,.+11 !

T, S. ARTHUR'S GREAT TEMPERANCE STORIES,

lII O I-I T S

TVITII

THE WASHING

TONIAS;

AND OTHER TE'IPERANCE TALES. .-

T. S. ARTHUR.
AUTHOR OP c TF NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM/ ETC.

PHILADELPHYA:
PETERSON & BROTHERS;
306 CHESTNUT STREET.

C 0 IqTE IqTS.

THE WASHINGTONIANS ....
THE BROKEN. MERCHANT ....
THE EXPERIENCE MEETING ....
THE RECLAIMED .....
THE MAN WITH THE POKER - - -
TIIE DRUNKARD'S BIBLE ....
AFTER TO-DAY; OR TREATING RESOLUTION -
SIGNING THE PLEDGE ....
THE TAVERN-KEEPER .....
THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE ....
TItE WIDOW'S SON . - - - -
TIIE MODERATE. DRINKER
THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE - - -

- 25
- 32
- 65
- 68
- 82
- 89
- 93
- 101
- 107
- 146
- 185
- 237
- 265

THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS. THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.

BRANDY EGCr-NOG ....
THE SECOND CHRISTMAS.--WINE EGG-NOG -
THE THIRD CHRISTMAS.mADAM'S ALE - -
THE LOST CHILDREN .....
OUR CHILDREN: HOW SHALL WE SAVE THEM
TEMPTATIONS: A STORY FOR THE REFORMED -

- 340
- '377
- 400
- 426
- 468
- 507
(19)

I T IR 0 D U C TI 0 l I.

OF the few good and deservedly popular writers of
the present day, none stand better with the reading
community than T. S.'ARTHUR; and no class of books
are more highly appreciated, nor should be more widely
circulated than his celebrated and admirable Tempe-
rance Tales, which are contained in this volume.
This series of TElgPERANCE TALES, entitled "S:
NIGHTS WITH THE WASHINGTONIANS, AND OTHER TE!g-
PER/kNCE TALES," were written by him, when the ques-
tion of "Total Abstinence" was convulsing the whole-
country, and though among his earlier productions, are
not inferior, in any respect, to his subsequent writings;
and their circulation, as originally published separately,
in pamphlet form, far exceeded that of any publications
of a similar character ever issued.
Tle great demand for a uniform and completeedition
of T. S. Arthur's celebrated TEMPERANCE TALES, has in-
duced the Publishers to issue a new, complete, uniform,
and beautiful edition of them in one volume, in its pre-
sent form, under the title of "Six NIGHTS WITH TH
WASHINGTONIANS, AND OTHER TEMPERANCE TALES,"
trusting that a copy of them in this new form may find
o
its way into every house and cottage in the land.

WI. the Temperance Tales contained in this vol-
ume were written, and published separately, the writer
did not anticipate so favorable a reception as they have
obtained in all directions. He believed that, if he
were to enter a field so full of rich materials as the one
opened by the great Temperance Reformation, he might
present scenes that would not only deeply interest
every family in the land, but act as powerful auxilia-
ries in the promotion of that noble cause. His success
has been far beyond his expectations. But this success
has resulted entirely from the fact, that, in every one
of the stories presented, there has been, as its ground-
.work, a basis of real incidents; and these have been
detailed without any aim at artificial effect, but simply
with a view to let truth and nature speak forth in their
legitimate power and pathos.
At every step of his progress in these tales, the
writer has felt with the actors--sympathising with
them in their heart-aching sorrows, and rejoicing with
them when the morning has broken after a long night
of affliction. This is because they were not mere fic-
tions of his own imagination- and it is because they
(21)

TIIE WASIIINGTONIANS. 29

For nearly five minutes the President waited, but no one came
forward. Just as the pledge-book was about to be closed, there
was a movement near the middle of the room, and then there
came, tottering up the aisle, a feeble old man, with a head as
white as snow. He seemed at least three-score and ten, for he
was bent, and leaned on his stafi; and his face was that of one
very far advanced in years, though it was painfully disfigured by
signs that none could look upon and misunderstand, tte came
up slowly, letting his stick fall at every step, and evidently trust-
ing to it for support. There was a deep and breathless silence.
The President, who had been talking almost incessantly for halt"
an hour, urging, inviting, and encouraging persons to come for-
ward, ceased his rambling address, and stepped forward a pace or
two to meet the old man.
"Let me sign--let me sign !" he said, in a low, agitated voic%
and the Secretary handed him a chair, into which he sank feebly,
and then took the pen that was offered him. Hurriedly, as if he
feared that his resolution would fail him, did he subscribe to the
pledge. As he lifted the pen, a tear fell upon his name.
Silently he then arose, and slowly retired. His clothes were
old and worn, and his coat seemed, fi'om its appearance, to have
seen almost a quarter of a century. But it was whole in every
part, though patched with almost innumerable pieces, and of
various shades. The few thin white locks that covered his head
were smoothly combed and parted. The bosom of his shirt was
clean but coarse, and a white cravat was tied about his neck wit.l
a care that indicated plainly enough, as did his whole appearance,
that a woman's heart had cared for him, and a woman's hand
been busy about his person.
I felt naturally, as did every one, a strong interest in this old
man, and xvhen the ineeting broke up, I kept my eye upon him,
and followed out close behind him. At the door I parted with-
my fi'iend, as it was late and we had to go in opposite directions.
The old man was but a few paces in advance of me, as I turned
up Itanover street; I lingered behind, half resolved to follow
him home. When he came to Iarket s.treet, he crossed over
and proceeded on westwardly. I was but a few paces behind
him when he came to the narrow street now called Little Sharp
street, mostly filled with poor and comfortless tenements, many
of which are inhabited by blacks. Into this he turned, and

80 THE WASHINGTONIANS.
scarcely yet determined as to vhat I should do, I followed closely
after. It was past the hour of ten, and the night was very cold.
A keen northwester was blowing, and, as I turned into this little
street, the wind came rushing down with chilly violence. Tho
old man seemed to shrink in the cold blast, as if its benumbing
influence had penetrated his thin garments, and reached every
part of his body. I had proceeded onwards but a few steps when
a female figure darted past me, and paused at the old man's side.
" Oh f.ather !" said a low, anxious,- trembling voice, " where
have you been ? I have searched after you for more than an
hour."
The reply was made in so low a tone that I could not hear it.
" Are you not very cold ?" the daughter asked, as the two
moved on, the old man leaning upon the arm of his child for sup-
port.
":No, Kate," I could hear him say, " I am not very cold.
But if you have been out for an hour, this bitter night, you must
be chilled to the heart."
Just at this moment the tvo passed under a lamp, and I could
see that the outer dress of the young woman was very poor and
thin, and that it clung to her slender form as the wind swept past
her, showing tlmt beneath this were but few comfirtable gar-
ments.
I felt the truth of what the old man said, for, although
wrapped in a warm cloak, I was yet very sensible of the extreme
cold. But the daughter made no reply.
No other word was spoken, or, at least none other caught my
ear. In a few minutes the two stopped before a low fi'ame house,
of but a single story, with a loft, or attic, above. In this they
immediately entered, and the door was quickly closed after them.
If I had felt an interest in the old man, I now felt a far deeper
interest in that gentle being who, under such painful and trying
circumstances, could cling to him as she evidently did, like a
guardiml angel. There was a deep-toned, unutterable tenderness
in her voice, as she murmured the :'ord " tather, '' that noved
my feelings. And tllere was something in her manner and car-
riage, obscurely seen in the feeble glimmering of the street lamp,
that. told of better days.
I lingered for a minute or two, irresolute, after the door had
closed upon them, and then turned away, resolved to know more

TtIE WASIIINGTONIANS. 31
about that old man and his daughter. What I subsequently
learned, I will now present in the forn of'"a simple, connected
history. And if it makes the stone impression upon the mind of
the reader that it did upon my own, on turning the last page of
the narrative, he will, even if he have said it a hundred times
before feel like saying more fervently still to the " Washingto-
nians," and others of kindred associa ions, " God speed you in
your noble efforts ! "

TttE BROKE:N MERCHA:NT. 35
" Indeed! What's the matter? Is the old fellow drunk
again!"
' Yes, indeed ! And they are making great sport of him down
there? 
' Well, I'm right down sorry," said the other, " 'specially for
poor Miss Kate. It will break her heart if she should find it out.
John must try and get him off to bed, and then she'll never know
it. '
' But.she must find it out before long. He gets tipsy two or
three times a week now, and never goes to bed at nig.ht that he
isn't as full as he can stick."
And then the two servants, after theit word of gossip, glided
away to attend to their respective duties.
If a painter could have seen Kate, as, starting to her feet, she
stood listenhlg with breathless eagerness, her face pale as death,
her lips apart, her hands raised, and her eyes fixed with a wild
stare, he migld have sketched a pictnre, that to look upon, .would
have made the heart shrink and tremble.
The servants passed to their separate duties, the words they
had spoken forgotten by them in the moment after they we'e
uttered. But upon the heart of Kate ttamilton, those words
were written as with a pen of fire. The word " drunkenness"
was, in her mind, associated only with the lowest earthly degrada-
tion. Long after the noise of their retreating footsteps had ceased
to sound along the passages, did the poor girl stand in the position
described, as if suddenly turned into stone. From this state she
was aroused by footsteps bn the stairs, heavy, irregular and shuf-
fling, the footsteps of those who evidently carried a burden of
considerable weight. Her door stood ajar, and as she glanced
eagerly through it, she saw the body of her father borne in the
hands of a servant and two of the visitors, nerchants of the first
standing in the city, with whose daughters she was on terms of
the closest intimacy.
Her first impulse was to spring forward. But she remembered
the cruel words of the servants. He was drunk!and what
could she do for him ? In a few minutes the visitors and servants
went down stairs, and then there was the sound of many footsteps
in the passage below. After this came the opening and closing
of the hall door, and then all was still. The guests of the din-
ner party had gone.

86 THE BROKEN MERCIIANT.
With a quick hand Kate swung open her chamber door7 and
glided with hurrying steps along the passages that led to her
father's chamber. Entering this7 she closed the door after her,
and fastened it; and then went up to the bed7 and looked down
eagerly into her father's face. It was flushed with a deep red,
and seend swollen7 and his breath came heavy and labored.
She had often seen him thus befor% but had never dreamed that
it was the result of intoxication.
"Father !--Father Z--Father !" she said, in a tender, earnest
voic% laying her hand softly upon him. But she might as well
have spoken to a stone.
' Father!" she repeated, in a louder voic% shaking him
gently.
But the sleeper stirred not.
" 0 Father ! " Dear father ! 7, she again exclaimed in a still
louder, and now trembling7 choking voice 7 shaking him violently.
As well might she have called to the dead. For a moment
longer she stood with a pale 7 agitated countenance bending over
him, and then bursting into tears 7 sank down into a chair 7 covered
her face with her hands, and burying both in the bed-clothes7
continued to weep and sob for a long7 long time. But the vio-
lence of her grief spent itself by its own power7 and then there
fell upon her spirits a deep7 almost waveless calm, subsiding into
a state of dreamy7 half unconsciousness 7 that, in its turn, was fol-
lowed by a profound slumber.
The dim shadows of evening were falling around as the heart-
stricken girl awakened from this ble2sed sleep; blessed to her,
because it brought forgetfulness. As she rose to her feet 7 the
first object that met her eye was the still insensible form of the
one she loved above all things upon the earth. Again she laid
her hand upon himmagain she called his name in the tenderest
accents. But he heard her not. O7 how cheerless and desolate
did her heart feel as she turned away 7 and slowly passed-from his
room !
And now came thoughts of duty. Young as she was 7 she felt
that she must control her feelings ; that she must hide fi'om other
eyes all evidences of the canker-worm in her heart, lot even
the domestics mus know that the ruth had been discovered o
her. Descending to the parlor, she seated herself near the win-
low and there dwelt upon the only thoughts that could find a

THE BROKEN MERCHA:NT. 39
"Humph ! A strange question for a young man like you to ask
truly! I will tell you what it has to do with her: If her father
goes on as he has been going on for the last six months he will
not be worth a stiver in two years." '
" How so ?"
" Why, he is not himself one half of his time, and therefore
does a very unsafe business. Fifty thousand dollars will not cover
his losses in the past six months, and all from the miserably blind
speculations into which he has entered. Formerly he was one of
the shrewdest merchants in the city. Then he never made a bad
operation ; now he rarely makes a good one. The reason is ob-
vious: He drinks too freely. For the past five years, you could
never transact business with him after dinner, because he knew
that he was in an unfit state to do any thing judiciously. But
now, he is all the while in that-unfit state, and every thing with
him is in confusion."
"Poor Kate!" th young man said, sympathizingly.
" Yes, I pity the girl, too, for she is handsome and intelligent,
and I have no doubt would make you a good enough wife. But
I rather think you had better look somewhere else."
"But perhaps he would settle something on her."
"Tot he. He's as proud as Lucifer, and if he were approached
on that point, would be roused at once. No, no, James. You
had better turn your thoughts somewhere else."
"But there is no one whom I like so well."
" Oh! as to that, liking comes natural enough after you are
married. There is--'s daughter. Why don't you go and see
her ?"
" Because I don't like her."
" But her father is the richest merchant in the city : and she
is his only child."
" I know. But I can never choose her."
" Well ; there is old L--'s daughter Angeline. Try her."
' I can't do it, father."
" You are too particular by half, James. I am aft'aid you are a
little weak in this matter; and have got a notion in your head
that there nmst be a deal of red-hot love in the question. Red-
hot nonsense !"
" Well, perhaps I am a little weak that way ; but I can't help
it. Kate HamiltSn is the sweetest girl in the town, that's clear.

48 THE BROKEN ]IERCHANT.
" Ha! ha!--And a precious hope that would be! Nomno.m
I-Ie wilfully neglected his business and in consequenc% cheated
me out of more than two hundred dollars, and he shall be made
an example of for the good of society. So go home girl, and
make yourself easy about it. My mind is made up. He shall
die in jailmthe drunken vagabond !"
Anger with Mr. Bailey was a species of intoxication, and under
its influence, like others under the influence of wine, he said
things that in sober moments he would not have uttered. But
his last bitter sentence was not for this any the less wounding to
the feelings of Miss Hamilton. In spite of her strong effort at self-
control, this cruel remark so touched her, that she hid her face in
her hands, and wept and sobbed for a few moments passionately.
From ths she was aroused by the remark
" You needn't suppose, Miss, that your tears can have any
effect upon me. I have seen too many in my day. And now,
I advise you to go home, and let this natter rest. Your father is
a thousand times better off in jail than if he were out."
" I cannot go, sir," Kate now said, looking up, and endeavor-
ing to dry her tears" until you have consented to release my
father.'.'
" Go home, girl!"
 Let me implore you, sir. Remember what he once was.
Remember the former condition of her who now pleads with you.
Think how wrung her pirit must be, and let those tears urge
you. O, sir, do not thus harden your heart!"
" Go out of this office, I tell you !"
' O, sir, my father cannot stay there ! Look at me ! Here, I
plead for him thus (snking on her knees, and clasping her hands
together.) O sir, hear me!hear me!" and her voice sunk
into a low, choking sob.
" Away ! I will not hear you !" the old man sad in a voice
loud and furious.
Then advancing towards her, he lifted her strongly by one arm
to her feetled her to the dooropened it thrust her out, closed
it, and then returned to his seat, and commenced poring over his
papers. But littl% however, of their sense was apparent to his
mind. As he did so his son turned from his desk, and went out
through the back doorof the counting-room.
hlechanically late Hamilton turned away from the merchant's

THE BROKET MERCHATT. 59
this, that Kate found her now feeble health rapidly giving way.
The pain in her side had become so intense, and the debility of
her system so great, that she could not sit over her work more
than an hour or so at a time. The consequence was, that her
earnings were reduced to about a dollar and a half a week; and
did not suffice to procure even the necessary food, much less to
provide wood, and pay the rent, &c.
In a most sad and gloomy state of mind, she sat one night
about this time, hovering over tile last few embers, made by her
last stick of wood. Every cent of her money was gone; and
there was, in the house, but a single loal  of" bread. The night
was exceedingly cold, and she had become by nine o'clock, chilled
through and through. Hei" father was out as usual, and she now
arose, put on her bonnet, and drew her old thin shawl around
her. She shuddered as she opened tile door, and felt the keen
nearching blast without; but there was no avoidingshe could
only brave it. She first turned her steps to the drinking ]louse
in Park near Liberty Street.
"Is my father here ?" she asked, on glancing around and not
eeing him.
":No," was the surly answer:
' Has he been here to-night ?"
And she turned away with a feeling of' disappointment. She
next sought him in another grog-shop, near Lexington Street.
"Crazy Kate again !" ejaculated the bar-keeper, in a half'
neering, half" familiar tone, as she entered.
"Is my father here ?" she asked, with a face and tone of anxi-
ety, seeming not to heed the rem' rk.
"Come in, dear, and" we will see. Has old amilton
teen here to-night ?" he continued, speaking to a boy who sat
nodding on a chair, at the same time that he lifted him by one
arm and pushed him half across the room.
"I d'no" replied tile lad, rubbing his eyes, and glancing at
the bar-keeper with a look of" indignation.
 o off.up stairs and see if" he is not asleep in one of" the
boxes! "
Then turning to tile old man's daughter, he said, as he passed
to her side and laid his hand impudently upon her shoulder
" Well, Kate, how are you, dear ? "

THE BROKEN IERCHANT. 61

ence, and as each one of the group turned towards the individual
who had last spoken, Kate.glided from the room.
' I should like to know what business you have to "nterfere in
this matter," the bar-keeper said with a frown.
' Because I never will stand by and see a decent woman insult-
ed. I've got a sister; and if" any man were to talk to her as
some of you talked to Kate Hamilton to-night, I would pull his
tongue out of his head." The face of the speaker flushed, and
his tones were angry.
" Mighty fine," ejaculated one of" the party, sneeringly.
" Tom Dunn's goiag to turn pious."
"You may ridicule as much as you please," he replied, " but
that don't alter the matter. My .mother, while sh...e was living,"
and his voice slightly trembled, " has looked me up many a tim%
just as that girl is now looking up her iather, and bad as I was,
and am, I never did and never can, feel anything but respect and
consideration for that woman, mother, sister, xvif`e, or daughter
who thus consents to enter a place like this ia search of" a beloved
object. Kate Hamilton, let me tell "you, is no common girl. Her
father was, at one time, among the richest of our merchants, and
she then moved in the first circles ;. and was beloved, I have been
told, and admired by all. Think, then, what must be her Feel-
ings now, dragged down, as she has been, in clinging to her
father and compelled to enter a place like this, on such an errand
as that which brought her here. Think of it, I say, and never
again offer her an insult!"
There was sonething in the tone, manner, and words of the
speaker that subdued the feelings of those he addressed, debased
as they were, and they did not attem'pt to reply. The individual
who had spoken, observing the effect of his words, turned away
and resumed the newspaper and glass of punch that had occupied
his attention before Kate Hamilton came in.
Meantime the anxious daughter turned away from the door of
the grog-shop, murmuring,
 Where can he be ?"
The wind came rushing down the street, and penetrated her
thin garments, but she.paused only a moment, and then tin:ned
up the street, pursuing her way steadily until she turned into
Wagon alley. A few doors fi'om the corner stood a liquor store
the vile haunt of characters the most degraded and abandoned.

64 THE BROKEN MERCHANT.

frugal habits of his daughter, who has learned economy in the
severest school, it more than suffices to provide for all their wants.
Their small dwelling in a pleasant neighborhood, presents an air
of neatness and comfort that is truly delightful, in contrast with
their household economy little over a year since. Kate's health
is gradually improving, and her countenance, though sedate,
wears a cheerful expression. '
l'lay no dark shadow ever again fall upon her heart. And
confident are we, that it will not. The present wonderful move-
ment is not the mere work of man, nor altogether under the
control of men. Its cause lies deeply hidden in that invisible
world of causes, whose mysterious action upon this visible world
of effects, is often so incomprehensible. The era of intemperance,
as a national curse, is past. Whatever of evil uses in society it.
has had to perform, we are bold to believe are ac.c.omplished, and
like the plague that once desolated London, will ere long live only
on the page of history a fearful wonder--an appalling mystery.

THE EXPERIENCE MEETING. 67
Young Mmm was there, sure enough. He was a young man,
scarcely twenty-five, who had only been married two years, and
in that time had been repeatedly intoxicated, and fi'om neglect
and abuse had well nigh broken the heart of his young wif% who
had been compelled to leave him and seek refuge in her father's
house. I looked him steadily in the face for'a few momentsmit
was calm and serious.
" There is yet hope, young wife and mother!" I murmured
with a thrill of emotion as I gazed upon M :  there are yet
bright days in store for you ! "
Subsequent events have proved the truth of that impression.
More than twenty others did I notice there, whom I had known
for years, as moral plague spots on the community. How changed
they seemed !
After the preliminaries of the meeting were over, th.e Presi-
dent announced that an hour or so would be spent in the recital
of their experiences by such members of the society as felt in-
clined to speak. The first who arose, was a middle-aged man,
with a thoughtful , intelligent countenance. As he straightened
himself up, all eyes were turned towards him, and there was a
breathless interest manifested throughout the room.

THE RECLAIMED.

" MR. PsmN%"mhe began, in a c|eart dst]nct and
phatic tonetu A man said to me t yesterday t that t for his part,
lle would be ashamed to tell of his miserable misconduct f he
had been a drunkard. Now for my part I am deeply grieved at
and heartily ashamed of the litb I have led for the past ten years
--that grief and that shame I know to be sincere t and I wish
them to be permanent and one use n tel]hg my history to
otherst is to confirm these feeliags in mysel' and another use
to encourage others to lift themselves out of the pit from which I
have beea elevated. I will not, therebre t keep silenceit seems
to me t that if I were to do so the very stones would cry out
agahst ne.
" Twelve years ago Mr. President I married a young woman,
to whmn I was deeply attachedu(here the voice of the speaker
trembledt and fell to a lower tone.) How purely, and tbnd]y she
loved one so unworthy of that love as myself ler unwavering
devotion, her patient sufferi=g t her unconplahing endurance
through many weary years, oo abundantly testified! Ah t sir !
it"is a sad thhg for a woman, to be a drunkard's wife ! (And the
peaker dashed aside, hastily; a tear.) "
" I am a mechanic. When I married(I was in business for
myself t and doing very well. I furnished my house comfortably,
and provided everything that persons in our eircunstances could
properly desire. And we were happy--at least so far as such a
condition of aft.airs t united with a true regard for each other
could make us happy.
 I had not been to a place of worship for many years before
our marriag% and had a strong disinclination to going. My wife
was a religious woman, and at first I went to church with her
but so irksome did the task become t that I made first one excuse
(68)

70 THE RECLAIMED.

" As I said, I felt angry with Mary, and spoke sharply. Poor
creature! I shall never forget how pale and fi-ightened sho
looked; nor how long after the shadow that then fell upon her
countenance rested on her gentle face. Indeed, from that hour
I believe she was never again happy. She had suddenly awak-
ened from a delusive dream, to a perception of painful realities;
and the impression then made, time could not etce from her
memory. I was instantly conscious of the wrong I had done, but
alas! had not the manliness to confess it. gly pride, the weak,
stubborn pride of a man under the influence of liquor, was offend-
ed, and shrunk from any thing like an acknowledgment. Tho
dinner hour passed in oppressire, embarrassed silence. After it
was over, instead of spending the afternoon with my wil%, as I
had heretofore done, I took my hat and went out. Of course, I
joined my cronies at the tavern, where I passed several hours
in drinking and talking politics.
" I came home towards nightfall, more under the influence of
liquor than I had been since our marriage. The first glance at
Mary's face, told too plainly that the arrow had entered her soul.
This indication, instead of softening my feelings, naturally kind,
irritated and angered me.
"'It's all put on,' I said to myself, indignantly. 'But sho
needn't think to play off such tricks upon me!"
" As I seated myself near the window, moody and reserved, I
was conscious that her eyes were upon me, but I avoided meeting
their earnest glances. I felt, in spite of my effort to throw her
into the wrong, that her heart was yearning towards me. But
such a consciousness did not soften me in the least. I was, in a
degree, insane from the influence of the liquor I had takenin-
sane, as eve T man is, who indulges in strong drinkand saw.all
things through a false and perverted medium. O, it is dreadful
how men will give up the pure, generous freedom of calm and ra-
tional thought for a gratification so low and sensual, and become
slaves to evil thoughts and evil aft'ections ! As I glance through a
period of some ten years, occupying the position that I now do, and
seeing things in such clear light, I can scarcely believe that I am
the same being that I was. I seem like a man who has been par-
tially deranged for a lbng series of years, while his memory has
remained active. What I once was, and what I now am, a man
of kind feelings to all, I see to be my real character; but that

THE RECLAIMED.

my eyes as she came in, and she looked me in the face, with a
calm, sad expression, that touched my heart. Then the impulse
came upon me strong, to spring to her side, and folding her in my
arms, confess the wrong I had done her--for I loved her tenderly.
But I seemed held back by a powerful hand; and then pride came
with its mean suggestions. Few and brief were the words that
passed between us at the morning meal. When I !eft the hous
for my shop, I proceeded, as was my custom, to a neighboring
tavern, and drank a glass of brandy and water. Then I repaired
to my .business, still thinking of Mary, but less kindly. It oc-
curred to me, during the morniag, that she was only putting on a
show of great distress of mind, merely to punish me. I felt irri-
tated at the thought. Another-glass of liquo confirmed more
and more this impression, until I began, really, to believe it true.
 So much did this false idea irritate me, that it was with diffi-
culty that I could restrain myself from rebuking her angrily, at
dinner time, and more especially in the evening. Gradually, how-
ever, this little breach, instead of widening by another opehg
rupture, grew less and less. But, the unclouded sunshine of
Mary's face never returned. Still, she was cheerful, and seemed
to have forgotten the circumstancebut not cheerful as she once
had been. No one can tell how deeply this change pained nm
at times ; especially, as, fi'om the fact that she never afterwards
expressed surprise or disappointment at any act or omission off
mine, it was evident that an impression had been made that time
could not efface.
' But she was ever even-te.mpered, mild, gentle, and affection-
ate. And though, through a long series of years, I neglected
her, and debased myself, she never uttered a reproach, or neg-
lected a duty. If I blamed her, or spoke in my drunken mo-
ments, unkind and cutting words, she did not reply. But, I am
going ahead of my story.
" From drinking two or three glasses a day, my appetite for
liquor increased, and soon demanded double that number. Still,
[ thought not of danger, until I was carried home from the tav-
ern, one night, in a state of drunken insensibility. When I
awoke in the morning, I endeavored to recall the events of the
preceding evening, but could recollect nothing beyond my itting
and drinking in the tavern. One glance at the face of my wife,
confirmed the sudden thought that I had been drunk. How pal

TtiE RECLAIMED. 81
addressed! But I determined never to rest until I could get my
children. Every three or four weeks I renewed my petition, and
every time the reluctance of the directors seemed in some degree
to yield. Finally I prevailed, and this day thank Heaven
received my children back again !"
Here the speak?er's voice gave way and he sat down and
sobbed like a child.
There was a deep silence for nearly a minute after he had
taken his seat, a silence of profound emotion. Every heart was
moved, and almost every eye was wet. Then a man arose,
whose appearance indicated that he was yet quite young. He
dashed aside a tear as he took the floor ; but it was soon evidenl
that a light heart still beat in his bosom.

! !

THE MAN WITH THE POKER.

, t Mania-d-Polu,' he replied, in a low, emphatic tone--
"'Mania, what ?' I said, for I did not understand hhn.
" ' Mania--Potu,' he repeated.
"But I shook my head, for I could not understand him, never
having heard of the d,'eadful disease he named, although I had
been a sad sufferer by it.
" He, then, seeing that I was really ignorant of the nature as
well as the name of the disease, carefully explained to .ine, that
when, by a long continued resort to artificial stimulus, any .one
has weakened, to a certain degree, the vital energies of his sys-
tem, the stimulus itself at last fails to keep up the apparently
healthy action, and all things fall into disorder.
".'But why did I see those terrible serpents, and monst.-r.,
doctor ?' I asked, my heart sinking at the bare recollection.
" That is one of the unaccountable phenomena attending this
strange disease,' he replied, gravely. ' For one, you have expe-
rienced its horrors, and I hope the effect is such on your mind, as
to deter you fi'om running the risk of another attack.'
"'Nothing shall tempt me to touch the accursed thin,,
again!' I said, with the force of a strong determination ; and,
though often tempted since, I have thus far kept my resolution.,
and intend keeping it to the end of my life. It was enough for
me to have had the man with the poker after me once. I have
o desire to cultivate his acquaintance further.
." Well, after I xvas dismissed from the almshouse, I went back
to the shop and obtained work agaiu. It was, I think, about ten
o'clock, on the morning of my first return to business, that a
constable touched me on the shoulder, as I stood at the bench,
and said-
" ' I hav a warrant against you, sir.'
"' Against me ?'
"'Yes; you owe Mr.-----ten dollars, and he has ordered a
warrant to be taken out against you.'
" It ;as a grog bill.
"' I can't pay it now,' I replied, ' but tell Mr. -- that, if he
will only wait, I will give him two dollars a week until the
whole bill is settled.'
" ' You must get it superseded,' he said.
"' I can't, do it,' I answered. ' :Nobody will go my security.
2"0(, mny have suffered by me already.'

04 AFTER TO-DAY; OR, TREATING RESOLUTION.

" ' What is that, Harry ? ' I asked.
"'Why, all these, one atter the other, and ale, wine, and
cider. That's the true test. First brandy, then wine, then
whiskey, ale, gin and cider, a glass every five minutes. What do
you say to that ? '
"' I would rather not,' I saidqfor I had once been drunk on
brandy and ale together, and kne, what it was.
"'I'm  '
a,reed, Joe said-
" ' Well, what do you say ?' Harry asked of me. ' Not aft'aid,
I hope ? I thought you more of a man.'
" I was just drunk enough to do almost anything if" told that I
was afraid, and so I agreed to the'proposition. We then retired
into a small room, in the centre of which stood a table, and
arranging ourselves around it, called for three glasses of brandy.
These were at once turned off, to begin with. Five" minutes were
allowed to pass, and then each drank half a pint of wine,--at the
end of five minutes more, a strong draught of whiskey was taken,
and so on util we had drank, besides these, ale, gin, and cider.
This occupied just half an hour. By this tine I began to feel a
little light about the head. But I resolved not to be beaten, and
so commenced and went through another course. By the time
this was completed, the room seemed to be moving around ; but
brandy was again called for, and aain the trial renewed. Four
times did we drink, or at least, dil I drink through this villainous
series. The last thing I remember, was the vain effort to get a
glass of cider to my mouth in the fourth round. I do not know
whether I succeeded or not. When next conscious, I was lying
on a bed, at home, with a physician by my side. h'Iy feelings
were awful. It seemed as if" my head would burst with the read-
ing pain that throbbed through my temp|es; and my vholc body
felt as if" swollen and benumbed by the heat ot" a large fire before.
which I seemed to be roasting alive. As soon as my recollection
returned fully I became dreadfhlly alarmed, for it seemed impos-
sil)le that I could live after what I had done. But, a good con-
stitution carried me safely through.
" On the third day I was able to go out. The first man I met
was ny fi'iend Joe. He looked )ale and feeble.
" I ant really glad to see you, George ! ' he said, grasping my
hand. ' I was aft'aid, from what I have myself" suffered, that it
was a gone case with you and Harry. How is he? ttave you
heard from hina ? '

AFTER TO-DAY; OR, TREATING RESOLUTION. 95
" ' 1W'o, I have not,' I replied.
' ' Suppose, then, we go around and see him ?
' I assented, and we called at his house. His wiie, for he was
married, met us at the door. She was the picture of woe. Her
eyes were red with weeping and her iace was pale, and wore an
expression of deep, heart-aching distress.
"' How is Mr.- ?' we asked, anxiously.
"  Come in and see," she said, and gave way for us to enter.
We followed, as she led on, and in a mment or two entered
a chamber where our friend lay, without life or motion, upon a
bed. His eyes were half closed, and his face had a ghastly ex-
pression. As I paused, and bent over him, I placed my hand
upon hs forehead. Instantly I started back. That forehead was
rigid and cold like marble.
" Dead !' I exclaimed, striking my hands together, while my
head reeled, and I became sick and faint.
' ' Dead .' ejaculated Joe, staggeringly, , back, and sinking into a
chair.
"Ah, sir! That was a terrible moment ! When I had so far
recovered my senses as to look about me again, I saw his poor
wife seated by the bedside, silent and tearless. One little girl,
his eldest child, was sobbing in a corner of the room, and a little
boy, not over two years of ag% had crept to his mother's side,
and crouching there, laid his face in her lap. As for her, the
heart-stricken wife and mother, her grief seemed too "deep for ut-
terance. There was something cold and frozen in the expression
of her eye and face--something ilat I could not comprehend--
something that I do not like to think of even now.
' We lingered in the chamber of death but a short time, and
then went away. In the ternoon, we returned, by agreenent,
to make such arrangements for the funeral as were required
under the circumstances. We knew that Mrs. -- had no one
to perform these sad offices for her, and therefore, poorly as we
both were, and much as we desired to shun so painfil a scene as
that which the house of our dead companion presented, we
attended during that afternoon, and at the funeral, on the next
day to all the required arrangements.
"As the company that attended the remains of Mr.- to
the grave, turned away fi-om the little hillock of fi'esh, earth that
marked the place where he was laid, Joe and I lingere'd behind.

100 AFTER TO-DAY; OR, TREATING RESOLUTION.

been dead. To my home I returned; my poor , comfortlesa
home, and entered just as the clock struck twelve. I found my
patient wife still sitting up, and sewing by the light of a small
dimly burning lamp. As I entered, she lifted her pale, thin face,
and looked into my own with something so sad, so tender, so
heart-touching in its expression, that I was affected almost to
tears. How many, aud many a time, no doubt, has she looked
at me thus, and I too drunk to perceive or feel its import.
"'Sarah,' I said, walking steadily towards her, for I was
never more perfectly sober in my life ;  Sarah, I've quit drink-
ing; from this moment I will never touch liquor again!'
" O, sir, if you could have seen that poor creature, as I did,
start to her feet, and stand looking at me, for a moment or two,
her face agitated with doubt and hope, fear and joy, you would
have been moved to tears! But she saw that I was in earnest ;
she felt that I was in earnest, and springing to my side, she laid
her head upon my shoulder, as I drew my arm tightly around
her, and wept and sobbed passionately. But her tears were tears
of joy and hope.
" On the next day, I signed the pledge and though still a sad,
yet I trust, that I am a better and wiser man. As for my home,
there has been sunlight there ever since. O, sir! This
pledge :" .
But the man's voice trembledmtears sprung to his eyes ; and
overcome by emotion, he was forced to take his seat.

