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report, or stand at the door, or sit still, and cheerfully applaud others as may seem most comely and expedient. Strife and vainglory are far from him. He deems it good to be useful, and always zealously affected towards whatever may aid the movement, and make it a little stronger. His self-esteem is small; his benevolence and conscientiousness large and beautiful. His combativeness is kept under. You will find him exercising his firmness after a godly fashion. Whether in committee or on the platform he is found a man of thought, action, integrity, and gentleness, and therefore a man of power.

The model man is "a cheerful giver." He does not withhold his gold and silver. As he knows that debt is a drag upon the Society, he does his best to prevent pecuniary embarrassment. His shilling, his half-crown, and his guinea, are therefore always forthcoming when wanted. But he does not admire "Benefits." He thinks that total abstainers should not fail to provide for sickness, want of employment, accident, and death. He therefore does not patronise "Benefits," but looks upon their increasing frequency as an evil which ought to be condemned. Self-help and self-reform he greatly admires, and he loves to cheer the brave soul.

The model man has a good temperance library. On his shelves are books of religion, science, history, and poetry, but in addition to these he has a noble and costly collection of temperance literature. Livesey's Moral Reformer, Beecher's Six Sermons on Intemperance, and Dr. Grindrod's Bacchus head the list; and ranged along the shelf are volumes, parliamentary reports, music, tracts, magazines, pamphlets, and newspapers, all carefully classified and in fine preservation. From these publications he draws his arguments, facts, and illustrations, in defence of his abstinence. And to this library he adds daily. It grows in his hands, and bids fair to rival any similar collection of temperance literature. He has also a smaller shelf on which are placed a number of smaller publications from which he selects for distribution. Many a convert has he made by the gift of Dr. Carpenter's Essay and Livesey's Malt Lecture. To the Mayor of the town he sent the works of Dr. Lees, and to the Mechanics' Institution a complete set of the Ipswich tracts.

The model man is a capital speaker. He is so because he carefully prepares his speeches. He thinks, writes, makes ready, and then speaks. You never hear him abuse any onenot even publicans. He has no faith in bitterness. He dislikes

cant.

He never resorts to challenges. He is courteous, genial,

earnest, playful, reverent, and sincere. When he speaks people laugh, reflect, feel, resolve, weep. Let him preside, and a good meeting is always the result. He is no "critic." None ever heard him condemn a speaker save once, and that was when the platform was disgraced by a person who made an indecent remark. Our model man called him to order, and made him sit down.

The model man is a christian. He endeavours to exhibit the divine life. He believes that the most pure men are the most useful, the most worthy of honour, the most qualified for philanthropic work, and the most desirable advocates of the good cause. Hence, he speaks the truth in love, abstains from the appearance of evil, aims at a blameless career, and desires to serve his generation according to the will of the Great Master. When the model man dies many will bewail him. Widows and orphans, reformed drunkards and beautiful maidens, wise men, and little children, the just and the unjust will mourn over him. But when he is laid beneath the green turf, they shall hear a voice saying:-" Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them."

A DRINKING SONG.

(From "Drift," a Temperance Tale, by Mrs. C. S. BALFOUR.)

"I drink with a goodly company,—

With the sun that dips his beams,

And quaffs in loving revelry

The pure and sparkling streams:

The laughing streams

That catch his beams,
To flash them back in light:

The glitt'ring streams
Whose ripple gleams

Like liquid diamonds bright.

“I drink with a blooming company,-
With flowers of every hue,

Where fragrant lips take daily sips

Of sweet and od'rous dew;

Of morning dew

So fresh and new,

That tenderly distils,
The balmy dew,
So pure and true,
That every petal fills.

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"I drink with a merry company,
With every bird that sings,
Carolling free a strain of glee,
As he waves his airy wings-
Wild soaring wings—
And upward springs,
Filling the air with song;
The woodland rings,
And echo flings

The warbling notes along.

"I drink with a noble company,

With all the stately trees

That spread their leafy shade abroad,

And flutter in the breeze;

The playful breeze

That loves to please

My comrades great and small;

I'll drink at ease

Pure draughts of these-
They're water drinkers all.”

A STORY FOR HOME.

Who's that, I wonder?' said Mrs. Seaburn, as she heard a ring at the basement door.

'Ah! it's Marshall,' returned her husband, who had looked out at the window, and recognised the grocer's cart.

And what have you had sent home now, Henry?'

But before Mr. Seaburn could answer, the door of the sitting-room was opened, and one of the domestics looked in, and asked

"What'll I do with the demijohns, mum?'

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Demijohns?' repeated Mrs. Seaburn.

'Put them in the hall, and I'll attend to them,' interposed the husband.

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Henry, what have you sent home now?' his wife asked, after the domestic had gone.

