JIMMY’S LECTURE. 
“Jimmy, throw that jug into the pig pen. 
Smash it first, and be sure you don’t taste a 
drop of the vile stuff,” said an anxious- 
looking woman as she handed her little son 
the brown jug which she had just found 
hidden in the shed. 
“Father won’t like it,” began the boy, 
eying the ugly thing with a look of fear 
and hate; for it made mother miserable, 
and father a brute. 
“I said I’d make way with it the next 
time I found it, and I will! It’s full, and 
I don't feel as if I could live through 
another dreadful time like the last. If we 
put it out of sight, maybe father will keep 
sober for another month. Go quick, before 
he comes home.” And the poor woman 
pushed the boy to the door as if she could 
not wait a minute till the curse of her life 
was destroved. 
Glad to comfort her, and have the fun of 
smashing anything, Jimmie ran off, and 
giving the jug a good bang on the post, let 
the whisky run where it would as he flung 
the pieces into the pig-pen, and went back 
to his 'work. 
He was only eleven; but he struggled 
manfully with the old saw, and the tough 
apple-tree boughs he had collected for fuel. 
It was father’s work, but he neglected it, 
and Jimmie wouldn’t see mother suffer 
from cold, so he trimmed the trees, and 
did his best to keep the fire going. He had 
to stop often to rest, and in these pauses he 
talked to himself, having no other com¬ 
pany. 
Not long after the destruction of the jug, 
he heard a great commotion in the pen, 
and, looking in, saw the two pigs capering 
about in a curious way. They ran up and 
down, squealed, skipped, and bumped 
against one another as if they didn’t see 
straight, and had no control of the'^ A igs. 
Jimmie was much amused for few 
minutes, but, when one staggered to the 
trough, and began to lap something there, 
and the other tumbled down and could not 
get up, he Understood the cause of these 
antics. 
“Oh, dear! I let the whisky run into the 
trough, and those bad pigs are tipsy! What 
shall I do ? 
He watched them for an instant, and 
then in a sober tone, as he shook his head 
sadly, “That’s just the way father does, 
lively first, then cross, then stupid. They 
don’t look funny to me now, and I’m so 
sorry for ’em. They will be dreadfully 
ashamed when they get sober. I’m glad 
there isn’t any wife and little son to be 
■scared and mortified and sorry over ’em. 
I’ll talk to ’em and tell ’em what the man 
said in the temperance lecture we went to 
last night. Maybe it will do ’em good.” 
. So Jimmie mounted the chopping block 
close by, and repeated all he could remem¬ 
ber, making a funny jumble, but being 
very much in earnest, quite unconscious 
that he had another hearer beside the pigs: 
“My friends, rum is an awful thing. Peo¬ 
ple who drink are slaves. They are worse 
than dumb beasts that don’t drink. (Yes, 
■they do; but that was my fault.) Half the 
sin and sorrow in the world come from 
rum. Men Avaste their money, neglect 
their families, break their wives’ hearts, 
and set a bad example to their children. 
People better die than drink, and make 
brutes of themselves. Lots of money is 
wasted. Folks kill other folks Avhen they 
are drunk, and steal, and lie, and do every 
bad thing. Now my friends, (I mean you 
pigs), turn from your evil ways, and drink 
no more. (I’ll smash the jug behind the 
barn next time, where e\ T en the hen’s can’t 
find it.) Rise in your manhood, and free 
yourselves from this awful slavery. (They 
are both fast asleep, but I’ll help ’em up 
when they wake.) Lead better lives, and 
don’t let thoseAdio love you suffer shame 
and fear and grief for your weakness. (I do> 
love you old fellows, and I am sorry to see 
you make such pigs of yourselves.) Here 
is the pledge; come and sign it. Keep it 
all your lives, and be good men, (I mean 
pigs.)” 
Here Jimmy smiled, but he meant Avhat 
he said, and pulling out of his pocket a 
piece of paper and a pencil, he jumped 
down to use the block as a desk, saying, as 
he wrote in big letters, “They shall have 
a pledge, and they can make a mark as 
people do who can’t write. I’ll make it 
