I have in mind a schoolmate, whose father lived in a fine country home two miles from the schoolhouse. The influence of my schoolmate's mother was pure as the diamond dew he brushed from the bending gra.s.s in barefoot days. But he left the country home and the last time I saw him he was a vagabond, begging bread from negro cabin doors. Ah!

mother, you can't tell _which_ boy.

In a large city a few years ago a man stood at the side door of a saloon at two o'clock in the morning. His clothes were worn and the matted hair hung about his face. He waited, hoping some one would come along and give him the price of a drink. Two young men, one of them a reporter on a leading daily, came down the street. As they neared the poor fellow, one said to the other: "Did you ever see such an appeal for a drink? Here, hobo, take this dime and buy you one."

Seizing his hand his friend said: "No, let's do the job like good Samaritans. Come in, tramp, and have a drink with us."

The three entered the saloon, the gla.s.ses were filled and the tramp took his and draining it, said: "Young men, I'm very thirsty, may I have another?"

"Yes, help yourself," was the reply, and the tramp took the second drink. Then lifting his hat he said:

"Young men, you call me a hobo, but I see in you a picture of my lost manhood. Once I had a face as fair as yours, and wore as good clothes as you have now. I had a home where love lit the flame on the altar, but I put out the fire and to-night I'm a wanderer without a home. I had a wife as beautiful as an artist's dream, but I took the pearl of her love, dropped it in the wine gla.s.s, Cleopatra-like I saw it dissolve and I quaffed it down. I had a sweet child I fondly loved, and still love, though I have not seen her for twelve years; a young woman now in her grandfather's home, she is deprived of the heritage of a father's good name. Young men, I once had aspirations and ambitions that soared as high as the morning star, but I clipped their wings, I strangled them and they died. Call me a tramp, do you? I'm a preacher without a charge, a lawyer without a brief, a husband without a wife, a father without a child, a man without a friend. I thank you for the drinks. Go to your homes and on soft beds may you sleep well; I'll go out and sleep on yonder bench in the night wind. A few more drinks, a few more drunkard's dreams, and I'll go out into the moonless, starless night of a hopeless forever."

Oh! how I would like to help some boy in this audience stand on his two feet and with clear brain, manly muscle, and moral courage fight and win the battle of life. How it would rejoice my soul if I could, with earnest appeal, throw about some mother's boy an armor of celestial atmosphere against which the arrows of evil would beat in vain, and fall harmless at his feet.

Hear me, boys; never was there a day when character counted for so much as now; never a day when a young man, equipped with education and stability of character, filled with energy and ambition, was in such demand as he is today; while on the other hand, never was there a day when a young man with bad habits was in so little demand as now. The industrial world is closing its doors against young men who are not sober, industrious and competent. Even a saloon-keeper advertised thus: "Wanted--A man to tend bar, who does not drink intoxicating liquors." How would this read: "Wanted--A young man to sell shoes, who goes bare-footed."

Young women, just here I have a question for you. If the railroad company does not want the drinking man, if the merchant discriminates against him, and even the saloon-keeper does not want him for bar-tender, do you want him for a husband? Can you afford to wrap up your hopes of happiness in him and to him swear away your young life and love?

Some young woman may say: "If I taboo the drinking man, I may be an old maid." Then be an old maid, get some "bloom of youth," paint up and love yourself. John B. Gough said: "You better be laughed at for not being married, than never to laugh any more because you are married."

If I could live life over there are some things I would not do. I would not stop smoking as I did thirty-five years ago, because I never would begin and therefore would not need to stop. I am not a fanatic on the question, but I believe every father in my presence, who uses tobacco, will be glad to have me say that which I will now say to the boys who are dulling their brains, poisoning their blood and weakening their hearts by the use of cigarettes.

Boys, I believe a cigar made me tell my first falsehood. When I was fifteen years of age I felt I must smoke if I ever expected to be a man. Father smoked, our pastor smoked, and so did almost every man in our neighborhood. My mother opposed the habit, but I thought mother did not know what it took to make a man.

I heard her make an engagement to spend a whole day ten miles from home the following week, and that day I set apart for learning to smoke cigars. I laid in some fine ones, six for five cents, and when mother went out the gate on her visit, I started for the barn. In a shed back of the barn I took out my cigars, determined to learn that day if it required the six cigars for my graduation. The first cigar was lighted and with every puff I felt the manhood coming; but in about five minutes I felt the manhood _going_. Just then my uncle called: "George, where are you?" When I answered he said: "Come here and hold this colt while I knock out a blind tooth."

