28

The Charge of the Rum Brigade.

Oaths fell like shot and shell,
Rum did its work so well.

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of Hell

Walked the Six Hundred.

Garments torn-cupboards bare-
Children with naught to wear;

Sleeping in gutters their

Fathers are lying, while

All the world wondered.
Plunged into want and woe,
Onward they madly go.

Weeping in anguish,

Wives sit, for well they know,

Shattered and sundered,
None will come back who go
Of the Six Hundred.

Curses to right of them,

Curses to left of them,

Curses behind them

Volleyed and thundered.
Stormed at by those who sell,
They, who had paid so well,

Well had been plundered.
Clenched teeth and livid brow,
Delirium tremens now.
Thus young and old men fell
Into the jaws of Death

Into the mouth of Hell.

Not one was left of them,

Left of Six Hundred.

How did their glory fade!
O, the wild charge they made!

The Gothenburg Plan.

All the world wondered.
Weep for the charge they made!
Weep for the Rum Brigade!

Fallen Six Hundred.

MARY S. WHEELER.

29

THE GOTHENBURG PLAN.

THERE'S a town far away in the Swedish domain,
Where a troublesome problem at length they've made plain.
The problem was this—and a hard one to touch-
To sell drink, but prevent them from buying too much.

The publicans tried, but it all was in vain,
They often mistook what a man could contain ;
They were tempted to think that so long as he'd pay,
They might let him drink all he could carry away.

So the buyers got drunk and the sellers got rich—
These built up their fortunes, those lay in the ditch—
And in time the town grew to so drunken a place,
That a cure must be found for the crying disgrace.

So to seek for a cure all the quidnuncs began,
And they hit, before long, on the Gothenburg plan:
By this plan all benevolent men who are handy,
Form a joint-stock concern to be dealers in brandy.

On rules of high virtue they deal out the stuff,
And their aim is that every man have just enough;
If they see a man tempted unduly to guzzle,
In an instant they clap on the Gothenburg muzzle.

If a weak-headed brother apply for a gill,
The attendant distinctly refuses to fill;

With acuteness they watch every customer's eye,
And decide the right moment to stop the supply.

If a man with small means should perchance loiter in,
They sternly refuse to supply him with gin;

But in lieu of that liquor, which makes him so plaguy,
Will give him a glass of the beer of Carnegie.

So the traffic goes on in a heavenly style

All is virtue, and order, and comfort the while;
The benevolent men, with their pockets weighed down,
Have abundance of money to give to the town.

The rate-payers, too, warmly and earnestly bless
The men who've contrived that the rates should be less;
And every one says: "Since the world first began,
There's nothing so good as the Gothenburg plan."

"Indeed!" says a doubter; "but how then, explain,
That police cells and prisons still crowded remain ?
How is it that still they endure the drink curse,
And that Gothenburg even than Liverpool's worse?"

'Oh, never mind that," says the Gothenburg man:
"A fig for the facts; it's an excellent plan;

Objections like yours are no better than gammon—
We can, and we will, serve both God and Mammon.

"So come, my dear fellow, just act like a man,
And, whatever you do, praise the Gothenburg plan.”

GO FORWARD.

DRINK has been destroying its thousands every year. It holds a high position, as a national custom, and is energetically served

by many hands. Every rank of the community has a long roll of disabled and dead through its instrumentality. Every year, like a battle-field, is strewn with its wounded, and heaps of slain. Every reform which philanthropy and Christian sympathy put forth for the amelioration of the suffering and the conquest of sin is crippled by the power of drink. Education, position, wealth, and even religion, are yearly sufferers through the influences of drink, and if the battle of right against wrong, of good over evil, and of virtue triumphing over vice is to be won, drink must be dislodged from its position, that the shout of victory may be heard.

"Brother! up to the breach,

For God's truth and freedom:
Let us live what we teach.

With the wisdom of age

And the vigor of youth,

Grasp the sword of the Lord,
And Forward!"

Friends, in God's name, Go Forward! Cease not in the conflict until drink is overthrown. Let no opposition turn you aside from your purpose. Let no coldness chill the enthusiasm of your zeal. Let no ridicule make you ashamed of your purpose. Grasp the sword of the Lord, and Forward!

Go Forward! But go, as David went against Goliath, who defied the army of the living God, in the strength of the Lord of hosts. The battle is the Lord's. Let us, then, be armed with His weapons and clothed in His armor. May every blow dealt against drink be in the power of His Spirit! May every deed accomplished for the removal of drink, be done for His honor! May every endeavor which is attempted to reclaim the drunken and rescue the perishing, be put forth for the glory of Christ in the salvation of mankind! By drink man is degraded and God dishonored! By abstinence from drink, let us pray and toil, that God may be glorified and men saved; that Bethlehem's

32

Billy's First and Last Drink of Lager.

Christmas Carol may be realized, when the angels sang:

to God in the highest, peace on earth, good-will to men!"

"No idling now, no wasteful sleep

From Christian toil our limbs to keep:
No shrinking from the desperate fight,
No thought of yielding or of flight,
No love of present gain or ease,
No seeking man nor self to please.
'Tis but a little, and we come

To our reward, our crown, our home!
Another
year, it may be less,

And we have crossed the wilderness,

Finished the toil, the rest begun,

The battle fought, the triumph won!"

Glory

J. G. G.

BILLY'S FIRST AND LAST DRINK OF LAGER.

[The following is taken from "A Strange Sea Story," a book interesting and exciting in a high degree.

"Poy Pilly" was the adopted son of Father Zende, an eccentric Teuton, who was much shocked one day at seeing the boy in a lager-beer saloon, taking off a foaming glass of lager. He bade the boy go home, but said nothing about the matter till evening. After tea, Zende seated himself at the table, and placed before him a variety of queer things, whereon Billy looked with curiosity.]

"Kommen zie hier, Pilly!" cried Christian. "Vy vast du in te peer shops te tay, hein? Vy drinks peer, mein poy?"

“0—0—because it's good," said Billy, boldly.

"No, Pilly, it vast not gute to dein mout. I did see neffer so pig vaces als didst make, Pilly. Pilly, you dinks it vill dast gute py-ant-py, and it ees like a man to trinks, an' so you trinks. Now, Pilly, eef it is gute, haf it; ef it ees likes ein man, trinks, Pilly. I vill not hinders you vrom vat ees gute ant manly, mein shilt; but trinks at home, dakes your trink pure, Pilly, and lets me pays vor it. Kom, mein poy! You likes peer. Vell, kom, open dein mout, heir I haf all te peer stuff sinons pure vrom te