W. C. T. UThe Sign*.I bad an excellent lesson in temperance to-day, I passed along our public thoroughfare. At the corner is a second-rate saloon which was undergoing repair. The front had been torn out, displaying the barroom. As I passed the street was filled with pedestrians, the greater part of whom were young men on their way to the business college, clerks in the railroao offices, and mechanics at their trade. They walked along briskly with heads up. Some were whistling, others were laughing and talking together. .Within the room, leaning against the bar, were half a dozen young men. It was evident they were habitual drinkers who had not yet become confirmed drunkards.In comparison with the cleareyed lads who were hurrying along to their work, these barroom people seemed like a different species. They slunk. Their heads were low, chests depressed, backs bent over. Their one desire was to avoid the public eye. Half a dozen were braced up against the bar. I looked and passed on. Further up the square I met Kenneth, a boy, who had reached that place in life where be knew not wbat he wished for himself.I slackened my step. “Look in the corner, Kenneth,” I said, “and learn the best temperance lesson you can learn. Look at our bright, bappy lads hurrying to their work and then at the creatures in there, and draw your own conclusions. —Jean K. Baird.