CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell Unlverstty Library arV1131 Minnie Hermon, the rumseller's daughter; 3 1924 032 688 743 olln.anx Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924032688743 MINNIE HERMON, RUMSELLER'S DAUGHTER; OB, WOMAN m THB TEMPERANCE REFORM. % Qiak for tl)e ®imca. BY THURLOW WEED BROWN. PCBLISHED BT HENRY S. GOODSPEED & CO., 14 BAHCLAT ST., NEW YORK, AND 46 SCHOOL ST., BOSTON. THOMPSON & CO., WOODSTOCK, N. B. ; GEO. LAWRENCE, LONDON, ONT. ; OHIO PUBLISHDJO CO., ASHLAND, O. OOODSPBED'S UMPIRE PUBLISHINa HOUSE, CHICAGO, ILL. E.M, MSoQig Entered according to Act of Congress in tlie year 1874, by ^ H. S. GOODSPEED, In the Office of tlie Librarian of Congress, at Washington, B.C. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. A Marked CHARACTjm intkoduoed to the Readeb, . , • . 31 CHAPTER II. The Manuscript, , 38 CHAPTER III. Minnie Hehmon, 50 CHAPTER IV. A Sew Pkojeot, 58 CHAPTER V. The Spell broken — Evil Counsbls prevail, 68 CHAPTER VI. ,,.. The " Home " — A 'Wrong regulated 74 , CHAPTER VIL Death in the Attiq 88 CHAPTER VTIi. A Wedding at the Cottage — Only one Glass " . . ' 94 VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER IX. First Friiits, 110 CHAPTER X The Authce talks — A Lapse of ten Years in our History - - The Change, 121 CHAPTER XI. A Wditee Scene, 135 CHAPTER XII. Three Mebtinqs, and What was Said — A Prayer A.nsweeed, . 145 CHAPTER XIII. Mabel Dunham, I59 CHAPTER XIV. GoiNQ FROM Home, jg7 CHAPTER XV. TJkmoored from the Hearth ]75 CHAPTER XVI. ' The Stranger in oSe Tarpaulin, iqq CHAPTER XVII. The Teial, jgg CHAPTER XVIII. The (tallows Cheated of a Prey — The People of a Sight 203 CHAPTER XIX. The Watt PaMilt, 213 CONTENTS. Vii CHAPTER XX "Moral Scasion," 221 CHAPTER XXI. A Beacon on thb 'Waste 232 CHAPTER XXII. Beeakino Grchjmd again, 244 CHAPTER XXIIL Light in a Dabs Place, 265 CHAPTER XXIV. Washingtonianism — The Old Man's Stob^ 281 CHAPTER XXV. High Life, 305 CHAPTER XXVL Clean Tickets — Sticking to Party, 319 CHAPTER XXVIL Poison in the Cup — Signature of the Dead — A Guest not In- vited, 353 CHAPTER XXVIIL Two Morninq Calls — A Live Man for a dead oni^ .... 370 CHAPTER XXIX The Wicked Plot — The Wicked Triumph, .... . 388 CHAPTER XXX. Another Victim in the Net — The Wicked still Triituph, . 896 VI 11 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXSL The Seoket Qiti — A Fatal "Wagee, 408 CHAPTER XXXn. A GEOtrpnfG of Scenes, 433 CHAPTER XXXni. A Stae in the East — The Plague Stated, 444 CHAPTER XXXIV. Two Resodes, 473- CHAPTER XXXY In' ■which the Reader wn-L find some old Acquaint- ances, AND LBABN WHAT BECAME OF THEM, ..... 494 CHAPTER XXXVI. Twenty Tears later. Eemoval of Minnie and Walter TO Ohio — The prevalence of Intemperance there — The Women's Crusade — Ida's Letter to Carrie Hudson, . 511 PREFACE. Our Preface, reader, shall have the merit of brevity, and shall detain you but a moment. You will bear in mind that every chapter in the book is drawn from life, with the necessary change of names and dates — the only difficulty having been in selecting from the mass of materials collected during an active participation in the Temperance Reform. Those living who have a vivid re- membrance of the scenes herem detailed, will appreciate our object in sketching them. The history of the " Watt Family " was written with a throbbing nib, and its truth sealed with the endorsement of a scalding tear. If our record shall arouse a single heart to a more in- veterate hatred against the Great Wrong, our object will have been aocomplijhed. — Pass on. MOTHER STEWART, THE LEADER OF THE "WOMAN'S MOVEMENT.'' INTRODUCTION. Foe forty days and forty nights the rain poiired down from the open windows of the heavens, until the flood covered the earth, and the sun, after the storm, smiled down upon the watery waste, where a world lay entombed. Solitary and alone, without helm, mast, or sail, like a speck on the world-wide ocean, floated the ark with its freight. The olive branch, borne upon a weary but glad wing, proclaimed the subsiding of the deluge. The sunbeams kissed the vapors as they rolled up from the retiring waters, and the bow of promise lifted its arch into the clouds. Noah went out and planted a vineyard. He par- took of its fruits, and lay in his tent in the slumbers of drunkenness. The frailties of a good man are used to .justify the drinking usages of to-day. The scourge of a world passed away, had commenced its progress again in the new. From that vineyard the tide has swept on, gathering in depth and power, until the debris of human ruin has been left on every shore where human foot has trodden. Stream has mingled with stream, and wave followed wave, (xiii) XIV rNTEODTJOTION-. until every land and people have been scourged. In the hamlet, the city, the country, or wilderness, the influence has been the same. Nations have been dranken to madness. New woes and keener sor- rows have been sent out to stalk through the world, followed by red-handed crime and ghastly death. Beneath those oblivious waves, the brightest hopes of earth and heaven have gone down ; and up and down the world the stricken millions have wasted away, and prematurely mingled with a mother dust. North, east, south and west, the plague has spread. The white sails of commerce have borne it across oceans. The pioneer has carried it across the wilder- ness. The trader has scaled the mountain range, and thus, in civilized and savage clime, the noon-day scourge has sped on in its mission of ruin. In the hut of the savage, or where science, letters and art have elevated and refined, the effects have been the same. The very heart of human society has been poisoned, until along every artery of health and strength, the hot currents have swept in their blight- ing power. The shadow has fallen across nearly every hearth-side, and at the altar's base ; and lingered there like the foot-prints of unutterable woe. Most every house has had one dead in it — every cu'cle has been broken. Homes are ruined and deserted, and fields turned to waste. The wife and the^children are driven out from the home-roof, and to-day the mothers of America, like Niobe of old, as they weep at their broken altars, are attempting to shield rNTEODUCTION. XV their ofEspring from the shafts which fall thickly around, and quiver in the tender hearts they love. It is Intemperance that we speak of ; the history of whose desolations has outstripped the wildest imagery of tragic fiction, and laughed to scorn the efforts of the tongue, pen or pencil. If hell has one more potent enginery of human degradation and crime upon earth than another, it is Intemperance. Its very sound sends a thrill back to the heart, and a Gorgon monster slowly rises up from its heart of blood among the graves. The gloomy night of Intemperance long rested upon the world, and no day-star in the horizon. The death slumber was deep and profound. Like the fabled city which was petrified into stone, no trumpet blast rang out to awaken to life; Woe and want went band in hand. Vice and violence stalked unobstruct- ed, and crime laughed and reeled in its drunkenness of blood. Alone in the sky, the malign Hght of the death-beacon followed man from the cradle to the grave. The monster sat at every gathering. At the birth, marriage, or death ; in the home, shop, or field; at the social re-union, or the festive day — in hut, palace, or council-hall, it plied its work. The fair young bride stood at the altar in the light of her bright life-dream, and handed the goblet to him she had chosen to accompany in the pilgrimage of life. At the social board, the father followed the mar- riage prayer with a glass. In the silence of the night, where the living had just passed to the rest DfTEODUOTION. of death, the decanter kept its watch with the watch- ers. What wonder, then, that Intemperance, like the red ploughshare of ruin, went under almost every hearth ! A missionary once foimd a heathen mother in tears. She wrung her hands as she left her hot kissses upon the lips of a beautiful child, calm in the slumbers of death. The little treasure had been bit- ten by a serpent. The woman was one of the ser- pent-worshippers, and the reptile, which had robbed her of her first and only chUd, lay coiled at the hearth-side of the home it had made desolate, safe from the avenging hand of the superstitious mother. She would not destroy it. l^^'eed we wonder at the saperstition of the benighted heathen ! To-dayj America is a nation of serpent worsMjapers. We look around us, and how many homes are there where the sei"pent is coiled, yet madly cherished by those who have mourned the loved and the good, poisoned to death by its fangs I And at the same time we see a great and free people hesitating about crushing these serpents ! The darker rites and fearful religion of the poor Pagan can but share our sympathies. We are proud of our country and its institutions. There is no land like our land ; no people like our people ; no lakes like our lakes ; no streams like our streams ; no prairies Hke our prairies, or mountains like our mountains, as they sit upon a continent and nod to each other in the clouds. American enter- prise and American genius, inventive and literary, is mTRODucTioisr. xvii startling a world from its slumbers. Tlie heart of our republic throbs upon two shores ; and jet, at the heart of all our free institutions a cancer is tugging with never-resting energy. For its removal, Chris- tians and philanthropists are marshaling. It is but Kttle over half a century since a land so favored groaned in bondage unbroken. No light had broke in ; no star had beamed out to guide our wise men to a Saviour. Humanity wept over the desola- tions. Patriotism saw its first stars pale and set in darkness. Religion saw its most gifted ones fall to rise no more. The strongest were in shackles, and the friend of his country and of man looked out sadly upon the scene, and saw no morning light in the dark night. Foreigners stigmatized us as a nation of drunkards. Thus, unobstructed, the work went on. The great deep of popular opinion had not been stirred by a single breath, but lay in its stillness until miasma had bred in its sluggish bosom, and rolled up to sicken and destroy. The thunder of popular will slumbered uninvoked in the ballot-box, or, like the three-mouthed dog of hell, sleeplessly guarded the wrongs there entrenched. A scourge was abroad in the land, yet a free and Christian people slept over their wrongs, and yielded without an efEort to the annual conscription of Intemperance. But a better era was to dawn upon our country. A brazen serpent was lifted. The trumpet-blasts of Temperance Reformers started the petrified cities into life. The plume tossed in the conflict, the war- XV, 11 mTEODUCTION. horse plunged and chafed, and in the light of the coining morning the Banner of Temperance rolled out like a beacon of hope and promise to gladden a world. A breath has swept the valley of Hinnom, and the sleepers arise. The ocean is swept by the storm, and hjope springs up in the human heart. The light comes slowly, but it bears healing upon its wings, and heralds redemption to a rum-scourged world. There is joy in heaven and upon earth. The mother weeps tears of joy, and clasps her child to her bosom, with a prayer of gratitude for the promise which speaks of a better day for her and hers. And so the great moral revolution has commenced — a war of extermination, ending only when the rum traffic shall exist no longer. A free people are girding for the conflict with a hoary curse, saying to its armies, as they wage the strife from pillar to pillar — " Thus far, and no farther." The history of the Temperance Reformation is not yet written. The strife is yet in progress. But that history will occupy the brightest pages of our country's annals, and command the admiration of the world. "We look back with a full heart and kindling eye upon that history. There is a moral sublimity and beauty in the record. It is like the beaming of the setting sunlight across the ocean. Storms may have swept the surface, and its waves dashed angrily upon the shore ; but in its calm there is a wake of crim- son and gold — a beautiful pathway, where angels might tread. The course of our reform has been marked INTEODUCTION. xix by tlie most important results. It lias carried bless- ings to myriads of hearts and homes. There is an angel in its waters, and peace, happiness and hope spring up where desolation has withered up the greenness of earth. It is destined to revolutionize the sentiment of a world. It enlists all that is lovely and noble in the human heart — ^the eloquence of poetry, and the inspiration of genius ; the fervor of patriotism, and the zeal of religion. Its principles are as plain to the mind as the sun at mid-day, and as just as God. It is the gospel of redemption to a rum-cursed world — the John the Baptist of the Chris- 'tian religion. Like the Christian religion, its finiits bear full evidence of its blessed character. "When John heralded the coming of the Saviour, he did not startle the world by the brilliancy of his promises. He did not announce that Christ was coming with a crown of gold upon his head and a monarch's sceptre in his hand, with legions of conquering warriors bristling in armor, and in his train the kings and princes — the rich and powerfid, and elite of earth. No : the dumb should speak, the deaf should hear, the bhnd see, the lame walk, the dead be raised, and the gospel be preached to the poor. And thus along the pathway of Christianity, wherever its spirit has gained a foothold, there are eloquent records of its principles and influences. So with the Temperance Keform. The heralds did not announce that the fashionable and the wealthy, the titled great, the moneyed aristocracy of the land, would exclusively XX INTEODUCTION. lend it their countenance. But the Wind have seen, the deaf have heard, the stone has been rolled away from the grave of drunkenness, and the lost restored ; devils have been cast out of those cut among the tombs, and its gospel has been preached to the poor. The reform was designed by a kind God to lift up and restore poor fallen humanity, and not to add brilliancy to fashion, or popularity to men. The prodi- gals, who have wasted all in riotous living and hun- gered for the husks, have turned back from their dark wanderings, and the temperance cause has met them half-way, and rejoiced that the lost were found. The so-called fashionable have murmured, and turned away with scorn from such manifestations. They would so have scorned the meek Saviour, because he called after the sinner, and wept with and comforted the poor and afflicted. The hand of Providence has marked the course of our cause. Step by step, it has moved onward, ever going deeper into the hearts and consciences of men. It has had its reverses, as has every great moral revolution which has agitated the world ; but its first standard, " torn but flying," floats out prouder to- day than ever before. There is a hydra influence against it — one sleepless and gigantic. But ours is the majority, for God is with us. At times it has been beaten — ^its waves have rolled back and again mingled with their kindred waters ; but they have re- turned to the shock with other waves and deeper flow, sweeping on with the strength and grandeur of INTEODUCTION. XXi its power. Wealtli has "opposed it, fasUon has sneered at it, interest has fought it, demagogues have stabbed it, and Iscariots have betrayed and sold it; but, like the oak matured ia the storm, it has taken root, until its towering trunk sways defiance to the fiercest wrath of the tempest. And it wU] live, and flourish, and gloriously triumph. The blessings of the Temperance Eeform are sufficient to reward for an age of effort. One home made joyous — one broken heart healed and made happy — one man restored to manhood, family, so- ciety, and God — is a prouder and more enduring monument than ever towered in marble. What a change it has wrought in public sentiment ! Look back — and many of us can remember it — to the time when tippHng was interwoven with every cus- tom of society, and infancy sucked drunlcenness from the mother's breast. We know that iatemper- ance yet sits hke a nightmare upon the bosom of so- ciety; but there are millions of homes, and fields, and systems from which it has been forever banished. Where is now the physician that prescribes rum to the mother, or a mother who swallows such prescrip- tions, or feeds them to the child? Where is the family table where the morning bitters sit with the food which gives life and strength ? Where is the mechanic who carries it to his shop ? The farmer .who furnishes it to his laborers in the field ? The marriage where the health and happiness of the bride must be given in wine ? The funeral where it XXU mTEODTTOTlOlT. must mingle with the tears of the bereaved ? They are scarce. A blessed light has dawned upon com- munity, and it is found that man can be bom, mar- ried, and die without the spirit of alcohol. In the progress of the reform, nearer and still nearer to the enemy, the ground has been broken. The first position was not the one of to-day. The old pledge was the entering wedge, but it did not banish the insidious tempter from our own ranks. It coiled stiU in the wine-cup, and in the more com- mon alcoholic beverages. Experience demonstrated the folly of chaining the mad dog, and the total ab- stinence pledge was adopted. Then came a war among temperance men, but the right triumphed; for, it was found that the old pledge was a danger- ous ground for drinking men. Then came the Washingtonian movement, like a storm, and its floods swept on with startling intensity and power. There are ten thousand trophies where it moved ; but the force of the torrent long since spent itself. The flames have died out upon its altars, as a general thing, and its legions disbanded, or enlisted in new organizations. In the commencement of our reform, and for a number of years, the mass of its friends considered "moral suasion" as the only means of success. It would have accomplished its work, were aU men susceptible to moral influences. But it would not answer the ends designed. While human nature is such as to require penal laws in the restraint and IXTEODTJCTION. XXIU punisliment of its excesses, moral influenceB will never keep man from the commission of wrong. God's government is not based upon moral suasion alone. His laws are prohibitory, as are the laws upon our statute books. And against all this array of enactments, human and divine, wicked men con- tinue to trample upon the rights of others. If laws will not prevent the commission of wrong, who would expect moral influences alone to protect the interests of society from the vicious and abandoned ? And more especially would it fall far short of accom- plishing such an object, when coming in contact with evils sustained and gua/rded hy legislation. Seldom, while avarice has a home in the human heart, can bad men be influenced, by moral considerations, to abandon a traffic which law tolerates, and protects, ' and clothes with respectability. With a license law existing and shielding the seller from punishment, how long before he could be prevailed upon to abandon a lucrative business ? In most instances time might end and find the traffic in its full strength, and those engaged in it as indifierent to our en- treaties and appeals, as they are to-day. It was thought that the fountain must be dried — the Upas uprooted and destroyed forever. Hence the idea of prohibition and protection. And this sentiment found a response in the hearts of the friends of the cause, enthusiastic and unanimous. Here was the great battle-ground, and around this banner the contending interests rallied. Eloquence XXIV mTEOBUCnON. had been spent in vain, heretofore, so far as having any effect upon those engaged in the traffic. God s truth had thundered against them. Facts had been niled on facts, until they towered in fearful judg- ment against them. Arguments unanswerable had been adduced, and appeals of the most earnest and touching pathos been made. All had been in vain. Entrenched behind law, and flanked by the unscru- pulous demagogism of the country, they looked unmoved upon the ruin wrought by their own hands, and laughed all our efforts to scorn. A new system of warfare must be adopted, or the strife would be for time. As in times past, so Providence, at this juncture, directed the. movements. Then appeared a light in the east, and clear and startling above the din of the strife, came a new battle-cry, thrilling like an electric shock, and everywhere arotising oui« wearied hosts. A new banner out, and its magic words filled all hearts with zeal, faith and hope. " The Maine Law " was an emblem of ti'iumph. It was thought to be the mystic writing upon the waU, announcing the downfall of the Babylon whose ini- qiiities had so long cursed the earth, and the politi- cal Belshazzars already looked upon the record of sure-coming doom, and trembled. The new plan was as simple as potent. It embodied, in a stringent form, the principles of prohibition and protection. Like all other laws for the prevention of crime, it struck at the cause, leaving the streams to dry up, when no longer fed by the fountain. It dispensed with arguments and appeals. It left no dripping mTEODUOTIOir. XXV heads to multiply others, but attacked the hydra in his den, and with the hot irons of fine and imprison- ment, seared as it went. From various cauees the Maine Law failed to accomplish the grand results hoped for it, by those who fought under the banner. Still, much good was done, and the last great day shall marshal an army, saved from the power of the second death, as one of the benefits of the Maine Law agitation. Again the banner of the Temperance Reformation is flung to the breeze. Before the emblem of joy was seen in the East. Now it unfurls its folds over the valleys of the great West, and, from present ap- pearances, the " movement" will go on till the broad Union is made to feel its power. Grand results have already been accomplished. M.