SIG1N-II G THE

PLEDGE.

THE time had gone on until nearly ten o'clock, and, as the last
speaker took his seat, Mr. Mitchell, the President, rose, and in a
brief, but pertinent address, invited and urged those who had not
yet done so, to come forward and sign the pledge. The Secre-
tary was then directed to read the pledge, which Was done.
After this followed a scene hard to be described.
"Come along," cried the President, as the Secretary resumed
his seat. " Who will sign first to-night ? Ah ! there he comes[
The very man for whom I have been waiting these two months.
That's right, friend L--. I thought we should get hold of the
same end of the rope again. Many a drinking frolic, and fishing
frolic have we been on, together! And now we strike hands
again ;" grasping the hand of the individual he was addressing,
who had, by this time, reached the Secretary's table---" and
shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand, and heart to heart, will we
wage together, a war of extermination against old KING ALco-
o. and all his emissaries !"
The man who had gone forward was one well known in the
community. He was an old drinker, and, although he had, from
a strong resolution, been able thus far, to keep from inking into
a low and abandoned state, yet, his example and encouragement
had been exceedingly pernicious, and very many, who had com-
menced drinking with him, had already become mere sots. For
a time, he had sneered at the temperance movement. But he
had now yielded to its imposing claims.
"You never did a better deed than that in your life, friend
L-----l" the President said in a lively, exulting tone, as the.
man rose from the Secretary's table. "And now who will come
next ?"
" Come along[" I heard a man say, in an under tone, near
me, and I turned to observe him. He had a miserable looking
(101)

]0 SIGNING THE PLEDGE.
wives happy, as John did just now. None of" you like to see
their faces clouded, and yet how can sunshine rest there while
you are neglecting and abusing them ? Come along! Why,
eighty signed at the last meeting, and here we have only sixty-
two. Surely we hay n't got all the drunkards yet! 0 no. I
see three or four down there that ought to sign. So come along
my boys! If' you want excitement, come and get a little of' this
tetotal excitement. It makes one feel a thousand times better
than rum-excitement, and produces no after consequences but
good ones. Ah ! there comes another !--a.nd another ! and an-
other. That's the way. One helps another. You do n't know
how much good you may do by coming forward. You influence
one, and he another, and he another, and they others, until from
fire impulse given by a single individual, hundreds are brought in.
There were only six at first, and now we have hundreds upon
hundreds. Suppose these six had held back, where would we all
have been ? Come along, then, and do your. duty to yourselve
and to society."
To this about ten more responded.
The last but one who signed was, like many who had inscribed
their names before him, poorly clad, and miserable in appearance.
He came up reluctantly, urged and argued with at almost every
step of the way by a person who seemed to take a deep interest
in him. ;
"You must sign, Thomas ! I shall never give you a moment's
rest until you sign," I heard him say to the reluctant drunkard,
who paused near where I was sitting, "I have helped to ruin
you, and I shall have no peace until you are reclaimed."
"Let me have another week to think about it, Mr. W"
" Another week, Thomas! Surely your poor wife and chil-
dren have suffered enough already I Think of` them and be a
man."
This had the effect to cause the drunkard to move onward.
But he paused again and again. At last, however, the table was
reached, the pen placed in his hand, and his name inscribed.
How light was his step! How cheerful and resolute his air as
h6 came down the aisle! I could hardly realize that it was the
ame individual.
"Ain't you glad that you have done it Thomas?" his friend
aid, as they passed me.

SIGNING THE PLEDGE.

The books were then closed, seventy-flve having signed the
pledge that night. A few remarks were added by the President,
and then the meeting broke up, and I returned home.
tt How many a heart has been made glad to-night!" I said as
I threw myself upon my bed, and lay for hours musing over the
wonderful things I had seen before my senses were locked in
lumber.

TI-IE TA'VERI#-KEEPER.

" Co, friend W--," said the President, during the eve-
ning on which I paid my third visit to the Washngtonians, " let
ns have your experience. That story about the ' Drunkard's
Bible' has gone right home to the hearts and consciences of two
or three tavern-keepers already, ad there is no tel|ng how much
good may result from your coming outopenly, and relating all
you know of the evils of rum selling.'
It ,as some moments before the individual thus addressed re-
sponded to the call made upo.n him by the President of the
society. He was, evidently, unwilling to recall the past. But at
length he arose, and proceeded to ,ive in his experience. It con-
tained much of deep and painful interest, but many touching
scenes were glanced at so briefly that I was far from being sat-
isfied when he resumed his seat. I called upon him afterwards,
and prevailed upon him to relate, more minutely than he had
done at the meeting, the incidents that had struck me as of a pe-
culiarly interesting character. These I now give in such a form
as I think calculated to make the deepest and most salutary im-
pression. I trust that .no tavern-keeper (seller of intoxicating
drinks) will turn away from this number under the fear that I
am going to overwhehn him with an effusion of gall and bitter-
ness. I design only to lift for him a "mirror, in which he may see
his own reflection--and surely he will not shut his eyes to this
Fictured image, when all men look upon him and see him as he
really is.

THE TAVERN-KEEPER.

"I shall not attempt to justify myself," he said, ' for having
been a tavern-keeper. I might make many plausible excuses, but
I will not conceal the fact that my reasons for first conmencing
and afterwards continuing the traffi% were thoroughly selfish. I
(07)

108 THE TAVERN-KEEPER.
sought to benefit myself only, regardless who might be injured.
It is true that I thought but little of the consequences to others
unless the subject were presented to me by some friend of tem-
perance and humanity, and then I sought excuses; or if these
did not avail to check his expostulations, I would get angry and
tell him, perhaps, that he had no business to meddle with what
did not concern him.
"I was a journeyman mechanic when I first went into th
business of selling liquor, and could earn, regularly, about thir-
teen dollars a week. I had two children, and was living very
comfortably. But I was dissatisfied because I could not get
ahead in the world. I wanted to make money fast. For some
time I debated the propriety of commencing ny business as a
master-workman; but I had no capital, and dreaded getting in
debt. At last it occurred to me, suggested no doubt by an evil
spirit, that the most certain way to make money would be to opoa
a small liquor store. Almost every one of my friends and ac-
quaintances drank, and I thought that they might as well spend
their money with me as with any one else. I talked with several
of them and they encouraged, me to enter the business, promising
me their custom.
"From only one individual did I meet with opposition, and
that individual was my wife.
"' Ann,' said I to her one day after I had pretty well made up
my mind to open a grog shop,  I believe I will try something else
for a living; I have to work very hard now and only make a
bare subsistence.'
"' But what will you do ?' she asked with an expression of
concern.
"' I've been thinking about opening a small tavern: it re-
quires hardly any capital, and money can be made at the busi-
ness. There is Wartman, who keps down in the Marsh Market
Space; he commenced with only five dollars, and now he is mak-
ing money like dirt.'
"' Indeed I would not, Thomas,' she replied earnestly, while
a shadow fell upon her face.
"' But why would you not, Ann ? I 'm sure it is the easiest
and most profitable business now going.'
" That may be ; but still, Thom,-, I would n't go into it.'
"' You must give some reason for your objection, Ann,' I said

122 THE TAVERN-KEEPER.

" To this, I made some angry reply that cut short the inter-
view, and. then the minister retired. Of course his visit troubled
me. But I shook off its influence, as well as I could, and went
on to arrange my bar, and make as handsome a display of my
liquors as possible. In a few days I was ready to open my tavern
and receive customers. I had everything very neatly arranged
so as to make my house aractive as a place of resort, both to
the young men of the village, and for the reception of such visit-
ors as I expected from the city during the summer season.
" On the evening of the day upon which I announced, by
handbill, that my tavern was open, and my bar well stocked with
the choicest liquors, I had about a dozen visitors, principally resi-
dents of the village. They admired the arrangement of my.bar
complimented me on my taste, and drank and paid for my liquors
freely, which they pronounced to be of the very best quality.
" Among them was a young man, whose appearance interested
me at once. He was not, apparently, over twenty years of age.
His dress, manners, and language, indicated that he was far supe-
rior in education to any of those with whom he was associated.
I observed that he drank often and freelythe consequence was,
that he became partially intoxicated early in the evening.
"'Now give us a song, Samuel!' said one of the company
about nine o'clock, slapping him on the shoulder.
"' Yes, a song ! a song ! Nobody can sing a song like Sam
ttarman !' responded another.
" ' Would you prefer a song to a hymn tun e, or a hymn to a
song tune ?' the young nan replied, with a grave air.
  Oh, a hymn to a song tune of course !' replied one.
  No--no--' said another  a song to a hymn tune.'
"At last the matter was settled, and a song vas sung with fine
effect.
  Now let us have a sermon,' cried one.
  Yes, a sermon ! ' a sermon I ' ran around the room.
 And in a few moment the young man was mounted on a
chair. He took a text, and went on to preach for about ten min-
utes, in a strain that indicated a finely cultivated mind, but alas!
sadly perverted. Sometimes he would utter the most imposing
and solemn truths, in a way that made the blood seem to trickle
coldly through my veins--and then he would go off into a bur-
lesque caricature, or light and witty declamation, that set the
whole room in a roar of laughter.

THE TAVERIW-KE E PER. 193
"'What would the old gentleman thnk of that if he had
heard it,' said one of the company.
"' He would think his son quite a promising young man, I
suppose,' replied Harman, laughing.  I was set apart for a min-
ister, you know, and I 'm only trying to get. my hand in a
little.'
"'This was met, of course, by an encouraging laugh. It was
nearly eleven o'clock when my company went away, and then the
_
o young man just alluded to, had to be supported by two of his
drinking companions.
" On counting the money in my drawer, Lfound that I had
made a very good beginning. My visitors understood the art of
drinking. It was very certain, that they were no strangers to a
bar-room.
"' I have done very well indeed,' I said to my wife, on closing
my house for the night, ' I shall have plenty of' custom here, I
have not the least doubt.'
"' Who wa.s the young man that sung so sweetly ?' my wife
asked.
"' I do n't know who he is. " But he is a smart fellow, that is
certain. He preached a sermon to-night equal to any minister.'
" ' But ain't it a pity,' my wife rem, arked, ' that such a young
man should throw himself away ?'
"  It does seem a pity. But he is young, and will be all the
wiser, after a few years, for having sowed his wild oats.'
"' I hope so. But young men who drink, rarely become less
fond of' liquor as'they grow older.'
"' Well, that's no concern of mine,' I replied, a little
warmly.
" My wife understood my humor, and said no more on the
ubject."

Wishing, for greater effect to combine incidents learned from
the tavern-keeper and facts gathered from another source, I will:
for a time, let him step aside, and relate things in my own way.
About nine o'clock on-the evening succeeding the day on
which W------ had opened his tavern, in the village of-----, as has
been above noted, the venerable old man, who had called upon
:him to remons.trate against the sale of liquor, sat conversing with
his wife, likewise well stricken in years. The subject that occu-

THE TAVEEN-KEEPERo :9
man's rational mind developed itself', it seemed.that his evll pro-
pensitiea.had become stronger, and his inclination to resist them
less active. At times he would seem to make an earnest struggle
against the current that was bearing him on to ruin, but the
struggle was always brief', and unsuccessful. He was gradually
growing more and more dissipated, more and more neglectful of
his books, and more and more disinclined to look into those works
of' doctrine and religious precept, which formed a portion of his
studies. The good old man, his tather, was beginning to despair
of his son, when the tavern-keeper moved, and the establishment
was broken up. There being no other drinking house in the vil-
lage, there was no other place of resort to tempt the idle and in-
fatuated; and Samu'el Harman became at once, apparently a
changed young man. He resumed his studies with an attention
and assiduity, that made the hearts of his father and mother thrill
again with hope. This he continued for two months, when
W re-opened the house. The sequel is known.
A few brief sentences will tell the rest of this sad tale. After
tea on the evening of the day succeeding that in vhich W
opened the tavern, Samuel found means to go ont unobserved by
his parents. At eleven o'clock he was brought home drunk to
helplessness and insensibility ! On the next night the same thin,
occurred. And so on tim next and the next.
On the moruing of the fourth day the minister went over to see
tile tavern-keeper, and remoustrated with him.
" Mr. W," he said, ' I have a fivor to ask of you. You
have already refused me one, but do not refise my present re-
(uest."
" I shall not promise," W-- replied coldly, ' but say on."
" My request is, then, that you will not sell n.v son any more
liquor." .
The tavern-keeper shook his head.
' I do not feel authorized" he replied, " to refuse any one
who calls for liquor at my bar. My house is one of public e,ter-
tainment, anti I am, theref'ore, bound to entertain tile public.
Why, you might as well say that I should n't sell a man an axe
if I were keeping a store, because he might kill hinself with it."
" You certainly should not sell it to him, if you knew he were
going to kill himself with it. Tiaat is clear. Neither should you
sell liquor to my son when you know that he is destroying both
8

134 THE TAVERN-KEEPER.
most f them, to my house after the taste had been formed ; ut
this much I did, I used every means in my power to allure thera
to my house, and to make them feel pleasant while there. That
I was accessory to their ruin, I cannot deny.
' There was young P, you kaow him no doubt. He was
the youngest son of P, the wealthy shipping merchant. Itls
father gave hin of course, the very best education. No young
man I am sure ever commenced the world with fairer prospects
than he did. He was a lawyer, you remember. Welt, when he
was admitted to the bar, and argued his first case, the whole
court-room was electrified with the sudden burst of powerful elo-
quence that he poured forth. It was not, I have heard it said, a
mere declamatory appeal, but a soundly rational argument that
he presented, clothed with a richness of language, that made it
irresistible. On that very night he came to my house, with half
a dozen companions, flushed with the excitement of success, and
before ten o'clock had drunk to intoxication.
"  What a pity !' remarked an elderly man, leaning against
the counter, and sipping his brandy and water.
"  Indeed it is !' I said in a tone of assumed pity.  But this
is only a little frolic. He will sow his wild oats, by and by.'
  I hope so,' was the response, in a half concerned tone, and
then he walked away.
 From this time forth, there were few evenings that young
1  did not come to my tavern.. But it was some years before
his habits made any apparent mpression on his prospects. At
last it was not to be concealed, even from hs most indulgent
friends, that the light of a strong intellect was growing dim ; that
the promise of early years was fading. Then came the remon-
strances of those who could venture to remonstratethe persua-
sions and gentler efforts of parents and sisters, but alas! all was
vain. The ardor of an insatiable desire, was more potent thaa
the strongest reason, or the most tender allurenents. Down
down, down, slowly, but regularly, step by step, did he go, and
at last sunk to the grave in the bloom of manhood, the few green
laurels that he had won, already faded upon his brow !
" Is it not a fearful thing to trifle with intoxicating drinks ?
Who can tell the moment when the equilibrium of his mind will
be dcstroyedthe moment when the power to refrain fi'om the
cup of confusion will leave him. It has left, and is still leaving

THE TAVERN-KEEPER. 189

neglect and crushed affections, but ill treatment and intense suf-
fering. You have seen many a drunkard's wife, Ann ; I need
not describe their miserable, heart-breaking condition.'
" A gush of tears attested the vividness of" some picture of
suffering upon my wife's imagipation. To her I left the task of
effecting, if ossible, a change in Ellen's feelings twards the
young man. But all her efbrts were in vain. She would not
believe, even though assured that I had often seen him partiall5
intoxicated, that Hilton drank to excess.
 But he drinks moderately, Ellen." let us assume that as a
fact which you will readily admit,' my wile urged upon our
daughter.
 I have no doubt of that,' was her reply  all young men
do so, I believe. I know that ather does, and has done so ever
since [ can remember, and he is not a drunkard.'
"  But still, Ellen, there is great danger of every young man
who drhks becoming a drunkard. Hilton, your father says, has
often been in his bar-room h a state of partial iatoxication.'
" And did he sell hhn liquor when he knew that he was in so
much danger? I cannot understand that, mother.'
"' You should not allude to your tather in that way, Ellen,'
my wife replied gravely.
Whether I speak of it or not, mother, it still seems as
.trange to me. If it is wrong for young men to drinkif, in
drinking, there is so much danger, is it not wrong for tather to
sell liquor ?'
That is not to the point, my child; the question now is
whether you will cast off this young man, or become a drunkard's
wife.'
"I cannot see it in that light; I am not afraid that, Joseph
Hilton will ever become a drunkard.'
" I am sorry that you seem thus disposed to follow your own
inclinations, Ellen, rather than be guided, in a matter of so much
simportance, by your parents. Much as we regret to do so---
much as it may pain us to cross you in any thing, we must, from
this time forth positively prohibit that young man from visiting
OU.'
" This declaration was met, of course, by a flood of tears.
For a week or two there was a gloomy shadow resting over our
dwelling. It was paiufully evident that the impression on Ellen's

THE TAVERN-KEEPER. 143
"' Because I do not think it safe for you to be left alone with
him in his present condition.'
"' He will not hurt me, father,' she replied, with a forced, sad
.smile.
"' Hurt you, Ellen!' I responded, with something of excite-
ment in my tone. ' It would not be well for him to do so. But
come, you had better go home with us.'
"' No, father,.I cannot go,' was her decided reply.
"' Then we will have to stay here with you.'
"' Indeed, father, there is no necessity for you doing that. I
am not at all aft'aid.'
" But I insisted upon doing so, and consequently we remained
all night in the house. It was, I think, about three o'clock in the
_
.
morning, that I was awakened by a noise in the adjoining cham-
ber, where my daughter and her husband slept.
" I was out of bed instantly, and had partly dressed myself,
when I heard Ellen sa.y, in a low, imploring tone 
'' O, do n't, do n't, do n't, Joseph !' at the same time that the
sound of two o three blows came distinctly upon my ear.
"It seened, sir, in that inoment, as if I were on fire. I sprang
hto their chamber with a fierce energy of hate towards Hilton,
such as never before or since burned in my veins for any one.
found my daughter standing on the floor, with one hand of her
husband entangled in her hair, while with the other he was bran-
dishing a stick over her head, his face flushed, his eyes starting
wildly fi'om his head ; and every aetion and expression indicating
a madman. With one powerful blow I knocked him senseless to
the floor. That blow seemed to take equal effect upon Ellen, for
she fell likewise, and lay in a state of apparent lifelessness.
"As soon as the day dawned, at which time tIilton was per-
fectly sober, and Ellen had recovered from her fainting fit, I re-
moved her to my house; forbidding, as I did so, her husband
ever to cross its threshold. Of course my child was not happy
under this state of separation, and soon left us to join her hus-
band, whose penitence deceived her into the belief that all would
be well again.
"On the night that her first child was born, Hilton came
home drunk, and crazy, as he always was when intoxicated. It
was with the utmost difficulty that we could keep him from drag-
ging Ellen out of bed, so strangely bitter were l:is feelings to-

THE TVEEN-KEEPEE. "145

"Not always. I could not stand it long if I did. The fact of
looking back and reviewing my life had excited my feelings a
good deal. But I feel bad enough at any time, even though I
assume a cheerful exterior--even though some call mine a happy
countenance. How could it be otherwise ?"

Truly, how could it be otherwise? It seems to me, that if
there is one curse of a man's existence greater than another it
must be the remembrance of having put the cup of confusion to
the lips of his brother, and caused that brother to fall.
lVoe unto hin that giveth his neio,hbor &'ink, that tnltest thj
bottle to him and makest him drunken.--HAB, ii. 15.
9

THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 147
A long, deep silence followed this appeal, broken at intervals
by the President's earnest and emphatic,
' Come !inCome along, and we will do you good !"
' Look at Dr. Harper," I heard some one near me say, in a
low, deep whisper.
I turned my eyes towards the individual who had been named,
and saw that tears vere stremning from his eyes, and that his
face was agitated by powerful emotions. The President's appeal
had touched his feelings. His thoughts were, evidently, with the
almost broken-hearted, neglected, suffering wife, who had clung
to him through long years of sorrow and privation. For a few
moments there seemed to be an air of irresolution about him.
Once or twice he made a movement to rise, but still hesitated.
There was plainly, a strong conflict going on between shame and
the power of an evil habit, and the clear convictions of right that
were presenting, themselves to his mind. At last he arose and
went deliberately up to the secretary's table, and subscribed his
name to the pledge. How n heart glowed with pleasure as I
witnessed this act! Involuntarily did my thoughts turn to his
wife, whom I met occasionally on the street, the mere shadow of
her former self. Once the happy centre of a gay and happy cir-
clemnow, the lonely, neglected, sorrowing wife of a fallen drunk-
ard ! How like the awakening from a horrible dream, I thought,
must be her husband's announcement, that he had freed himself
from the one great evil, in which had been included all the rest
that had cursed his own existence and hers ! And thus it was to
her. But let me not anticipate. The story of her married life,
which I am about to offer the reader, is one of touching interest ;
yet involving scenes of strong and painful trial. How could it
be otherwise, and she the wife of a drunkard ? A drunkard's
wife ! What a world of misery is involved in those three
vords! Who can look at them without a sensation of icy cold-
ness about the heart ? But let me pass on to my narrative.

TttE DRUIKARD'S WIFE.

' May your fond anticipations be more than realized, Grace,".
said old Mr. Atherton, laying his hand affectionately upon the
head of his beautiful child.  Love your husband, and confide
in him for he is worthy of you. But love not your father tho

148 THE DRUNKARD"S WIFE.
" How can I ever love you le.ss, my dear father ? " Grace re-
plied, looking up into his face with an expression of tenderness.
' I am sure you will not, Grace. I uttered but an idle word.
Still, in parting with you thus, I cannot feel otherwise than moved
at the separation. I cannot but feel.that, although you will love
me none the less, you will not think of me so often, nor look up
to me for counsel and protection as you once did. Another will
claim, and justly too, to be your protector and counsellor, and to
have the first place in your affections. But I will not speak thus,
for I see that it pains you. I feel that it is wrong."
_And then followed a silcncepainful in some slight degree, yet
full of sweet enotions, playing in affectionate reciprocity from
heart to heart, in parent and child.
To old Mr. Aderton, now well advanced in life, Grace was an
only remaining childthe last of his household treasures. She
had been to him for years a gentle spirit of love attending him on
his way-. Without her, he felt that life would be cheerless.
With her, he had nothing more to desire. To yield her up then
to another was indeed a painful trial, notwithstanding he had the
fullest confidence in him to whom he resigned his treasure. I3ut
it was resigning her--and there was the pang. And what was
worse, she would remove with her husband, a young physician of
fine talents and acquirements, fro:n the city, to a small town some
twenty miles distant.
Doctor Harper, the husband of Grace, was a young man of"
pure and elevated principlessuperior in every way to the mass
of those around him who were just entering upon life. And it
was this, and this alone, that at all reconciled old Mr. Atherton
to the necessity of parting with his child. He was conscious that
it was only a feeling of selfishness that opposed this separation
that Grace must be, and would be happier with such a man for
her husband, than as the companion of an old man, even though
he were her father.
' I know you will be happy, Grace," he said, as he gave her a
farewell kiss, a few days after her marriage. " Happier than I
could make you. Go, then, and may heaven smile upon you and
bless you !"
Under such flattering prospects opened the married life of Mrs.
I-Iarper. There were many who envied her lot--many who had
looked upon the young, high-minded, talented physician, and

THE DRUKARD'S IFE. 157

liquor, as has just been said, did Doctor Harper return home that
evening. During the few hours which had passed since he went
out it seemed to his wife that she had endured a li['ctime of
misery. Like the sudden bursting of a "fearful storm from a
summer sky, the affliction, all unpreluded, had fallen upon her.
A few weeks before and all above and around was to her beauty
and brightness. :Now, everything was obscured, and dark, and
foreboding. .
With such feelings, did Mrs. Harper await anxiously the re-
turn of her husband. One glance at his tace was sufficient to
tell her, what his first word confirm.ed, that he was intoxicated.
ttow her spirit shrunk within her as this painfid truth became
evident! The loving heart will hope even under the most un-
promising circumstances. All through the afternoon, Mrs.
Iarper had cherished a belief, feeble though it was, that her hus-
band would return home at night in a more rational state of
mind. But this hope was at once dashed to the ground on his
entrance. Her eager, inquiring look, ihe peculiar expression of
her countenance, and the instant change that ' passed over it at-
tracted his attention, and, of course, irritated him.
 What do you tnean by looking at me in that way?" he
asked, in an angry tone of voice.
tiis wiI'e did not reply, but turned away quickly, to hide her
feelings, and left the room. They did not meet again until tea
was announced. Then she appeared with a pale, distressed lace,
and eyes red and swollen. He observed her closely, but made no
remark, until towards the close of the meal, when he said,
abruptly
" I am going to call on Mr. Mabury t:o-night, and wish you to
go with me." 
" Don't let us go there to-night, Doctor" Mrs. Harper in-
utantly responded.
" And why not, pray ?"
" I do not wish to go out to-night" she said.evasively.
" 0 7 yes that is always the way !" her husband replied in a
pettish tone, "you never care about going anywhere when I wish
to pay a social visit."
" Indeed, indeed, you do me wrong!" Mrs. Harper said, ear-
nestly, the tear coming to her eyes.  You know, dear, that I
am always ready t0go with you anywhere; and I would go to--
night with you most cheerfully only--" "

188 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE.
But her heart failed her--she could not finish the sentence.
" Only what? Speak out plainly, madam I" he said drawing
himself up, and looking steadily and sternly at her, for he half
imagined the reason se was about to give.
But Mrs. Harper did not reply.
" Why do n't you speak out, madam ? Say ! "
Still the wife was silent, and les} inclined than ever to uttcr
,hat a few moments before had trembled on her tongue.
" It's because you think I 'm too drunk to go! That's the
:reason, madam. Speak out honestly and say yes!"
" I did n't say so, Doctor," was Mrs. Harper's calm reply,
while she looked her husband earnestly in the face.
' O no, of course not!" he said in a sneering tone. ' But
you thought so, and to me there is no difference."
It is one of the phenomena of mind, that, as it enters into the
most painful and agitating circumstances, it grows calm and col-
lected. This Mrs. Harper experienced, and she was enabled to
say in a firm voice: .
" Doctor, I cannot conceal from myself, much as I desire to do
so, the fact that you are not in a condition to go into company."
" And pray why not, madam ?"
' Because you have been drinking too much."
' O yes, of course! I knew that was the reason. My wife
has ome to have sharper eyes than other people, and can discover
her husband to be intoxicated where others can see no indica-
tions."
" You asked my reason for objecting to your going to Mr. Ma-
bury's to night," Mrs. ttarper replied, still in a calm voic.e, "and
I have given it. Most certainly do I wish that it were not the
true reason. Let me, then, beg of you, my dear husband, not to
go out, and, especially, not to go to Mr. Mabury's. Trust in me,
when I say that you are not in a fit condition to be seen abroad !
Surely, your wife can have no selfish end to gain in thus urging
you. Most gladly would she close her eyes to the painful truth,
'ere it in her power."
As Mrs. Harper pleaded thus with him, she came to his side,
and laid her hand, tenderly, upon his shoulder. But he turned
away with an irritated air.
" Are you going with me, or not ? Say yes, or no ?" he said,
a few minutes after, in a stern voice, looking his wife full in tho
face.

THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 161
Conscious of" the reason of' this, and deeply mortified at it, he
:yet did not resolve utterly to abandon the fatal cup that had
wrought him such deep injury, but continued to use it, as .he
thought, in moderation. Many weeks had not expired before
Mrs. Harper's eyes were opened to the sad truth that her hus-
band was again coming more and more under the influence of
liquor.
Before six months had passed away, Doctor Harper often went
to bed stupid from drink. It need not be told how wretched this
made his wife; more especially as he became gloomy, morose,
arbitrary and fault-finding. How sad the change which a single
year had made! Twelve months before, there was not a kinder
husband nor a happier wife to be found. Now, but few words of
pleasant intercourse passed between them--and there was too
often positive unkind treatment on the part of Harper. Like too
many others, when drunk, he was a devil, and seemed to take
a cruel delight in tormenting those whom he most loved when in
his right mind. The consequence was, that his children began to
have a perception of his condition, and would shrink away fi'om
him whenever he had been drlnking--while his wile ever trem-
bled when she looked for his return.
Of all this, old Mr. Atherton, the father of ..rs. Harper,
]mew nothing. Indeed, it was the work of a single year, and
there had been no opportunity for his detecting it by observation.
Of course his daughter dreamed not of communicating, but
sought rather to conceal it.
Once a year, since their marriage, had Mr. Atherton spent
with them a short time in summer, when he sought recreation
from the cares of business, to which he still continued to devote
hinself. A fdv weeks before.he was expected, Mrs. Harper's
fourth child had been born, and she was sitting with it in her
arms, one evening about twilight, when the stage stopped at the
door. In a few monents after she was clasped in the arms of her
father.
" How much I have wanted to see this sweet little stranger,"
]e said, after they were seated, bending over the babe that lay on
its mother's bosom, and kissing it fondly! "Dear little angel!
How perfect a miniature inaage she is of yourself, Grace."- And
as he said so, he looked-into his daughter's face long and atten-
tively.
10

THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 163
" O, nothing, father! I am foolish sometimes ; but I cannot
help it. I did n't use to be such a coward."
Mr. Atherton was puzzled. Grace h,rdly seemed like hs own
child. Once so cheerful, and frank ; now starting at an imagin-
ary sound, for he heard nothing ; tearful, and studious to conceal
the cause of her agitation.
But a brief period passed, when Grace exhibited the same in-
dications of alarm, and this time her father distinctly heard a
movement in the yard. He rose instantly to his feet, and said:
' Tell me, Grace, what it is you fear, that I may know how to
protect you. Speak out plainly, my child. This mystery is all
as strange as it is painful to me."
' The Doctor--" but she could say no more.
' What of him Grace ?" '
But she uttered not another word.
The old man then took a light, and opening the door that led
into the ya.rd, went out, unrestrained by Mrs. Harper. As he
held the candle over his head the first object that met his eye
was the figure of a man standin.g near the window, supporting
himself against the feuce that enclosed the yard.
" Why, Doctor! what is the matter ? " he said, going up and
laying his hand upon his son-in-law, whom he instantly recog-
nized.
A drunken exclamation instantly unravelled the mystery of
the whole evening! How the old man's heart did bound, and
throb, and flutter in his bosom ! For a moment hs brain reeled,
and he felt as if he would fall to the earth. Then recovcr]ng him-
self; he laid.firmly hold of Harper's arm, and led hm into the
house, where he sank down upon a sot, and was in a few minutes
fast asleep.
Who can truly describe the heart-searching misery which was
endured by Mr. Atherton and his daughter in that fearful mo-
ment when all was thus revealed I When the father became con-
scious of-how bitter a cup had been placed to the lips of his
childand conscious of the hopelessness of her condition. For a
long time no word was spoken by either. Grace came and sat
down by hs side, and leaned her head upon his bosom, while he
drew his arm around her and supported her half reclining body.
Thus they sat for nearly half an hour, the deep silence of the
room broken only by the oppressive breathing of the drunken
- man. At length Mr. Atherton said, in a half whisper:

164 THE DRU:NKARD'S WIFE.
" Grace, how long has this been so ?"
" Only a few months," was the reply.
"How long as bad as this ?"
' Not long. He is hardly ever so bad as this. Not once in a
month."
" Have you ever spoken to hm about it ?"
"Yes: but he cannot bear it."
' Is he unkind to you ?"
 0. 
" Do not deceive me, Grace. I am your father and care for
you, and you ought to tell me all wthout dsguse."
" He is uniformly knd to me, father, except when in liquor.
And he is not idmsel then you know."
Mr..Atherton sghed heavily, and remained silent for some
moments. At length he said :
" Would you rather not have hm come to your room to-night,
Gracc ?"
.
"Yes. But he cannot be prevented, father," she sad, after a
brief hesitation.
" Why .would you rather not have hm come ?"
"I do n't know that I care much about it, father, the young
wife said, after another pause.
"Yes, but Grace, you sad just now that you did. Do not
deceive m% my child. Spea out plainly. Are you really afraid
to have ldm come nto your room to-night ? "
"Not on my own account, father."
"Then on whose account ? "
' My babe's."
" Why on her's ? "
" Because he is not himself, you know. And he s a little
rough sometimes." -
" He shall not enter your chamber to-night, Grace," Mr. Ath-
erton sad, in a positive tone.
". Do not be harsh with hm, father; he will not bear it;"
Grace urged.
' Hvc no fear of that, my child. And now do you go to
bed, and lock yourdoor. Leave the rest to me."
After kissing her father tenderly, and bMdng hm a tearful
good-nght, Grace retired to her chanber with her bab% but not
to sleep. How could she sleep under such ch'cumstances

THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 169
stand and administer to them, completed his downfall as a physi-
cian in the town of . It is true, that he was fi'equently
called upon to administer, but not in any families that he cared
to retain, nor that were at all desirable to a physician.
The effect of all this was to drive him more frequently to the
tavern, where he was now to be found oftener than in his office,
" engaged in professional business. Of all this Mr. Atherton
was profoundly ignorant. Notwithstanding the promise of
Grace, she could not bring herself to communicate to her father
intelligence of the dreadful change that had so rapidly followed
his return to the city. She was sure that he would require her
to come home with her children, and abandon her husband, and
this she was not prepared to do. It was for this reason that she
lept fi'om him what she had faithfully promised to communicate.
The gradually diminishing income of Doctor Harper rnade it
necessary that there should be a corresponding reduction of ex-
penses. This his wife saw, and proposed that they should give
up the house in which they lived one of the handsomest in the
town, and remove to a pleasant little cottage on the suburbs, then
vacant. This was agreed to, and, in due time, they took posses-
sion of their new and humbler home. This was a relief to the
mind of Mrs. Harper, for now she could shrink from observation,
and hide herself away from the curious eyes of those whose pity
no matter how sincere, pained and oppressed her.
As has been intimated, that mortification at the condition of
her husband, reduced circumstances, and, worse than all, dimin-
ished respect and regard for the man in whose affection had been
garnered up all her hopes and happiness, were not all the evils to
which she had become subjected. Like too many others, drunk-
enness did not only make Doctor Harper neglectful of his wife
and children, but it made him cruel. It not only debased him to
the mere selfish and sensual condition of the. brute, but made a
devil of him. From one of the tenderest and most afIctionate
ofhusbands, he had become irritable, jealouS, and fault-finding;
and when insane, fi'om intoxication, his wife oten suffered from
physical abuse. His children had learned to fear him, 'nd his
'ife to tremble at his coming.
The cottage in" which they now lived, stood just on the suburbs
of the town, and was removed to some distance from every ot]er
dwelling. Grace oftc felt very lonely as she sat, night after

THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 173
 .
hess within his dwelling. Vexed at finding no light, he was grop-
ing his way across the room, muttering in drunken anger at hi
wife for the neglect, when he stumbled against her body, and
came near thlling. Stooping down to feel what it was that had
obstructed his steps, he passed his hand over her face, and found
it strangely cold and clammy to his touch.
alarm thrilled his heart, and partly sobered him. After groping
about for some time, he succeeded in obtaining a light, which was
instantly held close to her face. It was pale as ashes, and death-
like in its expression. In her hand she still held the letter she
had received. This her husband disengaged from her fingers that
were tightly clasped upon it, and read its startling contents. For
a moment or two after he had become distinctly conscious ot  the
afflicting event that had so suddenly taken place, his brain reeled
mthen he was as perfectly sober as ever he was in his life.
How keen and heart-searching was the remorse that he t'elt, as
he looked down upon the thin, pale, expressionless face, that was
turned towirds him, and thought how basely he had betrayed the
confidence and trampled upon the affections of the gentle being
who had forsaken all for him. Raising her up tenderly, and lay-
ing her upon a bed, he assiduously applied such means as he knew
would be likely to restore her fleeting senses, and soon perceived
the signs of returning animation. At last., as he bent anxiously
over her, she opened her eyes, and looked him steadily in the face,
with an expression of such hopeless agony, for consciousness had
fully returned, that he was atTected almost to tears. Then she
closed her eyes slowly, while her bosom heaved with a deep op-
pressive sigh.
' Grace
But she did not seem to hear her name though uttered in a
tone of unusual tenderness.
" Grace !"
She opened her eyes and |ooked up into the face that bent over
her, but her countenance expressed no heartfelt recognition of
that voice, once full of power to stir every tender emotion of her
nature.
" Grace! Dear Grace I "
Her eyes had again closed, but now they flew open quickly
and a sudden flash passed over her face.
" blay I claim," he continued, " to share in your sorrow--to

TIIE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 175
total abstinence principle, although it had boen declared by some
to be the only true principle upon whichto found a reformation,
was looked upon as the scheme of ultraism. In. this Doctor
Harper agreed with the mass, and would, in consequence, occa-
sionally take a glass of wine, or ale, or cider, as it came in his
way. It may readily be perceived in what a dangerous position
he stood; nor will it be thought any thing strange that he again
fell.
"I am going to dine out to-day, Grace," he-sald one morning,
more than a year after they had removed to the city, ' so do not
wait for me."
" With whom, dear ?" his wife asked, her heart beating with.
quicker motion, she hardly acknowledged to herself why.
'Doctor S-- gives a dinner-party to-day, and as Doctors
M.-- and L-- of New York are to be there, I wish particur
lar]y to be present."
 Come home early to tea, then, Doctor," Mrs. Harper said.
Her husband promised, and then left his office, to attend to his
professional duties.
In spite of every effort to throw off wlat she tried to call an
idle concern, MrS. Harper felt troubled all day long; and towards
evening, when the time came for his return, she was nervous and
excited, and waited and watched for him with an anxious sus-
pense that she tried in vain to banish from her mind. But lie
did not come with the twilight, nor for nearly an hour atter.
Then he returned in  carriage, from which he had to be lifted
and supported up to his chamber. He was again intoxicated!
lron that hour his course was downward. Iu one :)'ear he
sunk so low, and became so abandoned to drink, that no one
would employ him as a physician. One vice usually brings on
another. At least so it proved in his case. The associatiou into
which he fell led him to the gam.bling table as a kind of excite-
ment. Here he wasted rapidly the little fortune he had received
at the death of Mr. Atherton. ""
" Grace," he said, one norning, about four years after their
removal to the city, " we shall have to sell this house."
The pale, care-worn, and sorrow-stricken creature, the mere
shadow of her former self, lifted her eyes to his face, inquiringly,
and asked-
" Why sell the house, Doctor ? "

176 THE DRUNKARD'S WIFE.
" To get something to buy bread with "--was the brief answer
in an impatient tone.
" I think-we had better not sell this house, Doctor," she re-
plied, mildly. "If every thing else is gone, and we sell this
where shall we find a shelter for our children ? "
" I don't see any sense in starving them in a fine house, if you
do," her husband said, angrily " We must sell it, and thus get
sonething to live on, for everything else is gone, let me tell you."
" All our bank stock ? "
" Certainly. You didn't suppose it was going to last for
ever ? "
To this Mrs. Harper made no reply. She had 16ng feared that
her husband was rapidly wasting their substance;but did not
dream that all was gone, except the house in which they lived.
And now she was called upon to express a willingness to part
with thatto remove with her children she knew not whither.
 I can make a good sale of it," her husband proceeded.
" Eight thousand dollars are offered for the house and lot."
Then producing the title deeds, he added
" You will, of course, consent to the sale, and sign away your
right in the.property ? "
"I would rather not do it, Doctor," Mrs. Harper said, look-
ing up into his face, imploringly.
" But you will have to do it, madam. I have already sold it,
and the purchaser is now waiting to receive a clear title."
' ttow could you do so, Doctor, without an intimation of your
design to me. You must have known that I could not leave thi
house without a painful trial," Mrs. Harper said, giving way to
tears. *
" It's useless to go to crying about it, Grace. The thing can't
be helped now. And it's fbolish in you to wish to stay here and
keep up appearances tha we h.ave nothing to sustain. I gaveyou
the last ten dollars we had in the world, besides this ]louse, day
before yesterday, and we owe a good many little bills around,
which can only be paid out of the proceeds of this sale. So come,,
put your name to the paper. Eight thousand dollars will last a
good while. We can move into a smaller house, and live very
eomfortablyespeeially as I am going to open an office again, and
give more attention to business."
Grace took the deed in her hand, and ran her eye over it, al-

TItE DRUNKARD'S WIFE. :183
look so angry. I have done my best, dear;" and the poor crea-
ture tried to smile with a look of affection. But it was a faint
and ghastly smile, indicating the anguish of crushed affection,
rather than the play of a living motion.
" I won't be angry any more, dear Grace! I won't look
cold, nor speak unkindly any more," her husband said, sooth-
ingly and tenderly, as he bent down and pressed his lips to hers
that were burning with fever. " I will love you again, and care
for you, as I once did."
For an instant, the suffering wife looked her husband ntent|y
in the face. His words, she scarcely understood, but that act of
genuine tenderness towards her, her heart perceived, even
delirium.
" It is all well," she murmured, while a sweet smile, whose
genuine expression could not be mistaken, lit up every feature, as
she closed her ey.es, and sunk away into a gentle sleep:
But the fever abated not. In half an hour she awoke, still un-
settled, but with the remembrance of that moment of reconcilia-
tion indelibly fixed in her mnd. All night long did her husband
sit by her bedside, the excitement of the scene compensating for
the physical excitement that had been so suddenly withdrawn,
and thus keeping his nerves fully strung. Towards morning the
fever of his wife abated, and she sunk nto a deep sleep. She
looked so thin and pale, and death-like as he bent over her, that
his heart bounded with an involuntary emotion of fear lest nature
had become too much exhausted.
It was long after daylight vhen she again awoke, an expression
of intelligence flitting over her countenance. Slm found her hus-
band sitting.by the bedside, holding her hand in his, and gazing.
down into her face with a look of subdued tenderness. Sho
closed her eyes for a moment or two, as if to collect her mind,
and then opened them again, and gazed intently upon him.
' Was it not all a sweet dream, then ? " she murmured, in a
doubting tone.
" :No, Grace, it is no dream ; but a blessed reality," her hus-
band softly answered, bending over and kissing her. " From this
hour I am a changed man--from this hour I will be to you
I was in years long passed away : the remembrance of which is
still dear to me. Last night I threw myself vithin the sphere
the great moral reformation that i, now progressingthe

196 TtIE WIDOW'S SOl.
tion now caused her to begin to make excuses for him. She rea-
soned, that, like hundreds of other young men, he had been le'd
on to drink, unsuspectingly, until he was overcome. He had spok-
en of an engagement for the previous evening which was doubt-
less with some of his male companions, with whom he had lin-
gered too long over the wine.
Thus she comforted herself, ,and excused him, her anxiety to
meet him increasing every moment. It was not long before she
'as again tapping at his room door, but with no better success.
Finding that he did not answer, it was suddenly suggested to her
mind that he mght not be there. Instantly she opened the door
and entered. He was lying in a deep sleep upon the bed, his face
flushed, and his breathing hard. The air of the room was
pressed with the vile odor of his breath, the nhalation of which
made his mother sick. Stepping lightly to the windows she
opened them, and after letting the room get thoroughly ventilated,
closed them again and went and stood over him. His face hgd
already become paler, and his respiration less de.ep and oppressive.
The pure air had already imparted its healthy influence.
" Alfi'ed, my son!" she said in a low, earnest voice, laying
her hand gently upon him.
But his ear was too deeply sealed. He could not hear her.
' Alfred, Alfred !" she called, still louder.
Her voice was now evidently heard, for he aroused partally in
which state he lay for some tm% c)nsciousness gadually return-
ing. At length he opened his eyes, and sav hs mother bending
over him. But he quickly closed them agah, and for some mo-
ments endeavored to collect his scattered senses.
' Alfi'ed my son " Mrs. Lennox said, tenderly.
That low, earnest tone, full of maternal pathos, thrilled uDoa
his heart. He felt that it was a tone of forgiveness, but mingled
with grief. It touched the fountains of emotion, and the waters
could not be restrained. ]Irs. Lennox saw the quivering of his
closed eyelids, and then the drops oozing forth, the tokens ot" re-
pentance.
" My dear child!" she murmured, stooping down and kissing
him.  Let this one lesson be a sufficient warning."
 It is--it shall be" he vhispercd, the tears now gushing
forth, and rolling in large pure drops over his checks.
' Then. Alfred let the past be thought of---not wth remorso

198 THE WIDOW'S SON.
was forming to himself a new and admitted end of life. Not so.
tie was still a legal student of great industry, and was rapidly
rising into eminence, not by the overpowering and dazzling bril-
liancy of' genius but by the strong, clear, steady light of a well-
balanced, well-furnished intellect. A good cause placed in his
hands was sure of success, because his mind, acting, upon truth,
was like a burning glass, revealing in intenser light every minute
particular. In a word, he was the pride and first promise of the
Baltimore Bar.
At the age of twenty-slx, he became deeply attached to Flor-
ence R, the daughter of a wealthy merchant. That affec-.
tlon was plainly reciprocated, although no declaration had yet
been made on his part. After consultation with his mother, as to
the young lady's true character and fitness for a wif'e--tbr in tMs
matter he felt willing to confide in her judgment and close obser-
vation-he concluded to make proposals, and did so accordingly.
I-Ie was referred by Florence to her father.
 Mr. R--, ' he said, waiting on that gentleman, with tho
genuine frankness of his character,  I wish to say to you, and
without preliminaries, that I find myself deeply attached to your
daughter Florence. Will you consent to our marriage? '
Alfi'ed had expected a prompt and cordial assent, but he was
mistaken.
"Allow me a week to consider your proposition, Mr. Len-
nox" was the grave reply. " My daughter is very dear to
and I cannot part with her lightly. '
"All perfectly right," Lennox endeavored to say with a cheqr-
ful ar, but his heart sunk within him. He perceived doubt in
the tone of Mr. R--'s voice, and, he thought disapprobatio
in the expression of his countenance. This he could not under-
stand. His position in society was as good as that of Mr.
his character as fair, and his reputation at the Bar high, and still
rapidly rising. It was all a strange mystery. He had supposed
that his offer would have been net promptly and gladly. For a
time his wounded pride resolved to give up all idea of Florence---
tc cast her aside. But this he could not do. The doubt thus
unexpectedly thrown over his prospect of obtaining her, increased
ten-fold his love, and made him ten times more desirous of pos-
sessing her.
As soon as Alfred had left the house, Mr. R.--sougllt his

202 THE WIDOW'S SON.
"I feel that it is right that I should, my dear father; and. be
the result what it may, I promise that I will."
" Spoken like my own dear child !" Mr. R-- said, drawing
her to his bosom, and kissing her fervently.
The maiden rested confidingly there for a few moments, and
then, rising, retired to her own chamber, where, sinking upon
her bed, she burst into a flood of tears. It was a hard task, in-
deed,,that she had set for her young and innocent heart.
leanwhile, Mr. Lennox left the house of Mr. R with his
mind in a tumult. A week ! How could he endure such a sus-
pense, especially where so strong a doubt had been cast over tho
issue. He retired to his office, and throwing himself into a chair,
gave way to gloomy thoughts. As he sat thus, a fi'iend came in
and observing the change in his appearance said--
"In the name of wonder, Alfred, what has come over you ?"
" I've got the blues, if you know what they are ? " he replied,
half laughing, as he endeavored to rally himself'.
' The blues ? I rather think that I do know something about
them. But you ?--what has given you the blues ? "
"As to the cause, that is no matter. But do you know how
to cure them ?"
tt I know various modes of relief. But it takes time for the
performance of a perfect cure."
' So I should think--and even then the prescription may fail.
How, then is temporary relief to be obtained ? "
"I have never found anything so efficacious as a good Tom
and Jerry."
Lennox shook his head.
" Even a strong brandy punch is salutary."
 Then come and let us have one."
His friend needed no second invitation, and so they prdceeded
to a tavern and called for a couple of brandy punches. These
disposed of; and a little time given for the influence to become
manifest, another was taken by each, and then another. Both
then returned to the office of Lennox, where they chatted about
various tnatters for half an hour or so, until the subject of the
young lawyer's most important suit at last came up. When tho
wine is in, the wit is out, all know to be true. So it proved with
Lennox. Three glasses were enough to make him indiscreet, and
so he detailed to his friend the particulars of his love for Flor-

THE WIDOW'S SON. 9,03

ence--how he had offered himself, and had been put off for a
week--with sundry childish declarations of his undying love for
the beautiful maiden.
I:Iis friend laughed in his sleeve at his weakness, and advised
him to keep his spirits up, by pouring spirits down. This advice
he literally followed. When he came home to tea that evening
lrs. Lennox noted with exquisite pain, that he was more than
half intoxicated, and acted very strangely.
"Do not go out this evening, Alfred," she said, as he took up
his hat after tea, and made a movenent towards the door.
 I can't stay in to-night, mother," he replied, turning away
with a gesture of impatience, and hastily quittiug the house.
In so unkind a tone Alfred had never before spoken to his
mother. She saw that he had been drinking, and was thus able
to accotmt for the change. But for a mother thus to excuse ler
son--her only son, and she a widow! Slowly, and with her
head drooping on her bosom, did Mrs. Lennox steal away to her
chamber. Here she sunk upon her knees, and lifted up her
heart in prayer for strength to bear up under an affliction that it
seemed would crush her to the earth. Then, as a degree of
calmness stole over her spirit she prayed for her erring child, be-
seeching with intense fervor that he might be checked ih his
course, ere it were too late--ere he brought down the gray hairs
of his widowed mother in sorrow to the grave.
Thus did she endeavor to rest upon the Strong for strength.
But nature was active within her, and its claitns could not be
silenced. Though calmer, and still looking upwards in hope as
she arose from her knees, yet her heart ached with an indescrib-
able anguish.
As for Alfred, as soon as he had left the house he repaired to
Malcom's, where he met three or four of his young friends.
They saw his condition, but had not the discretion to discourage
him from any further indulgence. On the contrary, they joined
him at once in a social glass. Then they drew up to a table and
commenced a conversation on the current events of the day.
hlore liquor was called for, and as they continued to drink, their
spirits rose higher and higher, and their voices with their spirits--
the loudest voice of all was that of Alfred Lennox. Thus they
spent the whole evening, much to the annoyance of other and
more quiet visitors.

206 THE WIDOW'S SON.

and comprehensive manner. He brought out the different points
of dispute in a clear and apparent light, displaying, as he did so,
his legal knowledge and professional tact in I)eautifid style. Mr.
R--was charmed with the effort made by the young man, and,
at the same time, deeply pained that one formed as he was for
esteem and usefulness should be treading a path of so much doubt
and danger. The opponent of Lennox was a particular fi-iend, or
so Lennox esteemed him--a calm, cool, observant man, who was
deeply read in human nature. None could sooner see a weak
point in an adversary, and none knew better how to take advan-
tage of it, than he. Nor was he at all scrupulous as to the mode
of gaining this advantage. His name was Ball'oral.
At the close of the morning .session the advantage was clearly
on the side of Lennox, who had managed the case with even more
than his usual talent and skill. This Balford plainly saw. Run
ning his arm within that of Lennox, as the latter emerged fi-om
the court room, he said, in a tone of affected concern,
" Really, Lennox, I am aft'aid that you are not going to leave
me a single stone to stand upon."
" I certainly shall not, if "in my power to knock thcm from un-
der your feet," was the half exulting reply. "
" All fair of' course. You are not going home to dine, I pre-
sume ? " Balford added, after a brief pause.
" Why not ? "
" I never burden my stomach when I have an important cause
to argue after dinner. Do you ? "
" I always dine, as usual." .
" There you are in error," Balf'ord said. " I merely take a
glass of' wine or two, and a cracker, thus leaving my body free
from the labor of nutrition, which draws off too much energy
from the brain, while the slight portion of food and stimulating
drinkthat I take, keeps me up, and enables me to think with even
more than ordinary clearness."
" That is all new to me--but it seems rati.o.nal," Lennox re-
plied. " But are you not exhausted when night comes ?"
" Of course, to some degree. But then who xvould not be
willing to bear a little physical exhaustion, to obtain a legal tri-
umpl ? "
' Very true. And I believe I will follow your example," the
young man said.

" THE WIDOW'S SON. 011
' Go where, mother ?"
 Do not attempt to deceive me, Alfred," she replied, in the
same cahn voice. " I know all about your destination this
morning. But your mother says that you must not go--and
surely you will not disobey her injunction!"
 You know not what you say, mother," the young man re-
sponded, bitterly.
"You will not go, surely, Alfred," she said, her tone and
manner changing, "now that you are aware that I know your
errand. Do you think that I could live through the suspense of
this day ?"
" I could curse the miserable wretch who told this tale," the
young man uttered between his eeth, as he commenced pacing
the room backwards and forwards.
" Say you will not go," urged his mother.
 I cannot say that, for I must ,o, was the gloomy reply.
" 0, say not so ! Say not so, Alfred ! Let there be no blood
upon your hands. Let me not be robbed of" my all in this
world !"
' Mother, you know not what you say," urged the youno
man. " I have been deeply and fatally disgraced and injured.
Life has been rendered a burden to me by that man--and I will
be revenged, or die!" .
" 0, talk not so wildly, Alfred! Is there no one in the whole
world to be considered but yourself? Is all regard and affection
gone for your mother, who looks up to you, and reclines upon
you as the only prop to sustain her? Think of these trembling
limbs, this weakened body, fast declining, and forbear. Think
of your mother's wounded and bruised spirit, and pause ere your
rash step be taken."
" Mother ! mother ! you will drive me mad !" the young man
suddenly exclaimed, striking his hand upon his forehead.
 Let me urge you, by all the tenderest and dearest conshlera-
tions, to forbear," continued Mrs. Lennox, beseechingly.
 Mother, you must not speak to me thus !" he said, interrupt-
ing her, in an excited tone. " You are only drugging the cup,
of which I must drink, with intenser bitterness. I cannot pause
---I cannot look back. My honor is at stake--and honor to me
is dearer than life."
And so saying, he turned away and made a movement towards
the door.

214 THE WIDOW'S SON.

mortifying as the admission may be, were carried by drinking.
An electioneering campaign resembled, in some respect, the Bac-
chanalian orgies of old, rather than a general rational movement
of the people, preparatory to an expression of their honest senti-
ments at the polls.
Into this whirlpool of excitement, Alfred Lennox entered with
a keen zest. It enabled him, in some degree, to rise above the
paralyzing influence of two most active causes of depression and
unhappiness--the loss of Florence R, whom he had truly
and tenderly loved, and the death of' Balford, which rested heav-
ily upon his conscience. Four months of active service in this
kind of life, during all of which time he was un.der strong excite-
ment, ended in a defeat. Of course, he sunk at once into a con-
dition of almost hopeless dissipation. For six weeks after the
election, he came home every night so intoxicated as hardly to be
able to find his way to bed.
Such a course of life, united with petty ambling, where there
was little or no income of his own to sustain it, necessarily drew
upon the funds still under his control, as executor of his father's
estate, which had already been greatly reduced, as stated, by the
failure of a joint stock company, in which large investments had
been lnade. In examining into this account one day, when his
mind was less under the influence of artificial excitement than usual,
he was alarmed to discover that there remained but about fifteen
thousand dollars of his Father's handsome property, and that there
was less than one hundred dollars in the bank. The house in
which they lived was valued at eight thousand dollarsthus leav-
ing property from which an income could be derived of only"
seven thousand dollars which netted six hundred dollars per an-
num.
Startled at this discovery, and conscious that it could not long
be concealed from his mother, unless he changed his habits, and
made a strong effort to increase, through his profession, the annual
income, he struggled for some weeks in the effort to reform.
This. did not beconie fully apparent to his now heart-broken
mother, who was sadly altered, and rapidly sinking in health and
spirits, until the passage of two or three days. She had noticed
that he did not go out as usual on one or two evenings, but, as he
retired to his room, and thus avoided her, she hoped little from
the change. On the third evening, she could not but notice that

TttE WIDOW'S SON. 215

there was a great difference in his appearance and manner towards
her. He was unusually kind, and seemed anxious to do some-
thing to chase from her brow the cloud of sorrow that ever rested
there.
" Shall I read something to you, mother ?" he said, laying hi.
hand upon a book.
"Alfi'ed ? " And she looked him steadily in the face, while her
own countenance changed rapidly in its expression.
"I know what you would say, mother," he replied after a
pause, "and I will anticipate your question. I trust that I have
at last awakened from a wild, delirious dream. Three days ago
I made a vow that I would stop short in the mad career I had
been running. And I have stopped. Since then I have been
sober and rational, and in every way a far happier man. And
from this day forth, I am resolved to remain sober and rational."
Ere he had finished speaking Mrs. Lennox had risen from her
chair and sprung to his side; and now her arms were around
him, and her tears were falling fast upon his bowed head.
" The Lord help you to keep that resolution, my son !" she at
length said in a low and solemn tone, lifting her eyes and hands
upwards.
A few moments of breathless silence folloved, during which
both hearts were lifted to Heaven in deep aspirations for aid above
mere human strength to sustain the. erring one in the hour of
temptation. Then the mother sunk exhausted on a chair, feeling
as weak and helpless almbst as an infant. The sudden and strong
reaction of a newly awakened hope, was too powerful for her
feeble body, weakened by age and heart-searching trouble.
" O, Alfred," she said, after she had recovered, in some degree,
the tone of her mind, " you can never know how much I have
suffered in the last few years. I wonder, sometimes, how I havo
lived through it."
"Do not allude to that, mother," he replied, while an expres-
sion of pain passed over his face. " I dare not think of these
things--when I do it seems as if I would be driven to desperation.
Wretch ! miserable, heartless wretch that I have been !"
The strong agony pictured in the face of her son, alarmed Mrs.
Lennox, and she soothed him as best she could.
" Read to me, Alfred," she at length said. " You know how
much I love to have you read to me."

218 TIIE WIDOW'S SON.

passed between them during the meal. Lennox did not wish to
converse, and his mother's hea:t was too full to speak. At night
he was still more under the influence of liquor, and went imme-
diately out after tea. It was twelve o'clock when he returned,
a.d then he went stumbling up to bed, startling the whole house
with his noise.
The subsidence of this determined struggle against the debasing
,-ice to which he had become enslaved, left him weaker in resolu-
tion than ever. He could now oppose only a temporary desire to
be freed from his evil habit, without a single hope of ever being
able to rise above it. Of course, under such a state of feelings,
he went downwards more rapidly.
A few months brought the affairs of his executorship into such
a condition that he feared they could no longer be concealed fi'om'
his mother. The last dollar had been drawn from bank, and no
more rents would be due for two months.
" Alfred, I wish you would bring me home fifty dollars," she
said to him one morning, as he was about leaving the house, after
breakfast.
He promised to do so and then immediately went out. He
had ten dollars in his pocket, all the money he possessed in the
world. His mother supposed that there were, as there should
have been, several thousands in bank. Although he was dissipa-
ted, she could not suspect him of squandering her money, for her
confidence in his integrity of character was unwavering. The
vice of drunkenness was a weaknessa blind infatuation. But
to waste the substance of his widowed mother was an act in her
estimation so far beyond his power to commit, that the bare sus-
picion of such a tMng never crossed her mind. Of this he felt
conscious, and it caused him to feel pangs of remorse still more
acute.
To his office he first repaired, where he paced the floor for some
time, his mind in a state of violent agitation.
"She must notshe shall not know it!" he at length said,
pausing and striking down his clenched hand into the vacant air
with the energy of desperation. " That pang I will at least spare
her." .
He seemed in that last expression to have confirmed himselt in
the determination to perform some act at which his mind revolted,
for his whole manner changed, and he became calm and apparently

THE WIDOW'S SON. 219

resolved. After hastily arranging some papers, he left the office
and proceeded to a drinking-house, and called for brandy, his
favorite drink. A single glass was taken, then another, and
another, at intervals of five or ten minutes. As these began to
take effect, his whole appearance underwent a change. The
despondency of mind and lassitude of body under which he had
been laboring gave way to a degree of buoyant confidence, that
flowed out into the expression of his face and bearing of his
body.
"I can do it, and I will do it," he said, half aloud, as he
stepped into the street again.
He now took his way down Calvert street until he came to
Lovely Lane, through that to South street, then down, and along
Second street to ------, into which he turned, first glancing quickly
up and down to see if observed by any person to whom he was
known. Along this Avenue he proceeded some one or two hun-
dred yards, and then-turned into a narrow alley leading into a
large building, the rear of which presented few or no indications
of its being inhabited. He entered this and ran hurriedly up the
stairs, as if still fearful of observation. He had evidently been
there before, for the way was familiar to him. The termination
of a long, unfurnished, dirty passag% brought him to a door, which
he opened, and then entered a richly furnished apartment, spread
with tables, at several of which sat groups of individuals, ab-
sorbed in play. After wandering through this room, glancing
first at one party, and then at another, he seemed to make a
selection of that to which he preferred attaching himself, and at
once drew up to the table where the individuals composing it were
seated.
The stakes on this table were small, and therefore he had
chosen it. As soon as the game then playing was out, the cards
were shuffled, and he was invited to take a hand. The stake was
one dollar. Helaid his dollar upon the table, played, and won--
played again, and won, and so continued until he had won fifty
dollars. Elated at this success, he readily agreed to stake the
whole sum.--This time he lost.
The presiding genius of the table was a short, dark man, with
large whiskers, and a pair of keen restless eyes. At every op-
portunity that offered for scrutinizing, unobserved, the face of
Lennox, he had not failed most carefully to read the expression

222 THE WIDOW'S SON.
the stakes, smiling inwardly as he did so, and occas:.onally glanc-
ing towards his victim. He knew the exact state of mind of one
under such circumstances, as well as does a physician the condi-
tion of his patient by the state of his pulse. The first efferves-
cence of excitenent he allowed to pass off, and then approaching
him, said, in a soothing tone:
" Do not act so, my dear sir! Remember where you are, and
show yourself to be a man. To one so uniformly successful as
you, a single reverse should not so utterly dishearten. 'Try
again,' is the motto of the ultimately successful in all enterprises
--and it is emphatically true to all who engage in this hazardous
profession. Since yesterday I have lost twenty thousand dollars
--but I never get excited. 'Keep cool,' is my rule of life.
Four young men have won from me, during the week, handsome
little capitals on which to commence business. I cannot but be
pleased at their success, even though I am the loser. But I will
make it up again out of s(;me rich young spendthrifts, who are
anxious to squander the wealth into the possession of which they
have fallen so easily. You have only lost about five hundred
dollars since you came in, and surely that  will not utterly dis-
courage you. Why, a young man sat down to that table last
night, and lost three thousand dollars, when luck turned in his
favor, and he left here with nearly fi-e thousand dollars in his
pocket. Suppose he had given up when the chances were
against him, at two thousand five hundred dollars, what would
have been the result ? Why ruin, for he was not worth over a
thousand dollars in the world."
Thus the tempter urged, and at last induced Lennox to accept
of another advance of five hundred dollars. In thus continuing
to made advances, he knew perfectly the nature of his risk. He
was aware that his victim possessed the entire control of' his
mother's property, no part of which came under the denomina-
tion of real estate, and which could therefore, be transferred
without her knowledge. He likewise perfectly understood his
character, and vas satisfied that he would meet every obligation
as long as he had in his hands the means of' doing so, even to the
trespassing on the rights of' another, when he could rest upon the
hope of restoring the money he used by" some successful turn of
fortune. Thus he coolly calculated the risks he run in compass-
ing from selfish ends, the ruin of Lennox.

94 TtIE WIDOW'S SON.
last successful in the profession, I lost a pretty little fortune.. You
lose a little now but you gain a skill that will amply repay you,
in the end, every sacrifice you now make."
" Don't mistake me, if you please," the young lawyer an-
swered, half indignantly. " [ have no desire to identify myself
with gentlemen of your profession."
 O, as to that, every man must follow his own taste," the
gambler replied, tossing his head contemptuous|y. " But it struck
me that you were not altogether ]oth to win this morning." "
 That was the result of a painful necessity, sir," Lennox said,
somewhat sternly; "not of a fixed principle. I hold it a moral
wrong to gamble ! It is the taking the money of another, with-
out rendering him a just equivalent."
" And yet you seemed wonderfully elated to-day when you had
a thousand dollars by your side, of wnnings, not earnings," ths
gambler said, with a malicious grin.
" :No doubt I didand I had reason for it. But I will not at-
.
tempt to justify even in myself an act that I condemn as wrong
in another. I was wrong in going to your infernal den, and
wrong to feel delight in winning your noney. But let us waive
all that. Your business now is, I presume, to claim the cancelling
of the debt I madly suffered myself to recur.
 You anticipate me in declaring the reason of my visit," .the
gambler replied.  I come for the money you have acknowledged,
under your hand, to be justly due me."
' You will have to wait a few weeks, until I can rea]ise on the
sale of a house," Lennox said. " I have no ready money."
' Your notes are on demand."
" I know that, sir, as well as you do; and you can demand
their payment a dozen times a day, for the next three weeks, if
you choose--but, my word for it, the money will not be fo,'th-
coming before the end of that time, if, indeed, the whole of it
then," Lclmox replied, indignantly.
The gambler groimd his teeth together, and muttered a half
audible threat--but the eye of Lennox fell not, nor quailed a mo-
ment beneath his fixed and angry glance.
 You are a. "
' Beware !" ejaculated the lawyer suddenly, interrupting tha
sentence. ' A man in my position cannot bear much. Xrou may
provoke me beyond endurance."

