TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR ROOM

BY

T. S. ARTHUR

CONTENTS

 NIGHT THE FIRST--THE "SICKLE AND SHEAF. " NIGHT THE SECOND--THE CHANGES OF A YEAR. NIGHT THE THIRD--JOE MORGAN'S CHILD. NIGHT THE FOURTH--DEATH OF LITTLE MARY MORGAN. NIGHT THE FIFTH--SOME OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF TAVERN-KEEPING. NIGHT THE SIXTH--MORE CONSEQUENCES. NIGHT THE SEVENTH--SOWING THE WIND. NIGHT THE EIGHTH--REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. NIGHT THE NINTH--A FEARFUL CONSUMMATION. NIGHT THE TENTH--THE CLOSING SCENE AT THE "SICKLE AND SHEAF. "

NIGHT THE FIRST. 

THE "SICKLE AND SHEAF. "

Ten years ago, business required me to pass a day in Cedarville. It waslate in the afternoon when the stage set me down at the "Sickle andSheaf, " a new tavern, just opened by a new landlord, in a new house, built with the special end of providing "accommodations for man andbeast. " As I stepped from the dusty old vehicle in which I had beenjolted along a rough road for some thirty miles, feeling tired andhungry, the good-natured face of Simon Slade, the landlord, beaming asit did with a hearty welcome, was really a pleasant sight to see, andthe grasp of his hand was like that of a true friend. 

I felt as I entered the new and neatly furnished sitting-room adjoiningthe bar, that I had indeed found a comfortable resting-place after mywearisome journey. 

"All as nice as a new pin, " said I, approvingly, as I glanced aroundthe room, up to the ceiling--white as the driven snow--and over thehandsomely carpeted floor. "Haven't seen anything so inviting as this. How long have you been open?"

"Only a few months, " answered the gratified landlord. "But we are notyet in good going order. It takes time, you know, to bring everythinginto the right shape. Have you dined yet?"

"No. Everything looked so dirty at the stage-house, where we stopped toget dinner, that I couldn't venture upon the experiment of eating. Howlong before your supper will be ready?"

"In an hour, " replied the landlord. 

"That will do. Let me have a nice piece of tender steak, and the lossof dinner will soon be forgotten. "

"You shall have that, cooked fit for an alderman, " said the landlord. "I call my wife the best cook in Cedarville. "

As he spoke, a neatly dressed girl, about sixteen years of age, withrather an attractive countenance, passed through the room. 

"My daughter, " said the landlord, as she vanished through the door. There was a sparkle of pride in the father's eyes, and a certaintenderness in the tones of his voice, as he said "My daughter" thattold me she was very dear to him. 

"You are a happy man to have so fair a child, " said I, speaking more incompliment than with a careful choice of words. 

"I am a happy man, " was the landlord's smiling answer; his fair, roundface, unwrinkled by a line of care or trouble, beaming withself-satisfaction. "I have always been a happy man, and always expectto be. Simon Slade takes the world as it comes, and takes it easy. Myson, sir, " he added, as a boy, in his twelfth year, came in. "Speak tothe gentleman. "

The boy lifted to mine a pair of deep blue eyes, from which innocencebeamed, as he offered me his hand, and said, respectfully--"How do youdo, sir?" I could not but remark the girl-like beauty of his face, inwhich the hardier firmness of the boy's character was already visible. 

"What is your name?" I asked. 

"Frank, sir. "

"Frank is his name, " said the landlord--"we called him after his uncle. Frank and Flora--the names sound pleasant to the ears. But you knowparents are apt to be a little partial and over fond. "

"Better that extreme than its opposite, " I remarked. 

"Just what I always say. Frank, my son, "--the landlord spoke to theboy--"there's some one in the bar. You can wait on him as well as Ican. "

The lad glided from the room in ready obedience. 

"A handy boy that, sir; a very handy boy. Almost as good, in the bar asa man. He mixes a toddy or a punch just as well as I can. "

"But, " I suggested, "are you not a little afraid of placing one soyoung in the way of temptation?"