&nj desolate homes have been made happy. Every day the telegraph brings us news of victory. May " God defend the right " in the battle. In what is called the " Woman's Movement," the method of procedure is for women to meet early in the morning in one of the churches, hold a prayer and singing meeting for an hour or so, and then start forth in bands of ten or twenty, visiting the various saloons and drug stores where hquor is sold, present- ing a form of pledge to cease retailing liquors, with a request to sign and stop selling liquor. If they comply, the ladies pass on to another; but if they are met with a refusal, then they exhort, persuade, hold a prayer-meeting, sing a hymn, etc., and pass XXYl . INTEODTTCTION. on, promising to " call again." SomeU mes the pray- er-meetings continue for hours with fervent petition, earnest entreaty, and persistent pleading. This is repeated every day till the dealers are subdued* Day after day, in winter's cold and sleet, these meetings are continued, until very many towns are redeemed from the sale of liquor. Various instrumentalities have operated in bring- ing the Temperance Reform up to its present com- manding position. Able men have written and spoken, and from the rostrum and the pulpit public opinion has been educated. But the great engine has been the Press. This giant friend of man in a free country, has scattered its light, its facts, argu- ments and appeals, into millions of hearts and homes. It has invoked a storm slowly, but none the less effectually. The mutterings of years past are deep- ening into startling peals, and the red language of popular indignation and wrath glows ominously bright across the sky. The deep of public opinion is rocking to its depths. The Temperance Press, at first struggling with almost overwhelming difficulties, has slowly increased in ability and power, and to-day exerts a eontroling influence upon public sentiment. The literature of our reform is assuming a more refined and elevated character, and clothing great truths in pure and more attractive garb ; and never was there a wider field for the exercise of intellectual effort. The wildest dreams of fiction seem tame in comparison with the stern INTEODTTOTION. XXVii and sober realities of our cause. Tragedies, more fearfully dark and startling than Avon's bard ever sketched, are thickly traced on the record of rum's histoi^. Scenes which would mock the artist's pen- cil are of daily occurrence. The desolate home, with its heart-broken wife and mother, with her pale cheek channeled with tears of unutterable woe, as she bends weeping over the drunken wreck of her youth's idol ; the child-group shivering in the blast or cling- ing to that mother, as they moan for bread ; the orphan turned out, with no friend but God, into the wide world ; youth wrecked and palsied with premar ture age ; manhood reeling amid the ruins of mind and moral beauty, the sepulchre of a thousand hopes ; genius driveling in idiocy and crumbling into ruin ; the virtuous and noble-mind*ed turning away from truth and honor, and plunging into every vice ; the parent and citizen wandering away from a home- heaven, through a devious "and dark pilgrimage, to a dishonored grave ; the home-idol shivered and broken, the altar cast down, and an' Eden transformed into a heU ; childhood and innocence thrust out from the love-light of a mother's eye, to wallow in all that is low and vile ; Poverty and "Want looking with pinch- ed and piteous gaze upon the scanty tribute of charity ; foul and festering Vice, with sickly and bloated fea- tures, leering and droolling in Hcentious beastiality ; Madness, with fiery eye and haggard mien, weeping and wailing and cursing in the rayless night of intel- lectual chaos ; Crime, with its infernal " ha ! ha ! " as XXVlll INTEODUCTION. it stalks forth from its work of death, mth its red hand dripping with the hot and smoking life-tide of its victim ; — these, and ten thousand other combinar tions of warp and woof, are woven into tales of won- drous intensity and power. The hovel, the dram- shop, the subterranean den, and the mansion of fash- ion and wealth, have all furnished the material for tales of staartliiig interest. When fiction even has called up its weird creations, they have been but copies of the facts already transpired. The moral is always there. Thus poetry and romance have com- bined to place the realities of two opposing principles iti striking contrast. Such is the object of the fol- lowing tale, from the perusal of which we will no longer detain the kind reader. That the " new move- ment," may triumph, and the dark shadow of Intem-, perance pass away, is the earnest prayer of him who has thus far claimed attention. The door is open, a.nd the reader ;an go in a;nd examine the structure of the author's fabric at leisure. LADIES IN THE "WOMAN'S MOVEMENT." MIIIIE HEEMOK CHAPTEE I. A MAEKED CHA RACTEB mTEODTJOED TO THE EEADEE. On one of the coolest days of the autumn of 18 , by invitation, we visited, for the purpose of lecturing, ^ne of the pleasantest villages in southern New- York. The suD was far down in an unclouded sky, its beams mellowing in the blue haze which curtained the distant hills, and lingering like a smile from blisa upon the variegated woodlands. Without seeking the friend who had invited us to enjoy his hospitality, we passed through the village, and turned from the highway into the fields, and up- ward to where a picturesque eminence promised a more attractive view of the autumn scene. The paths and the hollows were filled with the rustling leaves, the faded garniture of summer — and yet a more beautiful carpeting than art ever wove. From beneath a leaning maple, we turned to gaze long upon the landscape stretched beneath us. The woods upon the hills were draped in that gorgeous beauty 2 32 MINOTE SEEMON. of the American autumn, a sea of rustling waves crested with golden and crimson foam, flecked here and there with the dark hue of the evergreens. The symmetrical forms of the maple and the walnut dotted the farm lands of the husbandman with pyramids of russet and flame-like canvass. The Susquehanna wound through the valley and away to the south, glowing and shimmering in the sunbeams. We turned away from that which had yielded us so much pleasure, and still further above us saw a stranger, evidently enjoying the same pros- pect. His tall form stood out in striking relief from its ^.lackground of distant sky, his attitude and mien graceful and imposing, as with head bared and hat in hand, he stood with folded arms, looking down upon the valley. As we stepped out from under the low- hanging branches, the rustling leaves attracted his attention. He returned our salutation with a manner so easy and dignified, that we at once recognized one of more than ordinary mind and polish. The true gentleman never forgets his position under any cir- cumstances, much less in recognizing and returning the courtesies of a stranger. Passing the village grave-yard, where the white slabs gleamed' in the setting sun, we noticed seven highly finished ones standing closely together, and the same name chiseled upon all. ' The grass towered rankly upon the mounds, and the mould had long gathered at the base of the marble. The mounds were of the same length, thickly strewn with the A MARKED CIIAE.ACTEE. 33 leaves of the willow which dropped its bouglis until they nearly swept the ground. As we emerged from the lane leading to the b'lrial grounds, we again en- countered the tall strangsr of the hillside, leaning with a sad and thoughtful countenance over the fence near where we had stood by the seven graves. The afternoon following, while standing upon the church steps with a friend, awaiting the gathering of the people, a note was slipped into our hand by a friend. It read thus : " We are not used to harsh language here yet ; — be guarded. Hon. Mr. Fenton will hear you. He is a citizen of talent and influence, and we wish to have him in our Division ; but he is a drinking man, owns the tavern, and is extremely sensitive. Touch him gently. A Feiend." And so' the Hon. Mr. Fenton, and a rumseller, would hear us. And must we hesitate in laying bare the iniquities of the traffic, because a gentleman of wealth, talent and standing was engaged in it ? Thrusting the note into our pocket, we determined to take our own course — appeal kindly to men, but boldly and truthfully speak of the wrong. A sea of heads was before us, curiosity drawing many to attend the long talked of demonstration. Conspicuous in the centre of the audience, his keen grey eye scanning the speaker with a stern and steady gaze, sat our tall acquaintance. "That," whispered 34 MIimiE aKKMON. a clergyman at our side, "is the Ron. Mr. Fenton. If you are severe, he will answer you." "We were satisfied from whence the note of advice. Carelessly we commenced our remarks upon the prevalence and universal spread of intemperance. Quick answering tears, from a sad looking woman on the first seat, responded to the truth of the remarks made, and filled our own heart with tears. "Warming as the interest increased, we continued : " In the mild sunlight of this blessed day, we look over your heads and out through the raised windows, where your kindred are at rest upon the kind bosom of our common mother. "We know not the history of this community, but the destroyer has been among you. Undisturbed by our voice, the sleepers are resting on where the rank grass weaves its mat over their graves. "Wherever the living carry their dead the cold arms of earth have been rudely opened to wrap the victims of the scourge. Innocence, manhood and old age; the strong, the beautiful, the loved, and the true, have alike been consigned to premature graves. How cruel the blows which crushed from their hearts, life and its throbbing hopes ! The kind marble heralds not their sad histories; but garnered in kindred hearts, are the memories of wrongs which ever ask a tribute of bitter tears, as the living stand by their graves. Have no circles been broken in this community ? Have no loved ones been torn away from hearts which dripped tear-drops of blood, to go down in darkness to their graves? And no bright A MAKKKD CHARACTEE. 35 resurrection morn to burst upon their long night of sleep ? Who of you have friends in that old yard, whom you feel were wrenched away from heart and home by torturing inches, and worse than murdered? 1b there a parent — an old mother — a broken-hearted wife — a sister of never swerving love — a child who has no parent but God — who does not go in there to weep over a grave where Hope never smiles and Faith never whispers " All is well ? " Make our heart a store-house of the dark records of your history, and from this desk we will tread the grass-grown alleys, and here and there lay our hands upon cold and silent wit- nesses, proclaiming in the sad eloquence of enduring marble, the triumphs of the common scourge. Here is one, and there another I But for rum, they might have sat at your hearths this day. And who slew them ? Is there no hand here among you red with a brother's blood ? Look ! and if so, turn away to a better life, and yield no more incense to the shrine of blood ! " The " Hon. Mr. Fenton " sat with his eye upon us as we proceeded, his chin resting upon his palm as he leaned upon the pew before him. A lone tear slowly gathered on the lid, and coursing down his cheek, dropped upon the open hand. As our introduction ended, he involuntarily raised his head and looked npon his hand, as though blood had gathered there in judgment against him, then bowing himself upon his Lands, he remained until the meeting was dismissed. As we passed down the desk) Mr. Fenton came boldly forward and stood at the door. The audience 36 MNNIE HEKMON. were instantly hushed, expecting a war of words be- tween him and the stranger. Eeaching out, he clasped our extended hand in both of his, and stood, with swimming eyes, silently before us. We knew there would be no strife between us, for a better manhood gave utterance in the eye, and his grasp was almost convulsive in its energy. " You are an honest man ! " passionately exclaimed Mr. Eenton. " You have uttered the truth — solemn, fearful ti'uth. My hands are red with more than a brother's blood. God forgive me ! Let me tell you where they sleep, — those I have loved and lost ! " Mr. Fen ton took our arm within his own, and to- gether we passed into the yard just back of the church. He passed by the seven graves, and silently looked down upon them, while his broad chest heaved with strong emotion. " There," said he, with wild energy, — " there they are — all — all! There are my father and mother; the one died a drunkard and the other broken-hearted. In the next four graves are my — my boys. Brave, noble boys they were, too, as ever parent loved. In their strong manhood, they too, died drunkards! And here — merciful God ! at my feet, is my injured, my murdered wife ! " and kneeling like a child, and throwing his strong arms over the grave, he wept as a child would weep. " O ! if God can forgive, may the last of a once happy band be gathered with thee at last; and the hand which wrought thy ruin be washed with pardon of its cruel crime. 0, what a A MARKED CHAEACTER. 3Y fearful infatuation has rested upon me," he continued, as he raised himself from his kneeling posture. " I see it all now. Here by the graves of my kindred — ■ my all, before you, sir, and these people, my injured wife in Heaven, and God, I solemnly swear that this hand never shall again extend the ruinous cup to my fellow mam,. My life shall be spent, so far as it is possible, in undoing the wrong I have committed." In the clear air of that bright autumn afternoon, a shout, free and full with gladness, went up from the people in testimony of the high resolve. Bonfires were kindled in the evening, and joy beamed upon each countenance, lit up by the glare with greater in- tensity, as the blue flame of the burning liquors burst up and wreathed and hissed with the red ones of the burning timbers. " And so may m,y soul hum in hell, if I ever har- bor the cursed poison again ! " Startled by the fierce energy of the speaker, we turned, to find Mr. Eenton looking upon the scene with a pale and compressed lip. CHAPTEK II. THE MANUSCEIPT. OuE host was early astir, every move character- ized by a new and more hopeful life; Before we had arisen, all the machinery of drinking had been re- moved from the bar, and citizens were already gath- ered on the piazza, in earnest conversation upon the events of the previous day. Mr. Fenton persisted in accompanying us across the river, talking sadly of the past and hopefully of the future. " At parting, he laid a heavy roll of pa- pers in our hands, with a rapid history of their con- tents and of the manner in which they came into his possession. A friend of his, in early life, became in temperate, through the plotting of a villain ; and in one of his fits of madness, turned his family from the door, and under charge of murder, was confined in prison, awaiting his trial. He was tried and con- demned, but escaped before the day of execution. This manuscript, the labor of long days of imprison- ment, was handed me under seal, while in the place, with the simple injunction that, should the writer never be heard of again, his friend should make such use of it as he saw fit. You," said Mr. Fenton, "know much of the history of intemperance and its WALTER'S MOTHER. THE MAKDSCEIPT. 41 terrible ruin ; but yet, the within may furnish you with something equally as interesting as that you have already learned. You will find the impress of no or- dinary mind, and its publication, in whole or in part, may interest others as well as yourself." The writing was more in the style of a private diary than otherwise. "We shall give, in the course of our history, the substance of the matter, occasion- ally transcribing whole chapters as we find them written. " OLD MEMOEIES. " The ocean of life may present a calm, unbroken surface to the eye — the very picture of repose ; while beneath the dark and turbid currents are surging to and fro, black and angry, as they toss and leap against one another. " The sky may smile without a cloud, as its blue depths are bathed in a fiood of sunshine ; and yet the lightning be heating its red bolts, and the storm troops marshaling for the onset. " The human countenance may be as calm as that ocean, while bitter waters are welling up in the heart, as bright with sunshine as that sky unclouded, and yet the fierce tempest be sweeping across the soul, or the echoes of Sorrow's wail lingering amid the ruins of hopes which have been destroyed. The wildest im- agery of fiction is more than surpassed by the reali- ties of the ' fitful fever ' which we treat so lightly, and yet so madly cling to at its ending. 42 MINNIE HEEMON. " While carelessly touching my guitar, the fingers unconsciously swept the strings to the measure of an old and sacred air, holy with the inseparable associa- tions of scenes that never die ! That touch was like the gush of long pent-up waters, and the flood of other days is again rushing through the soul, a mingled tide of sweet and bitter currents, now bathed with sun- light, and again dark with gloom. " I drop the guitar and gaze long and dreamily into the fire, watching the vision of years as they troop by. I am young again ! Ah 1 but 't was a dream, for the growl of my dog has dispelled the illu- sion, and I awake to find a tear on my lids, from which bright beams of silver are dancing to the wa- ning embers in the grate. That tear has escaped from a sacred fount, sealed long and long ago. " I touch the strings again. The thoughts flow calm- er, and a strong impulse urges me to write. And why should I profane the sanctuary where early hopes and dreams are buried ? Some will sneer at the rev- elation. And yet to see the words as they are traced upon the sheet, will be- like looking on the faces of those long since at rest. There is no one here to see me if I weep ; and these we%ther-beaten cheeks will welcome a shower from the heart's flood, which has been so unexpectedly stirred to its earlier depths. "My manhood's hopes have gone out in darkest night, and infamy rests upon the once proud and untar- nished name of "Walter Brayton. An evil destiny has followed me and I am now incarcerated in a dungeon, THE MANUSCEIFT. 43 through the success of as foul a plot as human fiends ever conceived, to accomplish another's ruin. Tlie "world cares not for one whose career has ended so ignominiously,' and it may never see my name vindi- cated from the stigma which now so unjustly rests upon it. The fickle populace has forgot its idol, and none but her whom I have most deeply injured stands by my side, while all else has been beaten dowu by the storm which has come upon me. She clings to me with a devotion which no destiny, however dark, can wrench away. A ' life history ' may never be seen by other eyes than my own, if ever completed ; but the long days will speed on lighter wing, even while I am tracing dark chapters in my cell. My crushed manhood's tears shall attest the truth of what I shall write, eloquent, it may be, in warning to who- ever may trace these lines, to shun a course which has so trodden down as proud a spirit and aspiring ambition as ever throbbed in the bosom of early manhood. " When eighteen years of age, my father removed from New Jersey, to a small and retired country settlement in one of the northern counties of New York. He had once been a merchant of business a,n-d standing — had mingled in the highest commercial circles, and I never could divine the reason of his lo- cating in such a section of the country. " There are faint remembrances of my early home. There is a vague, shadowy outline of a dark old dwelling, now lingering in my mind. All is dim, 44 MINNTE BEEMON. misty, uncertain. I can hardly trace those outlines at this late day, for the foot-prints of yeai's have gone over them. The impressions seem half dreams and half realities. The remembrance is gloomy, withal, and as I wander back, I shrink involuntarily at the spectral shadows which people and throng around that dream-land tenement. " There was an old room, with high, sombre walls, and deep windows, over which hung rich, heavy cur- tains, nearly shutting out the light of day. Dark, massive chairs and sofas stood against the walls. And I remember that I dreaded the mirror which gave back the spectral outlines of the old nurse, and step- ped back with a noiseless tread to the half-opened door. Once I looked out of those windows — only once. As I parted the faded curtains, the net-work of cobwebs brought down a cloud of the black and ugly looking creatures, and drove me away in a fright. " But there was one room which I remember with more dread than I do the old parlor. It was across the hall, and I never saw the light of day break in upon its darkness but once. I was a child, and through the open door crept in and across to the window. I then clambered upon the sill, and with childish curiosity, pulled aside the curtains. Oh, what a flood of warm, pure sunshine gushed into the dark place ; I remember it distinctly, and how red and beautiful the sun itself appeared just above the sea of roofs ! I clapped my tiny hands and shouted THE MANUSCRIPT. 45 with glee, upon which the old nurse stole up behind me, and bore me away to the kitchen. " I can remember but one more visit to that room. Everything wore a mysterious and saddened aspect. People trod lightly over the floor, and spoke in whispers. 1 watched all with sobered interest. At last an old lady friend took me in her arms and car- ried me in. A lamp burned dimly in the gloom, and the old clock ticked with painful distinctness in the hushed apartment. " The nurse then raised me up, and held me where I could look upon the bed. As I looked down with a shrinking fear, I beheld a pale, calm face, the eyes closed as if in slumber, but oh, how still ! A dread crept over me — the first startling knowledge of death. The nurse laid my hand upon the cheek — 'twas cold — how cold ! and as that strange chill crept back to my child-heart, I wept. I felt that something sad and sorrowful had taken place ; that some one whom I loved had gone — some friend — and the young heart welled up its flood of unchecked grief. ... A mother had gone to her rest ! " I remember but one place with pleasure in that old dwelling. It was where the sun shone brightly^ and the vines crept thickly over the lattice-work. As I look back upon that obscure mirror of childhood, I see a happy throng, and merry sport they had. But the most hallowed dream of all, is that of a sad, kind face, whicb hung over me and touched mine so ten- derly. I know that she had a low, silvery voice, for 46 MINNIE HEEIION. it fell soothingly upon my childisli fears and pains, and its tender echoes have never died away in iny heart. I have heard no such tones since, save as they float up and linger oh the tide of memory. The voice of a mothee speaks in those echoes ! " But how my pen has wandered under the influence of these old memories ! Ah, well ! I have not talked of these things before in long years, and my old heart yearns for sympathy. "After our settlement in the new home, I became a tall, thoughtful boy. Care had written deep lines upon my father's face, and he said but little. Grief, too, had furrowed his features deej)ly, and a silvery white was fast mingling with his locks of jet black. But he was cold, stern, passionless, unchanging. " I never saw my father manifest the least emotion but once. As I entered the parlor one morning, he was standing before a poi-trait that I had loved from my childhood. My step aroused him, and as he turned, I saw a tear upon either cheek. He passed out of the room, and I took his place before the pic- ture, and stood looking dreamily until my own cheeks were wet with tears. 1 wept before the shadow of a substance which had forever passed away. " Bitter knowledge came to me as I arrived at young manhood. My father had been a drunkard ; my mother had been ill-treated by the husband of her youth, and had died broken-hearted. My love for her intensified as I learned the painful histOry, and I looked still more fondly upon that picture in the par- THE MANUSCKIFT. 47 lor, and thought that, had I been a man while she was living, I could have been her protector. " It was by accident that I learned this sad history of wrong and neglect in him whom I had so loved as my father. In a drawer of old papers I found a letter. From a careless glance at the commence- ment, my attention became riveted, and I read with a throbbing heart until, through the blinding tears, I saw at the bottom my own mother's name. The letter had evidently been written at different dates, and was blotted with tears. " ' Mr SisTEE : — Crushed and broken beneath the ruins of all my early hopes, I turn to you to ask your forgiveness, and to pour into your too kind bosom the sorrows that overwhelm me. My heart aches — aches with its knowledge of blighted hopes, and of the fearful and bitter truths which have so thickly come upon me : my brain aches and turns almost to madness, as the history of a year sweeps over me. Oh, Martha ! how I long to die — to lie down in the cold and quiet rest of the grave ! " ' Do you remember, Martha, the night before I was married, what you said to me as we stood under the old elm in the garden ? — and how bitterly I spoke and repelled the warning you whispered to me in tears ? Tou would forgive me, I know you would, were you to see me now. M.j poor heart bleeds at every pore ; my cheek has faded and fallen away ; B 48 MINNIE HEEMON. and yoTi would not recognize in this ghastly wreck the wayward girl of our dear old home. "All is dark. Not a ray of hope on earth. I weep over my sleeping babes ; but I must die. God pro- tect them. ' . . . "'That bright future, Martha, is all gloom — black, black as night. I have wept, and prayed, and besought. He mocks me. Great God ! Martha, he mocks me in his drunken madness! He wildly laughs as I weep. To-day, I held our babe to him for a caress ; he cruelly struck the innocent sleeper with his hand ! " ' I am dying, Martha ! Do not weep ; I long for rest. God will protect my babe. The consumption of sorrow and suflFering is wasting my weary heart. " ' Our neighbors are kind, or we should suffer. Tour ever kind heart will bleed when you know that the daughter of Colonel Wilder is in want. But I tell it to warn you. Never, as you hope for peace on eai-th, trust the man who drinks. . . " ' Frederick appears utterly indifferent. He spends his nights principally at the tavern, and is sullen when at home. Oh, it is hard to die thus. . . My cup overilows. Would to God that I had died when my mother died ! Frederick came in "this eve- ning at the earnest appeal of our friends. How changed Tie is, as well as myself! He spoke bitterly to me, and demanded my wedding jewels — Ae had THE MANUSCEIPT. 