THE WIDOW'S SON. 225
There was that in the look, tone, and manner of the unhappy
young man, that made the gambler, fearless and desperate as lie
was, hesitate.
" You will, at least secure me in mortgage on your property
until such time as sales of it can be effected ? " he said, after a
pause of some considerable tme.
" I will do no such. thing!" was the prompt answer. " My
honor is your security, and that is all you need expect ; for, most
assuredly, it is all that you will receive."
" We :ill see ! " the gambler said, rsing suddenly and leaving
the office.
After he had ]eft Lennox went to the office of a real estate
broker, and made arrangements with him for the sale of a house,
estimated to be worth four thousand dollars--the most valuable
piece of property owned by his mother. The terms, as proposed
by himself, were one-half in cash, one-fourth in six, and one-
fourth in twelve months. In the course of the next two weeks a
purchaser was found, for the property was desirable, being under
but a nominal ground rent. The money was paid down, notes
given, and deed transferred. It was but half an hour after the
closing of this transaction, that the gambler entered his office.
" You are a prompt man," Lennox said ironically.
"Such is my reputation," vas the cool reply.
Without another word, Lennox proceeded to fill a check for ths
two thousand dollars, which he had just deposited. This he
handed to his unwelcome visitor, after receiving the obligations
which he had given, when the latter bowed low and withdrew.
"A lesson for a lifetime, I should think," the young man mur-
mured to himself, sinking back in his chair, overcome with a ris-
ing and overpowering sense of despondency. ' Fool! fool that
I have been ! This day I might have stood among the first and
most successful advocates at the Bar--but for my blind, mad
folly! I have sold my .birth-right for a mess of pottage!
Wretch, fool, madman that I am ! And now I am going on to
entail tenfold misery on the head of that honored moher, whoso
life I have already made a burden too painful to be borne!
Wretched man that I am !---=What shall save me fi'om this wild
in6atuation ? I teel that I have lost the power of self-control, aud
am madly rushing on to destruction. O wretched wretched maa
that I am ! "
14

TIIE WIDOW'S SON. 227"
liar khd of interest which a parent always feels for a child hope-
lessly deformed, and rendered in a measure disgusting to others.
She did not give way to a paralysing despondency under her
severe trials, but was kept in a degree of calm yet exquisitely
painful resignation to her hard lot. The wind, tempered in a de-
gree to the shorn lamb, was still a cold and biting wind.
Things remained nearly in the same condition in which we
have presented them for aboht a year and a half, when Lennox
who had been several times during the period tempted to risk
something at the gaming table, found himself again in a narrow"
place, in consequence of having lost several large sums of money.
The only property that remained of all that had been entrusted
to his cre, was a small house worth twelve or fourteen hundred
dollars, and the dwelling in which they lived, which was a very
handsome one. Of all this :Mrs. Lennox was profoundly igno-
rant. Nor did any suspicion of the real state of affairs cross her
mind. She knew that the habits of her son must involve a con-
stant outlay of money, but she supposed that he was of course
doing something in the way of his profession by which all his
wants we're more than supplied. Every time she asked for
money the amount desired, whether large or small, was promptly
handed to her, and thus no suspicion was allowed to enter her
mind.
No resource presenting itself, Lennox was induced to sell
again. I-Ie d.id so, and received a few hundred dollars as the
cash payment on the sale. Conscious that this amount could not
possibly meet all the demands that would be made upon him, his
mind entered seriously upon a debate of the question, how that
small sum could be used to reproduce itself. Of course, to a man
in his condition, and to one who had already been tempted to
play, no means could present themselves better than the gambling
table. The income from his profession was a mere trifle, for fear
were disposed to employ him in any case that involved even small
consequences. To the gaming table, then, he resorted, risking
only small sums, and breaking away when the chances were
against him. But, although he often won, yet he rarel'y left
one of those miserable haunts without a diminution of the sum
of money with which he had entered. At last every dollar had
vanished.
" If I onl 7 had fifty dollars I could recover allI know that I

2"28 TIlE WIDOW'S SON. 
could !" he said, one morning, as the influence of hs early potao
tions began to be felt. Under this new impulse of hope he went
and borrowed, on a mortgage of the house in which th,ey lived
the sum of four hundred dollars. Twelve o'clock that night
found him wandering the street half delirious without a dollar in
his pocket.
Thus he continued to waste in van efforts to gain back what
he had so wickedly squandered of his widowed mother's sub-
stance, until all was gone. The house in which they lived was
only nominally the property of Mrs. Lennoxthere were upon
it mortgages fully covering every cent of its value. And for a
payment of the loans upon these, her so.n was daily harassed.
Of all this she was in profound ignorance.
"I want thirty or forty dollars, Alfred," she said to hlm as
he was about rising from the breaktast table at a time when his
mind was in a state of tumult under the first vvid and harrowing 
consciousness of his true position.
tte started involuntarily at the .request, and a eonfised expres-
sion passed suddenly over his countenance. This, if perceived,
was not understood by his mother--at least suspicion was not
aroused in her mind. At the regular dinner hour he did not
come home, a circumstance of such rare occurrence that it troub-
led Mrs. Lennox. Towards evening however he returned but
so much intoxicated as to be obliged to go to bed. On the next
morning when he awoke it was with a vivid consciousness of tho
true nature of his relation towards his mother. IIer already
sadly changed appearance troubled him and had continued to
trouble him all along for its cause he knew but too well. How
much more distressing would be the change when she should
come to know all! He dared not think of it.
To meet her at the breaklast tabl% without the money she had
asked for on the day before, he did not dare to do; for he felt
that if he should do so, he must inevitably betray the secret of
his mad waste of her entire substance. He therefore arose and
quietly left the house. To his oee he first went but the tumult
of his mind was too grea t to allow him to remain there but for a
short period. From thence he repaired to a tavern and drank
freely, bleeting a few friends there about as abandoned to tho
vice of tippling as himsel; he spent a great portion of the morn-
ing in drinking and discussing politics. When he at last

230 THE WIDOW'S SON.
came, as come she felt t'hat it must where she would find even
for herself a shelter or home.
During that morning, in the absence of Lennox, a legal process
had been served upon him at the house preparatory to a fore-
closure of the mortgages. This process came into his mother's
possession, and at once revealed to her the secret he had been so
anxious to conceal from her. A fbw weeks sufficed to effect a
sad change in Mrs. Lennox's external circumstances. Her home
of thirty years was taken fi'om her, and she was forced to remove
to a very small and uncomfortable tenement, after the sale of a
great portion of her furniture, the proceeds of which formed her
only means of support for herself and her son, to whom her affec-
tions, shocked and lacerated as they had been, still clung with a
deep and abiding tenderness.
As for him, the shock roused him to a temporary exertion.
For a few months he abstained from drink, and attended regular-
ly at his office and the court room. Several cases had already
come into his hands, and his mother had begun to feel new hope
for him enkindling in her bosomuwas beginning to be reconciled
to the change in her circumstances, if the effect upon Alfred was
to be so salutary, when he fell again, and abandoned himself to a
lower degree of moral debasement.
A few more years sufficed to sink Mrs. Lennox into a condi-
tion of abject poverty, and to make her son as abandoned and
wretched in appearance as he was in character. It was with the
utmost difficulty that, stricken in years and broken in health, the
mother could procure, by knitting and very coarse sewing, for
her eyesight had failed her very much as years accumulated, even
the necessary food, coarse in quality, that was required to sustain
nature. In him the desire for drink had increased until the ob-
taining of it made up the one end of his life. For a time, when
other means failed, he would borrow small sums fi'om old ac-
quaintances; when this could no longer be done, and he could
get liquor in any of the lowest and vilest places on trust, he re-
sorted to that means. But his failure to pay soon cut off this re-
source. Then he would abstract, when opportunity offered
pennies and even small silver fi'om his mother, hard as she had
to toil" for the meagre pittance she could obtain, until she was
forced to keep this temptation out of his way. Often he would
go for nearly a whole day without a drink, and when night earn%

THE WIDOW'S SO1'. 233
 I do n't ]now, mother, that you will 'eel much confidence
what I say--I have deceived both yourself and my own self so
sadly and so often," the son replied. " But the truth is this
]lave joined the society of reformed drinkers to-night, and I feel
more confidence in being ab|e to abide by my pledge than ever
did in any resolution which I have heretofore taken to reform.
Others have confidence in me likewise, as these dry and comfort-
able clothes will testify. Can you take hope, mother ?"
It was only a few days before that Mrs. Lennox had been
made acquainted with the wonderful d ings of the Washington
and Howard Temperance Societies--how they were drawing
within their sustaining sphere drunkards of the lowest grade, and
thoroughly reforming them. The intelligence had seemed to her
like a strange passage in some bewildering dream. :But when
she heard her son relating, in a calm and earnest manner that
had united himself with these men, and saw that he had really
not been drinking, she felt a new and lively hope springing
tempered it is true by fear and trembling.
" A mother's heart never ceases to hope for her child," sho
aid, in reply to his question, the moisture dimming her aged
eyes.
" Hope then for me with a stronger hop, and let me find a
power in your confidence," was his reply. ': I am deeply in
earnest now ; and with my earnest effort to reform, is united
what I hae never had before, the sustaining power of a largo
society. Oh, mother! if you could know how wretched I havo
been for the last six monthswretched in body and mind, you
would feel sure, that, once escaped from the horrible pit and tho
miry clay, nothing could tempt me back again."
" Oh, my son, if you can only find power to abide by this reso-
lution," Mrs. Lennox said, her voice trembling, and a" sudden
agitation running through every nerve, " how happy I shall be !
The past shall all sink into oblivion, or be renembered only to
dd pleasure to the present."
" I will abide, mother. I feel that I must abide."
': Then let us give thanks to Him who has thus caused light to
pring up amid darknessto Him who will be strength to us in
every good resolution."
As she said this, the mother sank upon her knees and her son
by her sid% and with humble acknowledgments for the gret

THE NIODERATE DRIVER.

' CoM, Harvey', let u have a drink," said Itenry Martin to
his friend, Harvey Gray, as the two stood conversing at the cor-
ner of the street, one beautilul evening in dune.
"Thank you Henry--I do not care about drinking."
'Nonsense! Come along l I shall take it as an offence if
you do not drink with me."
' I hope not, Henry ; for, as I refuse to drink from principle,
I should regret extremely to have you take an offence because I
do not feel at liberty to violate a principle."
"Principle ! What has principle to do with drinking,, pray ?"
' In my case it has a good deal to do with it. It is a danger-
ous habit, and therefore I will not indulge it."
" Dangerous ! How strangely you talk ! "
t' Did you never see a drunkard, Henry ?"
" Certainlymwhat then ?"
"Have you never felt afraid of becoming such a debased, un-
happy creature ?"
"Do you wish to insult me, Harvey Gray ?" the friend said
half indignantly.
" You know that I do not," was the calm reply.
" Then how could you ask me such a question ?"
' Because it seemed to me pertinent to the matter under con-
sideration. The most debased drunkard was once a sober man,
and dreamed as little of danger as you seem to now."
" But he drank immoderatelyI am a moderate drinker. I
know exactly how much to take."
" So did he once, and no doubt reasoned as you do."
"I shall really get seriously offended, if you continue to
allude to me in that way, Itarvey," the young man said. " It
no more follows that because a man drinks he is in danger of
drunkenness, than it does that because a man crosses a bridgo

THE MODERATE DRI:NKER. 251
 I am sorry to say s madam s that your father has just been sent
to jail" he said on obtaining an interview with her.  I am tho
officer whose duty it was made to convey him ther% and I have
thought it but right that you should be instantly informed of the
fact."
" My father in jail !" poor Mrs. N--exc|ahned, turning
pale. " Who put him there ?--what is he h for ?"
" He has been committed s madam s by a man named Hugh
]Iurphy to whom he owes a bill of eighteen dollars."
" He must not stay there, sir" Anna said prompt|y ; "how"
daa|l I obtain his release ? "
" Simply by a payment of the debts and costs."
" That I will of course do ; and as you s sir s have been so kind
as to bring the news of tfis imprisonment can I so far trespass on
your kindness as to make :you the bearer of his release ?"
' I will do it with pleasure, madam," was the officer's courte-
ous reply.
The amount of debt and costs was handed to the officer, who
immediately went to the jail and obtained the infatuated old
manSs release.
As soon as he was gone, Anna repaired to her mother's and
without acquainting her of the fearful act she had learned
waited with much anxiety for her father's return. He came in
at last as if nothing had happened ; but Anna could not restrain
herself.
" Os father!" she ejaculated, coming up to him quickly and
grasping his handy ' is it possible that the). have had :you in
jail ?"
"In jail!" Mrs. Martin said in a tone of surprise and alarm
at once springing to her feet. ,
" Yes s they have had me ther%" the old man said s with some
excitement in his tone; " but thanks to your prompt attentio%
Anna, I am at liberty once more."
He then explained to his wife and daughter that he had owed
a debt to Hugh lurphy who had warranted him, and put him
in jail before he could send word to any of his fiqends. They
of course, had not llhe nost remote suspicion of the whole truth.
This circumstance was deeply mortifying and distressing to the
'hole family the" more so as it seemed to effect not the slightest
change in Mr. Martin's habits, and indicated the beginning of a
new series of troubles.

THE I][ODERATE DRINKER.

lwtu ; but the judicious treatment of" an able physician prevented
the full exhibition of this terrible disease. The tavern-keeper
who had imprisoned the old man, determined that he would not
be outdone, and so continued every week to advance the jail fees,
for four successive weeks, when, finding that others were as earn-
est in the matter as himself', he declined losing any thing more
and so l.ermitted Mr. Martin to come out.
Having abstained for thirty days, his family and fi'iends made
a strong effort to induce him to abandon entirely the debasing
vice of drunkeuness. He promised, and made a feeble but brief
effort. Long before the first week of his release had expired, he
came home intoxicated. He had found a half dollar in his wife's
drawer, and had drunk within an hour as much liquor as it would
buy. The insatiable desire that had been suspended in a degre%
now came back upon him with almost maddening intensity.
Liquor he must hay6 at any and all hazards, lIurphy would not
of course, trust him again, nor could he obtain liquor on trust
anywhere, for wherever lie was known he owed bills for drink.
Still, his intolerable desire must be satisfied. His first debauch
after his release fi'om imprisonment, pat him in bed for the bal-
ance of the day. On the next morning he awoke early, and
went out to seek for liquor, he hardly knew where. He had
been in the street, however, but a few minutes, when an expedi-
ent struck him, and he proceeded direct towards Light street
wt:arf, along which he passed quickly until he came to the neigh-
borhood of :Federal Hill, when he turned off into a small street
called York street. He had not proceeded far along this before
lie came to a shop where old clothes were bought, sold, or ex-
changed, and grog dealt out likewise to a very low class of cus-
.tomers, principally negroes.
" Have you an old vest that will fit me ?" he asked, as he
entered this vile place.
 O, yes," said the keeper, smiling, and coming forward with
the same kind of' alacrity that is exhibited by the spider when an
unlucky fly finds its way into its den.
" I want to exchange this handsome one which I have on for a
more comnon article, and get the difference."
" O, certainly, certainly. But we never pay out money here
you know. We tlways credit in drinks."
" Show me some vests then."

254 TIIE IIODERATE DRI:NKER.
A pile of second-hand garments of the kind he asled for were
taken fi'om the shelf, and displayed before him. After trying on
two or three, he selected one much worn and faded, and was told
that he should have cedit for three quarters of a dollar in the
exchange. This was at once agreed to and the old vest at once
assmned the place of a handsome silk one.
Old Mr..h'Iartin now. began to feel the absolute necessity of
not only husbanding his resou'ces, but of drinking the cheapest
kind of liquor. He therefore called for whiskey.
" Will you have a three cent or a tip glass ? " asked the grog-
seller.
': A three cent glass," was the reply.
About the same quantity of a common article of whiskey as he
obtained of brandy ordinarily for a tip, was poured out for him.
The shop-keeper did n't trust his customers to help. themselves.
:Now came the serious effort to drink it. Lemon peel waa
resorted to, and holdhg of the nose, but all to no purpose--the
liquor would not remain on his over-tried and weakened stomach.
' Give me a two cent glass," the wretched old man sad after
waiting two,or three mndes ; ' perhaps it will stay now."
A tvo cent glass was poured out, and poured down, butit
came back again as suddenly as water fi'om a red-hot surface.
" Ugh!" ejaculated the drunkard, " this is wretched work!
Give me another."
" A two center or a three center ?"
' A two center of course. It won't do to waste three centers
in this way."
Another glass was poured out, which Martin held in his hand
for perhaps two minutes, attentively consulting all the time the
condition of his stomach, which, from the stinu|ating effects of
the small portion of the fluid that remained adhering to its coat-
ings, was gradually, but very slowly, coming up to that tone
which would enable it to bear its daily burdens.
" I think it will stay now" he sad, raising the glass and
turning it quiclly off.
This 'as followed by two or three fetchings, not powerful
enough, however, to throw off what he had taken.
" That will do, I believe," he said, with an air of satsfact]on
as the spasmodic action of the stomach subsided ;  now give rao
a three center. '

256 TIIE MODERATE DRINKER.
were none but his two sons-in-law who were able to purchase
hin clothing, and she could not expect them to keep lfitn fur-
nished with a supply of decent garments, to be regularly sold or
exchanged in order to get money to buy liquor. The lateness of
the hour at which she finally sunk to rest, caused her to sleep
more soundly as the night waned. When she finally awoke, it
was an hour after sunrise. Her husband had already arisen and
gone. The breakfast hour a['ri:ed, and she waited and waited for
him, but he came r, ot. Then she sat down with her little girl
and swallowed a few mouthfuls, but with a heavy heart. Slowly
the morning hours rolled away, and dinner time came; but her
husband returned notnor did he make h.is appearance in the
evening, nor all through the night.
Alarmed and distressed, she called to see her son-in-law, Mr.
/, at an early hour on the next morning, and told all that-
she had observed in regard to the changed clothing, and his sub-
sequent absence. Mr. N was deeply pained at tile relations
and proposed that nothing should be said to his wife on the sub-
jcct, while he and Emily's husband made an effort to find tile
infatuated ohl man. Mrs. Martin accordingly returned hem%
and the young men, after consultiug together, started out in
search of their father-in-law.
They first proceeded to the neighborhood of Frederick and
Water streets, it having been before ascertained that he was in
the habit of visiting some of the shops in that vicinity. To an
inquiry made ia one of the liquor-stores kept by a vulgar-lookio.g
Irish woman, they were told that an old man, an.swering to their
descriptio'a of Mr. Martin, had been in her shop only an hour
before for liquor, but that she had refused him because he had
no money.
" Which way dd he go after he left your shop ?" inquired
one of the young men.
' Down Frederick street towards the wharf," was the reply.
They turned their steps in that direction and by inquiry traced
tile individual described by the Irish woman to another grog-shop
half way down to Pratt street. There the.,v were told that ho
wa up stairs, and they ascended a pair of filthy, rickety stairs, to
a knd of ill-lighted loft above. A wretched looking man, ia
soiled and tattered garments, sat half reclining upon the floor. A
ingle glance told them that he. was not the individual they wero

THE MODERATE DRINK:BIt.
seeking. But he was not the only miserable inmate of' this cheer-
less apartment. There were, besides himself, his wife and five
little children. A dark-green shade was bound over the woman's
eyes and it was evident that she saw but imperfectly. A table
vas on the floor, around which the children stood receiving their
morning meal.
The first impulse of' the two men was to retire the moment they
ascertained their mistake. But a glance through the apartment,
as soon as their eyes became so used to the dim light as to distin-
guish objects clearly, made them pause.
 Won't you sit down, sirs ? " the woman said, advancing and
placing before them two old chairs without backs, the only seats
of any kind which the roon contained.
Mechanically N-- took the proffered seat, and his companion
imitated his example. A glance or two sufficed to make them
acquainted with the nature of the meal which the mother had pre-
pared for her little ones. In the centre of the table stood a large
earthen pie-dish, a section of which had been broken out almost
down to the bottom. To make it hold what had been placed in
it the broken side had been elevated by a small brick-bat. It con-
tained what was intended for a kind of soup, consisting of two
hock-ends of bacon, which one of the children had picked up in
the street, where they had been thrown to the hogs boiled in
water to extract all the nutritious matter that remained. Be-
sides the broken pie-dish that contained this soup, there was a
smaller one, broken in a very similar manner, and supported on
its edge after a like fashion. Into this smaller dish the mother
would lade with an old pewter spoon, half of tile handle of' which
had been broken off, a portion of' this miserable food, and then
hand the spoon to one of the children, who eat while .the rest
waited impatiently for their turns to come. So eager for food
were all these little ones, the oldest mly about eight years of
that they heeded not tile presence of' strangers. While this oper-
ation was going on N-------said to his brother-in-law, in a low
trembling whisper,
 Wait here a moment."
And then went hurriedly down stairs, tie was gone but a few
minutes, when he returned with two or three loaves of bread, and
a large piece of' cold ham which he had obtained at an eating-
house in the neighborhood. These he placed upon the tabl% and
16

260 THE MODERATE DRINKER.
and she drinks it out, or gets tobacco with it, as she likes. The
shopkeeper then selects the best pieces of bread, meat, or pie from
the disgusting mass, and arranges them on clean plates. A meal
off of these costs a flp. The next best is set out, at three cents a
cut. What remains is thrown into a pot--meat, bread, fish, pota-
toes, pudding, and a dozen other things, and boiled down, into a
kind of hash. This is what .is called 'grub,' and is sold at one
cent a bowl. It is upon this, at one cent a meal, that drunkards
of the lowest grade, white or black, live."
" Do many live thus ? " was asked.
" Not many here, thank heaven ! But in Philadelphia and
New York, I am told, that very many are thus kept from starva-
tion."
 But how do the wretches who live thus obtain liquor .9 ,'
" In various ways. Some by ' grubbing,' some by stealing,
some by doing little odd jobs, as piling wood, putting away coal,
&c. Besides, liquor is very cheap. A good deal of poor whis-
key can be got in some of these shops for a cent or two. And to
meet even the very lowest want in drinking, as in eating, many
shops save the water in which the glasses are rinsed, and by add-
ing a little more liquor give it some strength, and call it all
sorts.' A good stiff glass of this is sold for a cent."
" Can you not direct us where we would be likely to find the
old man we have alluded to ? " they said, after listening to these
painfully disgusting details. " You seem well acquainted with
things in this neighborhood."
" Perhaps I can," he replied. " At least I have no objection
to try."
He then led the way up an alley running parallel with York
street, most of the houses in which seemed to be inhabited by
blacks of a low order.
" Let us go in here," their guide said, pausing before a dilapi-
dated fi'ame tenement ; " this, I believe, is one of the sleeping
dens." .
He opened the door with little ceremony, and they followed
him, not without some fears, for they knew neither the individual
conducting them, nor the place into which they were going.
The roon entered by them was dinaly lighted by a single lamp,
scarcely brighter than a taper, throwing its flickering rays over a
dark mass of human beings, stretched upon the floor. Old and

62 THE MODERATE DRI:NKER.
u Merciful Heavens ! Can that be your father ?"
Anna instantly sprang to her feet, and strained her eyes
eagerly in the direction indicated by her mother. Nearly oppo-
site sat an old man on a cellar oor, his clothes covered with dust
and dirt, whose general appearance was that of Mr. Martin, only
that the hat which covered his head was an old, worn, white hat
.---while his own was new and black, when he went out in the
morning. Half-a-dozen boys, black and white, were gathered
around, and were using all their juvenile ingenuity to annoy
him. One would pull his ha down over his eyes, another would
go behind and push him suddenly forward, while another moro
regardless, would gather up handfuls of dust and shower it over
him.
 It can't be father, ma," Anna said, trembling from head to
foot, and growing deadly pale,  and yet how much it looks like
him."
"Your father's hat was a black one," Mrs. Martin said, still
eagerly running her eyes over the wretched man who had
attracted their attention.
 But he may have sold it," pursued the daughter.
At that moment the old man made an effort and succeeded in
gaining his feet, at which his little crowd of tormentors set up a
loud shout of derision, one pulling at his coat-tail, another push-
ing hin forward, while another attempted to trip up his heels.
lie had only proceeded thus a few paces, when he fell forwards
over the curbstone, and struck his head upon the rough pavement
with a violent concussion. As he fell, Anna caught a glimpse of
his face. It was, indeed, her own father. Quick as thought she
ran down stairs, and sprang at a few bounds across the street.
The energy of her manner al once caused the little group of boys
to recede from him, as she stooped down, and with a strength
superior to her natural physical powers, lifted him up and drew
him upon the pavement.
" For the love of Heaven, carry him across the street for
me !" she then ejaculated, lifting her head, and looking ito the
faces of a few adult by-standers, with a wild, pale, agitated
countenance.
Her request was instantly obeye.d, and her father taken into
her house and laid upon a bed. The presence of a crowd press-
ing into her chamber, restored to Mrs. T in some degree a

THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE. 369

CHAPTER II.

Trn tavern keeper did not err in his calculation. A week had
not elapsed before Latimer dropped in to see him, remarking, as he
did so, while a shiver passed over him--
" It feels like Greenland out of doors, landlord. Can't you
give me something to warm me ? "
" That's just what I can do," replied Morrison, with a smile.
What'll you have? Some hot whiskey punch or an apple
toddy ?"
' Which is best ?" asked Latimer ; and he laughed at his own
question.
" Either of them is good enough. Suppose you try the whiskey
punch. It will warm you to your finger ends."
"Very well ; let it be whiskey punch, then. But do n't make
it too strong. I can't bear much. I 'm not used to it."
"You are not half a man," said the landlord. " Why some
of my customers can drink five or six punches in an evening and
not feel it. A baby might push you over."
" :Not so easily, my good neighbor; not so easily. I call my-
self a man, and am ready to match sinew and muscle with any
one of my weight."
" And can't bear a single strong whiskey punch. He! he !
It won't do to make that boast here."
By this time the steaming glass of punch was ready, for Mor-
rlson never kept a customer waiting long. He could mix a glass
of liquor against time with any one living. Latimer put it to his.
lips and sipped the pleasant compound. .
' How do you like it ? " asked Morrison. " Isn't i't first
rate ?"
" It is : that's a fact." - And he sipped again.
" I 'm hard to beat on whiskey punches; or, indeed, any thing
else in nay line. Come in to-morrow night and take an apple
toddy, or a gin sling."
" Perhaps I may," said Latimer, sipping again and again.
" Certainly this is excellent."
' Does n't it warm you ? "
" Yes, indeed ; and to my finger ends, as you said."

'270 THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE.
" I knov the effect exactly."
' Having tried it yourself, often ? "
' Yes, and seen it tried on others a thousand times. A man
who takes that medicine every day through the winter, will never
he found barking and wheezing with cold, like a phthisicky wolf.
He'll not trouble the doctor, I'll guarantee. But say, neighbor,
how did you like that bottle of cordial ? "
' So well, that I want another just lille it."
" Ha! ha! I thought so. And what did the wife say to it?
Did she try its virtue ?"
 Oh, yes ; and pronounced it the very thing. So, here's the
bottle," and he drew the article he named from a spacious pocke
---" fill her up again."
" Aye, aye ! Fill her up's the word. Here, Bill "--to one
of the bar-keepers -' draw a bottle of perfect love."
' Of what ? " asked Latimer.
' Perfect love. We call it that, because all who drink it, lovo
with a perfect love."
' You're a merry chap, landlord," returned Latimer, who
began to feel a little merry himself.
" We're all merry here. We call this Good Fellows' Hall.
Come and see us often, my man; I know you will like us."
' Perhaps I may."
 Do."
The bottle of cordial was handed over.
 How much .9,, asked Latimer.
" Three shillings," replied the landlord.
" And the punch .9"
 Sixpence."
' That's three and sixpence. Here's a four shilling pece
you may give me the change in segars."
" How will you have them, in tburs or threes ?"
 Threes, I reckon."
 Here they are," and Morrison handed ov,tr the counter a
box of segars.  They're a prime article."
Latimer picked out three to suit him.
" I/ere, take another. We'll call 'era fours for old acquain-
tance sake."
 You're a clever sort of a chap, I see," said Latimer, in an
excellent good hmnor with himself. The whiskey punch was
doing its work.

THE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE. 271
" I call myself so," replied Boniface, " and so do my friends. '
" Well, good evening to you," said Latimer.
 Wait, won't you sit down aad look over the paper ?"
' No, thank you, not now; I must ,o.
" Good-by to you, then, and see here, whenever you find an
evening hanging heavily on your hands, drop in and look at us.
I take twenty newspapers, and shall be glad to see you using
them freely."
"Very well, much obliged for your kindness. Good evening."
" Good.by then if you will go ; and God bless you."
Latimer returned home with his second bottle of cordial, which
he and his wife managed to dispose of in two or three days, and
then he went back for another ; and this time tried one of Morri-
son's apple toddies.
 Why, bless us, neighbor ! you are a real stranger," said the
landlord, as he came in. " Where have you been ? I hope the
whiskey punch did not make you sick."
' :Not quiteyou must think I am a child."
 Oh no, not I. I believe you to be a man, every inch."
And, in his own way, Morrison flattered and excited the pleas-
ant feelings of his victim, thus creating a desire to visit his house
apart fi'om the appetite for punch and toddies which he was
seeking opportunities to form. q_'hat unnatural craving once
implanted, and he knew Latimer would come without requiring
an invitation.
ot a long time elapsed before the cordial became insipid to
the taste of Lathner.
' What is this ?" said his wife, one evening, as she poured
out a glass fi'om the newly replenished bottle.
'Something better than cordial," replied her husband.
 Taste it." -
The wife sipped a little, and making a wry face, spit it out.
 Brandy ! "
 Good old cogniac. Get some water and sugar, and a little
nutmeg, Polly and I'll show you something better than all the -
cordials that ever were created.
The water, sugar and nutmegs were produced, and two glasses
f toddy prepared.
" There ! what do you think of that ?" said the husband.
" It is good" replied :Polly, as she tasted the mixed liquor.
,.

THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE.

putting a hand around his neck turned also to look at the strange
and fearful sight, but without at all comprehending its meaning.
For a few minutes Mrs. Latimex sat bewildered and in tears.
Then getting up, she went to a chest of drawers in the room
and, after looking through them, selected a few articles of cloth-
ing that she thought could be spared, and laid them out.
For days the bottle had been empty, and Mrs. Latimer's appe-
tite craved the accustomed stimulus. In fact, she felt the want of
brandy more than she did the want of food. Taking the bottle
therefore, from the closet, she drew her eldest daughter aside, and
aid to her:
" See here, Agnes, take these," and she handed her the gar-
ments she had selected, " to Moses, the Jew, and ask him to let
you have a half a dollar on them. If he does so, he will give
you a ticket with the money. Then go with this bottle and get
a pint of brandy. As you come home, past the baker's, get two
loaves of bread, and half a pound of cheese and three herrings
fi'om the grocer's. You will have sixpence left."
" Can't I get some milk for Lorry ? She's had no bread and
milk for a good many days, and she does n't like cheese ?"
" :No. There '11 be but sixpence left, and I want that for
something else. So run along. Lotty will have to do wit[
bread this time, and I 'm thankful to be able to get even that for
her. I hope your father will get something to do soon, or we
shall all starve."
Anes went on her errand with her young feelings troubled.
The Jew took the clothes on pawn for half a dollar, and she got
the brandy, the bread, the cheese and the herrings, and brought
home the sixpence change.
The sight of the bottle brightened Latimer wonderfully. He
drank with his wife, and the children ate greedily the dry bread
and cheese. IIunger made it sweet to them. :For a little while,
a lurid kind of light was in this wretched dwelling and then all
became again dark, cold and gloomy.

THE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE, P.7/
Ease up a little, or it will be all over with you. I've been 'most
afraid you were a gone case, as it was."
" Me?" And Latimer laughed low in his throat. 'Don't
be afraid of that, landlord ; I 'm as good a man as ever I was."
"I don't know, but you are. Call and see me again. Don't
forget your old friends."
"I never do that, landlord," said Latimer, filling a second
glass of brandy, and then taking a seat by the stove, where" he
soon fell asleep under the influence of the strong potations he
had indulged.
As Morrison stood and thought, after his victim had placed
himself by the stove, he began to doubt the story of his having
got a job of work. When he saw his head begin to fall loosely
from its equipoised position on hisneck, his doubts confirmed
themselves, and he came round from his usual place behind the
bar, and taking Latimer by the shoulders, roused him up with a
rough shake. The man awoke swearing profanely.
" Why do n't you go to work, if you're got a job," said Moro
rlson. "Do you expect to pay off your score by sleeping in my"
bar room ?"
Latimer's mind was too much in oblivion to understand what
the landlord meant.
" Work ?" he said, in a tone of bewilderment.
" Yes. Why do n't you go to work."
' Work? I've got no work. Wish to Heaven I had.
Work ? You're joking, landlord. You got any work ? I '11
take half out at the bar."
" Have n't you got a job of work ? " asked Morrison, in an
angry voice.
" Me ?" replied Latimer, still but half awake. "Me ? 1o
indeed. I 're looked the town over. I can't get any work."
' You lying, cheating rascal !" exclaimed Morrison, in a sud-
den, ungovernable fit of passion, dragging the half-intoxicated
man frotn his chair, and throwing him towards the door. As ho
staered away, he followed him up, and opening the door,
pushed him wit a torrent of oaths into the street. Latimer
fell upon his face, but like many drunken men who fall, sus-
tained little or no injury.
Instead of returning to abuse Morrison, which was the first
impulse of his mind, he went reeling home.

"278 THE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE.
Sad work had been going on there, in his absence. His land-
lord, whose repeated demands for money had not been satisfac-
torily answered, and who had already commenced legal proceed-
ings against him, to which no attention had beenpaid, had issued
an execution upon his furniture, and he found the officers of the
law about removing the principal part of his household goods to
satisfy the arrearages of rent'.
" Hallo! What does all this mean ?" he said, as he came in,
staring at the men who were executing the law's behest, and
then at his weeping wife and frightened children.
' It means," replied an impracticable looking old fellow,
' that we have seized, and are taking your furniture for rent."
At this, the drunken man became furious, and swore that he
would knock them right and left if they dared to put a hand upon
any thing. I/e would see the landlord, he said, and make it all
right.
 Do you know," said the stern looking old fellow, " that you
are interfering with the officers of the lav in the regular discharge
of their duties ?"
"Who cares for the officers of the law ? Every man's house
is his castle, and no one dares enter it. Clear out now, in quick
time, or I'll make daylight shine through you."
And as Latimer said this, he seized the post of a bedstead ; but
before he had time to lift it from the floor, the old fellow took him
by the collar with a vice-like grasp, saying as he did so
' You'll go to prison for this, my lark. Come! We'll soon
settle you."
Seeing her husband in the hands of the officer, and hearing the
word prison, Mrs. Latimer started forward with a cry of alarm,
and Agnes and the other children crowded around the officer, seiz-
ing hold of" hi,n, and imploring him with tears not. to carry off the
wretched husband and father.
' Oh, sir " pleaded Mrs. Latimer, 'let him golet him go t
tie is not himself!he did not know what he was doing ! Oh,
sir, let hin go, and he will not interfere any more."
After some parley, the por wretch vas released from the tight
grasp of the officer, and he shrunk off and seated himself by the
While Latimer was away that morning, his wife had pawned
her wedding ring and a small breastpin that had belonged to her

THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE. 281
Agnes was sent to a store near by to get trust for some coals
and a little food; but she came ho,ne in tears. The keeper of
the store had denied her, with harsh words.
" We must have fire, and something for the children to eat,
Polly," said Latimer, shivering, and glancing involuntarily at
the empty bottle which stood upon the mantel-piece.--" Is there
nothing in the house to sell or pawn ? "
Mrs. Latimer went to the closet, and after looking through it
for some time, selected au armful of dishes, the coffee-mill, and
castor. These Agnes was directed to carry to old Moses, and
place in pawn for whatever he would advance on them. The
child got a dollar for them. Enough coals for the day were
procured, some food bought, and the bottle again replenished.
With a shilling in his pocket, Latimer went, after breakfast, to
look for something to do ; but he forgot his errand, staid all day
in a cheap drinking .house, and came home at night drunk and
quarrelsome.
On the next morning, when he was sober enough to hear it,
Latimer was informed by his wife that the landlord had been
there, and left orders for them to vacate the house immediately,
or he would have the,n put out into the street.
A fev more of the few things that remained to thegn were dis-
posed of in the way they had already parted with so many
articles, and coals, food and spirits supplied for another day.
Latimer then went out to look for a new home. He found
room in the third story of an old, tottering house. The rent was
three dollars a month, and he engaged it without waiting to con-
sult his wife. When he mentioned where it was, she had many
objections to make, but he angrily overruled them. Drink had
made a brute of the once tender and considerate husband and
father.
Into this comfortless place the family of Latimer moved, with
the miserable remnant of their household goods. Onb room held,
without difficulty, what had been the furniture of three.
Hopeless of getting work at any of the shops, the degraded
man, in order to obtain money to buy liquor, the thirst for which
was daily on the increase, was now willing to do any little jobs
he could pick up in the streets; such as throwing in and piling
up wood, putting away coal, carrying home baskets from the
market, or baggage from the car houses or steamboat landings.

289. TILE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE.
In this way he earned a two or four shilling piece every now or
then, which generally went to supply his own thirst for liquor.
The great evil in Mrs. Latimer's cas% was th fact of her hay
ing also acquire d a love for the bottle. Had her appetite re-
mained untainted, neither herself nor her family could have sunk
into the want and misery that are now their unhappy portion.
She had resources in herself that would have been developed,
and pinching want and keenprivation, if not sorrow would have
been kept from their home. But, in seeking to throw his toils
about one victim, M orrison had made two. In securing a cus-
tomer, he had ruined a whole family.
Without any income whatever, five persons to feed and the
bottle to supi)ly , Mrs. Lalimer soon disposed of every valuable
article in their possession, even to the children's bed ; and finally,
to keep fi'om absolute starvation, and gain something by which
the insatiate appetite that was ever craving its unnatural stimulus
could be supplied, drove Agnes and James into the street to beg.
The little they obtained by this means proved insufficient, and
the mother, too, at last went forth with poor little Lotty in her
arms to solicit that for which intemperance had unfitted her to
gain by honest labor.
Day after day, in cold and heat, did she go forth with her
children, to implore charity. The exposure proved too much for
the youngest of her children. The wind blew too roughly, the
rain tll too chillingly, the sun shone too hotly upon the child,
Lotty; and disease began to lay hold upon its tender form.
Wearily, for many a mile, was it compelled to drag its yielding
limbs by its wretched mother's side, until, at last, it could go no
further. At first, it drooped by the way, after having kept up
for hours, and then scolded and dragged along, it bore up still
longer ; but, at last, it could not support its weary limbs and the
mother was forced to take it in her arms. On each succeeding day
the period for which Lotty held out became shorter and shorter
until, at last, the child could no longer stand alone, and then it
was taken out, and its pale, suffering face exposed to the view of
strangers to excite their pity.

