From every side rises the bitter cry of
those who see their loved ones falling victims to the seductive scourge;
from all quarters the voices of earnest men are raised in passionate
pleading; and in every great city there are noble workers who strive to
rescue their fellow-creatures from drink as from a gulf of doom. My
words are not addressed to the happy beings who can rejoice in the
cheerfulness bestowed by wine; I have before me only the fortunes of
those to whom wine is a mocker. Far be it from me to find fault with the
good and sound-hearted men and women who are never scathed by their
innocent potations; my attempt is directed toward saving the wreckages
of civilization who perish in the grasp of the destroyer.
_March, 1886._
_CONCERNING PEOPLE WHO KNOW THEY ARE GOING WRONG_.
Some five years ago a mere accident gave to the world one of the most
gruesome and remarkable pieces of literature that has ever perhaps been
seen. A convict named Fury confessed to having committed a murder of an
atrocious character. He was brought from prison, put on his trial at
Durham, and condemned to death. Every chance was given him to escape his
doom; but he persisted in providing the authorities with the most
minutely accurate chain of evidence against himself; and, in the end,
there was nothing for it but to cast him for death.
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