49 gwmbled, and lost ! He attempted to take the beau- tiful Bible our mother gave me, and as I lay my band upon it in mute appeal, be — oh, Martha ! — he struck me a heavy blow Consciousness has re turned, and the Bible is gone ! . . . I shall dio to-night. God protect the boy " ' Ellen.' " I mingled my own bitter tears with those that had long since become dry upon the blotted page, and went forth into the world with my boy-bosom throb- bing with the hate of manhood against the curse which had killed my mother," CHAPTER III. MINNIE HEEMON. " Foe along time after removing to Oakvale, I found no kindred spirit with which to commune. My father was reserved, seldom smiled, or addressed a pleasant word to his only child. " My young and impetuous nature must find employ- ment in hunting. Day after day for weeks at a time, with fishing rod or gun, I ranged the dense forests which stretclied away for miles in the immediate vi- cinity of Oakvale. I had found every overhanging crag, every waterfall and dark ravine, and threaded every stream. Thus engaged, I had not noticed the arrival of strangers in the village, and should have cared but little if I had. " The winter somewhat restrained my sports, but, with the early spring, I was abroad again with dog and gun. Immediately back of Oakvale was a moun- tain stream, which plunged down a succession of falls into a deep, dark chasm, and rolled away through the valley. Kecent rains had raised it to a swollen and angry tide, the cascades presenting one unbroken sheet of spray and foam. Nearly half way up the first fall was a wide, projecting mass of reck, over- hanging the abyss so far that the spectator could ob- tain a complete view of the whole gorge above, un- MIN'NIE HEEMON. 51 obstructed by the dense growth of overhanging spruce. The path to this landing place was through a wide fissure in the rocks, the rugged masses and dark ever- greens rising upon either side until the sunbeams were shut entirely out. From this opening a circui tous and narrow path wound to the foot of the mountain. "From early morn until late in the afternoon, I had followed a deer with ill success. Thrice had he taken to the river, across which I had followed him, until I was wet, weary and hungry. The dog did not close up with rigor, or the sport might have been soon ended. The deer at last crossed through the village and entered the river at the base of the mountain. Unleashing a fresh dog at home, I took the ferry and followed, sure of soon putting an end to the work. The dog drove the chase so closely that he entered the path to the table rock, and struggled with despe- rate vigor up the steep ascent. As he entered the rocky path I felt sure of him, for there was no egress but into the foaming basin beneath. " The more rapid baying of the hound put new vigor into my weary steps, and I hurried forward. Enter- ing the defile, I found the stag at bay, and the dog vainly attempting to reach him. Beyond and imme- diately upon the tall rock, over the chasm, was au apparition, so unexpected and startling, that my steps were fastened to the rock, and I looked in utter be- wilderment, scarcely knowing whether it was real or imaginary. Slightly leaning forward, with hands 52 MINNIE BSKMON. clasped and lips parted, and with a countenance of deathly /paleness, stood the loveliest female figure I had ever beheld. She was beautiful in her terror — lier hair hanging in heavy masses as it had fallen from its fastenings upon her exquisitely arched neck. A noble Newfoundland stood bristling and growling be- fore her. At the instant the old dog came up, and with a fierce yell sprang at the stag,, the latter turn- ing upon his heels like lightning, and darting for the rock where the female stood. '"Down — down on your face!'' I screamed; but he lowered his antlers, and, like an arrow, shot over into the boiling gulf, carrying stranger, dogs, and all with him. A shriek came up distinctly above the roar of the waters, and I reached out to grasp the rock for support. As quickly I became strangely calm again, and rushed to the brink with a sickening sen- sation. My own dog and the deer were swimming in company down the swift current, but the New- foundler, with the shoulders of his insensible mistress in his grasp, was swimming about as if at a loss where to strike out. Loaning over the rock, I swung my hat and shouted until the dog heard me, and with little, hope of being understood, I urged him down the stream. The noble brute understood me, and struck out into the current. Eeckless of life or limb, 1 turned and ran to the foot of the precipice, reaching the bend in the river just as the nearly exhausted dog and his burden swept around the point. He had exhausted himself in stemming the tide in the attempt MINNJE HEUMON. 63 to reacli the shore ; and as he shot past, he turned upon me an eye whose strangely sad intelligence spoke mutely the language of despair. Leaping into the current, I struck out, and soon reached the dog and his prize, and after beating the current until nearly despairing, succeeded in reaching the shore. " It was a long time before life returned to the insen- sible form of the beautiful stranger ; but she was a prize worth saving ! She was the only child of a middle-aged man, who had just moved into the vil- lage, with the remains of a broken fortune. Her his- tory had been a sad one, as had mine ; and our spirits, kindred in misfortunes, craved each other's compan- ionship. " A dark tempter had wrought the ruin of Mr. Her- mon, and his wife had gone to her grave in the midst of the desolation. But like a star gleaming above the clouds of the storm, was the faith and de- votion of the daughter. " Minnie Sermon was just budding into woman- hood, and one of the most beautiful creatures of female purity and loveliness it had ever been my for- tune to become acquainted with. She was as gentle as a midsummer's breath, and as pure and lovely as that midsummer's flowers : ■ and yet, she was a rock amid the wrecked fortunes of her father. Her spirit stood proudly up, and with that strange energy pecu- liar to woman under such circumstances, looked calmly upon the storm, while the spirit of the strong man bowed to the earth. 54 MINNIE HBEMON. " Minnie possessed every virtue which sheds a lustre upon tlie character of woman. She was not wild or wayward; — a tinge of sadness mingled with the lovely calmness of her countenance ; her very motion, and look, and tone, were calm, falling upon all around like mellow sunlight. All loved Minnie Hermon. " I loved her with the intense, idolatrous devotion of youth. Our natures were similar ; our histories, too, were much the same ; and a feeling of dommon sym- pathy seemed to draw our hearts into closer com- munion the more we learned of each other's history. Each turned with sadness from the past, for we both had a drunken father, and both had lost a mother. " We were happy. The old woods stretched down the mountain side to the outskirts of the village ; streams leaped and danced to the valley's bed, and then babbled onward to the river. Many a wild nook was hidden among the mountains, and there we rambled and dreamed, with nature around us. "ISTot a word had ever passed our lips oilove ; and yet each heart knew all. Even as we watched t|ie gliding streams, or the sunlight as it faded out over the hills, hearts conversed while lips moved not ; and the warp and woof of a holy tie were weaving into our destinies. " Minnie was no ordinary woman. Her mind had suffered nothing from the education of so called fash- ionable life : its native — in some respects more than masculine — strength was unimpaired. The circum- stances of her father's failure had brought out all the 'UDERBACHSC MINNIE AND WALTER. MINNIE HEEMON. 57 energies of Her character, hj throwing her back upon her own resources. She had improved all her advan- tages, and still retained the original nobleness and purity of her nature. " And thus we spent some of our brightest years, dreaming together as we watched the drifting of the summer clouds, which were mirrored in the bosom, of the lake which slept amoog the hills. " .Dreams are like clouds ! — a cloud was drifting ovei o-ur sky, surcharged with a bitter storm." b'» 3 CHAPTER IV. A NEW PROJECT. " The business of the little village was increasing, and it was talked of that the little community needed a tavern : its business interests required such an ' ac- commodation,' it was thought. And so the matter was gravely discussed ; and as Mr. Hermon seemed to be best located for the accommodation of ' the pub- lic,' he was urged to open a tavern. Of course rum must be sold ; for, at that day, a tavern could not have been kept without it. That fatal idea has filled a world with dead men's bones. " I had not yet heard of the project on foot. On entering the dwelling of Hermon one evening, I found Minnie in tears. Her eyes were red and swollen with weeping, and long, convulsive sobs were struggling for utterance. I was startled, but soon learned the cause of her trouble, for she told me all. " The remembrance of the past swept over her like the shadow of gloom, and she shrank from the dark- ened future. Her father had that evening informed her of the new project, and of his determination to carry it out. " I saw it all at a glance. I not only saw the troub- "les which were thickening over the head of Minnie, A NEW PEOJECT. 59 but felt their malign influence sweeping across my own sky. A presentiment of swift-coming evil dark- ened in the heart, as my mind dwelt with painful in- tensity upon the history of my own mother and her unhappy death. "At the close of the last section, I spoke to the read- er of a cloud which was fast drifting across the sky of Minnie Hermon and myself I had no definite conception of what that cloud would be, yet a feel- ing of dread came over me. I felt its approach. iM shadow seemed to fall into my pathway, and I looked for the coming of some bitter trouble. I always be- lieved in presentiments, and the darkest one of my life warned me of some approaching trial. "At the close of a spring day, I wandered up the mountain to the accustomed retreat ; but the golden sunbeams faded out one by one, and Minnie came not. That same foreboding of evil came over me again, until the music of the waterfall miirmured with a tone of sadness, and the low breathings of the old forest were like sighs in the evening breeze. " I returned to the village and sought the residence of Mr. Hermon. I found him in company with my father and several other of the more prominent citi- zens of the place, busily discussing some matter in the parlor. " ' It will be worth a hundred dollars a year to the place,' remarked our merchant, as I entered. " 'Anjd besides, be a great accommodation to the traveling public,' continued Deacon Smith. 3 60 MINNIE HEEMON. " ' It will bring a great deal of business to the place,' lisped a young lawyer, who had just hung out his shingle in the village. " ' Not only that, but it will make business right here amongst us,' said the doctor, a man of much talent, and beloved by all with whom he associated. " ' We can then hold our general parades here,' re- marked Colonel James, and his eyes twinkled at the idea of his appearance in epaulettes in his own com- munity. " ' Farmers from the country will always find it a convenient stopping-place to stop when here to trade, or to get their milling done,' said a young farmer of wealth, who lived some three miles out of the village. " ' The thing will give us a reputation abroad,' con- tinued my father, as the party all left to continue the discussion of this new plan at the store. " "What this new project might be, which met with such cordial approbation from the leading men in the village, I had not learned. "As the company passed out, Minnie entered the room from an opposite direction. She met my usual greeting with a strange and embarrassing silence. I urged her to explain, when she only answered with a fresh burst of grief. "She wept herself into calmness, and then revealed to me the cause of her sorrows. "The subject of the discussion in the parlor was ex- plained, and I at once saw the nature of the cloud which hung ominously in pur sky. A faint, sickening A NEW PROJECT. 61 sensation crept to my heart while I listened to the footfalls of the tempter which was to transform our Eden into a realm of darkness. That tempter as- sumed no definite shape to my inexperienced mind. I saw nothing clearly, but yet I shuddered at Minnie's revelation. A low hiss murmured upon my ear, and a sound of demoniac laughter audibly started me from my chair. I involuntarily turned, but nothing but the pure moonlight beamed in at the window. " Why is it that the approach of some evil is so Btartingly foreshadowed ? "A TAVEEN was to be opened in the village. Tliis was the new project, and its necessity was urged by nearly all the inhabitants, in such kind of reasoning as was heard at the house of Hermon. A public house was needed, said such people, and as Mr. Her- mon was the best situated to open one, his house was hit upon for the tavern. Though I spoke words of cheer to Minnie, she could not smile, and there was a weight at my own heart, which gave the lie as they fell. She looked upon the project as the very foun- tain head of unutterable woe to her and hers. I re- marked, a,gainst my own convictions, that all might be well, but she solemnly answered : " ' Walter, you do not know all that I know of these taverns. I have seen my father leave his home and spend his time and money there, in the dead of win- ter, and poverty and want close around our hearth- side, until my own sunny childhood has been crushed, and the mother of my idolatry grew pale 62 MoreriE heemon. and emaciated for the want of fuel and bread ! Oli, God ! it is horrible to think of. I could have coined my 3'oung blood to have warmed and fed — to have saved her. I saw her thin and staggering form felled to the hearth by — my father's hand! Do you see this ? ' and she pointed to a broad scar on the back of her head. ' The same hand and the same weapon laid me senseless as I raised my child-hands to save my mother. And yet, a kinder father or happier home child never knew, than I once had. My heart burns within me until I well-nigh go mad, as the deep- rooted hatred against the cause of all our misery is aroused anew at the mention of a ta/vern. I have starved, "Walter — aye — starved for the want of bread. I have waded the cold winter drifts until my very heart was chilled to its centre, and then been laughed at by the crowd assembled. Pinched with cold and hunger, I have begged for a wasting mother. That mother died in a hovel, and was buried as a pauper, — the very fingers of death robbed of a wedding-ring wherewith to purchase rum ! The tavern did it all. May Ood)s curse rest upon them ! ' " Minnie bowed Jier face in her hands, and wept long and bitterly. I thought of my own mother, and of the letter which so fearfully revealed her sad his- tory, and mingled my own tears with hers. " Late at night, I returned with a heavy heart to my father's house. " The next morning, I asked my father what it was which he and his friends were so earnestly talking A NEW PROJECT. 63 about at Mr. Hermon's. There was a slight flush upon his cheek as he looked me in the eye, and ab- ruptly answered, " 'A tavern, sir ! ' " That ' sir,' stung me. The tone and the look were somewhat startling. I at once saw that it was a mat- ter which he did not wish to talk with me about ; but I became emboldened, and determined to discounte- nance the project, though all the magnates of the vil- lage should favor it. I spoke confusedly, yet with all the impetuous earnestness of youth. I felt that I was right. I dared to denounce taverns as a curse — as places where men were made to neglect and abuse their own families and disgrace themselves. " I had unthinkingly touched a tender spot, and his black eye kindled and flashed as he bent his- full gaze upon me. There was a paleness about his lips, and he breathed huskily through his clenched teeth, while a bitter and scornful smile gave his countenance a dark and forbidding outline. I knew he was deeply angered, yet feared him not. At any other time, I should have shrunk from such portents, but my young blood was up at his menacing appearance, and some mysterious influence unclosed a torrent of warm words from my lips. ^ I followed up my blows, he glaring at me, and his 'broad bosom heaving under excitement. " ^£oy ! ' at last he fiercely hissed between his hard- set teeth as his rage found vent in words, '■Boy ! no more out of your head, I'll not be thus outraged by 64 MINNIE HEEMON. your impudence. I can attend to yours. Go, sir, your presence can be dispensed with.' " He literally stamped and chafed, but while he boiled with passion, I became perfectly cool. I con- fess that there was something of revenge in ray cool- ness. The letter of my mother came up before me, and every word glowed like hot lava in my blood and burned upon my tongue's end. A pent-up tide of bitterness against my father gushed fiercely up, and I eagerly availed myself of the opportunity of re- vealing the knowledge I had so painfully acquired, of intemperance, and its fatal effects upon my mother. He had not dreamed of such knowledge on my part, and readily supposed that I knew more of his early course than I really did. My unguarded and hot words stung him like serpents, and he grew purple with rage. "Walking menacingly up to where I stood, he raised his clenched hand, and with a fearful oath or- dered me to be gone. " '■Leave the room, you yoUng reptile,' he fiercely said, his hand still raised. The blow which fell years ago upon the dying mother, blistered upon my own cheek, and I fearlessly retorted while looking him full in the face, " ^Strike ! the hand that basely crushed a broken hearted mother, would have little hesitation in striking the child.' " My father's face grew livid as I deliberately pro- nounced the words, and instead of striking me, as I expected he would, he turned away like a drunken A NEW PROJECT. 65 man, and reseated himself in his chair. I left the room, regretting the harsh words I had spoken, and yet not altogether displeased with the effect they evi- dently produced upon him. "Ever after, in our conversation, my father treated me with marked coolness and reserve. I was grieved at this, for I felt that from my heart I wished his own good in what I had said of a mother. Oh, if I could at that time have enjoyed the light of that world-wide flame which has since been kindled upon the temper- ance altar, I feel that I could have headed-off the new project. " I freely and frankly told Minnie of the conversa- tion which had passed between my father and myself. " ' We are doomed,' said she, in reply. ' I have warned father. I have reminded him of the promise — the sacred and solemn vow he made at the bedside of my dying mother, as she placed my childish hands in his — never to visit a tavern, or drink again. I told him of that mother's sufferings — of my own — of his fearful fall, and long and 'dark pilgrimage of deg- radation. I knelt to him and wet his hands with my tears as I wept in the fullness of my grief, and be- sought him by all that was dark in the past, com- fortable in the present, and blissful in the future, to abandon the tavern project. But, Walter, I have no hope that he will, and I fear that my poor heart has hardly tasted the bitterness yet to come. I can al- ready see the result of this — he is determined. The tear that for a moment gathered in his eye, as I spoke WmoriE HEEMON. of my sainted mother in heaven, waa chased away by a flash of untamed passion, and he rudely bade me desist. "Walter, the accursed work has already com- menced! I learned that he had been then drinking, and I-have since found a bottle hidden away in the closet ! God pity me ! ' " The truth flashed upon me ; — my own father had been drinking at the time he exhibited such passion. I had not dreamed that it was rum instead of rage which caused him to reel as he turned away from me that morning. Our merchant kept liquors for medv- cvnal purposes, and it was there where the damning fires of intemperance had been covertly kindled anew. " I now felt myself older by years, than a few days. Age had crept into my young heart, and chased the smile from my countenance. I felt that I stood in the position of a protector to Minnie, for our whole com- munity were enlisted for the new tavern. I felt the full baptism of manhood come upon me, and spoke boldly and frankly to her of love, and t)fi^ered my hand in marriage. She laid her hand in mine, and with all the wealth of her deep and pure affection, returned mine. I urged her to an immediate union, and thus joined, to seek a retreat of our own, and to- gether meet and turn aside the storm which was ga- thering around us. But she would not yet consent She said she was the only kin of her father, an' could not consent to leave him alone and unwatcl e-i over in the troubles which were evidently comifli upon him. A NEW PEOJECT. 67 " 'No, Walter, do not urge me. My love would lead me with you to the ends of the earth, and through any trial, hut it seems to me that duty says, stay. I fear the worst ; and if my father again falls into that fearful abyss, who will care for him if I do not ? I know all you would say of his past negli- gence — nay, cruelty — but should I leave him while there is a single hope ? It may be that I can save him. At any rate, if I cannot stay the cloud whose shadow already falls so darkly around us, I can cling to him when it bursts.' " My youthful earnestness — my strong love of Minnie, grew impatient under such reasoning ; but she was firm, and I loved her the more as I witnessed her deep and changeless devotion to the welfare of her father. It revealed still more of that angelic worth which had bound me so closely to the unassu- ming girl. Her heroic spirit gave me nerve, and I left her with a stronger reliance upon my own man- hood, to meet whatever of ill might be in store for CHAPTEE V. THE SPELL BROKEN EVIL COUNSELS PEETAIL. " The people were infatuated with the new project. The remonstrances of Minnie and myself were but the feather's weight against the determination of the leading men of the community. I was looked upon as a meddlesome, impertinent young fellow, and she as a silly girl, whose feelings in the matter were in- fluenced by me. The place demanded apubUe house, and the traveling public could not be accommodated without one. The tavern must be opened. " Minnie avowed her determination once more to at- tempt to persuade her father to abandon the project of opening the tavern. " Late one evening, Mr. Hermon sat by the parlor window, looking dreamily out upon the landscape which lay like a fairy realm under its wealth of moon- beams. Clear and calm, its smile stole silently in upon the carpet, and lingered, like the messenger of innocence and purity upon the feverish cheek of the old man. With as noiseless a step, the lights and the shadows of other days lay mingled in the heart. The holy beauty and the associations of the hour were weaving a spell over the heavings of a troubled spirit, and the old man looked upward. Minnie well under- stood the wayward moods of her father, and knew, as THE SPELL BROKEN. 