THE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE. '288

CHAPTER V.

Poor little Lofty ! Once a loving, beautiful and happy child
--now wan and wasted, and with a face so full of sadness and
suffering, that those who gave to the sick mother for the sake of
the sick babe in her arms, sometimes felt unhappy for days, as the
image of the child arose up to haunt them.
1Wo one seencd to care much for Lotty, but Ag.nes ; and when
she came in at night, with the money she had picked up through
the day, she always took the child in her arms ; and it would lay
its emaciated face down upon her breast, and look up at her with
its large, glistening eyes, and not move them for minutes and min-
utes at a time. Agnes loved her little sister more and more
tenderly, as the wasting disease at its vitals went deeper and
deeper; and she often plead for it to be left at home. But no--
Lotty nust go out every day ; in cold or heat ;. in rain or sun-
shine. Agnes did not understand that it was the pale, thin face
of her little sister that brought her mother so many sixpences and
shillings, while she was rarely able to get more than a penny at
a time; nor did she know that the brutalized mind of her
depraved mother, was pleased rather than distressed, as she saw
the face of Lorry exhibiting deeper aud deeper marks of suffer-
ing, for these gave her a more certain hold upon the sympathies
of those to whom he appealed for charity.
Shocking as this is to think of, it was yet too true. Agnes
often begged to have the doctor sent for ; but the mother was
content to get medicine without advice, from patent nostrum sell-
ers, who too often recommend any thing for the sake of the money
and often as certainly destroy health and life as the rumseller
himself. Many, many nauseous doses were forced down the re-
luctant throat of the poor child by the passionate mother; and
many were the blows it received because its weak stomach made
it turn from, and with cries, resist the cruel infliction. And all
that it took was poison to its weak body ; for it excited the dis-
ease and made it incurable.
One morning--the sleepless child had moaned all night in pain
---the mother rose from her hard mattress, thrown upon the floor,
and after preparing some breakfast, ordered Agnes and James,

THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE.

" You lying little huzzy, you !" she said. " Now tell me the
truth, or I'll limb you."
" Indeed, indeed, mother! I found them! " answered Agnes.
"It's a lie ! you did n't ; you stole them, you little thief, you !"
Latimer was drunk enough to think and care little about con-
sequences. At these words, he started up, and, swearing furious-
]y, made towards his wife. Seizing her by the throat, he drew
back his arm, and with his clench'ed fist struck her several severe
blows, while she screamed in terror, and struggled to free herself
f,'om his vice-like grasp.
A scene like this, the frightened children had never before wit-
nessed in their home of misery. Agnes joined her cries with
those of her mother; and opposed her feeble strength against her
father, in the vain effort to bear him back ; while the little boy
caught hold of him on the other side, and screaming in terror,
struggled to drag the strong man away. The few articles of fur-
niture in the room were thrown about the floor, adding to the
noise and wild excitement of the dreadful scene. Tot until other
occupants of the house came rushing in, did the infuriated man
cease to rain down his heavy blows upon the shrinking body of his
almost senseless wife. As he released his grasp, she fell, with a
long wailing cry, upon the floor.
One of those who entered the room, or rather only came to the
door, seeing what was passing within, rushed down stairs and into
the street. There was a police office close by, and an officer, to
whom this individual gave information of what was occurring, re-
paired to the house, and arrested Latimer while he vas yet raving
and svearing like a demon. In the hands of an officer, he be-
came instantly as submissive as a child. The wife and children
now sued with tears for his release, but their entreaties had no
effect. Latimer was taken off and committed to answer for his
conduct. In the morning, his case had a hearing, and he was
placed in confinement f,r a month. Here he was visited by his
wife, as often as she could get admission; and she managed, at
each time, to bring in unobserved by the keepers, a small quantity
of liquor.
On the very day of Latimer's release from confinement, he be-
came furious fi'om intoxication, and beat his wife so badly that she
was not able to go out for a week. Fearful quarrels and brutal
violence were now of almost daily occurrence. The debased bus-.

96 THE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE.
 It's an infernal lie ! " replied Morrison.  When a mserao
ble, besotted loafig wretch like him debases and degrades him-
self with drink, he turns and charges it all upon the tavern-
keeper. Gentlemen ! This is my house, and I wish him to go
out of it, and that instantly."
 Give hi,n a glass of brandy, and I '11 guarantee his submis-
sion to ).our will," spoke up, in a light manner, a person present.
' Hurrah ! first rate ! Come, landlord I try.him with a strong
brandy punch," chimed in another.
 Yes, try me," said the d(based creature, who was the sub-
ject of all this excitement.
 Go to the devil" retorted Morrison.
 He'll get there soon enough without any more aid from
you," muttered one present, who had reason to believe Latimer's
,tory; for he remembered very well the incident of the bottle.
He it was to whom Morrison had expressed himself so freely on
the occasion referred to.
The pleasure manifested by the poor wretch when the propo-
sition to treat him was made, led one or two of those in the bar
"just for the fun of it," to call for brandy, and invite him to
drink with them. He did not hesitate a moment about accept-
ing the invitation; but stepped forward to the bar, and helped
himself to nearly half a pint of the liquor set out for him.
" That's nothing for you, I suppose," said one of the crimi-
aal]y thoughtless young men who were indulging in this  fine
sport."
" Is that what you call a horn ?" said another; and, "Try"
another glass; it has no more strength than so much water '
said a third.
In a matter like this, Latimer required no urging. He acted
upon the light word as if spoken in earnest, and poured another
tumbler full of the liquid poison down his throat.
" Come, try another," urged one of the-party, thinking it
rare sport ; but now several of those present interfered, and
uaid that Latimer had drunk enough, and had better take him-
uelf off home. In this the majority of the company agreed
and he was led to the door and pushed out gently into the
,treet. But even though this was done gently, he staggered
away from the ' Man and Monkeys" and was only prevented
from falling into the gutter by the hand of a passenger that was
extended in kindness to save him.

rr

THE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE. 99'

Tottering along, with little more command of his limbs thatx
is possessed by the infant trying its few first steps alone, Lati-
mer slowly worked his way homewardmnow recovering him-
self, as his body leaned over the curb-stone, and now striking
against the side of a house, and standing there for a few moments
until he could steady his steps. He did not succeed, however,
in his design of going directly home, for the pint of brandy,
added to the gin and whiskey he had taken previously, proved
too much for him. It required a sleep of two hours, under a
cellar door, to restore him to a walking condition, and then ho
got up and vent swaggering away.
When Latimer got home, some time after dark, he found that
Agnes and James were still away, although he had positively told
them that they must not remain out after night any more.
Vowing, with an oath, what he would do when they came in,
he sat down and lighted his pipe. The mother ventured a word
of excuse for the children, when he turned upon her like a mad-
man, and declared, if. she interfered with him, he would knock
her brains out. As he said.this, the feet and voices of Agnes
and James were heard upon the stairs, and he got up and pre-
pared himself to receive them. Agnes entered first, and her
reception was a violent blow from the open hand of her father,
which staggered her across the room. James was just behind
her, but before the hand of the insane man could be lifted to
strike him, the mother stepped between, and dashing both hands
with all her strength, suddenly against the breast of her husband
threw him so far back that he lost his balance, and fell heavily
upon the floor.
Yelling like a madman, as he was, Latiner arose from the
floor, and caught at the first object which presented itself to his
eyes. That object was the accursed instrument of all their
misery, the Boltle. Seizing it in his blind rage, lie struck at his
wife with the fury of a demon m for he was possessed by a
demon, and a demon nerved his arm with unusual power. It
was a fitting instrument that he used, in this awful work. The
bottle crashed against the head of his wife, and then fell in frag-
ments upon the floor. For an instant, Mrs. Latimer stood, with
lifted hands, a wild expression of fear and pain upon her counte-
nance, and then fell heavily, and with a deep groan, while tho
blood gushed over her face ti'om a fi'ightful wound.

THE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE. 299
their power to make her useful and respectable; but the seeds of
vice had been, alas ! too thickly sown, and had felt, too intensely,
the influx of infernal light and heat. They had already begun to
germinate. In less than a year, she ran off and made her way
back to the city, where, bya change of name she succeeded in
successfully eluding the efforts of the Police for her arrest as a
fugitive from the Refilge, and soon become more vile and wicked
than she had ever been.
Janes, before he was apprenticed, heard that Agnes had left
her place. Rightly conjecturing that she had gone back to their
olt haunts, and eager to join her, he waited only until his turn
came to be put out, to do as she had done.
Seven years had passed since the lad walked the streets of that
great city. Then he vas but a child, now he was a stout boy.
Until he found himself alone, and without money in his pocket
in the heart of a now strange place, he had scarcely asked himself
what he would do, or what his real purpose was in throwing him-
self upon its troubled and dangerous waters. As he passed along,
old localities brought back to his mind the thoughts of former
times, and of some incidents that he would rather have forgotten
than remembered; and, hardened as he was, and full of impulses
to wrong, he felt that there was misery in evil courses, and he
more than half repented the unwise step he had taken, in running
away from a comfortable and virtuous home.
While passing, thus, slowly and thoughtfully along, he met a
gaily dressed yonng girl, and before he recognized her changed
face and appearance, was startled by her familiar voice and the
words--
" Why, Jimmy ! What are you doing here ? "
It was Agnes. But, in her gay attire, and more womanly ap-
pearance, the sister of the lad no longer appeared. It was
Agnes; and yet not to him the Agnes of old--the sister he had
loved for her tenderness to-him in the sad and evil days of their
unhappy childhood. He took her hand, and grasped it tightly--
but it did not feel like the hand of his sister.
Agnes saw what he felt, and comprehended all that was in his
mind ; and the regrets of that moment were the most painful she
had ever felt since her wide and almost hopeless departure from
virtue.
Had it been otherwise with her than it was, she might hava

BOO THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE.
again united her fortunes with those of her brother, and in the
bond of fraternal affection helped each other to do right and be
happy. But this was hopeless now--and bitterly did she feel
that it was" so.
For hours they walked the streets together, and talked" of the
past, and made some, but few allusions to the future. When
James asked his sister where she Jived, she refused to tell him.
 It is better that you should not know," she said, and her
voice was sad as she spoke. He understood her, and depraved as
his own heart was, it felt cold and shuddered.
On making enquiry about their father, James learned tha ha
still lived, and was still an inmate of the mad house. He pro-
posed that they should visit him. Agnes at first declined, but
vhen she found that he meant to go, she changed her mind and
accompanied him.
They found an old man, shivering by the fire, and shrinking
as from some object of horror. There was little about him that
reminded them of their tather. They did not linger long to look
upon an object so painful to behold. When they left his gloomy
cell, there was no emotions of affection in their hearts ; but a bit-
ter remembrance of that never-to-be-forgotten night when his
hand imbrued itself in their mother's blood.
As they turned from the cell, they saw, crouching upon tho
ground beneath a grated window, an old man, with terror-staring
eyes. The lad paused a moment to look at him, and then said
to the keeper,--
" Isn't that old Morrison who sold rum at theMan and
Monkey ?' "
The keeper nodded assent, and they passed on. It w.as nearly
night when they parted. Agnes gave her brother some money,
and promised to see him at a certain place on the next day.; but
they never met again. A horrible murder was committed that
night in a house of ill-repute, and Agnes was the victim!
Verily, the bottle had done its work!

I]06 THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE.
" And Heaven a|o'ne can help you, my young friend," replied
the man earnestly. ' But I will tell you at once what I want
with you ; for no time is to be lost. Your father has been very
ill, and has sudden|y 'ecovered his reason. He wants to see you
and your sister before he dies. You both called to see him, he
has learned since he became lucid, nearly two years ago, and he
supposed one or both of you might still be in the city. Where
is your sister ? " Janes leaned against the counter to support
himself. He felt his knees tremble.
"Dead," he replied huskily.
" Ah ! How long since ? "
"She was murdered on the very night after we called at the
hospital."
The man lifted his hands in painful surprise.
" This we had better conceal fi'om your fatler ; the shock may
be too great for him," he said. Aud then added--" But we
must get into the stae and go out imnediate]y. His life is
hanging on a thread. He was alive I ascertained this morning."
The man came fi:om behird his counter, put on his coat and
hat, and started off in company with the miserable looking crea-
ture who had answered his advertisement. Young Latimer's
clothes were worn and dirty, and his whole appearance of a most
disgusting character. His face showed the marks of evil courses
as strongly as did his garments.
On their way to the hospital, but ]itt.le passed between the
young man and the benevolent individual who had him in charge.
When they arrived at the hospital, they ]earned that old Mr.
Latimer was still alive, though sinking rapidly. Without any
delay they were ushered into his presence. He was .lying upon
a bed, supported by pillows, and the hospital physician and nurse
were standing near him. As James entered, his Ihther raised
himself up and looked at him for a moment intently ; then sink-
ing back, he shut his eyes and groaned "aloud. The son under-
stood the meaning of this expression of pain ; and the groan of
his father was like the entrance of an arrow into his heart.
Old Mr. Latimer soon recovered himseli; and, as his son, who
was almost forced to the bedside by the person who had accom-
panied him to the hospital, came and stood near him, he again
by the assistance of the nurse, arose up partly fi'om his pillov,
and, extending his hand, grasped that of Jalnes, while the last
Iears and the saddest his eyes had ever wept, fell over his face.

TItE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE.
" My poor boy !" he murmured in a low tone, that was trem-
ulous with grief. I-lis voice choked, and his head sunk upon
bosom. In a little while he recovered himself and said, more
cahnlym
" My son, to see you so wretched, and with so many sad marks
of evil about you, crushes my heart to the earth; for I--I alone
--am to blame ! In an accursed hour, when you were a young
and happy child, the bottle entered, by my hands, our pleasant
hom, and in a few short years destroyed your mother and little
sister, made a madman of your father--for I know where I am
and turned you and Agnes friendless upon a wicked and cruel
world. But where is Aggy ?" the father asked in a changed
voice.
James hesitated a little while, and then replied" She is
dead." "
Latimer covered his face with his hands and was silent for a
few moments.
 Dead !" he at length murmured. " Dead! It is well. God "
will forgive her errors, if she have committed any, for she must
have suffered great temptation."
" James!" resumed the father arousing himself from a state of
abstraction, into which he had again iallen. " James ! I see too
sad evidences of the fact, that you have fallen already into the
toils of that monster evil, intemperance, which cursed your
father's house ! I have but a little while longer to live, my sort
'even a few minutes may be all that are left to me. With my
dying breath, I implore you to let the work of evil which I began,
stop where it is. Turn, oh turn, from the path in which you
are now walking, into the right way. Oh! my boymmy poor
boy !"
Tile old man's voice choked again, and the hue of death
passed over his face. The nurse laid him back upon the pillow.
tte gasped convulsively for some moments, and then became
calm, but lay with his eyes closed, and his breath coming feebly.
James saw his lips move, and he leaned closer to hear.
" There is but one hope--the pledge. If lie would take
that ! "
The son heard and understood the meaning of the words. The
moment this thought cam.e whispering from the lips of the dying
man, he started up eagerly, and groped about with his hands.

THE BOTTLE AND TH.E PLEDGE. 09

' Yes. Are you engaged in any kind of employment ?'
" No. I can 't get any thing to do."
" What can you do ? " asked Mr. Arlington.
" Do ? "
" Yes. Have you a trade .9,,
" No sir."
" What have you done since you were in New York "
"I've kept bar."
Mr. Arlington shook his head.
" How old are you ?" lie asked.
"Nineteen."
" Not too late, yet, to learn an honest trade, if you are willing
to do so."
" I am willing to do any thing," replied games, " rather than
lead the wretched life I have known in this city."
" You must go home with me," said Mr. Arlington, after
thinking a little while, " and we will talk this matter all over,
and deternine what is best to be done."
James looked down at his miserable apparel, and then shook
his head.
" Why not ?" asked this kind friend.
" I am not fit to go into a decent person's house."
Mr. Arlington understood, very well, that clean and decent
apparel vas absolutely necessary for James as a means of sustain-
ing him in the sudden good resolutions he had formed. He knew
that even his pledge would not hold him up, if his person re-
mained filthy and his garnents unclean. And he felt it to bo
as much a duty to supply this absolute vant, as to take the initia-
tive step in his reformation. He therefore provided him with an
entire new suit of coarse, but good clothing; and then took him
to a public bath-house that he might thoroughly cleanse his per-
son. After this he introduced him into his own family and kept
a watchfifl eye over him for a few days. During this time Janes
was employed about the shop; but Mr. Arlington was carefifi not
to send him out upon errands, except occasionally for fear that
he might fall in with some of his old companions and be lel off by
them. One morning, after Jmnes had been with him for about a
week, Mr. Arlington said-
" It is not too late for you to learn a trade, and I think you
had better set about it immediately. There is nothing like regu-

814 THE BOTTLE AND THE :PLEDGE.
ran-t of the cause which led to it. The natural consequence tha
fillowed the thought of separation, was a revelation to the heart
of each, that a deeper interest was felt ia the other, than had
been supposed. They had not been lover before; or rather,
had not known that they were interested in ech other to any
very great extent. :Now they not only acknowledged the fact,
to themselves, but mutually confessed it.
On the afternoon of the las Sabbath Mary was to spend in
:Newark, James asked her to take a walk with him and they
went out together. They were noving along slowly, in the
pleasant suburbs of the city and had fallen into an earnest con-
versation, when all at once Mary started with an exclamation of
painful surprise. The eyes'of the young man h.ad been upon the
ground, but he looked up quickly and saw, approaching, and
close to them, a wretched-looking object, in the person of a mis-
erable drunkard, with mean and soiled attir% who was stagger-
ing along just able to maiptain his balance.
Mary stoo.d, like one petrified, while the debased creature ap-
proached. But he was too much intoxicated to kr, ow any
and passed on without seeming aware that he had attracted at-
tention. After he had passed Mary turned and looked after him
for some moments., wh[le the tears came into her eyes and fell
over her cheeks.
" Who is he ?" asked James, whose liveliest interest was
awakened.
" My poor father!" murmured Mary, in a sad, quivering
voice.
James was silent. The sympathy he felt for Mary was too
deep for expression.
" Let us go home," he said, in a moment or two. And they
walked back, together, nearly the whole way in silence.
" Does your father live in Newark ?" James asked before
they reached home.
 Sometimes," said Mary, in a choking voice.
The young man said no more.. But he resolved that he would
learn, from those who could tell hm the history of Mary's
family ; and he also resolved, as he walked slently by the young
girl's side, that he would devote every power he possessed to tho
reformation of her father.
" To-morrow she leaves us," he said, to himself. "And t

TIIE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE. 8a,
st]l further good news. .-My brother has furnished me a little
house in Newark; I have fifty dollars already laid by frown my
earnings, to begin with, and only wait for you to join me once
m(,re, and in a happy, temperance home ! Mary took possessio
this mornig, and is now waiting to receive you. In two hours
the train of cars will be along. Can you be ready to go down by
them ? "
" Oh yes ! " returned the wife. "I will be ready."
A little while after, she asked, in a changed voice, while a
shade of sadness passed over her taee 
' ttave you heard anything of John ?"
Arlington shook his head.
I wonder where he can be. I think of him every day,
almost every hour."
" Heaven only knows. But, if there was hope for me, Mary,
there is hope for him. I trust in God that he will yet be re-
claimed. My next work must be to find him, and use every
means to get him to take the pledge. It is the only hope for
him."
In the mean time, the happy daughter, who had taken posses-
sion of their new home, was busy. with many preparations for tho
reception of her mother, whom she had not seen for more than a
yea,'. As the ti,ne for the cars to arrive, drew near, Mr. and
/Hrs. Seymour came over to join in the happy welcome; and
James, feeling an equal interest, and privileged, now, fi'om his
,agency in the reformation of Mr. Arlington, to show wl,at ho
felt, left his work, and putting on his best suit, came also.
The little parlor where they all assembled, was neatly and
comfortably, though plainly furnished, with a nahogany table,
half a dozen chairs, and a good carpet. There were no pictures
tpon the wall; but conspicuous above the mantle hung the all
potent pledge, which Arlington had handsonely fra,ned with his
own hand, and hung full in view that it might be to him a daily
remembrance.
Sooner by a,quarter of an hour than they had been expected
for the very locomotive seemed to have been inspired by its happy
burdenArlington and his thmily arrived.
To describe, adequately, the joy of that family reunion, wero
impossible. The ,nother rushed weeping, into her dau.,ter s
arms, and the) stood locked in a close embrace for many minutes.

334 TIIE BOTTLE A/,'D TIIE PLEDGE.
sought you out ; and I found him so low, that ]if`e would not havo
remained had he sunkmuch lower. From the hour I met him,
up to this day, now two years, not a drop of" poison to soul and
body has passed his lips ; nor does he have the least desire to tasto
the accursed thing that wrought such ruin to his hopes and happi-
ness. John, the same means of' rescue that saved-him are at
hand. Will you not avail of' them ? Will you not clutch them
eagerly ? "
" Yes ! " replied the fallen man, speaking with a strong impulse.
" But what am I to do ?"
"Do as your father did. Sign this document of' freedom--thls
charter of" liberty.".
And Latimer drew from his pocket a pledge and held it up be-
fore the penitent son and brother.
" It is all-powerf"ul !" he continued. "It saved me--it saved
your father--it has saved thousands and hundreds of" thousands--.
and it will save you, for though it imparts strength to all, it loses
none of' its blessed virtue. Sign it!"
And he laid it on the table before the young man, and drawing
a pencil fi'om his pocket placed it in his fingers.
Arlington did not hesitate, but clutched eagerly the pencil and
dashed, rather than wrote his signature to the pledge.
" Free ! Thank God ! " exclaimed Latimer so loud and joyous-
ly, that..all the inmates of' the polluted den, attracted by his words
and manner, came pressing up to the box where he sat. In the
enthusiasm of" the moment, he eloquently exhorted all present to
do as Arlington had done, and so effective were his words that
three poor, fallen men subscribed their names to the pledge, and
no one present let a word of ridicule or disapproval pass his lips.
:Even there, the sphere of good was, for the time, powerful enough
to hold evil in abeyance

CHAPTER XV.
TI. sudden departure of" James Latimer, for which no satisfac-
tory explanation was given, caused Mary, notwithstading her
confidence in her lover, to feel sober. He had said that he w

TIlE BOTTLE AND TIIE PLEDGE.

CHAPTER XVI.

BtT little more remains to be told. The pledge has done its
work. How well we need not here repeat.
After John Arlington had signed the pledge, ,lames Latimer
vcent with him to a store, and procured a fifll suit of clothing.
The trunk of the latter was then removed fi'om the boat that was
to sail down the river in the morning, to one that was to leave
on the next day, for Pittsburg; and to this boat the young men
repaired and spent half the night in conversation upon past mis-
deeds, and future hopes of a better and happier life.
As swiftly as rushing steamboat and hurrying ear could bear
them homeward, did they pursue their journey, and arrived un-
announced, formally, but not unaunouneed, as has been seen, by
the hearts' true instincts.
With what a gushing thankfulness did Mary pour out her feel-
ings to James, when they were first alone, after his return.
" You gave he my father," she said, with the glad tears
springing to her eyes. " You restored to us our home; and now
you have brought back my wandering brother, whom we all
mourned as lost. I can never repay you for all thisnever,
Ilever ! '
" You can more than repay me," said James, kissing her lips
fondly.-=-" And you will. Name an early day for our union ; no
hindrance now remains. Your brother's absence weighed heav-
ily upon you all. The thought that he was a wanderer and an
outcast, would have marred the joy of our wedding-day, and I
resolved, long ago, that our pledge of love should not be made
at the altar, while I had a reasonable hope of finding and re-
.
claiming your brother. No impediment, therefore, now remains.
So, Mary, dear, nane, as I have just said, an early day."
" How early .9 " and the happy girl smiled. " Six months
from now .9"
" Six months! Six weeks will be a long thne. It umst bo
earlier than that, Mary. And why not ? What impediment is
there .9 Why may not the union to which we have looked so
long, be the crowning joy of this blessed time. If you do not
"21

o
THE BOTTLE AND THE PLEDGE; 889
]eart of at ]east one who is here this evening, while he look
around and sees such a harvest as the crowning glory of
labor. May God bless him as he deserves, for it is not in the
power of man adequately to toward him ! "
A lo,v but fervent " Amen " fell audibly from every lip.
We have no more to add. The "Bottle" has done its work
and so has the "Pledge." But., what different work l

42 THE FIRST CtIRISTIAS.
u Who is afraid to be merry on Christmas ?
Who with cold water each heart-throb would chill
Shame on the catiff who libels the season !--
We the deep, life-giving beaker will fill.
"He for old Christmas! For merry old Christmas!
:He cometh to all with his wealth of good cheer.
1o for old Christmas! For merry old Christmas!
The mirth-loving, hearty old fellow is here.
"Come ! Let us drink again, deeper than ever.
The gods give us nectar--fill tip to the brim !
Old Christmas has come, with his smiles, jokes and laughter;
Fill up the bright cup--we will drink it to him.
"o for old Christmas I For merry old Christmas!
He cometh to all with his wealth of good cheer.
tie for old Christmas! For merry old Christmas!
The mirth-loving, hearty old fellow is here."
" Hip I hip ! IIurrah ! " rang through the room, as the last
words of the chorus died away.
" Well done, my boy !" said Mr. Sandford. "Right bravely
done! It has sent the blood quicker through my veins. True
enough ! Who, with cold water, each heart-throb vould chill ?
none here, certainly. Let us have anothe, r song, Charley."
"After you, Mr. Sandford," returned young Graham. " You
have not yet lost your voice."
All joined in Charles Graham's request, that old Mr. Sandford
would favor them with a song.
" Well, if I must, I must," said Mr. Sandford, and at once
began, but not in such clear and mellow tones as had rung
through the room a minute or two before. Years had taken
from his voice a good portion of its melody.

A WELCO ME.

u A hearty welcome to all, my friends,
A hearty welcone to all ;
I pledge you each in the flowing cup,
I pledge you both great and small.
Up to the brim, the generous wine
Comes mantliag bright and clear;
So riseth for you, my welco]ne friends
:My warmest feelings here.

Old Christnas has come this way again
And the gayest of all is he;
'Tis the merriest time of all the year,
When his smiling face we see,--

344 THE :FIRST CHRISTMAS.

years, especially in villages and country places. Morning guns
double-charged, and morning glasses of egg-nog and " hot-stuff,"
were indispensable attendants upon the advent of the hal)py day.
To get drunk on Christmas was no disgrace--to keep sober, was
a matter of wonder.
Mr. Sandford was an intelligent farmer in easy circumstances.
He was known as a free liver, and one of the most hospitable men
in the country. Every body lild him, both young and old.
His side-board was stocked with the best liquors, and these were
offered to all who came to his house. From a young man, up to
his present age of fifty eight, Mr. Sandford had taken his daily
glass of brandy and water. There were two reasons why this
habit did not lead to drunkenness in his case. One was, his
liquors were of the very best kind--not drugged and poisoned as
nearly all sold at the taverns were then, and are now, creating in
a very short time a morbid .desire for something stimulating.
Another and stronger reason was, that Mr. Sandford was a man
of great self-control, and pressed forward in his life-pursuits with
a purpose that left his appetite bat little chance of gaining the
nastery over him. He indulged in good eating and drinking ;
but his ardent mind and active body made his digestion easy, and
prevented any ill-effects from becoming apparent. So far as him-
self was concerned, the drinking of brandy was not a very seri-
ous matter ; but its free use at home was any thing but good for
his sons, who too early in life acquired a taste for stimulating
drinks, that was far more frequently gratified than Mr. Sandford
supposed. He had two sons and three daughters. The sons
were eighteen and twenty-three at the time of which we are now
writing. The elder named William, had studied medicine, and
had been practising in the neighborhood for about a year
James, the younger, showed more inclination to becone a
farmer, which inclination was "encouraged by his father. Both
were young men of good principles, and favorites with all who
]new them; but their ardent temperaments, social feelings, and
lbndness for good eating and drinking, and an cc(asional frolic,
made their position a dangerous one.
Lucy was older than William by rather more tllan a year.
The oldest, she was the most thoughtful of all the cl'ildren, and,
to her mother more like a friend and a conpanion tha a child.
Jane was a mild creature, and very beautiful, just cnwrig her

BEANDY E GG-NOG. 8T
at two, and it will take me till then to dress. I hope our compa-
ny have got father's egg-nog out of" their heads by this time."
"It will be as much as the bargain," said Mary, quietly.
" It was of double strength, and they all drank a double quan-
tity."
"I wonder what good it does them ? " remarked Lucy.
" Who but you would ever have thought of asking such a
question ?" laughingly returned Jane. " It tastes good, and
makes them feel happy."
"How do you know, sis ?"
" Do you think I have never taken a glass of egg-nog ?"
" It tasted good, and made you feel happy, did it ?"
' It is not at all bad to take, as brother William says. For my
part, I do n't wonder they all like it. I think egg-hog delicious.
:I drank so much this morning, that my head has felt more like a
half bushel than a head ever since."
" A most delightful sensation, no doubt. That is what you
call feeling happy, I suppose," retorted Lucy.
" Not that, exactly," said Jane, laughing. ' But I did feel as
happy as a lark for half an hour after I had turned off my
glass."
" Turned off! For mercy sake ! sister, do n't say  turned off'
again."
" Why not ?"
"It smacks too much of the bar-room for a lady's lips. And
so your delightful feelings lasted only about thirty minutes, and
after that your head felt like a half bushel measure, .and, no
doubt, ached a little ?"
" Not much."
" But still, it ached."
" A very little."
" If your head ached a very little, and felt like a half bushel
measure after drinking one glass of egg-hog, how must the heads
of the young men who gave us our morning salute feel? As
large as molasses' hogsheads, I should say."
" I am sure I cannot tell how they feel now. There is no
doubt that they were happy enough this morning. As I said be-
fore, I hope they have got the egg-nog out of their heads by this
time. We have got a splendid dinner and want them to enjoy
it."

348 TIlE FIRST CIIRISTMAS.

" If they have got it out of their heads," said Mary, " they
will get it in again, for I saw fatter making another bowl full as
I passed through the diaing-room."
"Indeed" ejaculated Lucy, in a tone that did not express
pleasure at the intelligence.
 Certainly ! Why not, sister ?" spoke up Jane. "Did you
suppose we were going to have a Christmas dinner, and not
sharpen the appetites of the company with a bowl of e-noO
You have forgotten the time-honored custom of our house."
' A_ custom more honored in the breach than in the observance
I am half inclined to think."
' For shame, Lucy! What would father say if he were to
hear you talk so ? "
' He would think strange, .no doubt. And perhaps I am a
little foolish. But the fact is, sis, it somehow or other goes
against me to see sensible men pour so much liquor down their
throats as to make--what sliall I say ?--fools of themselves?
That is a pretty hard speech, I must own ; but is it not true ?
For ny life, when 1 see such things in those I esteem and love, I
cannot help thinking of poor Frank Carlton, who has become a
miserable sot. I can remember well enough when he was as fine
a young man as is to be found any where."
 The more shame and disgrace to him, say I," returned Jane.
" A poor weak creature he must be, not to be able to enjoy a
pleasant glass with his friends, now and then, without becoming
a drunkard. I should think it no compliment to those I esteem
and love to associate thegn in my mhd whh Frank Carlton."
Jane spoke warmly, and Lucy, feelhg that she had said
enough, and more than she had intended to say, dd not reply.
" If we spend the time in talking, we shall not be dressed for
dinner," Mary remarked, on perceiving Lucy's disinclination to
say any thing more on the subject.
" True enough ! " returned Jane. ' Hark ! They are setting
the table now."
As rapidly as was consistent with order and neatness, the sis-
ters proceeded in their work of dressing tbr dinner. The com-
paay had arrived, and been served with a stiff bumper of egg-nog
to whet their appetites, lefore the young ladies descended to the
parlor. Charles Graham, the betrothed of Jane, was there, and
also Edward Pryor who had won the heart of the Cluiet  thought-

BRANDY E GG-NOG.
"Perhaps not. But it is really sgraceful for a young man to
lndu|ge as freely as he has done to-day. There is no excuse for
it."
" I am not so sure of that. The day itself is some excuse."
" Some excuse to drink more freely than usual, but not to
get drunk," returned Mrs. Sandford. " For that, no time nor
season is an excuse. You never made it so."
" True, but every one has not the self-control that I have ; nor
can every one drink as much without being affected."
 Is it not, then, somewhat dangerous for all who have not
your self-control to indulge very freely in drinking ? "
'It may be for some. But I don't see that the fact of a
young man's getting his heels tripped now and then is a matter
of much consequence."
 Some young men become drunkards."
.
" Not one in twenty. The cases are very rare."
" Still, they do occur, and there is no telling who is the ono
that will next fall."
" True."
Mr. Sandford sighed. The image of William his oldest son
came up before him. William had indulged himself during the
morning almost as freely as Watson, and had appeared at the
dinner table scarcely more sober. Two or three times during tho
past year he had got on what is called a frolic, and neglected his
patients for several days on each occasion. This had already
caused Mr. Sandford some uneasiness, and had led him to warn
his son against permitting himself to drink more freely than he
was able to bear.
" It has occurred to me more than once, to-day," said Mrs.
Sandford, in a musing tone, "that getting half intoxicated is
rather a strange way of keeping Christmas. No one feels any
better for it, afterwards."
 No one feels any better for eating too much mince pie and
turkey, but, on a day like Christmas, it is hard to keep to the
golden mean. It is the same in drinking, only, still harder to
know when to stop. You wouldn't banish good liquors alto-
gether !"
" Oh no I"
" Then I do not see how some trifling excesses are to be pre-
'ented, when there is so much to tempt the appetite."
22

THE FIRST CHRISTMAS.

" I suppose it is hard for young men, encouraged on .by one
another, to keep from indulging too freely on a day like this ; but
if it stops there, I do n't know that any great harm is done, al-
though, to nay eyes, the sight of a man who has been drinking
more than he can bear, is'a disgusting one. In fact, spite of all
I can do, I never feel the same afterwards to any one that I have
seen partially intoxicated.
" If that is the case, you will never feel the stone again towards
at least half a dozen I could mention, who had the honor of dining
with us to-day," said Jane, smiling.
" Perhaps I never shall," the mother gravely replied. ' It is
vel T certain, that more than one young man has iallen in nay esti-
mation, never, I fear, to rise to the high place he once occupied."
" Why in your estinaation ? " said Mr. Sandford. " A glass
too much, on a day like this, does not affect a man's principles."
" Although it may show him not to possess that manly strength
of character which we all so nmch admire, and thus affect the
estimation in which we had held him ? "
" If all judged with your severity, I am aft'ald that few young
men would stand very high in the general regard."
" Perhaps if all expressed what I do, and which all must feel
young men would be more guarded."
" Why do you say that all nust feel this ?'
" I do not believe that any man ever appeared anaong his
friends in a state of partial intoxication, without falling in their
estimation. This effect follows as a natural consequence, and
comes without reflection. And when we think about it, we shall
not be surprised that it is so."
' Perhaps you are right," said Mr. Sandford. ' I can but
own, ihat the fine edge of my respect for a man is taken off when
I see him in liquor. It is a betrayal of his weakness. It shows
Cdm to be thai much less a man."
Jane and Mary listened in silence to these remarks. The
former could not help remembering that Charles Graham had ap-
peared less like himself at dinner time, than she had ever seen
him. The expression of his face, so changed from its usual
aspect, she had not been able to get out of her mind all the after-
noon. Until now, she had not asked herself the reason of this
dmnge. As her mother had declared, a measure of respect for
her lover had been taken fi'om her feelings ; and she had been in-
wardly troubled on this account.

