepin' over it? And the long,
agonized procession follerin' on--pale, wretched mothers, once happy
wives, now hungry, broken-hearted wrecks, with pinched, starved children
clingin' to their ragged skirts. The idee of askin' this pure heavenly
Host to praise God for what brought all this to pass!

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Why, I believe that Satan himself, though he loved to see the wo