69 she had watched him from her seat upon the sofa, that his better nature was uppermost. "With a gentle touch she swept the strings of her harp, her soul vi- brating in every tone as she bowed over the instru- ment and wept. It had been her mother's harp, and the air was a favorite one of hers ; its touching sweet- ness often banishing the frown from her father's brow, and melting his stern nature to tenderness. " A tear glittered a moment on the cheek of Her- mon, though brushed hastily away. But Minnie saw it, and, uniting her voice with the harp, she gave the words of the familiar hymn with all the sad fervor which her heart could feel. There was a tear in her tones, and they mingled like the low sweep of an an- gel's wing upon the stillness around. Herraon bowed his face ere the last words had died away. That hymn had opened the fountain of a thousand memo- ries, and he could not but weep. " "With a beating heart, Minnie stole across the room and kneeled at her father's feet, weaving her arms around his knees and looking up in his face. " ' My own dear father ! here, upon my knees, I need not tell you how much I love you. You know that no fortune can drive me from you. In the dark past J have clung more closely, as every other friend de- serted. Father ! look upon your only kin. As you love me — my sainted mother who smiles upon us to- night, — as you love yourself and Heaven, tell me now that you will have nothing to do with this tavern business. "Will you not, my father ? ' And the 70 MINNIE HEEMON. pleading girl caught his hand, and warmed it with her tears. Emotion stirred the strong man as he felt the pure gush upon his parched hand, and his heart was moved to say as she wished. The dark tempter was weakened in that bitter hour, and before the daughter's pleading ; but yet the fearful bonds were upon him. The large drops stood out upon his fore- head, and Hermon would have joyed to have escaped the toils which were weaving around him. " ' But I have promised, my child,' at last said her father, hesitatingly. " ' God help you to break that promise ! ' fervejitly replied Minnie. ' Happiness and Heaven are worth more than faith kept with wrong. I need not tell you all that I feel, father ; but bitter wo is upon us if you keep the promise. As you promised my moth- er, so promise me this night, and we will still be happy. "Will you not?' "Minnie had arisen, and was imprinting a kiss on the old man's cheek, when footsteps were heard in the hall. My father and Deacon McGarr wished to speak with Mr. Hermon. " The holy spell was broken, and the tempter was triumphant. When Minnie again saw her father, the usual frown was upon his features, and the fume of rum was upon his lip. ISTo effort of hers could obtain a word from him in relation to the matter so pain- fully interesting to her. The next morning witnessed demonstrations which destroyed all her hopes of de- feating the plan. THE SPELL BKOKE.V. 71 " The carpenters and masons were soon at work re- pairing, remodeling, and adding to, the dwelling of JVI^r. Hermon. A ' bar-room ' was built on, and the upper story of the main building made into a ' ball- room.' Sheds and stables were erected on the beau- tiful yard below the dwelling ; the bright and smooth greensward was cut up with hoofs and wheels, and covered with luinber, and stone, and sand. The wide- topped maples, now loaded with all the gorgeous wealth of their autumn garniture of gold and crimson, were considered in the way of ' improvements,' and were cut down. I watched the axe as stroke after stroke eat to the heart's core, and every blow hurt my own. I had passed some of the brightest hours of my ex- istence beneath their wide branches, and when the rustling pyramids fell to the ground with a sigh, I felt that old friends had been severed from the earth. Their limbless trunks were rudely dragged away through the dirt, and the scattered leaves rudely trodden under foot. " The dwelling of Mr. Hermon assumed an entire new aspect. The sound of the hammer, the saw, and the trowel, rang out through the quiet village, and kept alive the discussion about the tavern. Citizens assembled at evening to smoke and talk the matter over, each suggesting this and that improvement; good matrons stopped from their shopping or visiting to gaze over their specks at the change, while the 'ball-room' elicited the liveliest attention oi the misses. The boys looked on with childish wonder 72 MINNIB IIEEMON, and gratification, and danced around the blazing pile of shavings which the carpenters had fired in the street at nightfall. " The tavern was soon completed. The 'bar' was nicelj arranged, and received the unanimous admira- tion of the villagers ; for all, as they came in every evening to see how the thing ' got along,' had sugges- tions to make. A small piazza was built in front of the bar-room, and a broad bench placed the entire length, for the accommodation of customers. A new cedar pump had been put into the well, the top ' peaked ' and painted white. " The tavern awaited the furniture. The neighbors made a ' bee ' and cleared away the rubbish in front, and drew in gravel around the shed and ' stoop.' The jug passed around freely during the afternoon, and at night a garrulous group gathered on the benches under the stoop, and for the hundredth time spoke of the great benefits which were to result from the tavern. " A ' sign ' was needed to announce the home for the traveler. After much consultation and suggestion of many names, that of ' Traveler's Home ' was fixed upon. The sign was soon completed, with scrolls and gilded spear points, and swung up near the pump be- twixt two tall posts. On the centre of the board, the painter had placed a beehive, as an emblem of indus- try and thrift, and beneath, the motto, '"peace and plenty.' The sign made a very neat appearance, and for a few days received the same attentions from the villagers as had the other improvements. THE SPELL BEOKEN. 73 " One more arrangement, and the tavern would be ready to go into operation. There was a law regular tingf the sale of liquors and the keeping of public houses, allowing none but moral mm, to engage in so honorable and necessary an avocation. The tavern must be legally kept. " At that day, the man who had dared to intimate that a tavern could be kept without liquor, would have been hooted at as a fool or madman. For how could travelers be entertained without ' accommoda- tions ? ' The weary wayfarer would suffer alternately with heat and cold, if there was nothing to ' take.' A man or beast entertained at a public house where liquors were not sold ! " The supervisor and the justices of the peace were notified of the completion of Mr. Hermon's tavern, and applied to as a board of excise, for a license to keep it legally, or according to law. That grave body assembled the last of October, for it was important that a public house should be opened before the fall election." CHAPTEE VI. THE "home" A WRONG EEQULATED. The leader will remember that we have been in- troducing our characters upon the stage while the arrangements were completing for the licensing of the 'Traveler's Home.' There are many more actors to be introduced before the drama all passes before the reader. Late in the evening before the day of the meet- ing of the excise board, the villagers were gathered on the steps of the ' Home,' or setting on the benches^ all deeply interested in the success of the new enter prise, and calculating on the benefits to the place by a large increase of business. Deacon McGarr, one of the justices, the supervisor, and several others of the magnates, were conversing in a low and earnest tone, of the probable rise in the value of the village lots and water privileges. Conspicuous above all was the village blacksmith. "We must give an outline of ' Jim Gaston,' as tbfc huge Vulcan was familiarly called by his neighbors, as he will again appear in some of the future chapters. Gaston's proportions were giant-like, he being six feet and eight inches in height, and of immense breadth of shoulders and strength of limb. His fist was as 75 large as his own sledge, and calloused with industri- ous toil. His huge head was buried in a dense un- dergrowth of black, bushy hair, features coarse and bronzed, but pleasant with the smile of undeviating good nature. In his broad bosom was as warm and true a heart as ever beat for family or friend, and all who knew him respected him as a genial-hearted, hard-working, honest man. With all his physical strength, Gaston had never been known to have an angry word in his life, with a customer or neighbor. On the contrary, he had on several occasions prompt- ly, though good-naturedly, used his strength in de- fence of the weaker against the stronger. His own broad smile and happy disposition were infectious, and, winter or summer, early or late, his stentorian voice was heard, the accompaniment of his hammer and anvil. Gaston, in his red flannel shirt, his open bosom and heavy neck and face begrimmed with smut from his day's toil at the forge, was cracking his good-humored jokes, as he sat on a pile of lumber in front of the stoop, and his deep hearty laugh rolling out from a wide throat. He was watching a merry group of children who were playing " hide and seek " in the thickening twilight, as happy as the happiest of them all. One pale and diminutive little fellow had nestled closely under the massive legs of the good-natured blacksmith, and a larger one behind his wide shoul- ders. While the boy on the "gool" was hunting his comrades under the shed, Gaston clasped the boy at 76 MimSTE HBEMON. his back, and carelessly walked with him to the gool without suspicion, and dropped him upon it. No child laughed harder than he at the little ruse. Such are the outlines of " Jim Gaston," the blacksmith. * The evening had well advanced, and Deacon McGarr arose to go. At that moment Hermon came out of the bar-room with a glass and decanter in his hand, and passed to the end of the stoop where McGarr was lingering and talking with Gaston a moment, about some work to be done early in the morning. " Deacon," said Hermon, " I suppose there is no doubt about my haying a license to sell ; and as I al- ready have my liquors on hand, perhaps you would like to try a glass. I rather pride myself on my choice selection." " Well, I don't know — what have you in the de- canter ? " and McGarr's eye glistened as he rolled a huge tobacco quid from his cheek into his hand and tossed it into the street, wiping his palm on his pants. "Brandy, Deacon — fourth proof, and as smooth as oil. I can vouch for its quality," and Hermon poured a stiff horn into the tumbler, p,nd handed it to McGarr. Sure enough, the brandy went down like oil, and McGarr gave an approving ahem as he wiped his lipa with the back of his hand ; then planting, his feet well apart and throwing out his capacious person with a pompous swing as he raised upon his toes, he pulled his large tin tobacco-box from his pocket, and THE "home." 11 compressing a startling roll in his thumb and three fin- gers, twisted it into his mouth, and with his tongue thrust it to the accustomed receptacle in the cheek ; then putting his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, and sticking out his little fingers in ludicrous efl'orts to show ofi" his importance by discussing the qualities of the liquor he had drank at different times, spitting dignifiedly, working his little fingers, and swaying backwards and forwards alternately upon his toea and heels. The decanter went round, and all drinked of the brandy, though the most of them made horrible faces as the raw liquid went down their throats. Among the latter was Gaston and the oldest son of McGarr. As the unwieldy blacksmith strangled and gasped for water and the tears stood in his eyes, the older part of the company enjoyed a hearty laugh. The matter was more serious with young McGarr, and the children who remained were merry at his tears and wry faces. " It is nothing to laugh at," said old McGarr, evi- dently a little piqued, as he stroked his chin with his hand ; " Harry is but a mere boy, and has not the ex- perience of older people." The company ceased laughing, and young McGari took courage and looked up, with a boldness which gave promise of speedy manhood in the matters spoken of. His ambition was aroused to arrive at that point where he could swallow the dram as well as older men. • — A fatal ambition. 78 MrNNXE HKEMON. The villagers had all departed to their homes, and the long, wide street was hushed and still. Not a light was to be seen, or a footfall heard. Thick, mur- ky clouds had gathered around the horizon, and the increasing night wind sighed dismally through the branches of the maple which had been left standing near the shed of the "Traveler's Home." From the window of the sitting-room there now came the hum of voices, low, half whispering and sad, like the falling of tear-drops in the stillness of the night. It was Minnie Hermon and Walter Bray- ton, in sad communion upon the matter so fearfully interesting to them. " Is there no way, "Walter, by which this scheme can be defeated ? I am as certain that ruin will come of it, as that the morning will dawn. Oh, were I a man ! " " "What would you, what could you do, Minnie, to avert the result? The house is all arranged, the liquors are here, and to-morrow the board meets to give your father a license. Tell me." Walter spoke earnestly and sadly, for her words had wounded him. Minnie had lost her resolute tone, and hung her head as she thought she had said too much. " Pardon me, Walter, for I spoke from the strength of feeling and not soberly. I don't know that any- thing can be done. I have plead, but.it all does no good. I have said all that I dare to ; but, Walter, father is changed of late — he frowns and curses as he did when mother was living." THK "home." Y9 " "Well, Minnie," said Brayton, with assumed con- fidence, " let us hope for the best. I have made up my mind to attend the meetings of the board to- morrow, and protest against the matter." " It will do no good, Walter, they will all be against you." " No matter ; your father — they all will be offend- ed, but they shall hear me," and "Walter Brayton, firm in the strength of an honest purpose, raised him- self to his full height, as if eager to grapple with some imaginary enemy. "With the sky overcast and the darkness around them, Minnie and "Walter whispered kindly words to each other and parted. She listened to his retreating footsteps and to the sighing wind, and closed the door with darkening thoughts. It had rained during the night, enough to prevent the farmers from attending their usual avocations on the following day. This, with the interest which the new tavern created, attracted a large number of peo- ple to the village, and when the hour came for the as- sembling of the board, the " Home " was thronged. The members were proud of their positions, and of appearing before their townsmen on an occasion of so much importance, and so, to make the matter as public as possible, they adjourned from the small sit- ting-room to the new and capacious ball chamber. Even this room was soon filled, and the benches by the walls were soon crowded, and a large number standing in the open space. No one could correctly 80 MUSTNIE HEKMON. determine what particular thing had called the large assembly together, but an unusual official proceeding was to take place, and the interest was intense. They were to see a tavern licensed ! There was a busy hum among the people, and all were anxiously awaiting the commencement of the proceedings. At last Deacon McGarr took it upon himself to walk around behind the table, and after looking wisely through his spectacles upon the assembly, proceeded to call the board to order ; whereupon the other mem- bers modestly took their places at the table. The supervisor was a white-haired old gentleman — an honest and well-meaning old farmer, but little used to public business. The remaining members were of the average material selected in country towns for Buch positions. McGarr was still standing, one hand in his panta loons pocket and the other resting upon the back of the statute, which had occupied a conspicuous place before him, he still looking solemnly over his specta- cles, as if to awe into perfect silence before he pro- ceeded farther. Just at this juncture there was a bustle at the door, and the tall form of Colonel "Wes- ton appeared conspicuous. McGarr assumed a bland smile and beckoned the Colonel towards him, and while the wealthy young farmer was elbowing his way through the crowd, the Deacon had officially driven some of the smaller fry from their seats, and secured a wide berth for him near the table. Close 81 in the wake of Weston swayed the huge form of the blacksmith, his face covered with smut and smiles. The Deacon did not esteem Gaston as important a personage, and left him standing in the crowd, his shoulders and open fll,nnel shirt bosom conspicuous above the heads of them all. After "Weston had taken his seat, McGarr looked as sternly and solemnly as ever over his spectacles, and then elevating his face and looking through them, his hands locked under the skirts of his coat behind him, after spitting with due precision, he broke the impressive silence. " I suppose, gentlemen, you are all aware of the object which has convened us here." The Deacon dropped his head impressively and looked over his spectacles, after adjusting them more carefully upon his nose and again putting his hands together under his coat tails. Finding that the si- lence was duly respected, he spit again, and con tinued. " I say, gentlemen, we are met here as a board of exercise, for the purpose of granting a license to Mr. Hermon, to keep a tavern. I need n't 'lucidate on th.e advantages of a tavern in a place like this. No, gentlemen, — it is plain to every one, that a house for the accommodation of the public, is highly needed among us. lj>ersu?ne there is not a single descending voice against a tavern — not one." Mr. McGarr, at the conchision of the last sentence, given in an emphatic tone, jerked his thick body vio- 82 MnnsriE heemon. leiitly forward to make it still more emphatii., his specs falling from his nose upon the table. A titter ran round' the outside of the room, among the young- er portion of the audience, and the Deacon colored deeply at such an interruption*of his speech. But he •wiped his specs, and as he again put them on, he dropped his brow, rolled his quid to the other side of his mouth, and again looked silently around over his glasses. "Gentlemen and la gentlemen. "We need a tavern. Our feller citizen, Mr. Hermon, has prepared to keep one, and wants a license. He is a man of excellent moral character, and we are obliged as a board of exercise, to give him one. The law is plain on \h.\s,pint." As he concluded, he took his specs off with one hand, and with the other dropped the " statoo " emphatically upon the table. With a self- satisfied air, he pulled away his coat skirts and sat down, crossing his legs and resting his thumbs in his vest. As he looked afound to see what effect his speech had made upon the spectators, he slowly stroked his chin, and drummed, on the floor with his foot. Wo one said a word, and McGarr, with a conde- scending air, finally suggested that perhaps others might wish to make a few remarks upon the subject before them. Whereupon the supervisor raised about half way up, with his hand resting upon the post of his chair, and stammered out the idea that there ought to be a tavern in the place, and then sat down THE "home." 83 drawing a long breath. During this time, Mr. Har- mon was standing in front of the table, with his hat in his hand, his chin resting upon the crown. Old Mr. Brayton was resting upon the corner of the table. " Gentlemen, as you have given opportunity, I wish to make a few remarks." All turned as these words, in low and tremulous but pleasant and distinct tones, arrested their atten- tion. Deacon McGarr so far forgot his dignity as to raise himself partially from his chair, and look towards that part of the room from whence the voice proceeded ; then putting his hand behind his ear, in a listening attitude, he requested the gentle- man to speak louder. Thus assured, the speaker stood upon the bench where all could see him. It was Walter Brayton. His countenance was flushed, and he hesitated with embarrassment, but he was committed and all eyes were turned upon him. "I see, my friends, that I shall be alone in what I have to say, but before God I believe I am in the right, and I must speak honestly. Alone though I may be, I most earnestly and solemnly protest against this whole aft'air. I know that I shall ofi'end when I say it, but I think I can- see that your tavern, instead of being a benefit, will be a deep and lasting injury. It ought never to be." Walter spoke rapidly, but with an honest energy which riveted attention. His were novel thoughts at that day, and his a bold and embarrassing position 4 84 MINNIE HEKMON. But there was the ring of the true metal in his manly tones, and had he been spared in his strength until a later day, his moral heroism would have made him a leader whose words would have been a trumpet's blast. Deacon McGarr looked more sternly than ever over his glasses, and chewed his quid rapidly, casting in- quiring looks from the father to the son. The elder Bray ton sat with a frown and compressed lip, and Hermon looked angrily towards McGarr. " Does the young man know what he is talking about?" asked McGarr, with attempted sternness, eyeing "Walter over his glasses. " Tes, sir," replied the latter, respectfully but firm- ly ; "I am talking of a tavern which you propose this day to empower to sell intoxicating liquors to your neighbors. I know that I am talking to older men, but I believe that the result of your action will bring desolation and sorrow to your homes and fami- lies in the future. This is a peaceful, happy commu- nity now, but you commence the retail of spirituous liquors, and in my humble opinion, every one of you, gentlemen of the board, will regret it." " Does the young man dare to imprecate the board of exercise? Such language cannot be permitted. The young man will please take his seat. Boys like he should not presume to label the board. What does he know about licensed taverns, and by whose authority does he come here to instruct men like we are « " THE "home." 85 McGarr grew pale with anger as he proceeded, and sat down with the air of one who felt that he had an- nihilated his man. But he was mistaken in the metal of "Walter Brayton. The sneering tone and everbear- ing manner of the Deacon aroused the lion in him ; and with a kindling eye and erect form he burst forth in a torrent of burning eloquence, which startled and thrilled by its power. The natural orator was there, and that audience, against him though they were, listened in wrapt attention. " Tea," he spoke in conclusion, his clear ringing voice slightly tremulous with emotion, "your tavern will prove a curse. I cannot foretell all its results, but it will prove a curse. Deacon McGarr, in a man- ner and tone unworthy one of his profession, has sneered at my youth. My boyhood is no crime. Boy as I am, I coilld reveal a history which would draw tears from every eye — a history of hopes ruined — of suffering and of death." " This cannot be tolerated ; your stories have no- thing to do with the matter before the board," ex- claimed McGarr, in a loud and angry tone. " You will take your seat, sir." " I have done. Deacon McGarr — my painful duty is performed." Here "Walter caught his father's eye, now flashing with anger, and he continued. " Ton ask me by what authority I come here. I have the same right as every other American citizen. In behalf of the women and children of this commu- nity ; of a sorrowing, broken-hearted mother who is 86 MINNIE HEEMON, at rest in her grave ; by that well-worn Bible which rum snatched from her dying pillow ; by ten thou- sand histories of wrong and suffering, I most solemnly protest against this proceeding. You will see the time when you will curse this day with hearts of deepest bitterness, every one of you. I have done." " And it ought to ie cursed ! " A strangely deep and startling voice broke in upon the stillness which followed the speech of "Walter Brayton. There was a movement to see from whence it came, and McGarr, livid with ill-suppressed rage, called out, "Who is that?" " One yov/r tavern is to benefit. Deacon McGarr,'' and he stepped up in fair view, and fixed his fiery red but piercing eye full upon the dignitary he addressed. We recognize our acquaintance in the seaman's jacket and broad-brimmed tarpaulin. " The man is drunk — he is drunk, put him out — Constable Gaston, put him out — I order you ! " The dignity of the waspish official had been too deeply insulted, and he fairly danced with excess of rage. " Put him out, I say — I order you to put him out," and the exasperated Deacon snatched his glasses off and pointed to where the seaman still stood, looking calmly and sneeringly upon the scene. Gaston good- naturedly laid his huge hand on the man's shoulders and led him peacefully down stairs. That speech of Walter Brayton's was a glorious one THE " HOME." 87 for that day, but the granting of the license was a foregone conclusion, and as soon as the excitement had subsided, the board, after some favorable remarks from Colonel Weston, proceeded to complete the business which had called them together, and the " Traveler's Home " was licensed. That evening and the following day the " Home " was open to all, and liquors free. — The first results were in progress. CHAPTEE YIl. DEATH ru THE ATTIC. Darkness rests like a pall upon the streets wliich are now deserted. The busy throng which has swept the thoroughfares until late at night, has ceased to flow, and the great metropolis no longer throbs its living tide through the accustomed arteries. The snow has been falling fast for an hour, and the sharp gusts sweep round the corner and go wailing down the dim avenues, as if sorrowing* for human woe. The lamp lights gleam pale and sickly out through the storm. The policemen, or some reveller, and the winds, alone disturb the silence that reigns. Turn downward where the lepers of want and vice have gathered as if in sympathy. The foul crater is active, for its more deadly fumes ascend in the dark- ness of the night. Down below the surface of earth, are pits where the ruffianly and the vile are at their revels. There is a faint, deathly glare from the dirty windows, and, in spite of the wintry blast, an occa- sional breath of the rum hell reeking beneath. And then there often comes up some startling ha ! ha ! to mingle with the shrieking of the wind. Here is a dark alley, scarce wide enough to admit a person, and running back where no light breaks in DEATH IN THE ATTIC. 