'BI A b7 D Y E GG-IOG. 85T
Society. When in company where wine or brandy was intro-
duced, he always drank with the rest, but dhl not care enough
for it to visit the tavern in order to gratit his taste. In iact, he
looked upon the visiting at drinking houses as no credit to a
young man. ]Iary replied to her sister's ironical remark by say-
ing-
' If he even thinks it right to join a Tetnperance Society I
shall never object."
' Won'.t you indeed ?" said her father speaking in a tone of
surprise.
" No, father," answered the gentle girl. ' Temperance is a
cardinal virtue. Few men give pain to their fi:iends when per-
fectly sober; but the kindest-hearted may become brutal and
cruel, under the influence of liquors."
" But there can be temperance without total abstinence
Mary."
' So it is said. But, for me, I must confess that I should feel
safest from danger under the total abstinence system."
" But wb.y deprive ourselves of the enjoyment el  drinking
good liquor, when we may do so, moderately, and without dan-
ger ? I believe that our health requires us to use wine or brandy"
at least once a day."
"It may be s%" replied M:ary ; ' but you know, father, that
we girls do n't drink wine or brandy as ot'ten as once a month,
and I am sure ve are in good health. And I don't beliew
mother touches them once in three months."
Mr. Sandf.ord hardly kuew how to reply to this. It bore too
strongly on the position he had assumed. He was about making
some kind of' an answer, vhen a visitor was announced and they"
all arose from the tea table and went into the parlor.
The visitor was an old fi'iend of ,Ir. Sandf.ord's, named Jewett.
I-Ie came in to chat an hour.
" Is 'nt there a glass of' that egg-nog left, ,lane ? " said Mr.
Sandf.ord, as soon s he had welcomed his friend.
" I '11 se% ftther," and ,lane was about leaving the room when
lIr. Jewett said
"No--.no, I thank you Mr. Sandi'ord; please excuse me, I
do n't care about drinking anything."
" Do n't care about drinking a glass of egg-nog with me on
Christtnas!" exclaimed ,Ir. Sandfbrd, in surprise. " Why

B RAhIDY E G G-lq O G. 359
" Every man who drinks brandy, habitually, is in that dan-
ger."
" Then I must be in danger, for I drink brandy every day.
But if any man were to tell me so' I should consider myself' in-
suited."
 An insult is always given with intent," remarked Mr. 3ewett
in reply. "Now as I do not intend to insult you you cannot
receive as an insult my reply that I do think you or any other
man who drinks brandy habitually in danger of becoming a
drunkard " -
" What in the world has come over you ewett ? What has
put this crotchet into your head ? "
 The fact is Sandford," replied the friend, "I have long
thought the habit of using intoxicating driuks as a beverag% a use-
less and dangerous one. I do not lieve the human system needs
habitual stimulants ; but think on the contrary that all stimulant
regularly used, are injurious. Of late, I have read a good deal on
the subject and attended many temperance lectures ; and my mind
is fully made up that for me there is but one right course and I
have taken that course deliberately."
' Well it is surprising" said Mr. Sandford.  I for one, can-
not see why it is necessary to join a temperance society and
totally abstain fi'om all spirituous liquors in order to lead a tom-
perate life. If you think brandy iures you why abstain from
it in the name of all that is good l But you needn't go and
connect )'ourself with a canting set of pseudo-reformers whose
only aim is to get some kind of notoriety little caring what it may
be. This temperance question is a capital hobby upon which these
persons can ride into notice."
 I rather think from what you say" remarked Mr. 3ewett
 tha you have never looked at the armative side of the ques-
tion. To do it justic% you must hear something fi'om its fi'iends
as well as its enemies." .
" Well you are one of its fi'iends what have you to say in its
favor ? "
" I could say a great deal ff I thought it would do anb" good ;
but of this I have my doubts."
' Do n't be so sure o that. You might make a convert of ne"
naid Mr. Sandford jestingly.
" I should be very happy to do so, but of this I have no ex-

[60 TIlE FIRST CHRISTMAS.
pectation. So far as you are concerned, I suppose there are fear
men who drink as freely, that are in less danger."
" And therefore the less necessity for my joining a temperanco
society."
" For your own sake, the necessity is not so great as it is in tho
case of a very large number. But when your influence u])on
others is considered, the aspect of the question changes mate-
rially."
" Why do you say that ? "
" You can drink with little danger of becoming the slave of an
inordinate appetite ; but it is not so certain that all who are en-
couraged,by you to drink, will be in as safe a condition. Your
influence, as a man in society, if exerted in the cause of temper-
ance, would be as salutary as wide-spreading; the same cannot
be said of that influence if thrown on the other side of the ques-
tionmthe danger is, that it will be exceedingly hurtful, and that
when it is too late to recall the past, you will mourn the conse-
quences with unavailing regret."
" Your words sound strangely in my ears, fiiend Jewett," said
Mr. Sandford. " I do n't understand them."
,,
"I mean, was the reply, " that very few young men in tho
present day, can drink habitually without being in great danger of
failing. This being so, it is of the first importance that they be
made conscious of the fact, in order that they may avoid the im-
pending danger. You have it in your power to influence very
many young ncn either to continue drinking or to abandon it."
"I have ? "
' Certainly, you have. I saw three young men to-day, per-
sonal acquaintances, very much intoxicated. They belong to
good families, and are esteemed by all who know them. To one
I said' This is not right, my young friend ; you hurt yourself,
and mortify and wound the feelings of your friends.' ' Do n't
blame me,' he repliedand I thought with some bitterness
' Blame old Mr. Sandford's egg-hog !' "
" What! Who said that ?" asked Mr. Sandford, speaking
quickly.
"A young man for whom I understand you have a strong
regard. He was in a condition that I call disgraceful for any
one. In attempting to shave himself he had cut his face badly in
several places, and these were covered with large patches of fur

BRANDY" E GG-NOG. 861

from a black hat, giving him a ludicrous appearance. I found
him sitting in fi'ont of Maxwell's tavern, nodding in his chair."
" Is he there now ?" asked Mr. Sandford, half rising as ho
tpoke, and seeming quite disturbed.
" :No, I induced him to go home, and I hope he is now safe in
his own room and sound asleep."
Mr. Sandford sunk back in his chair, and cast his eyes thought-
fully to the floor. While he sat musing, Mr. Jcwett resumed.
" To another of the three young men, who was just getting
into a quarrel with a man about as drunk as hinself when I came
by and prevented tile dernier resort of blows, I said,  There are
better ways than this to celebrate Christmas ; I am sorry you did
not choose one more creditable to yourself.' Go and talk to
Mr. Sandford,' he replied,' he made me drunk.' ' How could he
make you drunk ?' I asked. ' By double charging his egg-nog
and making me drink a double quantity,' he answered."
" You are trumping up a good story, fi'iend Jewett" said Mr.
Eandford, trying to laugh with affected indifference.
'" Heaven knows I am not!" replied his visitor. " What I
say is tile solemn truth. I had not gone far, after this, when I
met a man leading another young tiiend, who was not able to
walk straight, from having been drinking too fieely. I asked
some questions about him, and was answered by one of a group
of two or three who were making themselves merry at his unfor-
tunate condition, that he had been dining at Mr. Sandford's, and
partaken too fi'eely of his good wine."
" If that is the way my hospitality is returned," said the old
gentleman, wih a good deal of warmth, "I will take good care
how I repeat my invitations to certain individuals on another
such occasion. Why should I be blamed because a young man
who is weak enough to get drunk, happens'to take one of the
glasses at tny house whii:h helps to knock, him over. He would
have got drunk any how. But I will know better next time."
" I sincerely hope you will, friend Sandfbrd, and when Christ-
mas comes round again with his cheerful fhce, that you will be
prepared to give him a hearty temperance welcome."
"I shall be prepared to pledge him, as I have not once failed
to do in the last thirty years, in a stiff bowl of eg,-n- %-."
" :No matter what may be the consequences to others ? "
" For other men's xveaknesses and follies, I am not resIonsi-

862 TIIE FIRST CHRISTMAS.

ble. If a man gets drunk from drinking my liquors, it is his
fault not mine. Am I to refi-ain from tendering the hospitali
ties of' my house for fear that some one will abuse them ?"
" To be hospitable, is to be kind t% and considerate of' the
welfare of" those who visit us. If' this be a correct definition:
then I do not think it is true hospitality to place temptations it.
the way of our fi'iends."
To find a perfectly satisfactory answer to this form of argu-
ment was not a very easy matter for Mr. Sandf'ord, and he,
therefore met it by saying
" Upon my word Jewett ! you have got your lesson well and
would no doubt make-quite an impression as a temperance lec-
lurer. But it won't do here. I am too old a bird to be caught
by that kind of chaff. I have always had a good glass of liquor
for my friends, colne when they may, and I hope to have it as
long as I live."
" :No matter what may be the consequences to them."
" As for consequences let every man take care of' himself;
that is his own business. How am I to tell whether a man is in
danger or not ? Shall I first say to my f,'iend, before asking him
to take a social glass  Are you in danger of drinking too
much?' Humph ! Would n't that sound well ? :No--no.
Good liquor is good for all who will use it temperately. If' any
abuse it, to them be the consequence, and on them rest the re-
sponsibility. If' I ever turn out a drunkard be assured that I
shall not blame you or any one else. It will be nay own fault
and mine alone. But. corn% let us change the subject, it is too
personal and condemnatory, and tends to interrupt the harmony
of intercourse which I always like to have with an old friend.
Let me fill your glass again. This wine is delicious. I havo
had it in my cellar for ten years."
" It certainly is.very fine," said Mr. Jewett, raising his glass
to his lips, and sipping it with the air of a connoisseur. " Pardon
me for saying, that wine like this is in bad company vhen
placed beside a bottle of brandy."
" Why so ? "
" Wine is on13; a fermented liquor, like beer or cider. But
brandy is distilled, and contains the alcoholic principle in a
highly condensed and active form. Its effects upon the stomach,
like all other distilled liquors, is deleterious, and the continued

366 THE FIRST CHRISTMAS,
order to hide from observatlon as much as possible, the deeply
disturbed state of mind produced by the incidents of the dinner-
table, Lucy read, or rather permitted her eyes to run over the
pages of a book, for the most part of the afternoon, while Mary
occupied herself in some fancy needle-work, and Jane slept off
the two or three glasses of wine she had taken at dinner.
Mrs. Sandford had been so milch engaged during the after-
noon, as not to have found time to see and talk with Lucy
although she was on her mind all the while. During the time
that her husband was engaged in conversation with Mr. Jewett,
after the subject of tenperance had been waived, she spent with
her daughter, alone. She found her, on going up, quietly, into
her chamber, sitting by the bed, her face buried in a pillow.
" Lucy, dear," she said, tenderly, laying her hand upon her as
she spoke,  are you not taking the little occurrence of to-day
too much to heart ?"
The whole subject of her relation to Watson had been passing
through her mind, and she had again come to the distinct conclu-
sion that she could never become his wife. This was not arrived
at without a powerful struggle with herself. Her heart was full
full just to overflowing, and the words of her nother, and the
tender pressure of her hand, made her feelings gush forth into
weeping.
" It was but a trifling occurrence," said Mrs. Sandford, after
Lucy had recovered some little control of herself.  The day
must excuse it. Iqe was not the only one who was tempted to
go into too deep waters."
Lucy heard what her mother said, and answered only by a
long quivering sigh.
 Is the fact that Mr. Watson came here to-day in so sad a
plight your only cause of unhappiness? " asked Mrs. Sandford.
" Mother !" said Lucy, speaking with a sudden effort" what
happened to-day has decided me not to fulfil nay engagement
with Henry Watson."
Mrs. Sandlbrd started in surprise. For a moment or two she
could not believe that she had heard aright. 
" If you have come to that conclusion, on such slight
grounds," she replied, gravely, " I must say, that you have
erred seriously. The cause is not one of ufflcient weight to
'arrant consequences of such vital moment to both yourself and

68 TIIE FIRST CHRISTMAS.
hasty decisions are wrong. I am very sure that your declining
to fulfil your engagement with Henry Watson will not make you
happy. I am not sure but that it will produce more unhappiness
than your marriage possibly could under the worst aspects in
which you have viewed that event."
The tears filled into Lucy's eyes as she made answer--
" I have not been thinking of appiness, mother. I never ex-
pect to be happy. All my best hopes in life have here made
shipwreck. What I have considered is, the thing it is right for
me to do. Now, I do not believe it is right for me to marry a
man, the tendency of whose course in life is gradually to destroy
my respect for his character. It would neither be good for him
nor myself. The final result would be misery to both, conse-
quent upon a perversion of the holy state into which we had en-
tered."
 Would it not Iave been better for you to have spoken to him
on the subject, before coming to the conclusion just avowed ?"
asked Mrs. Sandford.
" o, mother I think not. And indeed, I could no more
have opened my lips to him on that subject than I could have
flown. I would have grown crimson with shame at the first
word, and become speechless."
" Your father could have done it for you, and perhals it would
have come better fl'om hin." .
 N% ' was the mailen's firm reply. "I would not have that
done for. the world. I wish the man who has sought for nay hand
in narriage to be perfectly fi'ee to act as I e thinks right. I wish
him to do nothing simply with the end of gaining ny favor, for
that would not show me a phase of his real character. No--no.
.Let me see him as he rea!ly is, and then I can accept or reject
from good grounds."
 But you must remember, Lucy, that you have alreaJy
accepted Henry Watson."
"I do remember it, mother, and that is wh.at makes nay position
so painfid, difflcult and embarrassing. But I accepted him in
ignorance of the weakness since developed, and now as a ,.vise
woman, looking to all the consequences of my actions, I feel my-
self in duty bound to break that engagement. In doing it, you
cannot know how much I suffer. I think of him and feel for
him as well as for myself. I believe that he loves me devotedly.

BIANDY E GG-NOG.
I know that I love him. Oh! mother, can it be a good thing
that rises up between us to make us both wretched, perhaps for
life ?"
" Might not that thing be put away, nay child ?"
': To ask him to quit drinking, altogether, would be felt as an
insult. If he continues to drink, he will, as before, be tempted to
indulge too fi-eely. Here lies the difficulty."
Mrs. Sandford saw the difficulty as clearly as Lucy, but she
did not think it best to say so. As a woman sl[e felt that her
daughter was right, but she did not clearly comprehend the mode
of reasoning by which others could be convinced of the same
thing.
On the morning after Christmas, Itenry Watson awoke quite
early. He felt as he had several times felt before, after late hours
and free indulgence in the pleasure of drinki]ag. Among his
varied disagreeable sensations, a throbbing head-ache stood out
pre-eminent. It was as if a hammer were beating in his brain,
instead of the light pulsation in the thousand minute and thread-
like arteries that spread themselves throughout that delicate
organ.
It was some time after his eyes were open before he remem-
bered vith any distinctness the incidents of the preceding day.
Gradually his memory restored them, dimly or vividly, according
to the impression made at the time of their occurrence. Clear
and distinct above all the rest stood out the scene at the dinner
table. He saw Lucy's glass stauding untouched befbre her, after
all had drunk to him. He saw the tears gushing over her fkce.
Ite saw her rise in confusion and retire frown the room. The
reason lie too clearly comprehended.
 I must have been in a worse condition than I imagined," he
said, rising up suddenly. As he did so, he saw himself in a glass,
hanging opposite. The black patches of fur wer still there, giv-
ing his face a singular and disgustiug appearance.
" Can it be possible I went in this way !" he murmured, sink-
ing back upon the bed.  No wonder Lucy was shocked, lgo
vonder she retired from my presence in tears."
After lying for some minutes in a most painful state of mind,
lie arose fi'om the bed and commenced dressing himself. He was
nearly ready to go out, when Charles Graham threw open his
door, exclaiming, as he stepped into the room

WINE EGG-Iq OG. 879

" You need have no fears on that score, mother ; Charles will
bo there."
" Do n't you think you could persuade him to male a temper-
ance speech, or sing a temperance ong ? " said Mr. Sandford,
laughingly. " It would give a fine zest to the evening's enter-
tainment."
 I do n't know ; but there will be no harm in asking him."
' Charles Graham make a temperance speech ! Ha ! ha !"
broke in Edward Pryor, in a merry tone of voice. ' I should al-
most as soon expect to see that, as to see Mr. Sandford himself on
the rostrmn."
" So should I, Edward," said Mr. Sandford. " Charles is a
lad after my own heart, and not to be caught in any of your gull-
traps. :But Hark !mThere is the bell. I should n't wonder if it
were Charles himself."
On hearing this, Jane glided from the room, and vent to the
door. It was Charles Graham, as Mr. Sandford had surmised.
' I thought it was you, Charles," said Jane, catching hold of
his extended hand with both of her own.
" Did you ?" he returned, snatching a kiss from the maiden's
willing lips.
'Yes, and I am glad you have come. I have a request to
make, which you must promise me you will grant."
 Well, name the request."
 Oh no ! I want the pronise beforehand."
" Indeed  Sulpose you were to ask me to cut off my head ?"
"You would be bound by your promise to do it of course.
But there is not much danger of that. Come, make me the pro-
mise before you go in. I want it on the spot."
 Well, I promise."
" That's a dear, good soul ! I knew you would."
' Now what dreadful thing am I to do ? "
" Tothing more than to go with nc to the temperance meeting
to-morrow night."
" Jane !" ejaculated the young man in surprise.
" Oh, you need n't look so grave about it. You have pro-
mised ; so now walk in.inCome !"
" To the temperance meeting, Jane ? You are certainly jest-
ing. Why do you want to go there ? "
" Nonsense, Charles! Do n't make so much of an ado about

WINE EGG-NOG. 381
I ]oo] and fee] at a temperance meeting? How shall I manage
tokeep from laughing out aloud ? Oh, dear! The thing is really
amusing."
"Who knows but you will sign the: pledge before you como
home ? " remarked Charles Graham.
" If I do you will, Charley."
" No doubt of it. We will both sign together, be it when it
will."
" As we shall all be treading on dangerous ground to-morrow
night," returned Mr. Sandford, " and as there is no telling but
that we may all be hoaxed into signing the pledge, I think we
had better have a good look at our old friends, Brandy & Co.,
to-night ; so, if you will amuse yourselves, I will go and make a
good bowl of punch. The talk about temperance has made me
feel quite thirsty."
" And so it has me," said Graham. " A glass of your deli-
cious punch will be just the thing."
When the punch came in, and was offered to young Pryor, ho
asked to be excused from drinking, as he had recently signed the
pledge.
" The devil you have !" exclaimed old Mr. Sandlord, thrown
off of his guard by this unexpected declaration. " But you can-
not be in earnest, Edward ? "
" It is true," the young man replied, smiling in a quiet, unem-
barrassed manner.
" Signed the temperance pledge!" said the old gentleman,
knitting Ms brows. " What in the name of common sense made
you do that ? Were you afraid ot becoming a sot ?"
" No, I had no special fears on that head," returned Pryor.
"But I wished to quit the use of intoxicating drinks altogether,
and thought the best thing for me to do xvas to join a temperance
society; for then, when asked to drink, as I am almost every
day, I had only to answer that I had signed a pledge not to drink,
and the thing was settled without further debate. I would effec-
tually bar off all persuasion. And such, I find, has been the
case."
" You're a strange lad, Edward," said Mr. Sandford, in a
milder voice than he had at first spoken in. "But ye must
gang y'r ain gait. It will all come out right in the end, no
doubt. I suppose the next thing I shall hear, will be that Mary
has signed the pledge likewise."

84 TIIE SECOND CHRISTMAS.

her mother. But this reserve, on her part, did not close Mrs.
Sandford's eyes. Her heart had already taken the alarm, and
she watched the gradual declension of her son fi-om sobriety with
an anguish of spirit that she could with difficulty conceal. And
both she and Lucy had cause for all their fears. Doctor Sand-
ford was fast verging on to:ards that sad period, when the
power of self-control is lost, and the unhappy victi[n of a diseas-
ed appetite is borne on towards ruin with a fearfully accelerating
motion. Already had this become so apparent, that two or three
families, in which he had practiced since his graduation, declined
trusting their sick members in his hands.
This was the aspect of aairs at the time of wlich we write.
To the casual observer,verything looked peaceful as usual ; but
to the eyes of those,.wl'.m experience had given the-power of
looking below the .sui-face, a Shhdow from some approaching evil
'as too plainly to be seen. ""
... When our part)" arrived at the village," church;"they found a
much greater and more respectable concoure (" people than they
had expected. It was with some difficulty that they could all
procure convenient seats in the vicinity of each other. Many
eyes were turned upon them, and sundry whispers passed fi'om
pew to pew, conmunicating the intelligence that Mr. Sandi'ord
and all his family were there--a circumstance so unexpected as to
be a matter of wonder. The old gentleman perceived this and
it annoyed him considerably. IIe became quite uneasy, and
fldgetted a good deal. Charles Graham, at first, felt inclined to-
laugh, but the number, character and demeanor of those present,
soou caused a graver mood to come over him.
In about five minutes from the time our little party entered,
one of the ministers who preached ia the village, came forward
upon the stand that had been erected upon the railings of the
alter or chancel, and upon which were a number of persons so
thickly seated as to conceal many at the back part of the stand
from view. He briefly announced, in appropriate terms the
object of the meeting, and then read a hymn, which was sung by
the c.hoir. Prayer was next offered up, followed by an anthen.
After this came an eloquent and stirring address from a stranger.
I-te related many touching incidents in his own history, and con-
trasted vividly the condition of himself and family one year
before to what it then was. When he sat .d.own, old Mr. Sand-

88 THE SECOND CIIRISTMAS.
" I can't help it--I must; for, if I leep on I shall como out
in the end like that old man's son, and no mistake. I see it as
clear as daylight."
 Sign it then, in the name of heaven !" returned Mr. Sand-
ford. " I would n't say nay, for the world."
By this time he pledge had-reached the place where they
were sitting. Graham promptly subscribed his name and
handed the pledge to Mrs. Sandford, who placed her signature
to it. Lucy did the sam% and also Jane and Mary. Mr. Sand-
ford then took t-he paper and handed it back to the person who
had brought, it.
' But you have n't signed it," said the man.
" No, nor do I intend doing so."
." ]ut, my dear irm"
Mr. Sandford waved his hand impatiently, saying, as he did
IO
"No more, if you please, sir. You have got all my family
that are here. Be content with that. As for me I act for
self."
To have said anything farther by way of inducement would
have been inde orous, and the man passed on to the next pew.
More than two thirds of those present signed the pledge that
night. It was what has been called the old pledge, and covered
only distilled liquors. W. ine, cider and beer were not included
in its proscriptions.
After the conclusion of the meeting, the press of persons into
the aisle was so great that Mr. Sandford and his family remained
standin in the pewhey occupied, until the crowd had become
less. While still there, Watson, who was moving towards the
door, under the impression that Lucy had already retired with
her friends, found hinself face to face with Mr. Sandford.
" Why, Harry, my boy ! I am riglit down glad to see you,"
said the old gentleman with animation grasping the young man's
hand. " How have you been this long time." It is as much as
one's life is worth to get a sight of you."
Watson had a good deal of self=possession and presence of mind.
e would have carefuJly avoided the situation in which he found
himself placed ; but now that he was in it he made a strng
effort to appear as unconcerned as possible. From Mr. Sandtord
he had next to speak to Mrs. Sandford, who stood by his side.
She seemed much pleased to see him and expressed her gratifica-

ADAM'S ALE. 403
"Lucy has mentioned that you wished to be removed to your
' Yes," replied the young nmn. " I am now subring but
little pain, and am out of all danger. I can receive at the mill
all the attention I need, and do not, therefore, think it right for
me to remain here any longer. For the kindness of yourself and
amily, I shall never cease to be deeply grateful."
" And to me, especially," said Mr. Sandford, gravely, "for
having been the cause of the dreadful accident, from the conse-
quences of wMch you are still suffering severely."
' You, sir ! " ejaculated Watson, in surprise.
" Yes, to me, Henry. I caused you to drink more than you
were able to bear. I mxed a delicious and tempting beverage
and induced you, all unconscious of danger, to drink until reason
was dethroned. Had you been aware of the strength of what
you were drnklng, would you have gone so far ? "
" No," was the emphatic answer. " I would have cut off my
right hand first."
" So I believe. On my head, therefor% rests all the b|am%
and from me and my family must you receive all the attentions
you require, until you are fully recovered. It is your right and
our duty."
" I cannot, I must not, I will not laim such a right" return-
ed the young man with energy. "I ought to have known what
I was doing. That I did not, is no fault of yours."
" We may differ on that head," returned Mr. Sandford.
 At any rat% you are under our care, and here you must remain
until we think it sa for you to be removed."
A deep sigh, or rather groan, was the only reply made by th
young man to this. He felt helpless, and miserable.
After Lucy had si)okcn with her father, she went up into her
mother's chamber. Mrs. Sandford was there, and noticed, as
her d.aughter entered, that her countenance was more thaa
usually sad. '
" Why do you look so troubled, Lucy ? " asked Mrs. Sand-
ford.
Lucy sat down by her mother's side, and leaning her head
apon her shoulder, gave way to a passionate fit of weeping.
After her feelings had calmed down,'her mother said,
 There is a cause fSr this, my daughter. Will you tell too.
why you are so deeply moved ? "

ADAM'S ALE. 409
"for the old gentleman, after ruining his son, and dear knows how
many more, by encouraging them to drink, and ridiculing and
opposing all temperance reforms, to use nothing but cold water.
It would have done some good if he had tried this years ago. It
is rather too late now."
Comments such as these were plentiful|y made. They did not
reach the ears of Mr. Sandt%rd, but it would have mattered little
if they had. He would have been to[ally indifferent to them, so
far as actions were concerned.
As soon as all was prepared a meeting was announced, the object
of which was declared to be the formation of a temperance society
vn the total abstinence plan. This produced a strong sensation,
both among the brandy and wine drinking portions of the commu-
nity. The former could now see no particular objection to tem-
perance societies as at first instituted, but the new movement was
the wildest piece of ultraism ever heard of'.. The tavern keepers
were particularly active in their efforts to throw ridicule upon
the thing. The opposition of the beer, wine and cider drinkers
vas also strong.
' You will ruin the whole thing," said one of them to Mr.
Sandford, " if you attempt tetotalism in this place. The people
will not stand it. Do you think I a going to drink nothing but
spring water ? "
" If you think wine more healthy than water, fi'iend Long, use
it. But if water, as a beverage is really better than wine, I
vould adviso you to let the latter alone,' as I do" replied Mr.
Sandf'ord.
" Both are good enough in their place."
" I will readily admit that. But I am sure the regular use of
any thing that stimulates the system, that quickens the pulsation
vf' the heart, must be io.jurious. And moreover, I mn well con-
vinced that all efforts to effect the permanent reformation ot 
drunkards upon any other principle than the total abandonment
of fermented as well as distilled liquors, will be found unavailing.
The desire fOrostinmlating drinks will tempt the man who has
abandoned ardent spirits, to use wine or beer or cider, so freely
as to produce intoxication, or a state so near to it, that his moral
sense will be destroyed, and he unable to resist the burning thirst
felt under such circumstances for rum or brandy."
"You think so ? " , -

410 TIIE THIRD CHRISTMAS.
" I an sure of it."
" All a mere assumption, Mr. Sandford, that facts will not bear
otlt."
" The time will come, Mr. Long, when you will see this matter
differently."
"Possibly. But I doubt it. Of one thing, however, I am
very sure, and that is, that you will do more harm than good if
you attempt to form a total abstinence society at this time."
" Why .9 "
"Every body is up in arms against it."
" Tavern keepers and all, I suppose."
" Every temperance man I have seen, says it will ruin the
cause,--that the thing is ridiculous and preposterous."
" There never was any true reform that did not meet with the
same kind of opposition fi'om men who professed to believe the
principles upon which it was founded. Temperance men!
Why, no man deserves the name who pours wine and beer down
his throat by the gallon, in place of brandy by the pint. Where
is the great difference, pray ? I confess myself unable to see it."
" Well, you can do as you please, Mr. Sandford ; but I warn
you in advance, that you will ruin the cause of temperance in
this village if you keep on."
Such were the views held by four-fifths of the temperance
naen, so called; and they opposed the new movement with vigor-
ous efforts. To nmst of them, the giving up of ardent spirits
had been .uo great sacrifice, while the whole catalogue of wines
and other f;.rmented liquors were left them to select frown, and
drink without stint or license. But to give up all was a very
serious matter, and not to be thought of for a moment.
When the meeting took place, the church where it was held
was crowded. Mr. Sandford stated the object for which they
had assembled, and showed, briefly, the grounds upon which he
and others based their advocacy of entire abstinence from intoxi-
cating drinks as the only sure measure of reformation. This
statement was followed by a strong address from Watson in favor
of total abstinence principles, and then all persons favorable to
the new movement were invited to come forward and sign a
pledge which was read aloud.
To the surprise of most persons present, about twenty respond-
ed to this call, and subscribed the pledge. A society was then

AD AM'S ALE. 413.
While sipp;ng the julep, and enjoying its peculiar flavor, Sand-
ford recollected that he had nade no allowance for brandy and
water at dinner's, tithe, a thing absolutely indispensable. This
troubled his mind .for a moment or two ; but he settled the matter
by coming to a sudden resolution to defer the diminishing system
until the next morning, when he could begin fair, and leave room
for all the contingencies that might occur during the day. I-Ie
felt a sensation of relief immediately. He breathed nore freely.
There was a sense of liberty.
After taking the julep that the bar keeper had prepared with a
skill peculiarly his own, our young men left the tavern and took
a short stroll, which brought them to another drinking hous%
which was famous for  sherry cobblers." Sandford proposed a
drink, to which the rest assented. The "cobblers" were pro-
nounced " first rate," and a second round called for. After this
the young men separated and Sandford went home to dinner.
Nine glasses since morning had not left his mind in a very lucid
condition; still he could remember with some distinctness tho
unpleasant words that had passed between himself and his father
and felt sone reluctance, on that account, to meeting him.
When he came in, his father looked him calmly in the face, and
spoke to him pleasantly. He saw that his son had been drinking
as usual, and evidently, with more freedom, and he was pained as
he ever was at such evidences of his speedy ruin.
When they all had assembled at the dinner table, William no-
ticed that the bottle of brandy which he had always required to
be set on for him, was not in its usual place, and turning to the
servant who waited on the table, he rebuked him in a severe tone
for the omission. The servant did not reply, but looked towards
hIr. Sandf'ord. The old man turned his eyes upon his son, and
regarded him for a moment steadily but mourntrully, 
" William," he said,  I have placed a tempting devil to your
lips for the last time. From this hour hencet%rth and forever, no
one can drink any thing in my house, or at my table that intoxi-
cates. '
The young man pushed back his chair instantly and rising from
the table lett the room. His mother was about following hi,n,
but a look fi'om her husband restrained her.
No remark was made by any one, on the occurrence, but all felt
troublcd and no one eat with appetite. The meal was concluded
in silence.

ADAM'S ALE. 415
After swallowing a glass of brandy at the nearest tavern he re-
turned to his office, feeling much better. The pain in his head
had nearly subsided, his nervous system was firmer, and his mind
clearer,--still he felt uncomfortable enough.
" So much for my first attempt at reform," he said to himselt ,
bitterly. " But shall I give up? No, I can and will regulate
myself. I have been drinking too freely for my good. I will
taper off gradually, and let it alone altogether, perhaps. I be-
lieve it would be. much better for me to do so. To-day, I will
drink but seven glasses and two bottles of wine. On that I am
resolved."
Instead of going to his father's house at breakfast time, Doctor
Sandford went and engaged boarding at a hotel. He did not
really blame his father for what he had done, but his pride was
wounded by the occurrence of the preceding day ;and pride
viewed the act of withdrawing the brandy bottle as an insult.
After breakfast a second glass of liquor was taken and counted
two. Before he could get back to his office, some companion of
the class " hale fellow, well net," got hold of him and would
hear to no objection against a " cobbler." This made three be-
fore ten o'clock in the morning.
" I shall take but one glass more until dinner time." He said to
himself as he turned fi'om the bar-room. But he was mistaken.
Full seven glasses, the proposed complement for the day, were
disposed of before he sat down to dine.
" What am I to do ? " he asked himself, as he took his place at
the table. ' I must have my brandy and water, and yet I have
had seven glasses already. Confound Tom, Dick, and Harry for
asking me to drink!" Seven glasses had not left the mired of
Doctor Sandford very clear, nor his resolution very strong. " Oh
well never mind," he continued, " I needn't begin until to-
morrow. A day is of no consequence. " Waiter!" he said
aloud, " bring me some braady."
The brandy was brought, and the resolution for that day
broken. It is not a matter of much wonder, that night found the
Doctor pretty much in the same condition that he was in on the
previous evening.
To Mrs. Sandford, the fact that William had left the house in
nger, was a source of deep grief, that his remaining away mado
deeper and more poignant. , Mr. Sandford had conferred with her

:18 THE THIRD CItRISTMAS.
" Why not to-day ?"
' I can't, indeed! Give me until to-morrow."
" Now is the best time," urged Mrs. Sandt'ord.
Still the young man persisted in putting off until the next day"
his return home.
" I am to expect you to-mor'ow, then ?" said the mother, at
length turning reluctantly to go.
"Yes, I will certainly dine with you to-morrow !"
In sadness and oppression of feeling did Mrs. Sandford leave
her son's office, and turn her slow steps homeward. William had
changed much since she last saw him, and changed for the worse,
both in face and general appearance. She felt almost hopeless
of his being saved from ruin, so rapid, it was evident, was his
downward tendency. As soon as his mother left hls office the
young man shook his head and said,--
":No--no--not.to-day. I have been drinking too much. But
to-morrow I will go, and go sober. I will limit myself to three
glasses before dinner, and nothing shall tempt me to touch more.
I shall htve to do without my brandy and water, I suppose, but
no matter, I can do without it." o
Anxiously did Mrs. Sandford look for the coming of dinner-
time on the next day--hope and fear in alternate possession of"
her mind. The hour at length arrived, but William did not come.
The family waited for half an hour, but he was still absent, when
they at last took their places at the table. Mrs. Sandl%rd was a
strong-minded woman, and she bore, with but little exhibition
of what she suffered, this severe disappointment. When she
retired, at the eoneluslon of the meal, she went up into her
chamber, and closing the door, locked it after her, and sunk down,
weeping, upon her knees. She remained in this position for a
long time. When she arose, her iace was calmer, and her tears
dried up. She left her room and went about her ordinary duties,
and no one could perceive that she had but lately been in a pas-
uion of grief.
As for Doctor Sandford, it was as might be supposed. His effort
to "regulate" himself was altogether useless. Th'e first glass he
drank in the morning took away its pr.oper proportion of self-
control. The second was like unto the first ; and his third glass,
which was to be the forenoon limit, only paved the way for a
fourth, which was taken in place of the brandy and water tha;

420 THE THIRD CHRISTMAS.
reflection, hope, and resolutions more firmly based than any
had yet made.
" It must come to that," he murnmred half aloud---alluding to,
total abstinence from all intoxicating drinks. " There is, for me,
no other way of safety. And it shall come to that. Solemnly
do I vow, in this hour of bitterness and grief of soul, never again
to let. one drop of wine or spirit to pass my lips. It is said, and
my vow shall be kept."
The repentant young man now arose, and with trembling hands
dressed and prepared himself for breakfast. He found his nerves
in a dreadfilly shattered condition; far more so than he had
dreamed, for a glass of brandy taken every morning immediately
on rising, had given them an artificial steadiness and concealed
their real state.
On descending to the bar-room to wait for breakfast, the first
salutation he met was,
" Good morning, Doctor ! Come, what will you tale ? "
This was from a fi-iend who boarded at the same house.
 A cup of strong coffee as soon as I can get it," replied Sand-
ford. "Nothing else."
" Why, what's the matter ? Are you sick ?"
" Yes."
 Where are you sick ?"
' Here and here." And he laid his hand first on his heart and
then on his head.
" Do you think coffee will do you more good than a glass of
brandy ? "
' Yes,--or, at least it will do me less harm."
" Oh l" And with this ejaculation, and a.peculiar expression
of face, the friend turned from him, and walking to the bar, or-
dered his morning glass.
Doctor Sandford continued to feel very wretched. A sensa-
tion of sinking at the stomach and iZaintness was particularly dis-
tressing. It seemed to him as if the breakfast bell never would
ring ; but at last he heard the welcome sound.
A cup of coffee helped him even more than he had expected.
IIis nerves became steadier and he eat lightly and with as good,
if not a better appetite than usual.
On leaving the breakfast table, and passing through the bar-
room, he was again asked to drink, but he gave a simple nega-

THE LOST CHILDREN.

