in their cheeks--not in the button-hole of their coats. In the country,
surrounded by circles of persons as free from stimulants or the need of
them as is their snow from the smut of soft-coal, they swear eternal
"conversion" to the views of a man--usually a former victim of
intoxication,--often a subsequent wallower in his same old gutters.
Society sometimes looks upon this Peter the Hermit with little pleasure.
The excitements, the passions and the commotions which he sometimes
foments are pitiable from the very fact that