Hannah and his wife threw themselves upon his neck. They all wept—tears of a new delight.
It was from this point, from this scene in the public-house that the movement commenced which has since spread itself with lightning speed through the United States, carrying hundreds of thousands of human beings along with it, until it has grown into a mighty wall, a bulwark against drunkenness, which had for some years begun to spread itself over the land like a swelling tide, bearing along with it to destruction persons of all classes.
These formerly drunken companions of the public-house in Baltimore became Temperance lecturers, and, under the name of “the Washingtonians,” went forth, many with them, to hold meetings in cities and in the country in which they addressed large multitudes, their own life's experience giving colour and vitality to their pictures of the curse of drunkenness and the bliss of an amended and pure life.
They came to Boston, and Hawkins with them. People wished him to speak, but Nature had not formed him for an orator, and he was scarcely able to stand up before an assembly. He did it, however, at the request of many persons: Marcus Spring was present on this occasion, and he gave me the account. Hawkins, when he stood up, began with these words, “I have been a drunkard!” and then stopped short, as if overcome by the memory of that time and the solemnity of the present moment. The numerous assembly clapped and encouraged him, and inspired him with new courage.
He began again, but merely to relate the history of his former misery, and of little Hannah's conduct towards him. The simplicity of the narrative, its intrinsic beauty, the sincere emotion of the man as he related it, made a deep impression.
After this, one and another rose, and spoke the inner-
