"You have been drinking to-day," said the stranger, in a kind voice,
which arrested my attention, and quite dispelled any anger at what I
might otherwise have considered an officious interference in my affairs.

"Yes, sir," I replied. "I have----"

"Why do you not sign the pledge?" was the next query.

I considered for a moment or two, and then informed the strange friend
who had so unexpectedly interested himself in my behalf that I had no
hope of ever again becoming a sober man, and that I was without a
single friend in the world who cared for me; that I fully expected to
die very soon, cared not how soon, or whether I died drunk or sober,
and, in fact, that I was in a condition of utter recklessness.

The stranger regarded me with a benevolent look, took me by the arm,
and asked me how I should like to be as I once was, respectable and
esteemed, well clad, and sitting as I used to, in a place of worship;
enabled to meet my friends as in old times, and receive from them the
pleasant nod of recognition as formerly; in fact, become a useful
member of society?

"Oh," I replied, "I should like all these things first-rate; but I have
no expectation that such a thing will ever happen. Such a change
cannot be possible."

"Only sign our pledge," remarked my friend, "and I will warrant that it
will be so. Sign it, and I will introduce you myself to good friends,
who will feel an interest in your welfare and take a pleasure in