Hors.e.m.e.n before me know some colts have blind teeth and to save the eyes these must be removed. I staggered to the colt, held the halter rein and when the tooth was removed my uncle, looking at me, said: "What's the matter with you? You are pale as death."

"Nothing, only it always did make me sick to see a blind tooth knocked out of a horse's mouth," I replied.

My uncle said: "You better lie down on the gra.s.s until it pa.s.ses off,"

and I did.

But I kept on after that until I learned to smoke like a man. When years had pa.s.sed and I became editor of a paper it seemed to me I could write better editorials with the smoke curling about my face.

One morning I finished my breakfast before Mrs. Bain had half finished hers. Lighting my cigar I stood by the fire chatting and smoking until the stub was all that remained. Then, as was my custom, I walked up to kiss her good-bye when she said: "Good-bye. But, I would like to ask you a question. How would you like to have me finish my breakfast before you are half through yours, light a cigar, smoke it to the stub, and with tobacco on my lips and breath offer to kiss you good morning?"

I said: "You don't have to kiss me," and with this I left for my work.

On the way her question seemed to be waiting my answer, and I gave it in a resolve that she should never again have cause to repeat that question, and with my resolve went the cigar.

About this time a co-worker joined me in the same resolution, which helped me to keep mine. After tea that evening Mrs. Bain said: "I did not know you were so sensitive, or I should not have said what I did."

I did not tell her then of my promise, lest I should fail to keep it.

Thirty-five years have pa.s.sed and not a single cigar have I had between my lips since that morning.

Boys, take one five-cent cigar after each meal, add up the nickels for one year, put the money at interest, next year, and every year do the same, compounding the interest, and in thirty-five years you will have thirty-five hundred dollars--the price of a home for your old age.

I do not hope to convert old smokers, but if I can persuade one young man in this audience to throw away the cigarette, never to smoke one again, then I will have honored this hour's service.

If I could live life over I would take the same total-abstinence pledge I took fifty years ago and have kept inviolate to this day. I would take it, not only because of its personal benefit to me, but because of what it has led me to do for others.

It is said reformers never expect to see the bread they cast upon the waters; inventors may, but not reformers. Yet I have lived to see my bread come back "b.u.t.tered" in my old age.

I have lived to see thousands of men and women to whom I gave the pledge in their youth, wearing it still as a garland about their brows, and their children, by precept and example of parents, keep step with the onward march of the temperance army.

I have lived to see more than one hundred counties of Kentucky, in which I established Good Templar Lodges, when bottles were on sideboards in the homes, and barrooms in almost every crossroad village, now in the dry column.

I have lived to see seventeen states under prohibition, fifty millions of people of the United States living under prohibitory laws, the Congress of the United States giving a majority vote for submitting national prohibition to the people, and the great empire of Russia going dry in a day.

Sweet is the "b.u.t.tered bread" that is coming to me after these many years since I cast my bread upon the waters, when days were dark, discouragements many and faith weak. I am waiting now for another slice of this "b.u.t.tered bread" about the size of old Kentucky dry.

If I could live life over I would put a better bit to my tongue, and a better bridle on my temper. An Englishman said: "My wife has a temper; if she could get rid of it I would not exchange her for any woman in the world."

Two men meet and have a misunderstanding; one flies into a pa.s.sion, shoots or stabs, while the other stands placid and self-contained, preserving his dignity. The world calls the first a brave man and the latter a coward; but Solomon declared the man who rules himself to be "greater than he that taketh a city."

Oh! the tragedies that lie in the wake of the tempest of temper. On the dueling field such men as Alexander Hamilton went down to death for want of self-control. Andrew Jackson killed d.i.c.kerson; Benton of Missouri killed Lucas; General Marmaduke killed General Walker. Pettus and Biddle, one a Congressman, the other a paymaster in the army, had a war of words, a challenge followed; one being near-sighted selected five feet as the distance for the duel, and there educated men, with pistols almost touching, stood, fired and both were killed.