"Temptation!" The open brows of Simon Slade contracted a little. "No, sir!" he replied, emphatically. "The till is safer under his care thanit would be in that of one man in ten. The boy comes, sir, of honestparents. Simon Slade never wronged anybody out of a farthing. "

"Oh, " said I, quickly, "you altogether misapprehend me. I had noreference to the till, but to the bottle. "

The landlord's brows were instantly unbent, and a broad smile circledover his good-humored face. 

"Is that all? Nothing to fear, I can assure you. Frank has no taste forliquor, and might pour it out for mouths without a drop finding its wayto his lips. Nothing to apprehend there, sir--nothing. "

I saw that further suggestions of danger would be useless, and soremained silent. The arrival of a traveler called away the landlord, and I was left alone for observation and reflection. The bar adjoinedthe neat sitting-room, and I could see, through the open door, thecustomer upon whom the lad was attending. He was a well-dressed youngman--or rather boy, for he did not appear to be over nineteen years ofage--with a fine, intelligent face, that was already slightly marred bysensual indulgence. He raised the glass to his lips, with a quick, almost eager motion, and drained it at a single draught. 

"Just right, " said he, tossing a sixpence to the young bar-tender. "Youare first rate at a brandy-toddy. Never drank a better in my life. "

The lad's smiling face told that he was gratified by the compliment. Tome the sight was painful, for I saw that this youthful tippler was ondangerous ground. 

"Who is that young man in the bar?" I asked, a few minutes afterward, on being rejoined by the landlord. 

Simon Slade stepped to the door and looked into the bar for a moment. 

Two or three men were there by this time; but he was at no loss inanswering my question. 

"Oh, that's a son of Judge Hammond, who lives in the large brick houseas you enter the village. Willy Hammond, as everybody familiarly callshim, is about the finest young man in our neighborhood. There isnothing proud or put-on about him--nothing--even if his father is ajudge, and rich into the bargain. Every one, gentle or simple, likesWilly Hammond. And then he is such good company. Always so cheerful, and always with a pleasant story on his tongue. And he's sohigh-spirited withal, and so honorable. Willy Hammond would lose hisright hand rather than be guilty of a mean action. "

"Landlord!" The voice came loud from the road in front of the house, and Simon Slade again left me to answer the demands of some new-comer. I went into the bar-room, in order to take a closer observation ofWilly Hammond, in whom an interest, not unmingled with concern, hadalready been awakened in my mind. I found him engaged in a pleasantconversation with a plain-looking farmer, whose homely, terse, commonsense was quite as conspicuous as his fine play of words and livelyfancy. The farmer was a substantial conservative, and young Hammond awarm admirer of new ideas and the quicker adaptation of means to ends. I soon saw that his mental powers were developed beyond his years, while his personal qualities were strongly attractive. I understoodbetter, after being a silent listener and observer for ten minutes, whythe landlord had spoken of him so warmly. 

"Take a brandy-toddy, Mr. H--?" said Hammond, after the discussionclosed, good humoredly. "Frank, our junior bar-keeper here, beats hisfather, in that line. "

"I don't care if I do, " returned the farmer; and the two passed up tothe bar. 

"Now, Frank, my boy, don't belie my praises, " said the young man; "doyour handsomest. "

"Two brandy-toddies, did you say?" Frank made inquiry with quite aprofessional air. 

"Just what I did say; and let them be equal to Jove's nectar. "

Pleased at this familiarity, the boy went briskly to his work of mixingthe tempting compound, while Hammond looked on with an approving smile. 

"There, " said the latter, as Frank passed the glasses across thecounter, "if you don't call that first-rate, you're no judge. " And hehanded one of them to the farmer, who tasted the agreeable draught, andpraised its flavor. As before, I noticed that Hammond drank eagerly, like one athirst--emptying his glass without once taking it from hislips. 

Soon after the bar-room was empty; and then I walked around thepremises, in company with the landlord, and listened to his praise ofeverything and his plans and purposes for the future. The house, yard, garden, and out-buildings were in the most perfect order; presenting, in the whole, a model of a village tavern. 

