Sowing and Reaping: A Temperance Story

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I am losin

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dence has been greatly shaken, men of[?] business have grown exceedingly timid about i

join with me we can make a splendid thing of it. Why just see how well off Joe Harden is since he set up in the business; and what airs he does put on! I know when he was not worth fifty dollars, and kept a little low groggery on the corner of L. and S. Streets, but he is out of that now-keeps a first class Cafe, and owns a block of houses. Now Paul, here is a splend

are just as great a curse to the community as the low groggeries, and I look upon them as the fountain heads of the low groggeries. The m

that I would show you a chance, that would yield you a handsome profit; but if

derson was a man who was almost destitute of faith in human goodness. His motto was that "every man has his price," and as business was fairly dull,

dow all their lives. Husbands and fathers will waste their time and money, and confirm themselves in habits which will bring misery, crime, and degradation; and the fearful outcome of your business will be broken hearted wives, neglected children, outcast men, blighted characters and worse than wasted lives. No not for the wealth of the Indies, would I engage in such a ruinous business, and I am thankful today that I had a dear sainted mother who taught me that it was better to have my hands clear than to have them full. How often

here is no use wishing. But if all Christians were l

f others is no excuse f

em was kept clean, every man swept before his own

would earn would be t

y give up some of his old fashioned notions, and launch out into life as if he had some common sense. If business remains as it

m. Women whose costly jewels and magnificent robes were the livery of sin, the outside garnishing of moral death; the flush upon whose cheek, was not the flush of happiness, and the light in their eyes was not the sparkle of innocent joy,-women whose laughter was sadder than their tears, and who were dead while they lived. In that house were wine, and mirth, and revelry, "but the dead were there," men dead to virtue, true honor and rectitude, who walked the streets as other men, laughed, chatted, bought, sold, exchanged and bartered, but whose souls were encased in living tombs, bodies that were dead to righteousness but alive to sin. Like a spider weaving its meshes around the unwary fly, John Anderson wove his network of sin around the young men that entered his saloon. Before they entered there, it was pleasant to see the supple vigor and radiant health that were manifested in the poise of their bodies, the lightness of their eyes, t