89 flpon the impenetrable darkness. The foot strikes a step and we climb upward upon a creaking flight of stairs. The snow and wind whirl fiercely over the roof and shake the crazy structure to its founda- tion, but we lean closer to the walls and mount upward. Five stories up, and we stand upon a narrow plat- form and peer down with a whirling brain into the black ocean below. Turning into a narrow hall, we stand before a shattered door, revealing a feeble light within. Even in this winter night, the miasma of pollution floats through the building like a pestilence. "What a scene, as we enter that chamber ! Here poverty and want grin in their ghastly loneliness and solitude. The silence of desolation broods over all, and the faint lamp-light flickering to its wane, is like the beam which creeps up from the exhalations of the grave. There is not a coal in the grate, nor a chair in the room. The gusts of wind sift the snow through the cracks by the door, and an involuntary chill steals over the surface and then into the heart. Starvation, gaunt, pinched and spectral, stalks before the imagination, and mingles a footfall with every gust that rattles the shattered door. — And do human creatures dwell in such abodes as this ? Hist! There is a sound in that dark corner. There is a sigh as if a life of agony were crushed at once from the heart. And then a spectre form slowly rises and 90 MmNIB HEEMON. stalks towards the light. It is a woman, but God! how thin and haggard I A fiercer gust shakes the old building. She stands in a listening attitude, as its low wail dies awav, and then, wildly staring at va- cancy, takes her seat mechanically upon a box by the light. Her face is thin, and every feature the foot- print of unutterable agony. The eyes a;re sunken and inflamed, but as tearless as her cheek and lip are bloodless. The latter is thin and drawn closely, as if in mortal suffering, over her teeth. She leans towards the waning taper, and takes a garment in her hand upon which she has been sew- ing. How fearfully tearless and calm she appears. "We look until some nightmare fascination chains us to the spot. Save a startling wildness about the eye, it would not seem that those features had ever been stirred by a human passion. She holds her hands towards the light in the attempt to thread her needle, but fails ; and still, with her hands extended, stares at the dim taper. There is a stirring in the heap of rags beside her, and the woman starts as if stung by an adder. The faintest flush passes over her cheek, and she mutters to herself as she more hurriedly essays to thread the needle. From that heap of rags a boy has come forth I Child of ten years, perhaps — he stands before that spectral mother, and in husky whispers asks for bread. She stares strangely into his face, and still mutters to herself. DEATH IN THE ATTIC. 91 The boy is almost naked and shivering with cold, and upon those childish features hunger has written enough to pierce the hardest heart. The very look is a hopeless, heart-breaking agony. The child bows his head in that woman's lap with a sob-like moan, and then moves with a languid step to the grate and lays his fingers, already blue with cold, upon the frosty iron. The chill causes him to start, and he re- turns moaning to the woman. The hand has fallen in her lap, and the boy lays his cold cheek down upon it and weeps. She laughs ! but it is the low, honible ha ! ha ! of the maniac ! " Mother ! dear mother, give me one mouthful of bread. Hain't there bread enough where Pa has gone ? Mother, will God give me bread if I say my prayers ? " The child kneels, and the prayer his mother taught him goes feebly up against the wail of the blast, and then, with weariness and hunger, the little pleader falls to sleep on his knees, his head on his mother's hand. — That mother smiles as she still stares at vacancy. The storm has passed, and the" morning ligh of the Sabbath dawns upon the great city. The church bells are pealing out the Sabbath melody, and gay throngs of people are wending along to the richly furnished churches. Here "are shawls which 92 MTfTNIE HEEMON. a queen might envy, and equipages of princely splendor. Early this Sabbath morning, a cold-hearted land- lord goes up the lone stairway for the promised pit- tance of rent, and knocks at the door, which the reader has already entered. He awaits but a moment and angrily enters. " No playing games with me, madam. That money or leaA)e. D'ye hear, woman ? " The ruflfian was used to scenes of suffering, but he started back at the one before him. That pale, hag- gard woman-spectre was still seated by the lamp now burned out, the garment and needle in her hand, and that horrible smile upon her features, and that wild eye gazing into vacancy. The lamp had burned down and died out in its socket. The lamp of life, too, had waned during that cold, dreary night, and a corpse sat there, holding the needle in the emaciated fingers, and smiling in death. The boy slept against the rigid and pulseless form of the toil-worn, heart-broken, hungered mother. That day the officer entered the fireless chamber to remove the dead seamstress. In that dark corner, where the woman was first seen, was the^usband. He had been a corpse for more than ten days, and she toiling to escape starvation, and watching with the shroudless, unburied dead. The two found a home and an endless rest in " Pot- ter's Field," and the pinched and starving boy, bread in the alms-house. DEATH m THE ATTIO. 93 Another act in the great tragedy of intemperance had been played out, and the curtain of wintry clod and snow closed upon the principal actors. The fashionable throng passed from their churches, while the starved paupers went to their graves. CHAPTEE VIII. A WEDDDSTQ AT THE COTTAGE " ONLY ONE GLASS." AoEOSS the stream, upon the overhanging bank, was one of the loveliest spots in the village. The village doctor dwelt here. The cottage was nearly hidden in a dense grove of sugar maples, dotted here and there with green pyramids of the spruce and the fir, and the clean gravel walk wound deviously among the shrubbery from the threshold to the gate, through a rich carpeting of green. Autumn had already commenced its language of beauty upon the foliage ; and, mixed with the more copious green of summer, was the golden yellow, with scattering tufts of scarlet, gleaming like wreaths of flame in the pure October sunlight. The eaves of the Cottage were green with moss, and the wild vines had crept up one corner and clung closely to the old water trough, and dropped in graceful festoons before the quaint old window in the gable. Back of the dwelling were two old pear trees, reaching far up into the sky, and their trunks green with the moss of years. A little farther, and the grape had climbed into a wild plum, and an impenetrable canopy of cool green network hung gracefully above the old seat at the roots. Sloping back from the gar- den, was a meadow reaching down until the turf dip- v,/ ONLY ONE GLASS. A "WEDDINtt AT THE COTTAGE. 97 ped its long green fringe into the stream. Back qf all, the hills beat up against the sky with their robing of dark evergreen, flecked here and there with the crimsoning maple or yellow birch. — One might hunt for years and not find a lovlier spot. Ten years before the time of which we are writing, there was sorrow in th.e old cottage. The sun smiled sweetly in the west and into the high old windows, but there were dark shadows on hearts within. An old man was wrestling with death. Delirium was upon him, and he raved in his madness of a stranger name, and cursed and died. The orphan child who had never known a mother, wept in all the bitterness of childhood's grief upon the corpse of her father. She knew not that the madness which swept the sky of his life's last evening, was the madness of the bowl. She found herself alone in the old cottage, a beauti ful, sorrowing orphan. But childhood's sorrows pass away. The sun smilej upon the tear-drops of the passing storm. Ten years went by, and the orphan child had bloomed into faultless womanhood, and moved a star in the circles around her, for she was as good as she was lovely. The gifted and noble young Howard had settled in tlie place and commenced the practice of medicine. His talent, professional skill, and high moral worth, made him at once a favorite. He was a young man of rare promise, though without means. His practice 98 imrarB heemon. led him to form the acquaintance of the lovely orphan, and a strong mutual attachment sprang up between them. One evening in June there was a gathering at the cottage, and light-hearted throngs rustled up the walks to the shadowy old porch. Lights streamed from the windows, and pleasant voices went out upon the still and balmy air. Merry groups gathered upon the soft greensward, or tripped with low whispers through the balcony, hidden by green jealousies and pendant boughs. An ocean of pure moonlight bathed the world in its mellow flood. A wedding party has gathered — • Howard and the fair orphan are to stand at the altar. All was light and joy in the old cottage. The " Doctor " was a favorite, and the invitation had been general ; and the old and the young of both sexes were gathered on the occasion. There was a sound of merry voices floating from the open windows out upon the calm night air, with a pleasant mingling of laughter and music. The par- son had not yet made his appearance, and spirits were buoyant and tongues unfettered. " Is what I hear true. Colonel, about the Doctor? Or is it some neighborhood gossip ? " This question was put by Miss Anson, (next to the orphan heiress, the belle of the village,) to Colonel Weston, a young and wealthy farmer, as they were promenading arm in arm up and down the gravel walk in front of the mansion. A WEDDmO AT THE OOTl'AGE. 99 " To what do you allude, Miss Anson ? " answered Weston. " "Why, have n't you heard ? — why, it is the neigh- borhood talk that the Doctor refuses to have wine at his wedding ! " " Is it possible ! I had not heard it before. But surely he will not so far depart from propriety and fashionable custom, as to treat his friends and guests thus disrespectfully ? " " I don't know about that. Miss Knight told me last evening, and she says that Miss Nelson's brother told her, that the Doctor positively refused to have wine at his wedding. I fear there is something ■ in it." " Surely," replied the Colonel, in unfeigned aston- ishment, " the Doctor cannot be so beside himself. I know he is somewhat eccentric in these matters, but what unaccountable whim has come over him now? " " I don't know. But if he persists, it will do him a great injury. It is already the town talk. Some friend should see him and talk him out of it. Not have wine at a wedding ! and belonging, too, to the first society ? " Miss Anson felt indignant at such, a contemplated violation of fashion and good breeding, and proceeded to commiserate the feelings of the bride under cir- cumstances so mortifying to her pride and good taste. ""Well, well," said Colonel Weston, musingly, " this will never do. I will see Doctor Howard my- self. Me must not take a step so objectionable and 100 MINNIE HEEMON. improper. Let me surrender my pleasant post, Miss Anson, to Mr. Mason for a few moments, while I go to do my friend a kindness." ■ " I will most cheerfully accept the trust. Colonel Weston, and shall not look anxiously for your re- turn. Colonel Weston bowed, and passed into the house. " Have you heard anything of this strange freak of Doctor Howard, about not having any wine at his wedding, Mr. Mason ? " " I suppose I know something of the matter, and must say that I regret that it is true. The house- keeper came yesterday and got the wine at our store, but it was without the knowledge of Howard. Mis- ' tress sent her." " How strange you talk ! What on earth can have possessed the man to take such a course ? " " Indeed, Miss Anson, it is as strange to me as to all his friends. If he persists in such folly, it will in- jure him most deeply throughout the community. Such a breach of propriety would hardly be for- given." " Injure him ? — indeed it will ! His friends should look to the matter. Colonel Weston has already gone to reason him out of his singular determination. Not have wine at a wedding ? Who ever heard of the like ? " " Let us hope, Miss Anson, that this matter will all yet pass off properly. No one would regret more than myself, such conduct in a gentleman of Doctor Howard's character and standing." A. WEDDING AT THE COTTAGE. 101 The matter had already got noised about, and other groups were discussing the question with as much earnestness as though the future happiness and posi- tion of the young couple depended upon the circula- tion of wine among the wedding guests. "While the groups in the yard and on the veranda, were discussing the matter in whispers, there was an- other discussion in the chamber. There was Doctor Howard and his young bride, awaiting the arrival of the parson. " "Well, Henry," spoke Miss James, in low tones, " I do not wish to insist on having the wine handed around. On my own part, I care nothing about it ; but what will the people say ? " " Let us not care, dear one, what people say. I do not like to be a slave to custom, and especially to a custom which I know to be wrong." " You speak earnestly, Henry, of a very fashiona- ble custom. "What objection can you have — how do you know it is wrong ? I am sure I am anxious to see the matter in the light that you do, but I fear our friends will be offended if we banish wine on this oc- casion. Do you not ? " " They might, but it seems to me that if they knew what I know, they would shun the accursed cup of the enchantress." The bride was startled at the depth and energy of Howard's tones, and watched with interest the shad- ows that passed over his fine countenance. There was sadness there, for the gifted and noble man was 102 MINNIE HEEMON. looking away upon tibe dark canvass of childhood, ■where still lingered the scene of a boy, hungry and cold, weeping himself to rest in the lap of a dead mother in the garret. The boy had learned in after years, the cause of his early bereavement and suffer- ing, and shrunk from the glass as he would from a serpent's hiss. " No, no," sadly spoke Howard, as he aroused him- self from his musing, " do not over persuade me in this matter. I may be asking much, but there is a shadow of a coming ill resting upon me, and I cannot shake it oif, and it seems strongly associated with this wine business. Agree with me in this, Ellen, and I will bless you always." Howard stood before her, and a tear came upon her own lid as she saw his sad face. She laid her hand in his afiectionately and smiled. " You have conquered — let it go as you wish. I will not press you now, but some time hence I will ask you why you so earnestly urge this strange wish, for I am sure there is much behind it all, which you have not told me." There was a hush in the room, and the talking nearly ceased — the parson had arrived. As his tall form and cold, severe countenance appeared in the hall, a change fell upon the spirits of the company. He bowed stiflBiy, and turned his dull grey eye search- ingly upon those in the room. That face will become familiar to the reader — the parson is Snyder. The marriage ceremony was completed. Oonver- A WEI>DING AT THE COTTAGE. 103 sation had just commenced briskly again, when the old house-keeper beckoned Howard from tne hall door. As he passed into the hall, he found young Mason expostulating with the old lady about the wine question. Mason insisted that the wish of Howard was a mere whim, and that, as a friend, he should take the liberty of sending around the wine. This the old lady refused assent to without the knowledge of Howard, and so beckoned him out. Upon learning the reason why he was called out, a shade of anger settled upon his features, and he asked sternly why the matter had thus been broached, after his wishes had been made known. " Nay, but you must pardon us," replied Mason. " As a friend, I insist that on this occasion you shall not persist in so wide a departure from the customs of well-regulated society. You wrong yourself and give offence to your friends. The people will think, Howard, that you are mad." " I do not see," replied Howard, promptly, " why the people, as you call them, should interfere or med- dle with a matter of this kind, which only concerns me and mine. I have my own reasons for this de- parture from what you call the customs of well-regu- lated society — a custom, however, which, permit me honestly to aflSrm, it were far more honorable to re- pudiate than to adopt. If you are my friends, you ought not to insist longer upon this violation of my earnest wishes. You will pardon my seeming warmth, for you who know me will believe that I 104 MINNIE HEEMON. have reasons for my course which, are satisfactory to myself." Howard turned on his heel and was passing through the group which had gathered, when Colonel Weston came up — he having learned the subject under dis- cussion. The Colonel was an impulsive, frank, bold man, and had already tested the wine by the favor of the old house-keeper.. " High times, indeed, Howard, when you delib- erately attempt to freeze up the happiness of this oc casion, by withholding that which gives joy its purest flow. As a commanding officer, I shall order you under arrest, and declare martial law. Mason, fol- low me." With a laugh and a graceful bow. Colonel Weston turned away, followed by Mason. Howard passed slowly into the parlor, where he had hardly entered into the gayeties of the occasion, when in came Wes- ton and Mason, with the server and wine. A deep red flush passed over Howard's face as he saw them, and his eye kindled with anger. On any other occa- sion he would have openly resented the insult. But he was taken by surprise, and remained in his seat, feeling deeply indignant. Weston came up and handed the wine to the bride. She looked doubtingly in the face of Howard, and mechanically took a glass from the server. " Nay, my noble friend," said Weston, as he passed it to Howard, " no frowns, for I am alone responsible. But, sir, you surely will follow Mrs. Howard's exam- A WEDDING AT THE COTTAGE. 105 pie, and take a glass of wine on your wedding night." There was a silence in the room and all eyes were turned upon the parties. More especially were the guests watching Howard. The silence was embar- rassing, and the bride looked appealingly to him to relieve her from the unpleasant position. The wine trembled in her hand, and the smile passed from her face as she saw the half-sad, half-angry expression upon that of her husband. ISTone knew the mad whirl of Howard's thoughts, or saw the dark vision passing before him. Twenty years later, and none of tliis decision and moral cour- age would have hesitated a moment. But an old and dangerous custom was hanging over him, and he knew not which way to turn or what to do. His bet- ter angel bent sadly over him, watching the wily efforts of the tempter to fasten the first cords of the fatal mesh upon a new victim. "Take it, Howard," urged "Weston, with a smile, " one glass would not harm an angel. This is a night and an occasion to honor with the flowing beaker. We must wish you and your bride long years of hap- piness in the future in the mellow blood of the grape. You surely will not disappoint your friends on your wedding night." "Weston bent his eye full upon Howard with a win- ning smile, and held the full glasses nearer to him. Howard, alone within himself, wrestled bravely against the wily approach of the insidious enemy, and he lifted his eyes to his bride, the full round 106 MINinE HEKMON. drops Blood thickly iipon a brow more than usually pale, and his features wore an expression of pain. " Why, how ungallant you are — Doctor Howard re- fuse a glass of wine on your wedding night, and your lady waiting your action ! Colonel, shall we drink to the bride ? Surely so lovely a one deserves such a compliment upon such an occasion." Weston followed the example of Miss Anson, and they both stood with glasses in hand. The bride leaned towards Howard and whispered in his ear : " One glass — just this once, for my sake, and never again." "JVever again / " The company started as the words were echoed in a deep measured tone from some wnknown source. But no one chose to speak of the occurrence, and Miss Anson, looking towards the spot where the parson was standing, said : " Tou, reverend sir, will have to set this refractory gallant an example, and with Weston and myself, drink to the bride. Should he not drink ? " Elder Snyder stepped forward and took a glass. l^Tow, at the appeal of the bride, however, Howard had reached out to take one from the server, when the company were again startled by that mysterious voice. " Touch it not ! " Elder Snyder frowned and raised himself to his full height, as he turned his eyes upon all in the room, to see who had dared to interrupt the charm which was A WEDDING AT THE COTTAGE. 107 weaving. Pale and embarrassed, Howard sat with the cup in his hand, that gaze still fixed ilpon some scene hidden from the gaze of the guests. It was a scene for the pencil. The party had gathered in a group, the tall form and dark features of the false teacher, the manly-looking Weston, and the light form of the beautiful Miss Anson leaning slightly against his shoulder, the lovely bride, and the victim yielding slowly to the coils which were closing round him. It was a noble group of noble men and fair women, and yet one over which a good angel might have wept. " This," said the pastor, as he held the glass be- tween his eyes and the lamp, " is one of the good gifts of God to man, the blood of the grape, the beverage of the high, the noble and the good of all ages. It — '■'■ And of the lost and the dammed! " All turned to see whence came that voice, now more startingly energetic and ringing with bitter- ness. A deeper frown gathered on the features of Elder Snyder, and he, in dogged tones, continued : " It is a beverage which our Saviour used. He made it at the wedding (the Elder emphasized the word,) and dispensed it at the last supper. The Scriptures plainly enjoin the use of wine. Noah drinked it, it was given to those that were ready to perish, it maketh the heart merry, cureth our infirm- ities, and causeth the poor to forget his poverty, and the aflaicted their sorrow. It gives a man strength and joy, and enables him to bear more cheerfullv the 108 MINKIE HEEMON. changing scenes of life. The Eedeemer made and drank wine. It would be sinful for us to set at naught such teachings, and put away so great a bles- sing. I will drink to the happiness of those whom God has this night joined together." Elder Snyder turned off the wine with the air of one who expected all to follow his example. And they all did, Howard among the rest. " At last it stingetJi like an adder and liteth like a serpent ! " " W-ho is that? " angrily asked Elder Snyder, as that strange and startling voice again fell like a ser- pent's hiss upon the ears of the company. " The lost one of a false teacher ! " slowly came back in reply, with more thrilling distinctness than before. All eyes were turned toward the veranda window, where now stood a tall, broad-shouldered man, dressed in a coarse suit of sailor's clothes, a weather-beaten tarpaulin on his head, and his hair standing out wiry and matted under the broad brim. His eye was grossly red, and was cast full upon the group, at last resting keenly and firmly upon Elder Snyder. There was a fearful intensity in the gaze, and the sallow features of the pastor reddened and glowed with increased anger. " From whence do you come, and why are you here to intrude upon respectable people ? " angrily continued Elder Snyder, as he walked menacingly towards the window. " Came from my mother's grave to sec a wine-bib- A WEDDING AT THE COTTAGE. 109 bing priest, and only one glass at a wedding! — Ea^ha!" The strange and unaccountable apparition turned away, and that peculiar wild and sneering laughter rung shrill upon the air, and fell like an omen of evil npon the darkened heart of Howard. — " Only one glass ! " And will it be so, reader ? CHAPTER IX. FIRST FEurrs. On the morning after the wedding, Doctor Howard arose with an aching head and troubled thoughts. The " only one glass" had been the voice of the tempter; but once launched on the treacnerous dde, he was driven away from shore. Friends grew more friendly as wine went round, and glass followed glass until Howard — the resolute and strong-willed How- ard — reeled on his wedding night. He becai^e wild as the subtle currents shot through his veins, and by the time the company dispersed, his garrulous and slavering nonsense had pained and mortified his truest friends. Yet not one of them for the first moment felt that they had contributed to the disgrace of their friend. But such things were not looked upon then as now, and the guests went to their homes, mellow themselves, and as ready to get mellow again on the morrow. It was early when Howard dressed himself and passed out into the cool morning air. Its breath was grateful to his hot and throbbing brow, but it reached not the throbbing thoughts in his heart. " As you value your souVs interest, remember your mMher — never touch the intoxicating cup ! " He felt the words of that mother burning like a brand upon his feverish A COMMON SIGHT IN OAKVALE. FIEST FETJITS. 