"Whatever I do, sir, " said the talkative Simon Slade, "I like to dowell. I wasn't just raised to tavern-keeping, you must know; but I amone who can turn his hand to almost any thing. "

"What was your business?" I inquired. 

"I'm a miller, sir, by trade, " he answered--"and a better miller, though I say it myself, is not to be found in Bolton county. I'vefollowed milling these twenty years, and made some little money. But Igot tired of hard work, and determined to lead an easier life. So Isold my mill, and built this house with the money. I always thought I'dlike tavern-keeping. It's an easy life; and, if rightly seen after, onein which a man is sure to make money. "

"You were still doing a fair business with your mill?"

"Oh, yes. Whatever I do, I do right. Last year, I put by a thousanddollars above all expenses, which is not bad, I can assure you, for amere grist mill. If the present owner comes out even, he'll do well!"

"How is that?"

"Oh, he's no miller. Give him the best wheat that is grown, and he'llruin it in grinding. He takes the life out of every grain. I don'tbelieve he'll keep half the custom that I transferred with the mill. "

"A thousand dollars, clear profit, in so useful a business, ought tohave satisfied you, " said I. 

"There you and I differ, " answered the landlord. "Every man desires tomake as much money as possible, and with the least labor. I hope tomake two or three thousand dollars a year, over and above all expenses, at tavern-keeping. My bar alone ought to yield me that sum. A man witha wife and children very naturally tries to do as well by them aspossible. "

"Very true; but, " I ventured to suggest, "will this be doing as well bythem as if you had kept on at the mill?"

"Two or three thousand dollars a year against one thousand! Where areyour figures, man?"

"There may be something beyond money to take into the account, " said I. 

"What?" inquired Slade, with a kind of half credulity. 

"Consider the different influences of the two callings in life--that ofa miller and a tavern-keeper. "

"Well, say on. "

"Will your children be as safe from temptation here as in their formerhome?"

"Just as safe, " was the unhesitating answer. "Why not?"

I was about to speak of the alluring glass in the case of Frank, butremembering that I had already expressed a fear in that direction, feltthat to do so again would be useless, and so kept silent. 

"A tavern-keeper, " said Slade, "is just as respectable as a miller--infact, the very people who used to call me 'Simon' or 'NeighborDustycoat, ' now say 'Landlord, ' or 'Mr. Slade, ' and treat me in everyway more as if I were an equal than ever they did before. "

"The change, " said I, "may be due to the fact of your giving evidenceof possessing some means. Men are very apt to be courteous to those whohave property. The building of the tavern has, without doubt, contributed to the new estimation in which you are held. "

"That isn't all, " replied the landlord. "It is because I am keeping agood tavern, and thus materially advancing the interests of Cedarville, that some of our best people look at me with different eyes. "

"Advancing the interests of Cedarville! In what way?" I did notapprehend his meaning. 

"A good tavern always draws people to a place, while a miserable oldtumble-down of an affair, badly kept, such as we have had for years, assurely repels them. You can generally tell something about thecondition of a town by looking at its taverns. If they are well kept, and doing a good business, you will hardly be wrong in the conclusionthat the place is thriving. Why, already, since I built and opened the'Sickle and Sheaf, ' property has advanced over twenty per cent alongthe whole street, and not less than five new houses have beencommenced. "

"Other causes, besides the simple opening of a new tavern, may havecontributed to this result, " said I. 

"None of which I am aware. I was talking with Judge Hammond onlyyesterday--he owns a great deal of ground on the street--and he did nothesitate to say, that the building and opening of a good tavern herehad increased the value of his property at least five thousand dollars. He said, moreover, that he thought the people of Cedarville ought topresent me with a silver pitcher; and that, for one, he wouldcontribute ten dollars for that purpose. "

The ringing of the supper bell interrupted further conversation; andwith the best of appetites, I took my way to the room, where aplentiful meal was spread. As I entered, I met the wife of Simon Slade, just passing out, after seeing that every thing was in order. I had notobserved her before; and now could not help remarking that she had aflushed, excited countenance, as if she had been over a hot fire, andwas both worried and fatigued. And there was, moreover, a peculiarexpression of the mouth, never observed in one whose mind is entirelyat ease--an expression that once seen is never forgotten. The facestamped itself instantly on my memory; and I can even now recall itwith almost the original distinctness. How strongly it contrasted withthat of her smiling, self-satisfied husband, who took his place at thehead of his table with an air of conscious importance. I was too hungryto talk much, and so found greater enjoyment in eating than inconversation. The landlord had a more chatty guest by his side, and Ileft them to entertain each other, while I did ample justice to theexcellent food with which the table was liberally provided. 

