A Leaf from an Organiser's Note Book.

White Ribbon, Volume 17, Issue 197, 17 November 1911, Page 10

A Leaf from an Organiser 's Note Book.

MHS. LORA S. LA MAN< K, .IOI’I.IX, MO. It was a typical wet town. Four saloons were doing a flourishing business. Men wen going to destruction, and families being wrecked. The Churches and the W.C.T.U. were trying to stem the tide, with small encouragement. The ministers thundered invectives against the liquor traffic from their pulpits. The already temperance people heard them—no one else. The W.C.T.U. held modal contests, and temperance people filled the house—no one else. They secured lecturers, and again the friends of the temperance cause filled the house. The “ man about town ” never came; the thoughtless young fellow,

sowing his wild oats, the moderate drinker, the tippler beginning to like his dram all too well, the drunkard and the saloon habitue, —never one of them came near. Neither did the business nor the professional men of the town. A lecturer came. She suggested an open-air meeting, which was approved by the ministers. The next day a* one o’clock, when the town was swarming with farmers and the business of the afternoon was beginning to hum, the experiment was tried. <)n the busiest corner o the busiest street, a big dry goods box was placed, and on this the speaker stood. Across the street, facing her, were three saloons in an unbroken row. Behind her were the ladies of the W.C.T.U. and the ministers of the town. A hymn was sung, a prayer offered. By this time a crowd had gathered, and the saloon corner was entirely deserted. Here were the men, w*et men and dry. on-the-fence men, careless and indifferent ones, business men, Christian men. toughs and hums, good and bad, —an audience that could not fail to stir the heart of a speaker. Hew white the field unto the harvest!

The message burned in the heart of the speaker. She pleaded for the home, for the boy, and for the man. She spoke of the wrecks of men. once bright young men with every promise of life before them, and begged for the sake of these, for whom Christ died, that the temptation of the saloons be taken awav.

After the address, a hymn wa* started as a fitting close to the service, and as the speaker stepped from the box to the sidewalk, some one pushed through the crowd and hesitatingly touched her hand. It was a ragged, bloated drunkard, who a half-hour before had stood in one of the saloon doors.

“ Pray for me,” he said, then sank upon tne curb stone and covered his face with his hands, while his frame shook with sobs. A motherly member from the W.C.T.U. knelt by his side and began to pray. The song was hushed, and prayer after prayer was offered by Christian people for the poor wreck that only the power of (iod could ever redeem. The speaker went to her train, but as she waited for it a well-dressed, finelooking young man stepped up to her. “ I was at the street meeting,” he sai l. “ I’m a pretty decent sort of a man if I’d l«t drink alone—but I don’t let it alone. I’m drinking pretty steadily. 1 wish there was not a drop of wdiiskv made. 1 hate the stuff. It’s the curse of my life.”

“ Why don’t you let it alone, then ? ” said the speaker, gently. “ You are a young man of tine intelligence. You

have the manners of a gentleman. You sav it iH your curse. Swear off from it. Resolve never to touch the stuff again.” *• I btire sworn off—l’ve sworn off a thousand times,’' replied the young man. “ Then I’ve gone right \ tack to drinking. My father is a minister. 1 had as good a mother as a man ever had. She died before I was grown. Sometimes 1 think if she had lived I’d never have fallen so low. Hut the drink has got me, I tell you, the drink has got me ! There was time for but few more words before the train came. The young man asked for a white ribbon, and the last glimpse the speaker had of him, it was shining pure and white against his coat lapel. Would its influence lead him to a redeemed manhood, or would he sink again into the old evil ways, to become in a few more years as ragged and debauched as the poor drunkard that just before him had begged for the prayers of hod’s people? Oh, the field is indeed white unto the harvest, but where are the labourers ?