113 cheek, and her eyes looking into his heart. In a let- ter left for his perusal, Howard had learned the his- tory of his mother — the ruin and horrible death of his father ; and it all now came before him, until he shrunk within himself as from accusing spectres. The man who never takes the first step from the path of right is never endangered. That step once taken, others follow with fearful ease. The anchor once lifted from the heart's integrity, the vessel drifts away before the storms that beat in from every quar- ter. To-day a man stands firm, and looks proudly in the face of his fellows, and feels himself a man. He has his own self-respect. To;morrow he is for once induced to step aside, and like a breach in the wall the enemy comes in like a flood. A trifling act in itself — the one glass drinked with a friend, —may seal the fate of the unwary. Howard had lost strength. He had been beaten in the contest — beaten when he felt that he was right. The idea of being a drunkard had not yet oc- curred to him. It was only his own loss of firmness and self-respect, and a shadowy sense of some un- known danger, that now weighed him down. The festivities which followed the wedding were not calculated to fasten the resolutions which weie giving away. Wine was everywhere, and everybody used it. He himself began to think that it would be a bold and unpardonable breach of custom to refuse it with his friends. The decanter and tumbler seemed to be the insignia of fashionable society. Thus he 114: MUraTE HEEMON. reasoned as day followed day an-d glass followed glass, the strong and noble purpose which had been so sacredly cherished to the noon of his manhood, growing less strong under the steady approaches of the tempter. On the day after the meeting of the board, Howard was riding rapidly up the road, when he was accosted from the steps of the " Home." " Halloo, Howard ! Where now at that break-neck pace ? Hold up a minute." The voice was Colonel "Weston's, and, as Howard turned his head, he saw a number of people standing on the stoop. His first impulse was to put spurs to his horse, but Weston was a favorite friend, and he reined up. As Weston came up and laid his hand on the mane of the horse, Howard noticed that he was considerably under the influence of liquor. There was a silly leer upon his countenance, and his man- ner had that bold and half insolent air about it, so contrary to his usually quiet and gentlemanly de- meanor. " Whoop ! my (hie) — boy, which way, I say ? " and the Colonel grasped tightly the arm of Howard, and roughly attempted to pull him from the saddle. "I beg your pardon. Colonel, but you will not detain me, for I am in haste to call on a sick pa- tient. " FiKST FRtrns. 115 "Devil take your patient; you must get off ana take a drink," and again, with that strong grasp pe- culiar to drunken men, Weston wrenched him nearly from his saddle, "You must get off and take a drink. "Why, I haven't seen you before since your wedding. Get off, old boy, I say, and drink with us!" and he fetched Howard a heavy slap on the thigh with the awkwardness peculiar to those in liquor, and laughed boisterously. Howard was shocked, and mildly essayed to re- lease himself from the Colonel's grasp. " ISTo you don't, my boy ; you must drink. Soldiers, anhorse (hie) him," and he led the horse up the steps into the stoop, amid the laughter of the half-drunken crowd. Howard was fairly pulled from his saddle and led into the bar-room and the liquor called on. "One drink. Doctor, with your friends," as he bowed and played the buffoon before the bar. How- ard remained' silent while the liquors were mixing. As "Weston took his glass from the counter, he again essayed to release himself by pleading haste to see his patient. " Ko you don't. Doctor — you must drink with us," and he handed another glass to Howard. The latter took it mechanically, and was about to set it on the counter, when the Cblonel grasped it, and, setting down his own, wound his left arm around Howard's neck, attempted to pour the liquor down 116 MINNIE HEKMON. his throat. The act was so quick that the latter had not time to close his mouth before the glass was be- tween his teeth, and the liquor running down his face and neck into his bosom. He strangled badly, which pleased the rum-maddened crowd all the more. "Weston was wild with rum, and swore that Howard should drink. The latter grew indignant and began to denounce such rudeness. "Weston caught another tumbler. of the liquor which had been prepared, and sprung upon Howard with all the reckless, frenzied strength of partial intoxication, crowding the glass against his lips and teeth until the blood mingled with the stains of the brandy from the corners of his mouth. " By ! Doctor, you must take in your bits," continued "Weston, and, in the excitement of the mo ment, he caught Howard by the throat, and continued pushing the now empty glass into his open and bleed- ing mouth. The crowd were all wild with merriment, and stood upon the chairs and benches to see the sport. "Weston set the glass down upon the counter and called for more liquor. Hermon poured it out. As "Weston, with his hand yet clinched in the Doc- tor's cravat, was passing the glass again to his lips, against his indignant expostulations, Howard released his right arm from the tipsy fellow who was holding it, and dealt "Weston a blow on the temple which laid him prostrate on the floor. There was stillness for a moment, and Howard was release I from the grasp of those who were holding him. A 3 "Weston came to FIRST FEUITS. 117 and began to rise, he literally frothed -with rage, and sprung at the Doctor like a madman. The latter evaded his clutch, and he plunged headlong amongst the crowd. " For shame I Are ye men or devils ? " All were startled at the sound of a female voice, and, as they turned, saw Minnie Hermon standing in the stairway, pale and trembling, but her eyes kindling at the scene before her. A rocket could not have produced more confusion among them. The majority abruptly went out, leaving Weston, now abashed and cowering, and Hermon, alone behind the bar. Howard washed his face at the pump and rode away, and, as he thought over the scene in the bar-room of the " Home," a sigh came from his heart and a tear from his eye. He looked at his bruised hand, and wondered how he came to strike one he esteemed so much. — But there will be stranger scenes there. Deacon McGarr lived just below the " Home," and on the afternoon of the same dky the affair occurred which we have related, he was to have a wagon-house raised. As a matter of course, rum must be had at a " raising." A two-gallon jug was sent to the " Home " and filled, and the hands invited. Deacon McGarr had drinked liberally in the earlier part of the day, and felt happy and witty. About one o'clock the hands began to gather, and very naturally lingered on the stoop and steps of the "Home." "When the hour came for commencing operations, McGarr came over, and, for the purpose of supporting the new tav 118 MINNIE HKBMON. em, "treated all round." In high glee the company then followed him to the ground and commenced operations. To those who are familiar with the drinking usages of other days, we need not speak in detail of a " rais- ing." Enough to say that horns of whisky were deemed just as' absolutely necessary as pikes or pins. As each "bent" was raised to its place, the jug was " passed round " by some boy, accompanied by one with a pail of cold water. As soon as a " bent " was raised, some of the more active ones mounted to the top. By the time the plates were ready to go on, a . number were thus gathered above, and the jug must be passed up and welcomed by such. Before the building was all up, a large class was noisy and mellow. Among others who first went upon the frame, was "Weston. Naturally athletic, he now felt doubly so under the influence of his deep potations. McGarr would have persuaded him from the dangerous sisk, but Weston was reckless. The plates were framed to go on to the ends of the beams, requiring much care in holding them and en- tering the tenons. The timbers were yet damp from the rain during the night, and required caution in handling them without accident. The ends of the plates were first carried up to the beams, then car- ried forward and balanced up and shoved to their places, preparatory to entering the tenons. When ready to carry out, a man lay down and locked his FIKST FEUITS. 119 arms around the beam, and with his feet against the plate, pushed it as it lay, as near the tenons as was safe. "Weston was at the end, and straightened with all his strength, and the piece slid upon the slippery beam near a foot and a half clear from his feet. A dozen voices from below earnestly cautioned him to be care- ful — if the plate should go off it would kill some one. " Let 'em look out for themselves," he replied, with a peculiar laugh, and again backed until his feet reached the timber, and then straightened with all his power. There was a yell from twenty voices be- low, and the heavy stick fell to the ground. A sharp cry of pain told its effect. Hermon's leg was under it, and groiind to a pumice. The groans of the wounded man, as he was borne bleeding to the " Home," sobered "Weston, as he saw the result of his folly, and the big drops gathered on his brow. Si- lently and thoughtfully he went from the frame, and passed after the group to the tavern. " Come, boys," said Gaston, the blacksmith, " we can do no good over there, let's up with the plate again, and put on the rafters.' Another drink round and they took hold with a will, for Gaston set them an example. The stick was soon in its place and the rafters up. Young McGarr was the last one standing on the ridge. His father saw that he had drank too much, and called him down. He started to obey, but met the jug -again coming up, and took a drink with the rest. The hot draught made him bold and reckless, and 120 MIiraiB HBEMOIT. he swore he would walk the ridge-pole with jn^ in hand before he left the frame. N"o entreaty or threat- ening could change his mad determination, and he clambered carelessly to the ridge. They watched him with breathless attention, for it was plain to see that he was intoxicated. Deacon McGarr was pale, and his lip was pressed between his teeth until the blood started from under them. Young McGarr succeeded in walking the entire length, and, as he arrived at the end, he turned, and, swinging the jug in the air, huzza'd and turned it up to his lips. As he threw his head back in the act, he fell from the ridge, his head striking upon a green beech log, and his body doubling lifelessly down in a heap. McGarr shrieked and jumped to save his boy, and the shriek was echoed with more piercing, soul- harrowing distinctness from the house, where the boy's mother had been watching the scene with trembling lips and limb. Gaston lifted the boy in his arms, leaving masses of his brains upon the log and ground, and the blood ebbing out with a spin- ning sound from the crushed head. The mother looked once upon the bleeding and disfigured mass, and sank insensible to the ground. On a board the crushed boy was borne to the house, while equally as tenderly the corpse-like mother was carried after in the arms of Gaston. Deacon McGarr followed like a child in his first great sorrow. The jug was left in fragments, thickly sprinkled with the blood of the young victim. CHAPTEE X. THE ATJTHOK TALKS A LAPSE OF TEN TEAKS IN OtJH HISTOET THE CHANGE. In one of the villages of Pennsylvania — it is writ- ten — the members of the excise 'board were assem- bled, as usual, for the purposes of granting licenses for the sale of intoxicating liquors. After smoking, and chatting upon general subjects for a time, the customary motion was put, and opportunity given for remark. Up in one corner of the room the attenua- ted form of a woman arose, spectral-like in features, and meanly clad, and looking upon the members pres- ent from sockets hollow and ghastly. In tones of sadness, growing more full and intense as she pro- ceeded, the strange intruder commenced a history of sorrow, of ruin and wrong, which fell upon the aston- ished group like a spell. Her form raised as she gathered strength, and her tones grew fierce, and a hectic flush came out upon the palid cheek. Fixed to their seats and gazing upon the kindling eye, the excisemen listened to the blistering record. From the smouldering ruins of life's hopes blasted, the sca- thing truths leaped out. She had heard of their meeting, and from the almshouse came forth to de- nounce the wickedness they were about to commit. Hers had been the history of thousands — a history 122 MINNIE HEEMON. now being wrought out in thousands of hearts and homes. Across the river, a luxurious home, a noble husband, and three promising sons had woven her life's happiness with the golden woof of light and love. They were tempted and fell. The home pass- ed into the tempter's hands, her husband and children to premature graves, and she to the pauper's home. Years of darkness and anguish could be known only to the God of the widow and the fatherless. " You see me now," she continued, with her tall form lean- ing forward and her long finger extended and trem- bling with emotion, resting unerringly upon the mem- bers of the board, " and know from whence I come. You know my history, and how bitterly all my hopes of this world have been wrecked. And you, sirs, caused it all. At your store my husband learned to drink, and you dwell in my home. You, false teach- er," pointing to a deacon, " lured my noble boys to your grocery, and they now are in drunkards' graves. You destroyed them. But for you, husband, sons — all might have now blessed my old age. I have come from the county poor-house to lift a voice against your acts. Look at me, and then if you dare, before high Heaven, grant licenses to sell intoxicating drinks ! " The silence of death rested upon the listeners to the pauper's freezing words, interrupted only as one after another of the cowering officials stole like gttitet wretches from the room, not staying to accom^^h the work for which they assembled. From herquiv- THE AUTHOR TAIKS THE CHAIifGE. 123 ering finger the words had fallen like drops of .blis- tering lava into their coward hearts. As the mind has swept back through the history of the past, we have often thought of the pauper and her speech. If those who suffer — if the ragged and the sorrowing, should come from their abodes of wretchedness, where, unseen, the scalding tear and the heavy sigh mark the crushing progress of woe, and in squalid garb and touching mien, gather around the excise boards of our country, and raise their protest against the wrong, we doubt whether there is a mem- ber of these bodies so utterly lost to every feeling of sympathy and shame as to put his name to the license of death. Let the sorrowing mother upon her staff, with her thin, white hairs, going down in sorrow to the grave, totter to the board, and with a dim eye and shaking voice, speak of children murdered, and an old heart running over with bitter memories-. Let a wife steal forth from a home where a husband- demon reigns in the domestic hell. Yoked to a living corpse, she stands up with a ragged babe in her arms ■ — a weeping heart attempting to shield the tenderest and most innocent of her idols from the storm — and with every hope buried in ruin, she demands, why her home is desolated, her heart broken, and her babes robbed of bread. The sister comes, and with wringing hands claims that the noble and manly-heart- ed brother should be restored, for she has wept over him and clung to him with a sister's changeless love — her tears, and prayers, and holy affection weaker than 124 IkONNIE HKEMON. the gossamer web against the stronger than iron chains that bound him. Orphan children throng from hut and hovel, and public asylum, and lift their child- ish hands in supplication, asking at the hands of the guiltj, those who rocked their cradles, and fed, and loved them. The maniac comes, and in insane gib- berish and glaring eye, stares upon the " Court of Death." The murderer, now sober and crushed, lifts his manacled hands, red with blood, and charges his ruin — his own and his children's infamy, upon those who commission the Angel of the Plague. The felon comes from his prison tomb, the pauper from his dark retreat, where rum has driven him to seek an evening's rest and a pauper's grave. From the grave the sheeted dead stalk forth, and in. spectral ranks gather around the scene, the eyeless sockets turned upon the actors, and the bared teeth grinning most ghastly scorn. The lost float up in shadowy forms, and wail in whispered despair. Demons, who rejoice in wrongs which make men more devilish than they, blush at the more than infernal wrong. Angels turn weeping away, and wonder that man can love his brother man, and still license the destruction of his hopes for two worlds. God upon his throne looks in anger upon the stupendous iniquity, and hurls a woe upon the hand which putteth the bottle to a neighbor's lip to make him drunken. Were every excise board girt by such an array, no man on earth would make himself an instrument in all this destruc- tion. But their guilt is really the same. The.injured THE AUTHOE TALKS THE CHANGE. 125 old mothers, the wives and the sisters, are found wherever rum is sold. The orphans plead eloquently in every community. The asylum, the alms-house, the dungeon and the scaflfbld bear their evidence, written in the unmistakable language of tears and blood. The dead heave their sodded graves on every hand, and revelation turns shudderingly away from the dark future of the thousands who die as the months roll round, while above, a God who counts the sparrows as they fall, sits in judgment and takes note of all. And yet — we write with a burning cheek — the excise boards of a free people meet with cool in- difference and ask of a reckless few, " How many pieces of silver will you give us if we will betray the wives and the children — the helpless and the inno- cent, into your hands — How many I " The tribute is paid, and the people, with the price of blood in their coffers, hold the garments, while their licensed instruments stone men, women -and children to death ! — No sane man on earth, if the fountains of evil were forever sealed, would ask tliat they might be again opened. Then why, in the name of crushed humanity and a hoped-for heaven, will men cling to the waning destinies of the monster iniquity ? The pursuit of an honorable avocation is a benefit to community. In the intercourse of trade, there la an equivalent rendered. The interests of the produ- cer and the consumer are mutually advanced. In- dustry produces an aggregate prosperity and secures a prompt and adequate reward. Upright and perse- 126 MINNIE HEEMON. vering labor, in any branch of business, vibrates through the whole social system, and helps to build up, adorn, and strengthen every honorable interest. The craftsman, the merchant, the professional man, the agriculturist — all who live by honest toil, are benefactors, and each fills an appropriate and neces- sary place in the social structure. There is no special regulation of these interests. They are useful and indispensable. Their pursuit tends to the general good. They do not exist or prosper at the ruin or extinction of others. The tradesman does not find the mercantile profession a legalized monopoly, and himself precluded, by penal statutes, from selling such as his neighbors sell. Talent and application master the legal and the medical professions, and the young man goes out to build up his fortunes where- ever his prospects lure the brightest. The blacksmith asks no license to wield his hammer. The farmer does not annually asl^ and pay for a permit to put in his crops, to harvest and to sell. Whoever buys of him gets an equivalent for his money ; and order, har- mony and increase, mark the machinery of society. But what a disturbing element is rum, in all soci- ety ! It is the Pandorian box of unadulterated evil, with hardly a hope at the bottom. Nowhere on the green earth of G-od has it proved other than an un- mixed curse. There is not a redeeming fact in its history. A darker, more cheerless, beaconless waste, never stretched away before the misguided pilgrim There is not a ray of sunshine in ages of gloom. The THE ATJTHOE TALKS — THiC CHANGE. 127 most ardent and honest friend of the rum traffic can- not point to one blessing it has conferred upon man since its first footprints cursed the earth. "We have seen the system in its palmy days, but it was the plague in mid-day strength, stalking from house to house, its presence withering the greenness of the happiest life, and filling the land with wailing and unutterable woe. Commissioned by government, it has gone forth, the Angel of the Plague, and happy for hearts and homes, if they mourned for none but the first-born. In palace or hovel — in wealth or want, the shadow has fallen upon man and his hopes, the one to sicken and die, and the other to wither. It enters society hrcmded as cm enemy. The very power which sends it to our villages and hamlets, has writ- ten its character. It glides over our threshold in fet- ters, society mockingly decking its tail with regula- ting enactments, and leaving every fang bared foi the work of death, and from tens of thousands of retreats endorsed and protected by government, the monsters go hissing forth with the inj unction to deso- late and kill within the prescribed limits, and accord- ing to law. The thief is imprisoned and the murder- er is put out of the way ; but here is a worse than a thief or a murderer — the subtle embodiment of all crime, allowed to carry on its devilish work under re- strictions, and the efiects sanctioned by legislation. It never yet entered a community without proving a curse. Some man has been degraded ; some wife has been made to weep in anguish ; some child has 128 MINNIE HEEMON. been turned out of door to go hungry for bread; some pauper has been sent to the almshouse, or felon to the dungeon ; some scene of blood and violence has been perpetrated, and the maddened instrument ■ sent to the scaffold ; some family has prematurely found a rest in the grave, and an escape from woes which will ever beggar description. Oakvale was not an exception. A lovelier, more peaceful hamlet of happy settlers, was never hidden among the hills. Tears went by, and scarce a cloud had fallen upon the cordial and friendly intercourse which had marked the history of the mountain re- treat. The lives of the people passed with the calm- ness and purity of a summer's day. Scarce a ripple disturbed the sylvan quiet of the scene. Industry, virtue, integrity and kindly feeling marked the un- restrained intercourse of the genial and true-hearted people. The streets were quiet, only as stirred by the silver-voiced happiness of the schoolchildren, and the game of ball, the wrestle, or the leaping match, were the noisiest sports which awoke the quiet of the vil- lage green. The path to the village church was well beaten, and all was neat about the unpretending structure. The dwellings wore an air of comfort and thrift, and the yards and grounds were neat and at- tractive. The Sunday school was full, the Sabbath universally regarded, and the old-fashioned notions of truth and honor deeply rooted in a majority of hearts. Age was respected, and the white-haired grand-sires went down to their graves like the shocks fully ripened THE AUTHOK TALKS THE CHANGE. 