After supper I went to the sitting-room, and remained there until thelamps were lighted. A newspaper occupied my time for perhaps half anhour; then the buzz of voices from the adjoining bar-room, which hadbeen increasing for some time, attracted my attention, and I went inthere to see and hear what was passing. The first person upon whom myeyes rested was young Hammond, who sat talking with a man older thanhimself by several years. At a glance, I saw that this man could onlyassociate himself with Willy Hammond as a tempter. Unscrupulousselfishness was written all over his sinister countenance; and Iwondered that it did not strike every one, as it did me, with instantrepulsion. There could not be, I felt certain, any common ground ofassociation, for two such persons, but the dead level of a villagebar-room. I afterward learned, during the evening, that this man's namewas Harvey Green, and that he was an occasional visitor at Cedarville, remaining a few days, or a few weeks at a time, as appeared to suit hisfancy, and having no ostensible business or special acquaintance withanybody in the village. 

"There is one thing about him, " remarked Simon Slade, in answering somequestion that I put in reference to the man, "that I don't object to;he has plenty of money, and is not at all niggardly in spending it. Heused to come here, so he told me, about once in five or six months; buthis stay at the miserably kept tavern, the only one then in Cedarville, was so uncomfortable, that he had pretty well made up his mind never tovisit us again. Now, however, he has engaged one of my best rooms, forwhich he pays me by the year, and I am to charge him full board for thetime he occupies it. He says that there is something about Cedarvillethat always attracts him; and that his health is better while here thanit is anywhere except South during the winter season. He'll never leaveless than two or three hundred dollars a year in our village--there isone item, for you, of advantage to a place in having a good tavern. "

"What is his business?" I asked. "Is he engaged in any tradingoperations?"

The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and looked slightly mysterious, ashe answered:

"I never inquire about the business of a guest. My calling is toentertain strangers. If they are pleased with my house, and pay mybills on presentation, I have no right to seek further. As a miller, Inever asked a customer, whether he raised, bought, or stole his wheat. It was my business to grind it, and I took care to do it well. Beyondthat, it was all his own affair. And so it will be in my new calling. Ishall mind my own business and keep my own place. "

Besides young Hammond and this Harvey Green, there were in thebar-room, when I entered, four others besides the landlord. Among thesewas a Judge Lyman--so he was addressed--a man between forty and fiftyyears of age, who had a few weeks before received the Democraticnomination for member of Congress. He was very talkative and veryaffable, and soon formed a kind of centre of attraction to the bar-roomcircle. Among other topics of conversation that came up was the newtavern, introduced by the landlord, in whose mind it was, verynaturally, the uppermost thought. 

"The only wonder to me is, " said Judge Lyman, "that nobody had witenough to see the advantage of a good tavern in Cedarville ten yearsago, or enterprise enough to start one. I give our friend Slade thecredit of being a shrewd, far-seeing man; and, mark my word for it, inten years from to-day he will be the richest man in the county. "

"Nonsense--Ho! ho!" Simon Slade laughed outright. "The richest man! Youforget Judge Hammond. "

"No, not even Judge Hammond, with all deference for our clever friendWilly, " and Judge Lyman smiled pleasantly on the young man. 