A A in autumn was about expiring. The orning had been
warm and lJright with sunshine, but evening was gathering its
shadows amid clouds, fierce driving wind and rain. A fit em-
blem was this expiring day, of the closing lithe of one whose early
years had passed in light and smiles, but whose later experiences
were full of bitterness.
A mother lay upon her dying bed. In the chamber of death
were three persons besides the sufferer. One was a man in the
prime of life, whose face bore many evidences of the evil habits
that had curse([ both himself and his family. The other two
were children ; one a girl between ten and eleven, and the other
a boy not beyond his seventh year. The father sat by the bed,
holding the thin white hand of her whom he had promised,
years before, to love and cherish with th.e tenderest affection ;
and while he did so, the rebuking past came back, and the sting
of an upbraiding conscience troubled him deeply. The little boy
had climbed upon the bed, and was lying close to his mother,
with his arm thrown across her bosom; and the girl stood with
her face buried in a pillow. She was weeping.
A deep silence had pervaded the chamber for nearly half an
hour. In that oppressive half hour, how many troubled thoughts
had passed through the mind of the unhappy man who was about
losing one whose virtues, whose patience, whose sufferings, whose
wrongs, were all remembered now, although they had been little
thought of through the lst few years of his wedded life I .
" Henry ! " The man started--raised his eyes from the floor,
and turned them upon the :ace of his dying wife, who looked at
him earnestly for some moments, and then said--" Henry, when
I am gone, these dear children will have no one to love them, no
one to care for them, but you."
" I will both love them and care for them," quickly returned
the man. His voice trembled, and he spoke with emotion.
(426)

THE LOST CHILDREN. 429
v]fich had been left vacant by her mother's death, and served tho
coffee. She looked frequently at her father, but his eyes were
not once directed to the face of his child. He could not look at
her. He sat only about half his usual time at the table, and
then rose and went out. Alice tried, but could not eat; and
soon after her father left, got up and went into another room, the
door of which she closed, and then sitting down in a dark corner,
covered her face with her hands and wept bitterly. Henry soon
found her out, and crouching down beside her, mingled with hers
his tears, although he scarcely knew for what reason lie was
weeping.
Mr. Altemas went out with a fixed determination not to drink
a drop of any thing. He felt deeply mortified at having been
betrayed into excess on the very day that he had followed the re-
mains of his wife to the grave; and especially so, when he re-
membered that his children hd seen him come staggering in at
aightthe children whom lie had promised his dying wife to lovo
and care for in her stead. He could not look into their innocent
faces when he met them at the breakfast table, although he was
conscious that their eyes were upon him ; and he withdrew from
their presence as quickly as possible.
Mr. Altemas had been a successful merchant, but dissipation
caused him to neglect his business, which, after a while, tumbled
in ruins around him. He was now a clerk in the receipt of a
small salary, that had proved insufficient to meet the wants of
his family, as well as supply the cravings of a vitiated appetite..
From lis house he went to the store at which he was employed,
and attended to business until about eleven o'clock, the time at
which he generally went into a neighboring tavern to get a drink.
The usual hour brought the usual desire for liquors. This was,
for a while, resisted ; but the first effort at resistance made the
desire tenfold stronger. The struggle was but brief. Evil al-
lurements were too powerful to be withstoodMr. Altemas
turned aside as usual to taste the cup of pleasure, and he again
fell. That night he did not return until late. His children were
in bed and asleep when he came in. He would have sought his
home earlier, but he feared that they might be again sitting up for
hin.
Thus it vent on, daily, in the old way. Night after night tho
anhappy man came home sometimes early and sometimes late

TIIE LOST CIIILDREI. 43.

"Will Mrs. Walton be good to Henry ?" she asked.
'* Oh yes. She will be very kind to both you and I-Ienry I
am sure," quickly replied the father.
 When must we go there ?"
" In the morning. I told her I would bring you to her house
to-morrow morning." 
Alice said no more. In a little while she went out of the
room, and stole up quietly to the chamber that had been her moth-
er's. After closing the door she looked around upon each fa-
miliar object that brought back most vividly the memory of her
who had died in that room ; for only a few moments did she thus
stand; then she seated herself by the bed, and bending forward
hid her face in her.hands. She did not now give way to tears ;
but oh! how lonely she felt how desolate her heart! Soon
after, Mr. Altemas came up and entered the room. He saw
_Alice and instantly retired. There was a deep rebuke in her
attitude, as well as in her presence in her mother's chamber at
that time. Half an hour afterwards he re-entered the room and
saw Alice in the same position. He again paused instinctively,
and was about retiring; but he checked himself and came into
the chamber. Alice did not move. He called her name, but
there was no response, except in a long fluttering sigh, or sob.
On coming nearer to her, he found that she was asleep. The
feelings of the unhappy father, already disturbed, were now
deeply moved.
For a moment he gazed earnestly upon her form. He could
not help reading in her condition, the story of deep suffering ; of a
heart sensible of a great wrong, and appreh.ension of still greater
misery in the future. His thoughts ran back to former happier
days. A new pang shot through his heart as he recollected the
high hopes the smiling friends, and unalloyed happiness of that
hour when he led her mother now at rest to the altar. And
then the very image of his wife seemed to fill the room; her
form and features were stamped on every thing around and so
true, so lit-like, he could hardly resist the impression of reality.
Involuntarily he closed his eyes as if to test the illusion; but
clearer, brighter, plainer, stood his wife before him. Was she
there to reproach him ?
The thought was maddening. His heart beat with a violence
almost suffocating and his brain grew painfully giddy. Then

THE LOST CHILD REI. "83
"He is a timid child, and strange now," said the father;  but
he will soon feel himself at home with you."
"O yes! I'll soon make him feel at home; dear little fel-
low !" returned Mrs. Walton, smoothing his hair, while Henry
continued to cower beneath the touch of her hand. All the time
his eyes were fixed intently upon her face.
Mrs. Walton was a widov, somewhere in the neighborhood of
fifty, who kept a third-r.ate boarding-house. She had agreed
with Mr. Altenas to take his two children at a charge of three
dollars a week, and he had promised to advance her fifty dollars
a part of which she was to lay out in clothing for themand
also to remit her more money by the time that sum was ex-
hausted. Mrs. Walton, we are sorry to say, was rather a bad
specimen of a woman. She was selfish, coarse and vulgar-
minded, unfeeling and hypocritical. Some ten years of rough
contact with the world as the keeper of a cheap boarding-house,
during which time she had come into close proximity with all
sorts of people, had in no way tended to mprove her character.
In worse hands Mr. Altemas could hardly have left his children.
 You can stay here and amuse yourselves," said Mrs. Walton
to Alice and Henry, after their father had retired, and then she
hurried away, leaving them in the dark and dingy room which
she called the parlor. Henry leaned his head against his sister
and said in a sad voice
" I wish papa would n't leave us here."
" We shan't be here very long, I hope," returned Alice.
t Papa says he will come and take us away soon."
Although Alice spoke thus encouragingly to her brother, her
own heart had no confidence in the words she uttered. To her,
the future had a crk and uncertain aspect, and she felt an in-
ward, shrinking fear, as she looked into it. It was about ten
o 'clock when their iather left them at the house of Mrs. Walton.
They remained alone in the parlor, not stirring fi'om where they
had at first sea,ted themselves, until nearly two o'clock, when
they were called to dinner. Henry had slept during a portio of
these unhappy hours. The afternoon was spent, as the morning
lind been, in the parlor, alone. At night they were taken up
into a small garret room to sleep. The room was comfortable
enough, and so was the bed that it contained.
27

$.84 THE LOST CIIILDREI.
On the next morning the father called to see them early, tie
was to leave for the south at nine o'clock.
" Oh, papa! Do n't stay away long," said Alice, her eyes
filling with tears.
"I will be back for you very soon," he replied.
" How soon ? " asked Henry, as lie held on tightly to his
father's hand. 
"I cannot exactly tell. But it will be very soon.'
"In a month ? " asked Alice.
" I hope.so."
" A month is four weeks. It will be so long !" said IIenry.
"Cone back sooner, papa, won't you, and take us away from
here ?"
" Mrs. Walton will he kind to you, my son."
"I don't like to stay here," returned the boy.
" You will like it better in a little while. You must love your
sister, Henry, and mind all she says to you, and try to be a good
boy, and I will come for you as quickly as I can. And now
good bye, my children."
" Good bye," was the low and sad response made by Alice
and Henry. Mr. Altemas shook them by the hand, kissed them,
and departed.
How slowly did the time pass! Four weeks seemed like a
year. At last tile period at which the father's return was looked
for by the children, came round, but it brought thetn only a bitter
disappointment. He did not come back as they believed he had
promised them he "would do; nor lad any word been received
from hin since he went away. Another and anotlmr week ex-
pired, but tile father did not return; neither was any letter re-
ceived fi'om him. During this time, Mrs. Walton let the childrea
take care of themselves. She had little to say to tlmtn uless
they came in her way, and then her manner and words were
coarse and repulsive. Alice took the entire charge of lter brotler,
dressing and washing him in the morning and putting him to bed
at night. As time wore on, tile manner of Mrs. Walton became
more and more indifS.rent; or, as she ]ml)pened to be in the
humor, .coarser and more repulsive. One day, about three
months after Mr. Altemas went away, she came into tim room
where Alice sat mending her brother's clothes, and said to her
abruptly--

TtIE LOST CHILDREN. 489

When Mrs. Gordon returned to the room where she had left
'Alice, she fi)und her weeping.
' What is tle matter ? What are you crying about?" she
asked, a little impatiently.
Alice looked up into the woman's face and said with a look
and tone that ought to have touclmd her heart
" I promised Henry that I would be back in a little while. I
didn't think I was to stay now. Ol b ma'am! he will cry so
'hen he finds I do not cotne back with Mrs. Walton. Can't I
go and see him just for a few minutes, and tell him that I am not
to stay with him any longer ?"
' Mrs. Walton says she had rather you would n't. She will
be kind to him and he will soon forget you."
" Forget me !" said Alice in surprise. ' Oh no ma'am ;
he won't never forget me. I do n't think Mrs. Walton will be
very kind to him. She-never has been. Pleas% ma'am von't
you let him come and stay here ? He won't be a bit of trouble
to you. I'll do everything for him."
" Come here ! Good gracious child ! no ! I can't have him
here. I've got enough children of' my own."
' Then won't you let me go and see him, and talk to him just
a little while. It will make him feel better."
":No, child, I can't do it. I want you to nurse the baby.
And besides, as I told you Mrs. Walton thinks it will be better
for you not to see him just now."
Alice bent down over the babe she held in her arms while the
tears that had been restrained for a few moments, flowed afresh.
"" Cone ! come ! " said Mrs. Gordon, fretfully. ' I do n't
want any blubbering and crying here. I have enough of that
among my own children."
Alice staunched her tears with an effort. That is their out-
ward flow. But the inward, heart-gushing tears of which these
visible drops were only the outward sign, gushed more freely.
These the eye of' Mrs. Gordon c.ould not perceive and she did
not, therefore, seek to check them.
Slowly and sadly passed that long, long day to Alice her
mind partially sustained by the feeble hope that when night came
:Mrs. Gordon would permit her to run round and see Henry just
for a few moments. :Not for a minute at a time during that to
her, long period, was the image of her brother from before her

444 THE LOST CItILDIEN.
child, sought by bathing her face in cold water and vnegar, and
by the free use of hartshorn, to restore the vital energy that had
retired into the deep and hiddeinterior of her body. It was
lalf an hour before these efforts were attended with success.
Ther Alice roused up partly, and called in a most piteous tone for
Henry. Even the hard heart of Mrs. Walton was touched ; while
the chambermaid burst into tears. "
" Go 'round and tell Mrs. Gordon that Alice is her% and say
what is the matter with her.," said Mrs. Walton. " She'll won-
der where she is."
Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were sitting at the tea-tabl% with their
three eldest children, when Mrs. Walton's messenger came in.
 Mrs. Walton sent me round," said Hann-ah, " to tell you
that Alice is there.".
" And what is she doing there ? I positively forbade her
going."
" She came round to see her brother.. But he was gone, and
the poor child fainted when she heard it. It was a downright
cruel thing, it was!"
" Fainted !" said Mr. Gordon, in surprise.
" Yes, sir. And she's just coming to. Oh ! if you could hear
how she is calling for little Henry, and she not more than half
herself, it would make your heart ache! But I nmst run back.
I only came to let you know where she was." And the impul-
sive, warm-hearted Hannah, turned away and left Mr. and Mrs.
Gordon in no very comfortable frame of mind.
' Yes, it was a downright cruel thing !" exclaimed Mr. Gor-
don, as soon as Hannah had retired. ' And I 'm very sorry that
we have had anything to do in the matter."
Mrs. Gordon felt a little strange, but she did not say much.
This left room for her husband to express himself pretty freely
which he did not fail to do."
After tea, Mrs. Gordon went into Mrs. Walton's. She found
Alice restored to reason, but grieving bitterly for her brother.
lothing that was said to her gave her any comfort. To every
thing she answered by desiring to be taken to Henry. But this
she was told positively could not be ; as he had been taken out of
the city. To her. earnest entreaties to be told where he was, no
answer was given. Heart-sick and almost hopeless, the unhpy
child went back with Mrs. Gordon, who more than half repented

446 TIlE LOST CIIILDREN.
and sadder all the time. But., at best, I can't make out what
harm is to come of" hr being allowed to see her little brother."
" I can, then. I can see that she won't be worth a copper to
me, afterwards."
" I'll guarantee that she will be just as valuable again. But
that out of the question ; humauity calls upon us to put her heart
at rest in regard to her brotlmr."
" I do n't thiuk it does, if the act is going to make them both
more unhappy than they are now; a thing that certa:.nly will
occur. I believe I am quite as tender-hearted as you are, and can
feel just as much for the c]ild as you do ; but I am settled in my
belief, that the very best thing for both these children is to let
them remain in ignorance of each other. The policy of the school
is to sever all former relations, in order that there may be no in-
terference. When a child is old enongh to be bound out to a
trade, the place to which he is sent is known only to the mana-
gers of the institution, and is never divulged."
" Then it is settled between you and Mrs. Walton that Alice
is never to see her brother again ? "
" I wish, Mr. Gordon, that you would not meddle yourself in
things that do n't concern you, as this does n't."
" I :'ather think, Anna, that it does concern me a little," qniet-
ly returned Mr. Gordon. " I feel myself to be just as luuch re-
sponsible in this matter as you are, and just as guilty of wrong to
these civil(Itch."
" You are a strange man to talk, ZIr. Gordon; a very strango
lnan [ "
" And you are a strange woman to act Anna ; a very strango
womall [ "
This so inflamed the ire of Mrs. Gordon, that she gave her hus-
band such a setting down as made him glad to be quiet. And so
all lis good intentions in regard to Alice were, for the time being,
laid into quiescence.
Change we, now, the scene of our story to a southern city, and
advance the time two)'cars fi'om tle period of'its opening. Three
or tbur men were sitting in a cofiiee-house, fl'equcnted mostly by
flat-boatmen and others of the same grade, drinking, smoking,
an(l swearing, when a wret(.hed-lo,king creature, with bloated
:time, and (']()tlms torn and dirty, wlo in every way presented -
most debased and miserable appearance, entered, and going up to
the bar, called for whiskey and water.

THE LOST CHILDREN. 453
own, that he listened in amazement and took hope. When the
invitations to sign the plhdge were given, he was among the first
to sulscribe his name to that instrument. At the close of the
meeting he went back with the tailor, and remahed at his house
for two days, when a situation as clerk n a wholesale grocery
store, kept by a Son of Temperance, was obtained for him. The
salary was eight dollars a veek.
Henry A ltcmas now clothed and in his right mind, bethought
himself at once of his children. He wrote to Mrs. Walton about
them, and waited with anxiety and impatience for an answer.
Six weeks, more than time to hear from New York, elapsed, but
no reply came to his letter. He wrote again, promising to send
money the moment he heard from her ; but the same silence was
the result. The more he thought about his children, and the
longer he was in suspense about them, the more anxious did he
become. He next wrote to an old friend, and from him received
for answer, that he had enquh'ed at the number in Division-street
which he had named, and learned that Mrs. Walton had been
dead for more than a year, and that no one in the.house knew
any thing about his children.
It was three months frown the thne he received this ntelligenc%
before the unhappy father, who had remained faithful to his
pledge, could save from his small salary enough money to take
him to New York, and bring him back with his children. Then,
with seventy-five dollars in his pocket, he took passage in a boat
for Wheeling, as a deck passenger, in order to go in the cheapest
possible way, so that he might not exhaust the small sum he had
with him before his return.
On arriving in New York, Mr. Altemas sought but in vain, to
learn something of his children. Mrs. Walton was dead, and no
one that he could iliad knew any thing about her. After remain-
ing in New York for a week, during vhich time his fruitless
search was continued, he advertised for information in regard to
his children. On. the second day after this advertisement was
published, a young woman, whose appearance was that of a do-
mestic, called upon Mr. Altemas, and informed him that she had
lived with Mrs. Walton as a chamber-maid at the time his two
children were there ; and that Alice had been put out as a child's
nurse to a Mrs. Gordon near by where Mrs. Walton lived, while
tIenry was sent to the Farm School. She described quite vividly"

THE LOST CIIILDRE:N. , 461
the wide world without a home, and in fleeing t'rom certain evils,
willing to encounter whatever might be before them as easier to
be endured than separation.
Many weary miles were trodden by their young t'eet, and many
farm houses and dwellings by the road-side passed, bet'ore the sun
touched the red horizon in the west. They had not tasted food
since they left Newark, and feared to ask for it at any of" the
houses lest questions should be put to them that it would be diffi-
cult for them to answer.
A pleasant house stood near the road-side; and children were
playing around the door. Through the windows, as they passed
wearily along, Alice saw the mother busily preparing the evening
meal, while the father sat looking out upon his happy little ones,
whose voices were ringing in music upon the air. The sun had
left the sky, and the quiet of eventide was falling upon the bosom
of nature. A loneliness such as she had not before experienced,
and a feeling of helplessness fell upon the heart of Alice. She
paused involuntarily and looked wistfully at the group of chil-
dren, but recollecting herself, she moved on again, and entering
a deep valley densely shaded by trees, soon lost sight of this
attractive spot. Loneliness now changed to sadness.' The thick
wood made night seem even more rapidly approaching than it
really was. Henry shrunk closer to her side, and asked,
anxiously,
" Where are we going, Alice? Where will we sleep to-
night ?"
" We will ask them to let us sleep at the next house," Alice
replied.
" Would n't they let us sleep there ?" meaning the dwelling
they had just passed.
" I do n't know, but they will at the next house we come to, I
am sure. Let us walk faster; it is getting dark."
The children quickened, their pace in order to get through the
gloomy woods; but the firther they advanced, the darker and
gloomier it became, and no opcniug appeared ahead.
" 0 sister ! it is so dark ! " said Henry, drawing still closer to
Alice.
" It will be light soon. We shall be through the woods in a
little while," Alice replied in an enco.uraging voice, while her
own heart was sinking.

46"2 THE LOST CIIILDREI.
But the darkness continued to gather gloomily around them
and the woods to become denser and denser. 
"Let us go back," Alice said, stopping suddenly. "Perhaps
they will let us stay all night where we saw the children."
" Oh yes ! let us go back," quickly answered Henry. " I 'm
aft'aid here."
As hastily as they had been moving forward did the children
now retrace their steps, but night had 1hllcn upon them--tho
moon had not yet risen, and they were nearly an hour's walk
fi'om the habitation they sought. They had retraced not over
half the distance, when Henry, overcome by weariness and fear,
began to cry. Alice tried in vain to soothe him ; but was unable.
He stopped, and burying his face in the folds of her dress, refused
to go any farther. Persuasion, entreaty, and every inducement
Alice could hold out, were in vain. The child seemed to havo
lost all thought in fatigue and alarm.
Alice had stood for nearly five minutes endeavoring to pacify
Henry and get him to walk on, when the sound of horses' feet
and the rumbling of wagon wheels reached her ears above tho
mournful crying of her brother.
"For mercy's sake! what are you doing here? and who aro
you ?" she heard a moment after, uttered by" a woman's voice as
the wagon stopped close to where she was standing.
:Never had a more welcome sound reached the ears of tho
fi-ightencd children.. Henry's cries instantly ceased.
" We vant some place to sleep to-night," said Alice. " Won't
you give us some place to sleep until morning ?"
" Bless us !Children !Who are you ? Are you lost ?"
Alice murmured ' Yes," in a low voice.
 Where do you live ?" said the woman, who was alon% in 
small light wagon.
' We've got no home," replied Alice in a sad volee.
 :No home ! Bless me ! Lost here at night, in this lonesome
place! Come up, quick, into my wagon. I '11 try and find you
a place to sleep. Strange ! "
The children needed no second invitation. Alice lifted up her
brother, and.then got in herself.
' What is your name, child?" asked the woman, kindly, as
she pulled the rein and her horse started on again at a light trot.
 Alice."

THE LOST CHILDREI. 463
" Alice what ?"
" Alice Altemas."
" Where do you live ?"
" Father went away and ]ei't my brother and me in New York
a good while ago, and has not come back since. We do n't know
where he is."
" Where is your mother ?"
" She is dead."
" Is there nobody to take care of you ? "
 No ma'am."
" Why did you leave New York ?"
These rapid questions embarrassed Alice. She did not wish to
evade the truth, and she feared to answer directly lest she should
be sent back to New York, and her brother to the Farns School.
To the woman's last interrogation she-was, therefore, silent ; and
also, to two or three others that followed, which she felt stle dare
not answer by telling the truth.
After riding along the main road for about half a ml]e, the
woman turned her horse down a lane, which, in about ten
minutes brought them to a small house. Here she drew the rein
and the wagon stopped. Henry was, by this time, fast asleep.
The woman got down, and lifted out the sleeping child tenderly,
saying as she did so-
"Poor little fellow ! He's forgot all his troubles." Alice fol-
lowed quickly, and then they entered the house, the door of
which was opened by a stout girl.
" Tell John to put the horse away and then do you bring in
.supper," the woman said to the girl as she passed her. Henry
was taken into a roon adjoining the one into whieh they had en-
.ered, and laid on a bed. He still slept soundly.
The lighted candles which were upon the supper table gave
both Alice and the woman an opportunity to observe each other,
and their eyes met in an earnest look as the latter returned from
the next room. There was something in the woman's face that
instantly gave confidence to the heart of Alice, and there was
something in the face of Alice that warmed the woman's feelings
towards her.
Mrs. Belding, who had come across the children so opportune-
ly, was a kind-hearted widow, who lived on a small place, which
he owned, about twelve miles from Newark. She had been tho

THE LOST CHILDREN. 465
"And you will be like my own daughter to me, I know," said
Mrs. Belding, looking into the face of Alice.
" Oh ma'am! I will do everything for you," replied Alice,.
the tears still streaming down her face.
And the child not only meant what she said, but she strove in
every way to redeem her promise. Her little hands were busied
from morning until night in trying to do what would be usefhl to
Mrs. Belding, who grew more and more attached to her every
day, and, in a short time, lov.ed her almost as tenderly as she had
loved her own child.
In this pleasant home, with nothing to trouble her mind but
the thought of her father, Alice lived for two years with her
brother. Mrs. Belding treated them as if they were her own
children. No search that was made for them, ever extended into
her neighborhood, and no one ever intruded upon them in their
happy retreat, [br none cared for them.
One day, Mrs. Belding came home from Newark, looking
quite sober. She retired into her room, and fastening the door,
sat down, and drawing a paper from her pocket, read over slowly
an advertisement it contained, which was the cause of her dis-
turbed state of mind. The advertisement ran thus :--

" Between two and three years ago, the subscriber went South,
and left his two children, Alice about eleven, and Henry seven
years of age, in the care of a woman named Mrs. Walton, who
kept a boarding house at No. -- Division street. Circumstances,
not necessary to relate, prevented him from returning to New
York until the present time. During the whole period of his
absence, he did not once hear fi'om his children. Now, he finds,
that within a short time after he left the city, his little boy was
sent to the Farm School on Long Island, and his daughter put
out to service, and that his daughter went away fi-om her place
and succeeded in getting herbrother from the Farm School with-
out the knowledge of the Superintendent. Since that time all
trace of them has been lost. Any information in regard to them
will be most thankfully received at the  Hotel, by
 HENRY ALTEMAS."

After reading this over, Mrs. Belding sat and mused for a long
29

OUR CH1LDREN: HOW SHALL WE SAVE THEM

readers, he came home, as usual, with his thoughts more fully
occupied with what he was to eat and drink than with any thing
else. Slight expressions of impatience, made on more than one
occasion, at having to wait a short period beyond the usual dining
hour, had caused his wife so to arrange affairs as to have dinner
announced in as brief a space as possible after he came in from
his business. But.a few minutes, therefore, elapsed before the
bell rang, and Mr. and Mrs. Greenfield, each holding a child by
the hand, descended to the dining rooln. A glass of brandy and
water came first in order, by xvay of preparation for the viands
that were to enter, successively, into Mr. Greenfield's stomach.
Then he took his highly seasoned plate of soup, and eat it with
the relish of an epicure. Between his soup and fish, came
another glass of brandy and water ; and with the meats, two or
three kinds of which were on the table, salads, condiments, and
brandy, were mingled in liberal proportions. During the early
part of the meal there was little conversation ; but after the
brandy and rich food had begun to stimulate the blood of Mr.
Greenfield, his tongue became free, and he had much to say that
'as interesting and agreeable to both his wife and children.
Iefore, however, the dessert had been eaten, conversation began
to flag, for the merchant was losing the easy control of his vocal
organs. With the dessert came a bottle of wine, a glass of which
was taken by Mrs. Greenfield; her husband drank the rest.
When all the courses had passed, and while the merchant was
ipping the last of his bottle of wine, a single cup of strong
coffee, almost as black as ink, was brought in by a servant. Into
this three or four large lumps of sugar were dissolved, makitg
the liquid like syrup. After taking this, leisurely, with a spoon,
Mr. Greenfield ascended to his chamber, with every sense con-
fused, and really so much intoxicated, that if he had ventured
into the street, he would have reeled along the pavement.
There, torpid as an anaconda after dining Ul)On a deer, he slept
away the effects of his debauch--for such it really was.
lIrs. Greenfield, who had eaten, as she always did, light|y,
passed the afternoon in reading, after having sent her two children
t)ut  take the air. They returned before their father came
down, and were clambering about their mother and telling of all
they had seen, when he joined them ill the drawing-room, his
face .red aad tumid, and his whole appearance tlat of one almost

OUR CHILDIEN: HOW SHALL WE'SAVE THEMP 47'
is found in a widely spread hereditary predisposition to intemper-
ance. Our ancestors, through one el" two generations back, drank
habitually. At first, drinking to intoxication was rare. But, it
was tbund that the people of a second generation, had not the
power to use wine or spirits within a sober limit; and the reason
was, because they inheriteda love for stimulating drinks. Drunk-
enness then "became, suddenly, a wide-spread evil, and, at one
time, almost threatened the ruin of society. It conquered the
strongest intellects, and darkened the brightest genius. Every-
where appeared its ravages ;rain the palace and hovel,--in the
pulpit, and at the bar,rain the physician's office and in the me-
chanic's shop. Like the locusts of Egypt, it covered the land.
Various were the hostile attitudes assumed by the friends of tem-
perance in order t.o meet and overcome this terrible foe. But,
until, under Divine Providence, a principle of total abstinence
from all stimulating drinks was adopted, resistance proved almost
in vain. That met the evil, for it took away all excitement fi'om
the hereditary or acquired love of drink."
' It is plain then," remarked hl:r. Greenfield, "that if a man
indulge freely in drinking he excites the hereditary love of liquor
in himself, should he possess it, and transmits it with accumulated
force to his children-? "
' Without doubt this is so. And were it not that most children
of drinking parents are born before their progeuitors had indulged
the degrading appetite to a serious extent, a state of things in-
comparably worse than we have ever seen would have existed."
Dinner was annouuced at this stage of the conversation, and
Mr. and Mrs. Greenfield couducted their guest to the dining room.
Henry was at college and Florence at a boarding school. The
dinner party consisted, therefore, of but three persons. Upon the
table were two decanters, one containing brandy and the other old
rye whiskey ; and on a side table was a wine cooler containing four
bottles of wine. After the first course had passed Mr. Greenfield
handed the brandy to his guest and said
" Here is some fine old brandy from the London docks. Will
you try some of it ?"
The gentleman smiled and replied
"Excuse me, if you please. It would be a dangerous experi-
ment for me to put a glass of that to rny lips."
" Indeed ! Why so ?" returned Mr. Greenfield evincing some
tmrprise.

OUR CHILDREN: HOW SIIALL WE SAVE THEM? 481

cation. I have, on two occasions, conversed with him on the
subject; but he considercd my allusion to his weakness as alto-
gether uncalled for, and met my kind remonstrances with anger.
One of our Professors has, also, talked to him, but with no better
result. It pains me, my dear sir, to be the medium of such a
communication, but a regard for the well-being of your son must
be my apology.
Yours, with respect, &c.

