Over he goes, and there he must lie unless somebody will wheel him home in a barrow or carry him to the police-station.

Solomon says the glutton and the drunkard shall come to poverty, and that the drinker does in no time. He gets more and more down at the heel, and as his nose gets redder and his body is more swollen he gets to be more of a shack and more of a shark. His trade is gone, and his credit has run out, but he still manages to get his beer. He treats an old friend to a pot, and then finds that he has left his purse at home, and of course the old friend must pay the shot. He borrows till no one will lend him a groat, unless it is to get off lending a shilling. Shame has long since left him, though all who knew him are ashamed of him. His talk runs like the tap, and is full of stale dregs; he is very kind over his beer, and swears he loves you, and would like to drink your health, and love you again. Poor sot, much good will his blessing do to any one who gets it; his poor wife and family have had too much of it already, and quake at the very sound of his voice.

Now, if we try to do anything to shut up a boozing-house, or shorten the hour for guzzling, we are called all sorts of bad names, and the wind-up of it all is "What! Rob a poor man of his beer?" The fact is that they rob the poor man by his beer. The ale-jug robs the cupboard and the table, starves the wife and strips the children; it is a great thief,

housebreaker, and heartbreaker, and the best possible thing is to break it to pieces, or keep it on the shelf bottom upwards. In a newspaper which was lent me the other day I saw some verses by John Barleycorn, Jr., and as they tickled my fancy I copied them out, and here they

are.

What! rob a poor man of his beer,

And give him good victuals instead!
Your heart's very hard, sir, I fear,
Or at least you are soft in the head

What! rob a poor man of his mug,

And give him a house of his own;
With kitchen and parlor so snug!

'Tis enough to draw tears from a stone.

What! rob a poor man of his glass,

And teach him to read and to write!
What! save him from being an ass!
'Tis nothing but malice and spite.

What rob a poor man of his ale,

And prevent him from beating his wife,

From being locked up in a jail,

With penal employment for life!

What! rob a poor man of his beer,

And keep him from starving his child!

It makes me feel awfully queer,

And I'll thank you to draw it more mild.

Having given you a song, I now hand you a handbill to stick up in the "Rose and Crown" window, if the landlord wants an advertisement. It was many years ago, but it is quite as good as new. Any beerseller may print it who thinks it likely to help his trade.

FAST-DAY SERVICE,

HELD AT THE

CRYSTAL PALACE, SYDENHAM,

On Wednesday, October 7, 1857, by the

REV. C. H. SPURGEON.

Being the Day appointed by Proclamation for a Solemn Fast, Humiliation and Prayer before Almighty God in order to obtain Pardon of our Sins, and for imploring His Blessing and Assistance on our

Arms for the Restoration of Tranquility in India.

BRIEF INVOCATION.

GOD, the God of heaven and of earth, we do this day pay Thee reverence, and meekly bow our heads in adoration before Thine awful throne. Weare the creatures of Thine hand; Thou hast made us, and not we ourselves. It is but just and right that we should pay unto Thee our adoration. O God! we are met together in a vast congregation for a purpose which demands all the power of piety, and all the strength of prayer. Send down Thy Spirit upon Thy servant, that he, whilst trembling in weakness, may be made strong to preach Thy Word, to lead forth this people in holy prayer, and to help them in that humiliation for which this day is set apart. Come, O God, we beseech Thee; bow our

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