'Some nice old brandy,' replied Henry.

Cora Seaburn glanced up at the clock, and then looked down upon the floor. There was a cloud upon her fair brow, and it was very evident that something lay heavily upon her heart. Presently she walked to the wall and pulled the bell-cord, and the summons was answered by the chambermaid.

'Are George and Charles in their room?'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'Tell them it is school-time.'

The girl went out, and in a little while two boys entered the sittingroom, with their books under their arms, and their caps in their hands. They were bright, happy, healthy fellows, with goodness and truth stamped upon their rosy faces, and the light of free consciences gleaming

in their sparkling eyes. George was thirteen years of age, and Charles eleven; and certainly those two parents had reason to be proud of them. The boys kissed their mother, gave a happy good morning' to their father, and then went away to school.

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'Come,' said Mr. Seaburn, some time after the boys had gone, 'What makes you so sober?'

'Sober,' repeated the wife, looking up.

'Yes. You have been sober and mute ever since the grocer came.' 'Do you want me to tell you why?'

'Of course I do.'

'Well, Henry, I am sorry you have had that spirit brought into the house.'

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'Pooh! what's the use in talking so, Cora? You wouldn't have me to do without it, would you?'

'Yes.'

'Why, what do you mean?'

'I mean that I would cut clear of the stuff, now and for ever.'

'But-Cora-you are wild.

without wine?'

'Do as others who have it not.'

What should we do at our parties

'But-mercy!—what would people say? Are you afraid I—but no -I won't ask so foolish a question.'

'Ask it, Henry. Let us speak plainly, now that we have fairly commenced.'

'Well, I was about to ask if you were afraid that I should ever→→ drink too much.'

‘That's not a fair question, Henry. I was not thinking of that at all. But I will answer it by and bye. You have no fixed appetite for it now?' 'Of course not.'

"Then it would not cost you any effort of will to abstain from its use?' 'Not a particle.'

'And you only have it in the house, and serve it to your friends and drink it yourself, because it is fashionable?-or, you do it because others do it?'

'I do it, because' said Mr. Seaburn, hesitating in his choice of language—' because it would appear very odd, and very niggardly, and very fanatical not to do it.' This last was spoken emphatically.

'But,' pursued Mrs. Seaburn, with the calmness and assurance of one who feels the sustaining influence of right, you would not do what you were convinced was wrong, out of respect to any such considerations, would you?'

'You know I would not, Cora. This question of temperance, I know, is a good one in the abstract, and I am willing to live up to it, as I understand it; but I am no teetotaller.'

'Henry,' said his wife, with an earnest look into his face, will you answer me a few questions?—and answer them honestly and truly, without equivocation or evasion?'

Bless me, how methodically you put it, Cora. But I will answer.'

"Then-first,-Do you believe you, or your friends, are in any way benefited by the drinking of intoxicating beverages at your board? That is do you derive any real good from it?'

'No, I can't say that we do.'

'Do you think the time has ever been, since we were married, when we actually needed wine in the house, either for our health or comfort?' 'Why, I think it has ministered to our comfort, Cora.'

'How?"

'Oh, in many ways.'

'Name one of them.'

'Why in the enjoyment of our guests.'

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Ah, but I am speaking of ourselves, Henry-of you, and me, and our own little family. Has it ever ministered to our comfort?"

'No, I can't say that it has."

'And if it was banished from our house to-day and for ever, as a beverage, should we suffer in consequence?'

'Certainly. What would our friends'

Ah, but stop. I am only speaking of our own affairs, as shut out from the world, by our own fireside. I want all extraneous considerations left out of the question. Should we, as a family, suffer in our moral, physical, social, or domestic affairs in the total abstinence from this beverage?'

'No, I don't know that we should.'

"Then to you, as a husband, and a father, and as a man, it is of no earthly use?'

'No.'

• And it would cost you no effort, so far as you alone are concerned to break from it?'

"Not a particle.'

'And now, Henry,' pursued the wife, with increased earnestness, 'I have a few more questions to ask: Do you believe that the drinking of intoxicating beverages is an evil in this country?'

'Why, as it is now going on, I certainly do.'

'And isn't it an evil in society?'

'Yes.'

'Look over this city, and tell me if it is not a terrible evil?”

'A terrible evil grows out of the abuse of it, Cora.'

'And will you tell me what good grows out of the use of it?"

'Really, love, when you come down to this abstract point, you have the field. But people should govern their appetites. All things may be abused.'

'Yes. But will you tell me the use the real good-to be derived from drinking wine and brandy?'

'As I said before, it is a social custom, and has its charms."

'Ah, there you have it, Henry. It does have its charms, as the deadly snake is said to have, and as other vices have. But I see you are in a hurry.'

It is time I was at the store."

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