Senator Carmack of Tennessee, criticised Colonel Cooper as a machine politician. Cooper said: "Put my name in your paper again, and I'll kill you." Young Cooper felt in his rage that he must settle the trouble. Did he settle it? The bullet that went through the heart of Carmack went through the heart of his wife, threw a shadow over the life of his child, and draped Tennessee in mourning. Did he settle it?

He started a tempest that will howl through his life while memory lasts and echo through his soul to all eternity. Oh! that men would realize that to walk honorably and deal justly insures in time vindication from all calumny.

Abraham Lincoln was called the "Illinois baboon" by a leading journal, but Mr. Lincoln placidly read the charge, and told a joke as a safety valve for whatever anger he may have felt. One hundred years go by and the President leaves Washington and goes on a long journey to stand at a cabin door in Kentucky, there to pay tribute to a man who "never lost his balance or tore a pa.s.sion to tatters."

I stood in front of the great Krupp gun at the World's Fair, and as the soldier in charge told me that one discharge cost one thousand dollars, and it could send a sh.e.l.l sixteen miles and pierce iron plated ships, its lips seemed loaded with death and it spoke of war and bloodshed and hate.

A little later I entered the Hall of Fine Arts and looked upon that impressive picture ent.i.tled, "Breaking Home Ties." The lad is about to go out from the roof that has sheltered him from babyhood, to be his own guide in the big wide world. His mother holds his hand as she looks love into his eyes, and gives him her warnings and blessing; the father, with his boy's valise in his hand, has turned away with a lump in his throat, while even the dog seems to be joining in the loving farewell.

Turning away from that picture, the thought came: Ah! that means more than Krupp guns. It means the coming of a day when love shall rule and war shall cease, when reason and righteousness shall be the arbitrators for differences between nations, when owls and bats will nest in the portholes of battleships, and each nation will vie with the other in warring against the kingdoms of want and wickedness.

When a man requested Bishop McIntyre to preach his wife's funeral sermon, and told him of her many beautiful traits, Bishop McIntyre said: "Brother, did you ever tell her all these sweet things before she died?"

Just here Sam Jones would say: "Husbands, go home and kiss your wives.

Tell them they are the dearest, sweetest things on the earth; you may have to stretch the truth a little, but say it anyway."

A few years ago, just before the Christmas holidays, I wrote my daughter, saying: "I wish you would find out from your mother what she would like for a Christmas gift. However, don't tell her I wrote you to do this. Also suggest something for the grandchildren that I may bring each some little remembrance that will please them." I closed by saying:

"The sands of my life are growing less and less, Soon I'll reach the end of my years, Then you'll lay me away with tenderness And pay me the tribute of tears.

"Don't carve on my tomb any word of fame, Nor a wheel with its missing spokes, Simply let the marble tell my name, Then add, 'He was good to his folks.'"

Boys and girls, don't speak back to mother. You love her and don't mean to offend, but it hurts her. She was patient with you in your infancy; be patient with her in her old age. From her birth she has been your loyal, loving slave. She will go away and leave you after a little while, and oh! how you will miss her when she's gone. Deal gently with her now; speak kindly to her and when she's gone memories of your love and kindness to mother will come to you like sweet perfume from wooded blossoms.

Young lady graduate of high school or college, do you realize what your father has done for you, and the sacrifices he has made that you might have what he has never had--a diploma? Go, put your fair tender cheek against the weather-beaten face of your father, print with rosy lips a kiss of grat.i.tude upon his furrowed brow, and tell him you appreciate all he has done for you.

I have been talking to you an hour about what I would do if I could live life over. If I had life to live over would I do any better than I have done? If I am no better now, than I was five years ago, if I am to be no better five years hence than I am now, then I would do no better if I had another trial.

However, I cannot live life over. The sand in the hour-gla.s.s is running low and when gone can never be replaced, and I am not much struck on old age. It is said to have its compensations, in that the "aches and asthmas of old age are no worse than the measles, mumps, whooping-coughs and appendicitis pains of youth." Righteous old age should be better than youth. The ocean of time with its breakers and perils face the young, while for the righteous old the storms are past, and they are

"Waiting to enter the haven wide, See His face, and be satisfied."

I cannot help these grey hairs or the wrinkles on my brow, but I can keep my heart young, and I _do_. I enjoy the company of old people, but delight more in a.s.sociating with the young.