129 for the harvest. The moustache and the rattan were unknown — the dice table, and the saloon. The young men were stalwart framed and industrious. Pianos, fashionable calls, and indolence in the parlor, were scarcely known, and yet there was true refine- ment ; and from the kitchen, full, rounded forms and hearts all womanly passed out to mingle better cur- rents in the busy world. Litigation was unknown ; for each minded his own affairs, kept his fences up, kept his cattle and hogs within bounds, and treated his neighbor with kindness and sincerity. No gun ever broke upon the Sabbath stillness, nor boisterous gathering filled the streets ; but the seasons came with their promise, and its harvest fulfillment, their flocks and herds, and household industry prospered, and peace, plenty, and contentment, the love of virtue and the fear of God, made Oakvale a spot where the current of life coursed ever with an even flow. It was years afterwards, and when the population and business of Oakvale had greatly increased, that the " Home " was opened in the village. Ten years more had gone by, and what a transformation ! It seemed incredible, and the stranger who saw it in its earlier history, would look sadly upon the change, and believe it wrought by some infernal magic. The rural neatness and quiet were there no more. The "Home" was a floodgate through which a thou- sand pernicious and evil influences swept in upon the society of the peaceful vale, a fatal undercurrent, un- dermining industry and virtue, and mingling the 130 MINNIB HEEMON. most corrupting influences witli the thoughts and habits of the people. From occasional visits ' to the tavern, the practice increased, until scarce one of the male population was not in the habit of spending his evenings at the tavern. A love of gossip was soon engendered, and every man's business and conduct was at times made the subject of conversation. In the conversation of the people, the change was as marked as in everything else. As the youth and the children listened, they caught the infection, and the oath, the rude and coarse speech, came from mouths prematurely foul by bad example and association. Ill-breeding soon marked the language of the boys, and slang phrases were current and eagerly learned and banded with a gusto. A low-bred pettifogger had followed in the wake of " business," and petty lawsuits were frequent, and always held at the tav- ern, drawing a crowd whenever held. Fights were of common occurrence, or petty disputes engendered in ill blood ; and discord crept strangely in between families where years of uninterrupted harmony had marked their intercourse. Additional liquor shops, under the euphonious name of " saloons," had been opened, " ball-alleys " and " billiard-rooms." These places were a rendezvous on the Sabbath, the youth deserting the church for the dram-shop. They are ever craters of obscenity and profanity, and the youth of Oakvale were fast graduating in these devilish schools. The nights were occasionally hideous with unearthly yellings. Balls and " oyster parties " were THE AUTHOK TALKS THK CHAIfGE. 131 frequent, and respectable young men, at such times, were seen intoxicated. The blacksmith was often seen setting upon the steps of the " Home " in his leathern apron, and customers coming from his shop after him. The miller would leave his grist, and staid' farmers would turn aside from their business, and drink, and spend an hour in chat. Company and general parades were now held at Oakvale, elec- tions, town-meetings, etc., and drunkenness was com- mon. Horse-racing, also, was frequent, and " turkey shoots," raffling and drinking, with frequent quarrels, and now and then a fight, contributed to demoralize the habits and foster the worst elements of those en- gaged in them. " Business " had surely increased in Oakvale, and to the tavern belonged the credit. The change wrought in a few years was broad and impressive. The farms were neglected, the fences out of repair, and the yards and corners of the fences grown up to weeds. The barns and outhouses were dilapida- ted — boards off, and hovels unroofed. Hardly a farm retained the well-ordered and tidy appearance of industrious care, so conspicuous at the commence- ment of our history. Clap-boards were off, chimney tops crumbling away, and window-panes broken, old hats and rags, and pieces of board, indicating, in un- mistakable language, the cause of all. Some houses were entirely in ruins, and the rank dock standing thickly in the yard, and the winds of winter whistling through the shattered structures. Fences were down 132 MESfNIE HEEMON. and fields turned to waste ; the path to the church was overgrown with grass, and the sheds were falling to pieces, and the steps decaying, and the weather- beaten blinds unhinged, or slamming in the winds. The topmost section of the steeple had rotted and been blown ofi" in a £torm, and the bell, rusty and bare, frowned silently down upon the general deso- lation. The lightning-rod had been broken, and the end swung loose and unconnected. The village bu- rial-ground had not escaped. Length after length of the board fence had fallen, and the cattle from the streets had broken the stones, and the hogs had rooted over the grounds. Unruly boys had torn away the school-house shed, while whole clapboards had been stripped from the building itself, the lath and the protruding mortar and naked studs, present- ing to the passer-by the very picture of neglect. But if the footsteps of intemperance were so blight- ing upon the appearance of buildings and fields, it was still more marked upon the population. The pathways to the groggeries were well beaten by the traveling public. Farms, shops and professions, were neglected. The happiest home had lost its attrac- tions. The ruddy flame upon the evening hearth, the holy communion of the family circle, or the change- less ties of conjugal affection, were rent like threads for the false light of the dramshop. Even the church could not stay the work ; its aisles had long been si- lent ; the dust had gathered upon its communion altar and its Bible, and the spider spun his web in the THE AtTTHOE TALKS THE CHANGE. 133 pulpit unmolested. Forms with red and watery eyes, hats with torn crowns, broken tops and distorted brims ; garments thread-bare and ragged, the panta- loons fagged at the ancle and lodged upon gringy- looking boots run over at the heel ; with swollen cheeks, and hands thrust to the elbows into their pockets, were constantly stealing to the dram-shops. By daylight, and before a chimney top had sent up a wreath of smoke, they could be seen standing by the dens, or knocking for admittance, creeping about over the stoops in the meantime, and shivering in the keen morning cold of the winter. How quickly their ears detected the sound of the bolt as it was drawn, and as quickly tossing the quid into the street and fetching their hand across their thigh as a nap- kin, cleared their throats and entered. They came out with the palms drawn across their lips, gave the hoarse ahem, and in the same manner retraced their steps to their doors. Women, with countenances pale and furrowed with sorrow and care, and wrapped closely in scanty garb, were seen gliding gloomily through the streets ; and children, their uncovered hands purple in the cold, and their little forms shrink- ing at every breath, and often bending under the burden of the jug, thus bearing to their own homes the cause of their own wretchedness and hunger. " Business " had increased ! Oakvale had become a shire town, and two railroads had opened broad thoroughfares to and from. A courthouse and jail had been erected, and the new state-prison buildings 134 MrNNIE HEEMON. were rapidly going up. Men had died in tlie drunk- en Tsrawl, by delirium tremens, and in the winter's path ; the widow and her children had gone out from their broken homes to seek an asylum in the county poor-house ; felons were in the jail, or at w-orTj on the prison walls, and red-handed murder had lifted a drip- ping hand at noonday, and the people were feasted with a view of the scaffold and its dangling tribute. A score of groggeries were seething and united in the work of ruin, and Oakvale had become a byword and reproach throughout the country for drunkenness and all its consequent and kindred evils. The change was a sad one, indeed. And yet no plague had come from the hand of God to destroy the people ; no storm had swept down their fences or unroofed their barns and hovels ; and the seasons had ever brought the seed time and harvest. But the blight was there. It rested upon house, and field, and toil; hunger and wretchedness brooded at the hearth ; families were scattered, and fields turned to waste ; and want, mis- ery, indolence and vice resting, like a deathly night- mare upon the quiet and happy hamlet of " long ago." — " Business " was increasing ! CHAPTEE XI. A WINTEE SCECiTE. It warf in early winter, and the hubs lay up rough and bare through the snow. The wind was cutting cold, and shrieked dismally as it swept around the " Home." Scattering flakes of snow were sifting from the cold and sombre sky. People were already gath- ering in the bar-room, for nearly every citizen in the place had learned to love his drams ; and the fire shone most welcomely in the old-fashioned hearth. Hermon, just recovered, in a measure, from a severe fit of sickness, was kneeling before a keg, drawing his morning bitters. One after another the customers went up to the bar and followed the example, con- versation flowing more fluently as the liquor com- menced its effects. " Did you see Mat Ricks when he went away last night ? " "Yes — what of it?" " Why, he was most devilish drunk, if Pm any judge." " ITo live man a better judge," dryly remarked old Barney Eats, already intoxicated, and his lid less balls running water before the fire. A laugh followed the hitj and the speaker continued : 6 136 MINNIE HEEMON. " Old Eicts has made a perfect fool of himself lately. He drinks like a fish. They say he abuses his'family, too, most shamefully." " He is not the only one who does that," again put in old Kits." Lame Tim, the speaker, turned an angry eye upon his tormentor, and chewed his tobacco nervously ; yet he dare not measure wit with the in- veterate wag, as drunk as he was. " How is it, Tim," asked Gaston, " has old Ricks' farm all gone ? " " O, yes, all gone to smash ; — nothing left at all. I knew 't would be so." " But his wife had property ? " " "Went with the rest. Jones has got it all." " Sold his water and whisky well," put in old Barney. " But what will become of his family ? " " Go to the poor-house, of course. I guess the old woman will come down some in her notions after this. Always was mighty nice feelin'. After all, I couldn't help kind o' pittyin' on her when she came down here and cried, and took on so about the spoons her mother gave her — swow I could n't." A scowl from old Hermon told garrulous old Tim that he had gone too far, and he changed the subject by taking another drink. Doctor Howard at that moment drove up, and en- tered the bar-room in his bundle of furs, calling for a hot punch. "While warming himself, he remained silent and thoughtful. This was enough for Tim A JVINTER SCENE. 137 He must know who was sick, what ailed him, and how long they were going to live ; and with a pre- paratory ahem, he commenced : " Anybody sick this morning. Doctor ? " " No more than usual." "I thought ma'be somebody might be ailin' this mornin'." " I presume there is," and the sententious Doctor continued to rub his hands beforie the welcome blaze. " Come from over the hill ? " " Came from over the hill." Old Barney grinned, and attempted to wink at the discomfited Tim. But the latter loved news next to a dram, and he returned to the attack. . " Plaguy cold this morning. Doctor ! " " Exactly — found that out myself." " Anybody sick over the hill ? " " Nobody sick — all dead." " Why, nobody but old Ricks' folks lived there. ' "Exactly — and the folks are dead, or will be." " You don't say so 1 How 'd they die ? " " Go and see," and with the curt answer, Doctor Howard jumped into his sleigh and left. There was truth in his briefly told story. On the previous evening, Kicks, with his father, an old rev- olutionary soldier, had caroused at the " Home " un- til a late hour, and with a jug apiece, had started out in the storm, amid many a drunken ■gibe as they stum- bled over the hubs. In crossing the mountain at day- light. Doctor Howard had found the old man, lying 138 MINNIE HEBMON. upon his face, frozen to death ! He had struggled where he had fallen until the hubs were crimsoned with blood, and his face most horribly bruised. His hat lay crushed under his shoulders, and the handle of the broken jug was grasped firmly in death. The snow had lodged in his thin white locks, but his bald head was as bare to the night blast as the crag above him. Doctor Howard turned his horse and drove over the brow of the hill to the dwelling. A childish voice bade him " come in," in answer to his rap, and as he entered, crept into the farther corner. Doctor Howard was used to scenes of distress, but he hesitated on the threshold, and stared for a full moment as he stood. It was but a moment, however, and he quickly asked the boy what it all meant. He only answered with a frightened look towards the bed. There lay Eicks, snoring in the deep slumbers of drunkenness, his clothes on, and the uncorked jug before him upon the stand. At the foot of the bed was a spectacle to freeze the blood. Stretched at full length was Mrs. Ricks, and upon the floor, mats of hair, its whitish blue ends indicating its violent wrenching from the living head. It had been wrenched from Tier head, and the bloody scalp lay bare in hideous spots. Above the ear the blade of the iron fire-shovel had cleft the skull, driving the hair into the brain, and splitting the ear through the rim. The blood had oozed out and ran down into the eye, where it was now frozen, the other glaring wildly in death and covered with frost. A WINTER SCENE. 139 " Who did this ? " asked Howard of the boy, as he brushed a tear from his eye. " Father ! " whispered the child, creeping stealtliily to the Doctor's side and looking from behind him towards the bed, and then, with his gaze still oh the sleeping drunkard, he stole behind an old partition, and with wild eyes and bloodless lips brought some- thing away in his hands, and scarce noticed by the Doctor, laid it by the side of the dead mother. Turning his eye at the moment, Howard started as at the sight of a serpent. There was the elbow and hand and little foot of a hcibe ! " For God's sake ! what — what is this ?" he asked, as he stooped to be sure that his eyes did not deceive him. "Father — father," whispered the child, still keep- ing his gaze upon the bed — " threw baby out of the bed 'cause it cried, and then into the fire, and then struck me 'cau'se I screamed." The tale — the sight, was horrible, and it was no dream ; and there lay the imbruted murderer in his slumbers. Howard spoke sharply in the ear of the drunkard, but it was difficult to awake him. The moment he did awake, he called for Henry to hand him liquor. Ere Howard was aware, the terrified boy had taken the jug, when a fearful oath from his father startled him so suddenly that he dropped the jug upon the floor. " Hell ! " now roared the thoroughly awakened sot, and caught the boy yiolently by the arm. Henry 140 MINNIE HEEMON. screamed with agony, and Howard noticed that the arm was broken above the elbow and turned unre- sistingly in the cruel grasp. It required but a mo- ment to arrest the act, yet with that strange tena- city which characterizes the drunkard's grasp, it bid defiance to his strongest efibrt. But he was not a man to stand upon trifles, while the tortured child was shrieking in agony. Fastening upon Hicks' throat, he retained his grasp until the bloated cheek became black, and his hold on the boy's arm relaxed. Moving the boy to the corner, he hastily went out to his cutter for his saddle-bags, thinking, in his excite- ment, to set the arm before it should be worse swol- len. The horse was restless from standing in the cold, and as he stepped into the cutter, the horse started upon a gallop, the reins about his heels, and kept it unbroken until he turned up under the shed of the " Home." In a moment Howard had the reins, and was urging his way again up the hill at full speed. He hastily entered the house, when hell itself could not have presented a view more devilish. The drunk- ard was standing in the middle of the floor, his red eyes glaring with a demoniac expression, and his teeth clenched like a madman's. " They '11 never worry me again about bread, G — d d — n* 'em. I '11 learn the cussed brat to break jugs," and more language of the same nature poured from the maniac. " They " would beg for bread no more ! They were beyond the "reach of worldly wants or worldly sor- A WINTEE SCENE. 141 rows. In the brief absence of the Doctor, the drunlc- en man had caught his boy, and as it appeared, had, by repeated blows, dashed his head against the fire- place jams until his skull was crushed into a mass of blood and. brains, and flung him across the corpse of the mother. The frame of the child was quivering yet, and the one hand even clutched convulsively at empty air, as he straightened out with a tremulous movement and lay still upon his mother's breast. The news of the tragedy at Eicks', was speedily spread through the community, embellished with many a horror, until the public feeling ran high against Eicks. The landlord of the " Home " was sure that hanging was too good for him. While people were talking about the affair, a kind hand had been at its work of love in the house of blood. Mrs. Eicks was found, on again visiting the house, neatly arrayed upon her bed, and her child be- side her, her wounds washed and dressed, and the crushed skull of the child hidden in his shroud. It needed iron nerves to look upon such work, and yet a gentle hand had removed the more revolting evi- dences of the murder, and restored order to the deso- late looking room. The hand and foot of the babe had been placed by the mother's side, and the visitor gone. When the citizens came through the blinding storm, they looked with surprise upon the calm fea- tures of Mrs. Eicks, pale, but without stain of blood, and the floor and room exhibiting no signs of the tragedy so recently enacted. 142 mNNIE HEEMON. — Sweet Minnie Hermon! In that chamber of dejith she kneeled, and with the cold browed and bloodj dead her company, prayed that the blood of the innocent might not rest too darkly on a father's hcmd. The bitter storm was unheeded as it swept against her feverish cheek, on her re- turn, for her young heart was full of sorrow. As vivid as the language of fire it burned before her, that to the influence and liquor of the " Home " could be traced the ruin and destruction of the Eicts family. The funeral of the Kicks family was one of more than usual solemnity. From the grey -haired grand- sire to the innocent babe, rum had swept them away at a blow. A large crowd had gathered, for the triple murder had thrilled through the community far and near. The dead were buried in one grave, its wide and frozen walls silently awaiting to enclose this fresh and fearfully generous tribute to the remorseless scourge let loose in the valley. The snow was falling fast from the thick gloomy clouds, and the bottom of the wide pit was already shrouded with white, all combining to render the scene solemn and cheerless. Tliere was but one relative of the family living, and that was the loved and broken-hearted father. He had been brought from the jail in the custody of offi- cers, and now stood, his head bared to the storms, and his hands in irons. The scalding tears bitterly rained down his ghastly cheeks and upon his fettered hands, and his broad chest heaved with convulsive A WINTEK SCENE. 143 eftorts, which shook him as the blast would shake the reed. He wrung his clenched hands until the blood started from the swollen fingers, and moaned as he stood, a blasted thing in his manhood's prime, the fetter links clanking, but in his soul the iron had gone the deepest. Those who had heard the story of his crime and heaped bitter denunciations upon his head, now looked upon the wretch in his agony, and wept for him. There were mourners at the wintry grave. Minnie was there, crushed with grief; for, in a hun- dred visits to the drunkard's home on the hill, on er- rands of mercy, she had learned to love the lovely woman who had suffered so much, and a sister could not have wept more bitterly at a sister's grave. How- ard, too, stood a child by her side, and with his hand- kerchief at his mouth, looked through swimming eyes upon the scene. As the coffins were placed upon the timbers over the grave, Eicks raised his arms high over his head, and dropped upon his knees, bringing his manacled hands heavily down upon the coffin of his wife, the dead sound from within, and the clash of his irons, mingling dismally with a shriek which chilled with its fierce energy of woe. " Mary ! — O, Mary I My children ! How I loved ye ! Destroyed by my own hand ! Merciful God ! here let me die, and be buried with them ! " The grave was filled by a score of hard hands, and many were the warm tear, that wet them as they toiled. 144 MINNIE HEEMON. Elder Snyder stepped forward and returned thanks to the people for their kindness, and prayed that God would sanctify to the people this most " afflicting dis- perisation of Providence." '' A providence of bum, inflicted iy human devils /" Turning to see from whence those strange tones, the unknown in the tarpaulin was recognized, lean- ing upon a head-stone, his red eye fixed upon the speaker. The latter turned quickly away and passed out with the crowd. Howard lingered a moment, and alone sobbed as he watched the old sexton place the rough boards at the head. His thoughts were busy. He remembered the night of his wedding — the jeweled hand which crowded the wine upon him, and the lovely features which then were the admiration of all. The beauti- ful and rarely accomplished Miss Anson was under the clods before him ! Sick at heart, he, too, turned away, with new thoughts busy in his mind. CHAPTEE XII. ANSWERED. The events of the last few days ftimislied fruitful themes fur conversation for many a day. The public mind was intensely aroused to the enormity of the triple murder, and nearly all united in unmeasured condemnation of the wickedness of Eicks. Custom in the bar-room of the " Homo " was better than usual, for there was a morbid desire to hear and talk over the matter, and the particulars of the affair were de- tailed for the hundredth time. Men stood with their glasses in trembling hands, and argued wisely upon this or that phase of the transaction. The faults of Eicks were now as plain as midday ! Men who had feasted upon his too generous nature, turned to give him a stab. He was always ugly, es- pecially wJien in Uqitor — was passionate and quarrel- some. It was a wonder that he had not come to some bad end before. Howard had been sitting along time silent with his face buried in his hand, and his feet braced against the fire-place. The remarks of the last speaker aroused him, and turning quickly upon the latter, he Broke in : 146 MINNIE HEEMON. " When was James Eicks an ugly or passionate man ? When did he ever wrong any man or woman until carried away by his accursed appetite for liquor ? When was he otherwise than high-minded, noble and kind? Never, unless intoddcated. 1 knew him — have known him for years. A truer or kinder friend, a more affectionate or amiable husband, or indulgent father before he took to drink, never lived in this community. Tou know it. Tou know, too, whom he married, and what they both were in this com- munity. Tou know, too, that he had wealth. Men who have fed upon his bounty should not be eager to add to the weight which crushes the stricken crimi- nal. He is guilty of crime, yet as God is my judge, James Eicks, in his right mind, would no more have done what he has, than I would, and but for rum, would now be as guiltless. Young Brayton was right. Our tavern will prove a curse instead of a hlessing." Hermon was stung, and retorted from his bar with a sneer, with his hand upon a customer's glass : " Tou had better start one of these Temperance Societies, as they call them. Another drink would make you eloquent ! " "JS'ermoti ! " thundered the Doctor as he strode towards the former and struck his clenched fist upon the bar, with an unusual light in his inflamed eyes, " I shall never take a/iiothm' d/rinh from yov/r hand! I've seen enough. But for your liquor, James Eicks would be now at his old home, in the bosom of his family, an honored and respected citizen." THEEE MEETINGS. 