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A PLEA TO VOTERS.

The brewers chuckle in their sleeves, When election day draws near, Thinking of the votes they'll win That will favor rum and beer.

And shall we have on our banner,
Free whisky and free trade—
And let the weeping mothers mourn
O'er the now protection raid?

If the sufferers can't get justice,
By the men that vote each year,
Let the ones that rock the cradle

Crush out old rum and beer!

Temperance.

PALL has covered the face of our land! Intemperance has lifted its death-dealing hand,

And the darkness of liquor is witnessed and felt,

For whisky has deluged our country
with guilt.

But a star has risen so dazzling bright,
It says to our voters, prepare for the fight!
Stand firm by your colors, your helmet
must be,

To say by your votes you'll trample whisky!

It has reveled in wealth, been sumptuously

fed,

It has robbed the poor wife of her clothing and bread,

It has tempted the young and the weak passer by,

Made demons of them in the gutter to lie.

It takes the money and brains of our men; The fruits of that monster lie in some barred pen;

'Tis foremost in vice and dens of low fame, Its face is of brass, and whisky's its name.

It builds up saloons and the keepers get rich, While the men it has robbed are cast in some ditch;

But what do they care? for they want the last bill,

They will rob your dear children their pockets to fill!

And there is the druggist so wonderful wise, He'll fix up a foam that will dazzle your

eyes;