For a few days Mr. Greenfield kept this communication to
himself, but unable, in the bevilderment and distress it occasion-
ed, to decide what steps to take, he placed the letter in the hands
of his wife. The shock to Mrs. Greenfield was terrible. For a
short time it completely prostrated her both in body and mind.
The anxiety and alarm shown by Henry on account of the sud-
den indisposition of his mother, led his father to suppose that a
knowledge of the cause might produce the most beneficial result.
Under this view, he said to him, in answer to his earnest en-
quiries regarding his mother's sudden illness--
' The cause, Henry, is with yourself."
"With me !" exclaimed the young man, turning pale.
" Yes, Henry, with you," replied Mr. Greenfield, his voice
and countenance reflecting the troubled state of his feelings.
' Read that. It will explain all." And he handed to the young
man the letter he had received from tim President of the College.
Henry read the letter over twice, before he looked up or made
a remark. His father's eyes were fixed upon him intently, in
order to observe every shade of the effect produced.
" The malignant scoundrel!" at length fell from t'he young
man's lips, as he crushed the letter in his hands. He arose as he
spoke, and commenced moving about the floor. His face was
flushed, and his eyes shot forth glances of anger.
" Henry, is that letter true .9 ', asked Mr. Greenfield.
"It.is not true in the sense he would have it understood. He
makes it appear that I am on the high road to ruin."
 You may be, my son," said Mr. Greenfield, calmly, " if the
facts stated are true. A case of wine in your room ! You are
too young for that, Henry."
 I can't see, father, what harm the wine being in my room
is going to do. I do n't drink any more than I would if it were
80

OUR CHILDREN: IIOW SIIALL WE SAVE THEM? 483
an abandonment ot  the pleasures ot  drinking, but to excite a con-
tant feeling of anger towards the President of the College. He
never saw his mother that he did not inwardly execrate the per-
son who, by throwing a gleam of light upon his path, had shown
to his parents the dangerous course it was taking. As for him-
self, he believed not in the alleged danger, and could not compre-
hend why his father and mother should so causelessly distress
themselves. His tat.her had always used liquors fi'ee]y, and still
continued to do so ; and he was not a drunkard. So he reasoned
with himself.
Every day, the brandy and wine were upon the table as usual ;
:Mr. Greenfield did not see how he could make a dinner without
them. He partook freely, and it was not wonderful that Henry
did the sane. As for Mrs. Greenfield, the single glass that was
filled t%r her, remaired untasted, and could her husband and son
have realized fully her feelings when she saw the sparkling liquor
pass their lips, they would have dashed their glasses to the floor.
It did not escape the observation of Mr. Greenfield that Henry
enjoyed his wine even more highly than he did his food; and
that he filled his glass far too often.
"Is it right to place ttSs temptation bet%re hm?" was a
question that arose, naturally, in the lqather's mind, and he could
not answer it in the armat]ve. While he was debating the
subject, Mrs. Greenfield said to him---
" I am at'raid we do wrong in placing either wine or brandy
on our table, while Henry is at home. What do you think ? "
" I do n't know," returned Mr. Greenfield, in a serious voice.
tie was not fully prepared to give up his favorite indulgence
without an argument in its favor.  I'm afraid he does drink
rather too much."
" It makes me very unhappy. And he is so unconscious of'
danger. I tried to speak to him yesterday about it, but he be-
came impatient at my allusion to the subject, and said it was all
on account of that letter. If something is not done to turn him
from the way in which he has commenced walking, his ruin is
inevitable. Oh ! husband, we should stop at no sacrifice in order
to save him."
The thought that this love of drink manifesting itself' at so
early.an age, was hereditary in his child, came flashing over the
mind of Mr. Greenfield, and he said with a despondency of tont
that well exl)ressed his feelings--

$,84 OUR CHILDREn: HOW SHALL WE SAYE TI-I.EM
' What will save him ? "
' We know not," replied his wit'e ;  but now that we are aware
of his danger, let us do all in our power to withdraw him from
temptation. So long as he sees you partaking freely, counsel and
warning will be useless ; for, he will say, if these things do not
hurt you, they cannot hurt him."
' True, true. Though I am not hurt by them, yet they shall
be banished from my table."
A light glanced over the face of Mrs. Greenfield, and she
said--
" I hope much from this change."
More was meant by this than her husband understood.
Accordingly, on the next day, when the family asselnbled for
dinner, neither wine nor brandy was on the table. The first im-
pulse of Henry, who perceived this almost as soon as he sat
down, was to remind his father of" the omission ; but the true
reason suggesting itself" to his mind, he remained silent and ob-
servant. Both his father and mother tried to introduce and carry
on a cheerful conversation ; but he could not join in it, except by
a forced word now and then, for the wine bottle was before hi.
imagination, and his thoughts were busy vith the supposed reason
for its banishment. Neither Mr. Greenfield nor his son, enjoyed
the rich and dainty food that was spread with an epicurean hand
before them. One thing was lacking--an appetite stimulated
wine. Scarcely half the usual tine was passed at the table, and"
soon after they arose, both left the house. ,
Henry muttered to himself as he walked along the hall to the
street door--
" This is too much ! To be treated as if" that letter were tru
in the broadest sense!"
But he did not reflect, that the very reason why he had little
appetite for his dinner, and why he was now leaving the house,
proved the truth of the President's inferences and fears. Young
as lm was, the first barrier placed betw/een his hereditary and ac-
quired taste for stimulating drink, showed the movement, of a
strong current that was bearing him towards a coast uton which
hundreds and thousand had already been shipwrecked. "
On leaving the house, Henry went to a fashionable drinking
establishtnent, and seated himself at a table covered with newspa-
pers, ordered a waiter to bring him some brandy-punch. Tea

488 OUR CHILDREN HOW SHALL WE SAVE THEM
tremble while I hope. Until he cut himself off entirely from
indulgence in drink, there is great danger."
" A year or two may give his reason more control."
 Or confirm an overmastering evil habit."
" Let us hope for the best," said the mother, whose mind was
rising into some degree of confidence, t There was a time when
my heart was sick with fear. I do not feel so now. Something
tells me that my son will not fall into the gulf that seemed open-
ing at his feet."
Mr. Greenfield saw more than did the mother, for his observa-
tion was wider in extent. He had, therefore, less confidence.
But he did not seek to throw a cloud over her feelings.
On that very evening Henry was absent at tea-time, and to
the mother's enquiries, Mr. Greenfield said but little ; though her
questions evidently made him even more serious than he was be-
fore.
t' Was Henry at the store during the afternoon ? " asked Mrs.
Greenfield, after they had retired from the tea-table.
 Yes, until about five o'clock."
"Where did he go then ?"
" Two young men called to see him, and he went away with
them."
" Who were they ?"
" I do n't know."
tt Did yo.u ever see them before ?"
" Yes. They called to see him last week."
No more was said. Mr. Greenfield sat down .o read, and
Mrs. Greenfield and her daughter Florence, now a young lady,
went up stairs and spent the evening in some light employment.
Ten o'clock at length came, and Florence retiring to her own
chamber, Mrs. Greenfield came down to the sitting-room.
t Has n't Henry come yet ? " she asked.
 No--not yet," replied her husband. " It is more than
probable that he has gone to the opera, and will not be homo
before eleven o'clock. He goes frequently, you know."
"Yes. But he does not take Florence with him as often as he
should. Indeed, he shows her very few attentions of this kind.
His neglect of her pains me."
"She is attached to him."
" Oh yes! Tenderly. She would do almost any thing to
gratify him. I wish he were equally considerate of her."

49(} OUR CIIILDREN." HOW SHALL WE SAYE THEII?
and call Henry. When the walter cane downy he said that the
young man did not feel very well and wished a cup of coffc
sent up to him. This was done. The meal was finished in
silence r and Mr. Greenfield went off to his store.
Henry made his appearance about twelve o'clock with all tlm
evidences of his evening's debauch about him. Mr. Greenfield
felt it to be his duty to allude to the matter ; but the allusion was
met on the part of his son in such an impatient spirit that his
lips trembled on the words of remonstrance he was uttering and
then became silent.
In the afternoon the young man went away again and was
absent at tea-tine. It was aher twelve o'clock when he cam
home ;*and he was so mu:h htoxicated that he could just stagger
up to his room, where he threw himself upon the bed and
remained all night without removing his clothes. Daylight
found hhn sober both physically and mentally, oHe had been
deeply mortified in consequence of what had occurred on the
evening before the last, and although signs of impatience were
manifested when Ms father alluded to the subject n his sham
and repentance he had resolved never again to let his appetite
lead hhn astray frown sobriety. How little force there was
this resolution, became sadly apparent even to his mind ; for
scarcely twenty-four hours elapsed, ere he had again fallen. Th
groan that ssued from his lips as he arose and clasped his hands
tightly against his throbbing temples attested the anguish of
" To degrade and debase myself in this way!" he murmured.
' Oh! it maddens me to think of it. Others can enjoy a glass
of wine without running nto excess. But the moment I put the
generous draught to my lips a feverish, delightful excitement
runs through my veins tempting me to indulgenc% until I pass
the bounds of moderation. Why is this so? I have a vigorous
constitutionand I believe, a strong mind. I do not under-
tand
And with his hands" still bound upon his temples he sat ques-
tioning himself as to his weakness; but without obtaining th
true answer. That this weakness was constitutiona| or derived
by inheritancean heir-loom of evil--was a truth beyond the
ability of his mind to conceive for there was nothing to lead him
o such a conclusion. That his father had indulged a habit of

492 OUR CHILDREN: HOW SHALL WE SAVE THEM?
believed their son in peril from hereditary taint. The conse-
quence was, that the fear of each was locked in its own bosom,
and was more constantly present to the mind, because it w..
unuttered.
Hov deep was their anxiety, few can imagine; for few hnve
realized, so fully as they did, the perilous way their child wa
treading. They saw him progressing, step by step; and yet,
could not sound in his ears an adequate warning. Gradually,
and to theoeyes of his father and mother, apparently, the arms
<)f the foul demon of intemperance were clasped more and more
tightly around him. In his twenty-fifth year, they saw, if others
<lid not, most appalling indications of a speedy breaking avay of
all the barriers of restraint. Scarcely a week elapsed that he did
not come home in a state little removed from drunken insensi-
bility.
But there.occurred, about this time, a change that filled the
hearts of Mr. and Mrs. Greenfield with a trembling hope.
Henry became enamored of a beautiful young lady, whose
character was lovely as her person; and, for her society, he
forsook, almost entirely, the company of young men with whom
he had led a gay life of pleasure and dissipation. He seemed,
too, .to have become aware of his danger, for it was evident that
he drank far less freely than before. His face lost, to some
extent, its florid appearance, and his complexion became clearer,
and his countenance more elevated.
Agnes Loring, the young lady whose beauty had captivated
Henry Greenfield, felt her breast warm with a sentiment kindred
to that with which his own was inspired. She received his
advances with fvor, and when he offered his hand was preparid
to accept it.
From the proposed union, the parents of Henry hoped much ;
and yet they looked forward to the new relation he was to assume
with many misgivings of heart, and much fear and trembling.

CHAPTER V. '
How like leaves in the eddying winds of autumn, were swept
away, as by a sudden blast, the newly awakened hopes of Mr.
and Mrs. Greenfield.

OUIt CI=-IILDREN: HOW SHALL WE SAVE THEM. 493
The parents of Agnes saw no barriers to the proposed union.
The marriage was, therefore celebrated at an early day after all
the necessary preliminaries were settled. A large anal brilliant
wedding party graced the occasion. As asual among the wealthy
and fashionable at such tines, a liberal entertainment was pre-
pared, and wines and liquors of various kinds were used as freely
as water. It is hardly a matter of wonder, that Henry should
have been tempted to drink liberally. At the supper-tabl% he
was called upon to take a glass of wine so frequeutly by one and
another, that had he not been able to bear a good dea] he would
never have found his way back to the drawing-rooms in any thing
like a tolerable state of sobriety. One less fond of win% would
have merely sipped his glass with every new compliment ; but
Henry never failed draining it to the botton.
When the company returned to the drawlng-rooms, the young
bridegroom showed himself to be in a remarkably good humor.
He talked and laughed so loudly as to be heard by every one ;
and said many things that sounded to other ears than those of his
parents exceeding|y foolish. Grave old ladies bent their heads
together and then looked towards him curiously ; while the
younger and less thoughtful laughed aloud at his merry sayings
and doings. With what a sudden and painful shock did this come
upon the feelings of Mr. and Mrs. Greenfield, who had built so
hopefully upon the foundation of this marriage. To see their
son more than half ntoxicated on his wedding night, was a terr-
ble mortification ; but they felt a deeper anguish than this morti-
fication occasioned. The hope they had so fond|y cherished was
gone. If the occasion and the company did not prove strong
enough to withhold his appetite fi'om indulgence what was to re-
strain him in the future ?
While they felt and thought thus, two or three young men
withdrew hhn from the room. Nearly half an hour afterwards
as Mrs. Greenfield sat in conversation with the young bride and
her mother, a rude shoat startled them and turning their eyes in
the drection from whence it came they saw Henry dancing into
the room and acting more like a read,nan than a person in his
senses. Everything was thrown into instant confusion. Young
ladies screamed as he approached them; while elderly matrons
knit their brows severely. Mr. Greenfield went quickly to his
side, and taking hold of him, said

498 OUR CHILDREN: HOW SHALL WE SAVE THEM

eyes, that only passed away when he spoke to her in his usual
affectionate tone.
It was the first and last time Mrs. Greenfield ventured a word
in opposition to her husband's too fi'ee indulgence in the pleasure
of drinking. But, from the moment a fear of consequences
stole into her heart, no persuasion could induce her to join him in
a glass of wine at the table, as she had done in the beginning.
tie, therefore, drank alone.
Thus it went on, the debasing passion grooving stronger and
stronger, until its indulgence often exceeded the bounds of all
propriety; and sent its slave reeling to his home in broad day-
light.
" Sad, sad, was the lot of the young, beautiful, accomplished
and loving wife. Henry Greenfield possessed his share of excel-
lent qualities, and they had won and still claimed her affectionate
regard. Her love was true and tender, and this made the pain
she suffered the more severe. For his honest spirit ; for his un-
selfish regard for the good of others ; for his many good and gen-
erous qualities, she honored, admired and loved him. But, alas!
how was all clouded by the one over-mastering passion! How
did the fine gold become dim ! How over all that was beautiful
fell a dark, distorting shadow !
In the lapse of time, a babe came, with its blessing of innoo
cence, to the dwelling of Henry Greenfield. The love of off-
spring was, with hi,n, as with his father, a strong feeling; and
when the child was laid in his arms, he experienced a thrill of
pleasure as exquisite as strong. Even if her own ]mart had not
been filled to joyfulness with a new love, the sight of her hus-
land as he bent over the dear pledge of affection, would have
amply repaid the mother for all she had endured in giving to the
world a new being.
Tine -went on, and the babe grew into the heart of its tather ;
but in one thing, the mother was disappointed ; he vas not woe
from his sensual indulgence. Another innocent came ere the
first lied reached its second summer ; and still another followed.
But for the weakness under which Henry Greenfield labored
]is would have been one of the happiest of homes. He loved
fervently, the gentle being vho noved by his side ; and scarcely
less than worshipped the sweet children she had brought him.
By the time his oldest boy a most lovely child reached Ilia

OUR CtIILDEEN: HOW SIfALL WE SAVE THEM? 501
' Me? Father  Are you beside yourself!"
"No, my son I I speak but the words of truth and soberness.
Iisten to me, and I will unburden my heart of something that
has been on ]t for years. I should have told you long ago.
Will you promise, now, to hear me patiently ?"
" Surely, I can do no less," replied the son, who was taken
altogether by surprise at his tather's strange words.
Every body says your little Henry bears to you a re'markablo
resemblance," said Mr. Greenfield.
:' I know. And I can see in his disposition, already, traits
sembling my own." '
"Why is this ? "
': I am his father."
" And therefore, he is like you. Yes, that is the simple truth.
You are aware of a habit you have of placing the fingers of'
your right hand against your temple, when musing ? "
': I never thought about it. But I believe it is so."
"You are doing it now."
" So I am. I 're observed that Henry occasionally does the
same tlnno.
" True. Look at him now, lstenng to something one of the
young men is saying."
" I see. His fingers are on his temple."
" Why is it ?"
The young man looked thoughtful, but did no answer.
" You also have a slight twitching in one of your eyebrows."
" I know ; and Henry has the same."
" He walks like youhe stands like youin fact, he is your
miniature image. Every one remarks this."
" True."
"Why is it ?"
"I am his father." -
"Yes. But -ou did not give him a body. Why, then, in body"
and in the actions of his body, does he resemble you in so re.-
markable a degree ?"
The son again looked thoughtfu|.
"Is it not because he derives from you that spiritual form nto
which God breathes the breath of life, and which takes to itseff
material body whereby to act in the visible world of nature ?
And it' this be so, will not the form you give possess all the qualo

50'2. OUR CHILDREN: tIOW StIALL WE SAVE TIIIM?
ties and characteristics of its progenitors; and, in clothing itse!f
in a material substance, so do it as to represent those qualities and
distinguishing features ? "
' That seems to be the explanation."
" Depend upon it, Henri, , it is the true one. Every father
thus transmits to his offspring the qualities of his own mind, and
these manifest themselves in a body with a peculiar and corres-
ponding form. This is the reason why a child resembles, in body,
his pareuts. If in the body, then, there be a resemblance, holy
much more so in tlm mind or soul, that forms the body ? Do you
comprehend what I say ? "
"Clearly."
"Very well. You can then see, as a practical and real some-
thing--not, as a vague theory--the doctrine that children inherit
the mental qualities of their parents; be they good or evil ?"
" Oh, certainly. I never doubted that this was so: although
I have never had occasion to think much about it."
' You can then clearly understand, that the greatest blessing
parents can bestow upon their children is a legacy of good affec-
tions ?"
" Explain what you mean by this in other words."
" If our children inherit the tendencies to good or evil that rule
in our mind--if our habits descend to them as heir-loomshow all-
important is it that we should, for their sakes, cultivate good affec-
tions, and reform all evil habits ! For, if we do not do so, our chil-
dren that are born while we indulge in such evils, will inevitably
be cursed with an inclination for the same things."
" What a doctrine! " exclaimed the young man, as he drew a
long quivering breath.
" Yet as true as that the sur shines in heaven," said Mr.
Greenfield, solemnly.
"I cannot doubt it," was the musing, serious reply.
' And now, Henry," said the father, and his voice was slightly
agitated; 'let me bring this home to your mind and heart by
evidences of a most painful and heart-aching character. You
are my son, and as such have been cursed by your father."
"Do not say so ! " interrupted the young man, in a deprecat-
ing voice.
"Listen I " continued his father, "and let every word I say be
vell considered. For many years before you were born, I in-

510 TEMPTATIONS: A STORY FOR THE REFORMED.
you. He will enable you to keep your pledge. He will send
light warmth and comfort once more into our household."
" He will Margaret, he will. Oh! What a wretch I have
been !"
"Let us forget the. past. A pleasant way lies before us if we
twill only walk in it."
As the wife said this, she stooped and lifting her work from the
floor turned towards her poor light, remarking as she did so, in
a cheerful voicem
" But it is getting lat% and this must be finished before I can
go to bed."
" Oh no not to-night, Margaret. It is already past ten o'clock
and you look worn out as it is," replied her husband, laying his
hand upon her arm.
With kind words and tones like these to sustain her, the toiling
wife could have worked through the whole night and not felt
a sense of weariness. They came upon her spirit as dew upon
the mown grass, or showers to the parched and thirsty ground.
'I do not feel tired now," she answercd smiling. "In an
hour, I can easily finish this garment. And it must be done to-
night."
" In an hour! And why to-night, Margaret ?"
The wife smiled with a kind and cheerful expression as she
replied.
" I must have the money for it to-morrow morning."
"W!,y ? ,,
" We are out of every thing. The children would have
nothing to eat."
A shadow flitted over the disfigured face of the husband. But
he instantly thrust a hand into his pockets, and, after searching
through them, brought forth several small coins; their aggregate
value was about forty cents.
" Here Margaret. These will buy bread for to-morrow," said
he. " Put up ).our work."
And he laid the money upon the table near which she sat.
The fingers thab but a moment before held the bright needle
so firmly, were now relaxed; the heart so strong in its purpose
failed; and the body, which necessity had nerved to further
endurance, became feeble almost as the body of a child. Help
had come ahnost unexpectedly. The first fruits of the pledge

514 TEMPTATIONS: A STORY FOR THE REFOIIMED.
" Hallo! What's the matter with Edgar," said one as he
came in. He had so degraded himself in the eyes of his fellow
worknen, that no sentiment of respect for him was entertained
by any in the shop.
The re,nark drew all eyes upon him.
' Sober, as I live! " exclaimed another. " What's in the
o
wind ? Is the world coming to an end ?"
"He"s joined the Millerites, and expects to go up next week,"
said a third.
At this there was a general laugh through the shop. Edgar
felt the railing. Sobriety, and an earnest desire to rise above the
degraded condition into wh;ch he had tallen, restored solne of the
lost feelings of the man. The new life he had entered upon,
vo]ved so many serious considerations, and was so full of imporo
tant results both to himself and others, that he felt in no mood
for levity. One of the journey,nen, noicing his serious air, and
half guessing at the cause, said, as the laugh died away--
" O. no. It is not the Millerites who have got him, but the
Tempe.ranceites."
' What! Bill Edgar joined the tetotallers? I'll never be-
lieve dmt."
' Is n't it so, Bill ?" said the other. " Speak out ! Do n't be
ashamed of it. If you have signed the pledge, here's my hand,
and I wish you joy. May you never break it!"
The journeyman extended his hand, and Edgar seized it in
token of assent.
" Is it indeed so!" fell from the lips of other of his fellow
.workmen, as they gathered 'around him, and in tones of approval,
pleasure and congratulation, exclaimed, " Who would have ho-
llered it ? "
The moment the truth was known, the bearing of every one
changed towards the man they had been in the habit of treating
as one who had lost all claims to respect, and as destitute of
hmnan feeliiags. In his efforts to elevate himself, they were
ready to lend him a hand, and to encourage him to stand fast in
the good resolution he had taken.
All this was pleasant to Edgar, and helped to sustain him.
Self-respect came back, and this strengthened the good purposes
of his mind, and made his resolutions stronger. He felt like a
free man ; and above all danger of again falling into the dreadful

16 TEMPTATJONS: A.'STORY FOR "THE REFORMED.

times when it would suddenly be awakened, and call for indul-
gence. He did not, for a moment, feel like yielding to its de-
mands ; but the fact that it still existed, when made clear to his
mind, brought a feeling of discouragement, accompanied by a
chilling fear, lest, in some unguarded time, the old desire should
be too strong for him. Beyond the pledge, he saw no aid which
he could call in, That he had looked upon as the all-important
remedy for the disease of drunkenness. It had been applied, in
his own case, with wonderful success. But, alas! a predisposi-
tion to the disease still remained in his system, ready to take ad-
vantage of every exciting cause. Of this it took only a few
months to make him painfully conscious.

CHAPTER III.

FoR,six months William Edgar had been true to his pledge ;
and hundreds of pleasing e'idences of the fact were to be seen at
home and in his own person. Yet, as intimated, he had not been
entirely free from temptations, though they were comparatively
light. What he tnost needed, was somethiug to employ th time
before spent in drinking houses and among " hale fellows well
met." A taste for reading had never been formed in his mind,
and he had therefore, no resource in books. The consequence
was, that his evening. dragged heavily. Sometimes he would re-
tire to bed early, and sometimes he would go out after supper and
walk tim streets, listlessly, for an hour. One or. two evenings
were spent in temperance meetings. These were passed more
agreeably than any.
" Oh dear!" he said one evening, rising and stretching him-
self,  I wish I had something to do."
Mrs. Edgar looked up fi'on her work, but did not smile; for
evidences like this of an internally dissatisfied and restless state,
had for some time exhibited themzelves, and caused her un-
easiness, o
" I believe I'll take a walk," added the husband. " Though
walking merely for walk's sake, is poor employment. If I had an
errand out, or were going any where, it would be another thing."

518 TEMPTATIONS: A STORY FOR THE REFORMED.
" My pledge covers every thing.. Brandy, wine, beer or cider."
' A glass of wine, now and then, would n't hurt you."
" It would be my ruin. llonno. The cold water pledge is
the only safe one to take. All others are useless."
" You know best, I suppose; but, come around to Bender's
with me and let us have a good long talk about matters and
things. I am really glad to see you, and glad to find you are so
much better off than when we last met.. You will not refuse to
take a glass of lemonade, or eat a plate of oysters with me."
The danger of going into a drinking house had often been
urged upon Edgar by his new temperance friends. The very
atmosphere of such a place was poison to the lungs of a reformed
man, they said; and to the sound reasons they educed for this as-
sertion, he gave a fidl assent. And yet he could not see how it
was possible to refuse the present invitation. He was glad to
meet this old friend, and as he held hi,n by the hand, his heart
warmed. To have an hour's talk with him, would be very pleas
ant. But he did not wish to accompany him to Bender's.
 I do n't care about anything to eat or drink," said he in
reply.  Let us take a walk." .
" If you do n't I do. So, come along. After working hard
all day, I want to sit down--not walk about."
But Edgar still hesitated. He had an interior consciousness
that it would be wrong for him to accede to this requestthat
he would be exposed to danger.
" I would rather not go to Bender's," he said.
" Then come around to Ely's. It do n't matter to
" I would rather not go into any drinking house. I havo
pledged myself not only to abstain from all intoxicating liquors
but to discourage their use in others. It would be wrong, there-
fore, for me to be seen in a place where they are sold."
" That's running away into extremes," said the man, with a
slight air of displeasure. " But it's the way with all you temper-
ance men. The moment you take the plodge, you are like tho
fox who had lost his tail, and will never rest until you get every-
body else in the same predicament."
The way in which this was said disturbed Edgar, and, de-
stroyed, to some extent, tlie rational balance of his mind. Ha
did not like the accusation, nor the sneering manner in which it
was uttered. And his first impulse was to disprove it so far as
he was concerned, by yielling to his co.mpanion's wishes.

'26 TEMPTATIONS: A STORY FOR TIlE REFORMED.
at what struck him as rather an unjustifiable liberty t'or a stranger
to take with him.
" What you will be, in less than an hour, if you put that glass
of brandy to your lips."
" Sir !" The tone, look and manner of Edgar expressed dis-
pleasure.
" That," continued the man, ' was a reformed drunkard. He
took the pledge a year ago, and became sober, industrious and
happy. But, like you, tempted at length by his old feelings and
appetites, he came to this place, drank and fell. It is not a week
since I saw him enter that door, as sober as you are. You see
him now. Drink the liquor you have called for, and you will be
like him."
A palsying tremor seized the limbs of Edgar; and he had to
place his hand upon a chair near which he stood. For a moment
or two longer the man held back the curtain, and then let it iall
again, hiding the painful scene he had, in raising it, disclosed.
" A wise man foreseeth the evil and hideth himself; but the
simple pass on and are punished," said the stranger, close, to the
ears of Edgar.
How he got out of the place, the reformed man could hardly
tell. He awoke like one from a dream, and found himself in the
street, with the cool and uncontaminated air melting upon his hot
forehead. But he was weak in every limb, and still trembled so,
that he could hardly bear his weight. As soon as the whole
truth of his position came clearly to his mind, and he saw the
deep gulf upon whose brink he had been standing, he shuddered
to the very centre of his being.
In half an hour fi'om the time her husband left the house, Mrs.
Edgar, whose heart had been like a heavy weight in her bosom,
saw him enter, sober as when he went out. She did not know
the fearful danger he had encountered, during the brief period of'
his absence.

CHAPTER V.
UP to that time, Edgar had felt the most perfect confidence in
the power of the pledge alone to sustain him. But now he had

TESIPTATIO:NS: A STORY FOR THE REFORMED. 52'
a paihful and discouraging sense of the fact, that it was not a
bond too strong in every case for the reformed man's reviving
appetite to breal, tie had been just on the eve of its violation
and was only saved by what seemed to him scarcely less than a
mi'aclc. The man vhose timely warning had been so success-
fully given, was to him, a perfect stranger. How he should
]lave known him or his history, or why he should have interfered
so opportunely were alike unanswered questions to him. He
seemed like a heaven-sent messenger to warn him of the destruc-
tion that lay in his path. And so', in a certain sense, he was.
I-Ie was the same individual who had noticed and remarked to
himself on the dangerous position Edgar occupied on the night
he was tempted to rejoin his old companions; and slave as he
was to a depraved appetite he had yet enough regard for others'
good left in his heart to prompt him to interpose to save a fellow-
man from ruin, ere intcrlosition would be rendered hopeless.
Of the temptation into which he had fallen and of the danger
he had encountered, Edgar said nothing to his wife. But she
saw that lie was not only ill at ease from seine caus% but suffer-
ing in his mind. He retired early to bed.
For days the refo'med man was silent thoughtful and serious.
His former confidence in the all-sufficiency of the pledge was
gone, and yet he resolved to cling to it as the only palladium of
safety ; and he did so in trembling hope and iear. One result
of his recent error, in malting him less confident of his secure
position, was to lead him to see the necessity of keeping as
far as possible from every thing that would entice him away
from the narrow path of rigid selt'-denial in which he was now
walking securely. That lie was wrong in going to the drinking-
house and among his old companions, was as clear to him as the
day. lie saw that old associations must revive old feelings and
these awalen old appetites, tie was also aware that the reason
of his having ordered the brandy-and water was not really so
much founded in the wish not to attract attention as he supposed
at the time as it was in the desire lie felt again to taste the in-
spiring liquor. This was a huniliating and discouraging con-
sciousness. As a pledged man he had stood with his head erect
in a proud sense el' secu'ity ; and yet, he had, in less than a year
from the time his pledge vas taken, been Ul)On the very eve of its
violation and in danger of galling into hopeless ruin.

TEMPTATIO:NS: A STORY FOR TIIE REFORMED. 599
The Fourth of July, or Independence Day, came round, and.
William Edgar, in common with almost every one, had a holiday.
In the hope of enjoying it more than he would if he staid at
home, he decided on taking a little excursion into the country by
one of the railroad lines. He wanted his wife to go along with
him; but that she said was out of the question. She could not
possibly leave home. So he went by himself.
The place at which the cars stopped, and where Edgar pro-
posed to himself to spend a portion of the day, was one of public
entertainment. There was a handsomely fitted up tavern, with
its well-stocked bar, and choice variety of refreshments. In fi'ont
of this was a spacious lawn with walks ; and in the rear a larg
garden. It was a pleasant place, and one to which a large
number ot  persons resorted. On this occasion, over a hundred
persons had come out to spend the holiday.
The day was very warm. When Edgar stepped from the car
in which he had come out from the city, he felt thirsty. The
first thing that struck his eye, as he passed, with the company
that had arrived along with him, into the spacious bar-room, was
the words, in bold letters," A T T.Pr.c BEWt-
.s;" and below was a list of their various names. There
was "Root Beer," " Cream Mead," " Nectar," Soda Water"
" Sarsaparilla Beer," " Sherbet,"  Lemonades"
' Spruce Beer," and some half-dozen other beverages besides..
Edgar ran his eye over this list, and selected spruce beer, for-
which he called. That seemed more like what he wanted than.
any thing else he felt authorized to take. The beer was particu-.
larly palatable, tie enjoyed it very much. After drinking it, h.
strolled out into the garden, and wandered about among th
ttowers and shrubbery for some time. But he at length grew
weary of this, and ceased to perceive the sweet odors that filled
the air, or to notice the variety and beauty of the many-colored
flowers. Then he returned to the lmuse and sat down in the
bar-room to read. He could not, however, get interested in the
newspapers he found there, and soon laid them aside. He then
passed some time in observing those who came in and went to the
bar to drink. There were two bar-tenders, and they were busy
nearly all the while. He observed that few called for the tem-
lerence beverages; not one in twenty. Involuntarily while in
his thought he condemned the folly of those who indulged in
83

TEMPTATIONS: A STORY FOR THE REFORIED. 681
had receded a moment rushed back upon him, and bore him from
his feet. For half an hour, perhaps, he continued to resist.
Then, human strength failing, he gave up the unequal struggle.
Long before he had taken the pledge, and ere he had fitllen as low
as he was when by means of the pledge he was elevated frown a
condition of abjeet bondage, he had tried over and over again to
reform. All the considerations possible for a man to array in sup-
port of good resolutions, he had called to his aid, but they were
swept away. He hadthought of his sorrowing and over-burdened
wife; of his neglected and abused children ; of his own wretched
and fallen eondition, and eontrasted with these the peace, comfort
and happiness of f6rmer times. But allhad availed nothing. So
strong was his depraved appetite, that he could not resist its
appeals for just a small indulgence ; that granted, and all was
again lost. The pledge eorning in with its all embraeing restrie-
tions, not only made him at once a sober man, but bound him to
others in an honorable eontraet. Its effect was to give him a con-
scious elevation. To make him feel that, as a man, he was looked
to in society; and that his life must be in conformity to his
avowed principles. This held him up, until he began to gain some
internal strength, and to be able to walk by the aid of good pur-
poses as intrinsic powers, and without thinking of his pledge.
But, that he was not in himself really strong enough to stand
firm without the aid of external bonds, has been seen. And as
these bonds were but human restraints, they were really inade-
quate to save him fully from the unregenerated appetite that
lurked like an enemy within, ready to waste and destroy when
the good man of the house should be asleep.
On this occasion, while the fierce conflict was going on, he re-
vived all the old considerations that he had used as means to givo
him strength ; but tho picture of his family, smitten down again
by his act, would fade so quickly from his mi:ad, that it exercised
but a feeble influence. Then he fell back upon his pledge again
and thought of all the consequences that would result from its
viol/tion,honor lost,the cause of temperance injured, himself
a by-word and a disgrace in the community. Had he not boast-
ed, over and over again, of his freedom ? Had he not said that
the pledge alone would save the most debased drunkard, and by
its own power hold him above all temptations ? Yet all was of
no avail. It was an hour of darkness. A thousand enemies to

534 TEMPTATIONS: A STORY FOR THE REFORMED.

just principles, into an internal obedience that springs from a love
of things good and true. The pledge is for those in whom a life
of self-indulgence and low sensual pleasures has debased the mind.
I3ut its mission ceases so soon as it has raised those to whom it
has come, in great mercy, fi'om their low and degraded star% into
a higher and truer life. To those who will not rise above its mere
external requirements, it remains a law: but they are ever in
danger. Hundreds, nay thousands have broken and will continue
to break it. Only those who forget the pledge in their regard for
religious principles are really safe."
Edgar cofitinued to listen eagerly, and while he listened and
earnestly desired to come into the higher state described by the
minister, he felt no longer the presence of the tempter.
" We are all God's creatures," continued the minister, " and
his love for us is so great that he would not only save every one
into heaven, but draw us ever closer and into himself. His provi-
dence, which is over every one of us, regards eternal ends. I-Ie
is ever seeking to remove our inmost affections from material ob-
jects, that they may be placed on things siritual. These.are the
things that are really and truly substantial, for they abide forever.
lgow, the Lord, in flowing down with his power into the pledge
looks not simply to the saving of the poor drunkard from the
misery and wretchedness into which he had plunged his body by
debasing iais mind; but He looks, really, to the man's spiritual
elevation. The first step is of course the abandonment of in-
toxicating drinks, and the means of doing this He furnishes to the
most depraved, in the power residing in the pledge. The pledg%
for a time, is left to do its work. But,it has only external re-
quirements, and is only an external bond. To those who are
capable of spiritual elevation, temptations come, after a time; and
thus they are driven to seek for strength in their weakness by
looking directly to the Lord, and from Him receiving power to
live a truly temperat% just and useful life. Be not then discour-
aged, my friend.--Look to the Lord, and He will sustain you.
Lean upon Him--trust "n His strength, and you are beyond the
reach of danger."
" I feel," replied Edgar, in a low: subdued voice, ' that there is
no power in a human arm to save me. l'Iy good resolutions have
become like a thread. The strength of an infant could break
them. If help comes not from above I am lost."

TEMPTATIONS." A STORY FOI TIrE REFORMED.

subjectsof conversation, and he talked with his wife for an hour
or two, unvisited by a sense of weariness. Before retiring for
the night, a chapter in the Bible was read ; and in the morning
this was again repeated. Never before had there seemed so much
life, power, and beauty in the Holy Word as now. Passages
read in the morning, returned again and again to his thoughts
through the day, and kept his mind in an elevated frame.
Gradually the mind of Edgar "ose into a more distinct and
formal acknowledgment of' the Divine Being as an object of"
worship. To the reading of the Bible in his family was added a
bending of the knee in prayer, and the repetition of that beauti--
ful and all-embracing formulary given by the Lord .when he
visited us in the flesh. And when he said, " Our Father," he felt
that God was indeed his father, and that if he trusted in Him he
would pass through the world, unharmed by the powers of evil.
lgo longer came idle and irksome hours to the reformed man.
t-Ie always found something useful to do either for his family or
others, during the evenings in which he was freed from the regu-
lar business of the day. He could read now and take an interest
in what he read ; for his mind was progressing upwards, and with
this progress came a thirst for knowledge. Daily and hourly was
he gaining more and more true internal strength ; and this he
gained through an acknowledgment of' God in every thing and
reference to him in all he did.
A few years have gone by since William Edgar passed.
through the severe temptations we have described; and as he
has, since that time, acted in all things from a religious principle,
and gradually risen into higher and higher spiritual life and intel-
ligence, he has experienced no more of those strong enticements
to self-indulgence which before almost bore him away like a
strong rushing torrent. But he knows that if he were to let one
draught of intoxicating liquor pass his lips, that moment he
would fall--that moment the subdued appetite would spring into
life and bear him down with an irresistible power--and therefore
he shuns the evil of drinking as a sin against God.

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