14:7 " So you mean to charge me with the death of his family ? " fiercely demanded Hermon. " I charge it upon the liquor that he obtained at your bar." ■ "That was his own business, and not mine." " But, sir, you know that he was beggaring his family, and abusing them shamefully." " Permit me to say to you, Mr. Howard, that that was no business of mine. It's my business to sell liquor. No body is obliged to buy or drink it unless they choose." "Very true. But you know he had no control over himself when in liquor." " I tell you again, that is no affair of mine. I am no man's guardian. Men have a right to drink if they see fit, and I've a right to sell." "And I've a right to say what I think of the matter. You took a ring from little Henry Kicks which you knew was the wedding ring of his mother, and let him have whisky when you knew that Kicks had driven his wife out of doors, and to the neighbors for protection. Was that as you would wish other men to do by your family ? " " I ain't a drunkard, sir," retorted Hermon, with excitement. " I'm not bound to oversee my neigh- bors' affairs. People had better mind their own hu»i- ness," he continued, with- meaning emphasis. " I understand your threat, sir ; I've seen enough of your tavern : it has prospered too well for this vil- lage. I have seen more suffering and wretchedness 148 MINiriE HEEMON. and sorrow since you opened this house, than I ever saw before in my life. Ricks' was not the only fam- ily to whom I have carried bread and given my practice to save from hunger and death. Light breaks in upon me. I see where it all comes from, and I shall attend sufficiently to my '' own husiness,^^ Mr. Hermon, hereafter, to let your liquor alone, or else nvy property will go where Hicks' has gone, and my family be left to suffer, as I and yourself, sir, know that his has suffered. As God is my judge, I'll drink no more forever ! Good morning, sir ! " Had a thunderbolt fallen upon that barrroom floor, the astonishment could not have been greater. The befuddled intellects were too misty to see the plain truths hinted at by Dr. Howard, but they could easily see that he was a very hasty-spoken man, and had acted like a fool. Drink nothing ! It was one of the wildest ideas ever thought of, and a temperance -man of this day would wonder at the remarks made by those in the bar-room, after Howard left. All conclu- ded that he acted like a madman, and had abused Mr. Hermon most shamefully. There was not the least harm in the world in drinking ardent spirits — it was necessary. ' Because a man now and then made a fool of himself, so harmless a beverage should not be talked so about. The Doctor was generally a man of intelligence, and it was a wonder what had got into him to make him act so ; — he ought to know better. Guess when he got cooled off he would come round right. So Hermon thought, although the THKEE MEETINGS. 149 words of the Doctor chafed him more tlian he was willing to acknowledge even to himself. Yet he cer- tainly could not be held responsible for what others did ; — each one must look out for himself. If old Eicks had not made a fool of himself, he would not have been where he was. He had never taken any thing from Eicks without he had paid a full price for it. It wasn't his business to dictate how men should spend their property. Such men were his best customers, and if he should refuse to sell them liquor, kis business would not be worth anything. He must get a living. He did not want people to make beasts of themselves. If they did, it was their own lookout and not his. He kept a tavern for the public accommodation. To keep a public house and not sell liquor, would be a curious idea ! He wan't the fool that Howard took him to be, and that gen- tleman would find it out so. "With such reasoning, Hermon stifled the little con- science left, and after a few days things assumed their . usual course, with slight exceptions. All had miscal- culated upon the Doctor. He had at once seen the danger, and in the midst of the horrible effects of the liquor from the " Home," had solemnly sworn to drink no more. His manhood, yet unobliterated by his rapidly increasing appetite for liquor, rebelled against the thought of dying a drunkard. Eicks, his schoolmate, and earliest and best friend, had wasted a fortune, and was now in irons as a murderer. How- ard shuddered as he looked over the past few yearo, 150 MIKNIB HEEMON. and as he swore before God in the bar-room of the " Home," so he -would do at all hazards. No influ- ences should drive him from his position. With bitter words yet upon his tongue and anger in his heart, Hermon passed from the bar-room into the hall. He met Minnie in cloak and hood, with a basket on her arm, just starting to go out among the poor of the neighborhood. In his then ill humor, it was enough to call upon the daughter's head some of the harsh language that swelled in his troubled heart against Howard. ""What new subject of your whimpering kindness now calls you out in the cold ? Haven't I told you be- fore to stop this eternal running with provisions after lazy vagabonds ? I cannot, will not submit to it long- er ! " Tou must stop it ! " '■'■Father ! I cannot stop it. Tou must not say that. I am not feeding lazy vagabonds, but the poor and needy, such as the Saviour enjoins upon us to aid. Do not say I shall not. Father ! " " Saviour be — " O mercy ! Speak it not," and she sprung forward and placed her hand quickly upon his burning lips to shut back the dreadful blasphemy. She instantly removed her hand, and bursting into tears fell upon her knees and craved his pardon with burning kisses upon his reluctant hand. The demon was again en- throned in the bosom. of Hermon as of old. Madden- ed with rum and exasperated by his clash with How- ard, even the tears of his meek and devoted daughter TIIEEE MEETINGS. 151 were like oil upon tlie fires that raged fiercely within him. " Min. ! no more of this d d nonsense ! I've seen blubbering enough. Tour mother was always whimpering around like a simpleton, and I am tired of it. Go into the kitchen and behave yourself I'll see, Miss, if I can't rule my own house," and with a cruel grasp he seized Minnie by the shoulder and hurled her towards the inner door. Minnie sprang from his clutch as if stung, but it was not the cruel fingers which reached the quick. Kising erect in all the queenly beauty of her injured feelings, her thin nostrils distended, and her eyes kindling with indignation, she stood before the UU' natural parent. " Father of mine ! you may heap reproaches upon me — may even, as you have now done for the first time in your life, lay a harsh hand upon me, — but in the fear of God, never dare again to revile the holy name of one who loved so well and suffered so deeply. Heaven forgive you for assailing the mem- ory of one whom you wronged so cruelly while living. Have you forgotten that she died with the mark of a blow upon her cheek, and a prayer upon her lip for him who gave it ? Have you forgotten the promise you gave her then that you would not touch the cup again ? By all the memories of the past, of the pa- tient, long-suffering wife — of your own hopes of Heaven, my once noble father, away with this dark demon, and we will be happy again. Else the judg- 152 MINHIE HEEMON. ments of God will as surely come upon us as he lives above." Drunk as lie was, Hermon felt humbled some- what, and in a milder tone muttered about giving away so much out of the house ; it would " beggar them." " And would beggary be any worse for us. Father, than others ?" mildly asked the daughter. " Others is nothing to us. It's our business to take care of ourselves." " But it's our duty to help the needy." " But we can be reasonable about it ; 'taint duty to support all the poor there is." " Father, I must be plain. There were few poor and needy ten years ago. I shudder when I think of the undoubted cause of their poverty. "Would to God that that cause had produced no worse ill than poverty." "What do you allude to, girl? — what cause?" fiercely demanded Hermon. " The Traveler's Home ! Its liquor has produced suffering and death in every direction." " "Who told you this,, you impudent hussy ? " " Have I not seen it in all its forms from the very commencement ? " " And I s'pose you will say next, as Howard did, that I destroyed the Eicks family ? " " 7our liquor did, most assv/redly.'''' " But how is that any busiijess of mine ? I didn't kill the wife and children." TUKEE MEETINGS. 153 " But the father did, while in liquor, and the liquor came from your hand." " My hand ! " and Hermon involuntarily looked at his hand, as if expecting to see blood there, and then fiercely moved towards Minnie. But she stirred not, and the madman quailed before the daughter, for she had his own spirit, and it was thoroughly aroused. " Yes, father, it came from your hand." " But I have a right to sell, and no one is obliged to buy the liquor." " I know that the law gives you a right to sell, but God says, ' Woe unto him who putteth .the bottle to his neighbor's lips, and maketh him drunken.' " " You needn't preach to me any more. Miss, nor carry any more stuff out of the house," snarled Her- mon, as he turned to go out. You carried provis- ions enough to Ricks' family to have half support- ed 'em." "And were they not entitled to even more than a half-support from us ? " " What do you mean ? Am I to support all who are fools enough to fool away their property? " " I mean, father, that the bread I carried to that family was theirs — every morsel, justly theirs — ta- ken piece-meal from them in their poverty." " But they had their pay for it in liquor," thunder- ed the enraged father. " In liquor ! and you dare to call that pay for all that has been taken from them. Did you not know that every drop which went there was a curse ? Could 154 MINNIE HEEMON. Mrs. Eicks, or her children, eat it when hungry, or wear it in the cold ? Didn't it make a fiend of Eicks, and cause him to commit the crime for which he is now in prison^ Don't you know this, father ? " " Go to ! I don't know any such thing. I've got nothing but my own." " Who has the deed of their farm ? Dare you say you gave him an equivalent ? Is that instrument not the death-warrant. of the whole family? IsTo," con- tinued Minnie, as the landlord of the " Home " cow- ered from her, " that bread was not ours, not a mor- sel of it. It came unjustly. You may revile — you may turn me from your door, father ; but, before God, I will restore, as far as in me lies, to those who have been crushed by this house. You will live to bless me for this, and to curse the day you trans- formed our then happy home into a tavern. I shall now go on my errand to the Widow Gifford's. Her substance and the life of her only child have been ■ destroyed iy rum. She needs our aid. It is her due, and she shall have it." " Hell and furies ! " growled Hermon, as he slam- med the d'oor behind him. " She, too, has got How- ard's stuff by heart, and all the devils this side the pit can't stop her clack." — The landlord of the " Home " felt himself a mai - tyr, and sought to drown his troubles in a stiff horn of fourth-proof, and a vigorous kicking of the fore- stick in the fire-place. Dr. Howard rode home, with new and strange THREE MEETINGS. 155 thoughts crowding thickly upon each other. Dimly at first, but increasing as he proceeded, the light of higher views of his duties and responsibilities in the matter of using intoxicating drinks, broke in around him. As light came, so did a knowledge of his own danger, and the nearness of the precipice he had es- caped. So intense, became his thoughts as he dwelt upon the subject, the abyss opened before him, and he involuntarily drew up his rein so violently that his horse reared, and came near throwing him from the saddle. " I might have fallen worse — far worse," he mut- tered, as the fearful vision was dispelled, and he looked out upon the eddying snow and up to the gloomy clouds overhead. It now seemed strange that he had so long forgotten his mother, and the scene in the city garret. A blush crept over his cheek as he rec- ognized the cause of his forgetfulness, and with a ho- -lier and more solemn meaning, his recent resolution entered down into his better heart. That cold hand and glaring eye were before him, and the blast assumed a milder wail, as upon that fatal night ; and he shut his eyes and spurred on. The light, like a cheering beacon, streamed out from his own window, and he dismounted at the cottage, a free and a happier man. Fearfully plain he now saw the cause of the wasting cheek of the wife, and lingered upon the step to dash a tear from his eye. Not even an angry look or a smothered retort had ever answered his harsh words, or greeted him as he had returned from the revel. 156 MINNIE HEEMON. The intense and holy love of a better day kindled, up ■with more than its early heat, and he hurried to his wife's chamber. Howard entered softly, but the chamber was de- serted. The fire glowed in the chimney, and the ta- ble awaited his coming. As he turned to look, a low murmur came from the half-opened bedroom door, and he recognized the voice of his wife. The current of air from the hall door, which he had opened, swung the other noiselessly upon its hinges, and the whole was revealed. The child had been placed in the bed, and was slumbering sweetly. The mother was kneeling before the bed, the hand of the little sleeper clasped in hers, and her head bowed upon the pillow. Her hair had fallen from its fastenings, and hung in dark masses over the shoulder. Howard had never before found his wife at prayer, and he stood spell-bound, not knowing whether to advance or re- treat. Clear and distinct her words came, and like hot brands burned upon his cheek and into his proud soul. And she, too, had seen his danger ; and now, with the holy earnestness of a faith which leaned firmly upon God, and a heart swelling with the sor- row which the public eye never beholds, she was praying for her husband, and wrestling with Him who influences the hearts of men, to save the father of her child from a drunkard's grave. Howard started as though an adder had hissed at his feet. And still the long-suffering, never-complaining and devoted wife plead that their home might be spared THESE MEETINGS. 157 from the destroyer of those around it. She raised her head again, and prayed more earnestly that He who loved children would guard her own from harm. Tears flooded the channel of words, and she ceased to speak, but — a more touching eloquence — wept her prayers in silence. Ere the startled wife could turn, a trembling arm was wound about her, and her hand clasped convul- sively in that of her husband, his strong frame heaving with emotion, and the warm tears of stouter man- hood's giving away, raining upon the locked hands. The silence was broken only by the sobbing of a man who seldom wept — " Ellen, how long have you prayed thus ? " " Oh, many, many times, Henry. I hope you are not offended," and she turned to look in his face. " My deeply injured wife, no! ten thousand times, no ! But you will weep no more ; your prayers have been answered. I have this night sworn to drink no more forever that which will intoxicate." Men who know not how much a woman can suffer in the daily crumbling away of her heart's dearest hopes, can dream how unutterable happiness like the sunshine of perfect bliss came back from Heaven on the pathway of her prayers, as she wound her arms around the neck of her husband, and with her head bowed upon his bOsom, wept again. Her tears were now for joy. Each one gave back the light of hope and promise, and a sweet and holy calm pervaded her 358 MINNIE HEEMON. soul in that night of storm. In that hour, too, How- ard had determined to lean upon her God, and the tempter was forever driven from their earthly Eden. As he stooped down over his child, it awoke, and a smile answered the kiss. It was like an angel-wel- come — welcome back to a better and holier life. The evening meal was never so enjoyed. The fire looked brighter, and the tea-kettle sung a livelier air, and its steam curled up from the spout like an in- cense. The storm was unheeded; and even after the family had retired, the coals glowed and flashed, and the cricket chirruped his happy song under the hearth. Dreams visited the sleeping husband and wife. The fearful specter which had seated itself at their hearth was diiven away, and the Angel of Hope came and smiled where it had been. CHAPTEE XIII. MABEL DTTNHAM. Among tte earliest victims of the mm traffic in Oakvale, was Harry Dunham, an impetuous, gener- ous-hearted and high-souled young man of thirty years of age. In the pleasures of the cup, the bond- age of the tempter was woven so speedily and strong- ly around him, that his prospects darkened at midday, and the sun of his promise went down like a meteor. His was a nature to yield at once and madly to the fatal embrace of his enemy, and in a few years the gifted young man had fallen to the lowest degrada- tion, and in soiled and tattered garments spent the most of his time in the bar-room of the tavern. The manly form was bloated, the hair bushy and un- combed, and the full, dark eye of a fiery red. It was pitiable to see the once proud young man, holding horses, cleaning stables, sweeping the bar-rooms — performing the most menial service for the pittance of a glass. As a sixpence dropped into his hand, he would turn eagerly away to the bar and spend it for rum. The course of Dunham had desolated as hdppy a home as a young man ever had. But the young wife, who had given him the priceless wealth of her young 7 160 MINNIE HEKMON. heart, was stricken down like a tender flower, and, without a word of complaining, died. Mabel, the fair child of the brief union, inherited all her mother's loveliness, and every home in Oak- vale was gladly tendered the worse than orphan. She had no more a home, for her father deserted her entirely, and plunged more deeply into dissipation. She no more, however, was compelled to visit the "Home," with the tin pail, and in' tremulous tones ask liquor for a drunken father at home. John Gault, a bold, impulsive boy, a few years older than Mabel, was often seen in her company, and at such times himself went into the bar-room and got the liquor for her. John's father, though a cler- gyman, was a cold, stone-hearted man, and was angry at the intimacy between his son and " drnnken Dun- ham's " Mabel ; but the wilful boy would go to school, and over the fields, and by the river, with the sad- hearted child. The old s.chool-house stood over the river, perched picturesquely at the " four corners " among the rocks and scraggy pines. The walls upon the lower side were covered with moss, tufts of grass growing in the crevices, and a thistle, with a pale red blossom, reach- ing out its prickly stem. The house is old and weather-beaten, and the chimney crumbling away ; but clustering with a thousand hallowed associations. The jack-knife had been busy upon the clapboards and benches, where rude skill had carved ruder ima- ges and names, many of the letters turned the wrong MABEL DUNHAM. 161 way, and fantastically uncouth. The old door-sill ■was broken and deeply worn, and the rank grass was growing greenly upon either side of the hard path. Th^re was an old rock by the tuft of elders, sloping back to the hill from its perpendicular front, and smoothly worn by many a summer's treading of bare- footed groups. It was warm — ^ the rock — in the summer's sun, and there were glorious tumbles from the overhanging top. The rock is there yet, but many of the bare feet have long since trodden the journey of life. Across the road was a wide-spreading old thorn, with scraggy trunk and lance-like weapons hidden in its leaves ; but it bore a gorgeous wealth of white blossoms, and the bees mingled melody with the wel- come fragrance. On the knoll beneath, was the mimic carriage-way, with its bridge of bark and em- bankments of fresh earth. No architects of ancient grandeur were prouder of their achievements than the boy builders. Below the hill was the old mill, with its deep, dark flume, and the pond covered with float- ing timbers. Tlie mysterious old wheel was covered with moss, and as its dripping arms swung round, a wealth of gems fell glittering in the sunbeams. There was the still water whvon the old wheel ceased to go round, and the green-looking stones upon the bottom, where the " dace " lay so lazily in the sun, and seem- ed so wondrous large. It were worth a world to sport again in that cool stream, with the light of childhood in the heart, and its vigor in the limb. 162 MUrniE HBEMON. The sun crept stilly into tlie open door of the school- house, and away across the warped boards, nicely swept, and worn smooth by childish feet. Warm and rich was that sunlight as it came in at the window upon the well-worn seat, and leaped off upon the floor across the room. Sweetly it laughed upon the sleep- ing boy's face and upon his golden hair. The little sleeper was just at school, and the mistress had kindly laid him down, his feet hanging over the end of the bench, and his arm hanging down to the floor. — The sun moved away — and so will move away the child-dreams of his school days. There is a low murmxir of voices in the room, and the hum of the fly, as he wings about in the stillness, or crawls on the warm window-pane, or trims his shi- ning wings in the sunshine — save this, all is hushed and dreamy. The sun beats hotly without, where the mowers are busy, the scraping of their rifles, as they sharpen their scythes, ringing clearly across the field. With the shadow of the drifting cloud goes by the breeze, after entering the windows like a spirit of health, with its fragrance of new-mown hay. The wide old hearth is neatly swept, and the fire- place looks cool with its profusion of boughs. The school mistress moves quietly about the room with ferule in hand, and prompting with a musical voice as the children recite. There is the beautiful and sad face of the lone boy, as, with his crutch beside him, he sits in the door and watches sports he cannot enjoy. His cheeks are MABEL DITNHAM. 163 pale, but his eye of deepest blue has that resigned and patient look which wins the heart, and his sweet and gentle manner endeared him to all. The best apple is his, and he has a favored seat at all our plays ; and when we lift him over the fence, where he can mingle with us under the wide-crowned thorn, his look is grateful, and lingers like a sacred thought in the memory. The pilgrimage of the lame boy is ended. He left his crutch at the grave, and in it that shattered form. In the corner of the crooked fence, and under the thorn, was the play-house, built of fragments of boards, and walled in with cobble-stones. The bro- ken china was nicely arranged, and the turf jfiioor cleanly swept. But lessons were not always well learned within that little retreat. The plump arm was punished with a pin, when the mischievous owner put dock-burs in her brother's hair. Mabel Dunham was a favorite, for the children had not yet learned to shun the drunkard's child. Her eyes were sweetly calm and blue, her hair long and lying like waves of gold upon her white neck, or glan- cing in the sun as her hand tossed the heavy braids from her cheek. A gentle and touching sadness had settled upon her features since her mother's death, and sorrow more than years had written its language upon her thoughtful brow. John Gault, was the boy-lover of Mabel. He carbiTiUy lifted her over the mossy stones in the streams, over the fence, or down from the wide rock 164 MINNIE HEEMON. by the spring. The yellowest daisy and the freshest wild-rose were hunted out from the meadow and the hedge, and the largest pond-lily was wrenched from its moorings far out in the water. The smoothest and prettiest pebbles were selected from the brooklet's bed for the little house he had built for Mabel, and the greenest moss pulled to carpet the floor. The red maple was climbed for boughs to shut out the sun — ■ those blue eyQs ever turned anxiously up that he should not fall. Mornings, John would steal away and watch her coming down the winding path around the hill, and carry her basket to the school. The im- petuous boy loved more than boys usually love. He saw her everywhere in night and day dreams. The flame-like foliage of the maple was like the dress she wore. The robin in the beech overhead sang of Ma- bel. The golden dandelion and the daisy smiled as she smiled ; and the blue sky down in the still water, was as dreamy and still as her eyes were calm. He heard her footfall behind him as he hurried through the dusky wood-path. The stars had eyes like hers ; and in the moonlight, the dew-drop glittered as he had seen the tear glitter upon her cheek. In the strength and purity of his child-love, John had promised, that, when a man, in spite of his father and everobody else, he would make Mabel his wife, and they would have a home of their own, and bo happy. — Boy dreams ! Mabel Dtmham lost ! MABEL DUNHAM. 1G5 The news spread quickly through the village — for all loved the unfortunate child. The father, deeply intoxicated, had been seen the evening before in her company across the river. Below the dam was a footwalk, high above the water, for the accommodation of the villagers. Across this was the most direct way to the falls — a place where John and Mabel had spent many hours in childish communion. John was the first to reach the walk, just as the sunshine fell in a broad beam across the pool. There upon the bottom was Dunham and Mabel, one hand clenched upon her arm, and the other upon the handle of his broken jug ! The sands glittered in the golden braids of lier hair as they lay out upon the clear current ; and, as if smiling to the sky, h