"If he gets richer, somebody will be poorer!" The individual whotittered these words had not spoken before, and I turned to look at himmore closely. A glance showed him to be one of a class seen in allbar-rooms; a poor, broken-down inebriate, with the inward power ofresistance gone--conscious of having no man's respect, and givingrespect to none. There was a shrewd twinkle in his eyes, as he fixedthem on Slade, that gave added force to the peculiar tone in which hisbrief but telling sentence was uttered. I noticed a slight contractionon the landlord's ample forehead, the first evidence I had yet seen ofruffled feelings. The remark, thrown in so untimely (or timely, somewill say), and with a kind of prophetic malice, produced a temporarypause in the conversation. No one answered or questioned the intruder, who, I could perceive, silently enjoyed the effect of his words. Butsoon the obstructed current ran on again. 

"If our excellent friend, Mr. Slade, " said Harvey Green, "is not therichest man in Cedarville at the end of ten years, he will at leastenjoy the satisfaction of having made his town richer. "

"A true word that, " replied Judge Lyman--"as true a word as ever wasspoken. What a dead-and-alive place this has been until within the lastfew months. All vigorous growth had stopped, and we were actually goingto seed. "

"And the graveyard, too, " muttered the individual who had beforedisturbed the self-satisfied harmony of the company, remarking upon theclosing sentence of Harvey Green. "Come, landlord, " he added, as hestrode across to the bar, speaking in a changed, reckless sort of away, "fix me up a good hot whisky-punch, and do it right; and here'sanother sixpence toward the fortune you are bound to make. It's thelast one left--not a copper more in my pockets, " and he turned theminside-out, with a half-solemn, half-ludicrous air. "I send it to keepcompany in your till with four others that have found their way intothat snug place since morning, and which will be lonesome without theirlittle friend. "

I looked at Simon Slade; his eyes rested on mine for a moment or two, and then sunk beneath my earnest gaze. I saw that his countenanceflushed, and that his motions were slightly confused. The incident, itwas plain, did not awaken agreeable thoughts. Once I saw his hand movetoward the sixpence that lay upon the counter; but whether to push itback or draw it toward the till, I could not determine. Thewhisky-punch was in due time ready, and with it the man retired to atable across the room, and sat down to enjoy the tempting beverage. Ashe did so, the landlord quietly swept the poor unfortunate's lastsixpence into his drawer. The influence of this strong potation was torender the man a little more talkative. To the free conversationpassing around him he lent an attentive ear, dropping in a word, nowand then, that always told upon the company like a well-directed blow. At last, Slade lost all patience with him, and said, a little fretfully:

"Look here, Joe Morgan, if you will be ill-natured, pray go somewhereelse, and not interrupt good feeling among gentlemen. "

"Got my last sixpence, " retorted Joe, turning his pockets inside-outagain. "No more use for me here to-night. That's the way of the world. How apt a scholar is our good friend Dustycoat, in this new school!Well, he was a good miller--no one ever disputed that--and it's plainto see that he is going to make a good landlord. I thought his heartwas a little too soft; but the indurating process has begun, and, inless than ten years, if it isn't as hard as one of his old mill-stones, Joe Morgan is no prophet. Oh, you needn't knit your brows so, friendSimon, we're old friends; and friends are privileged to speak plain. "

"I wish you'd go home. You're not yourself tonight, " said the landlord, a little coaxingly, for he saw that nothing was to be gained byquarreling with Morgan. "Maybe my heart is growing harder, " he added, with affected good-humor; "and it is time, perhaps. One of myweaknesses, I have heard even you say, was being too woman-hearted. "

"No danger of that now, " retorted Joe Morgan. "I've known a good manylandlords in my time, but can't remember one that was troubled with thedisease that once afflicted you. "

Just at this moment the outer door was pushed open with a slow, hesitating motion; then a little pale face peered in, and a pair ofsoft blue eyes went searching about the room. Conversation wasinstantly hushed, and every face, excited with interest, turned towardthe child, who had now stepped through the door. She was not over tenyears of age; but it moved the heart to look upon the saddenedexpression of her young countenance, and the forced bravery therein, that scarcely overcame the native timidity so touchingly visible. 

"Father!" I have never heard this word spoken in a voice that sent sucha thrill along every nerve. It was full of sorrowful love--full of atender concern that had its origin too deep for the heart of a child. As she spoke, the little one sprang across the room, and laying herhands upon the arm of Joe Morgan, lifted her eyes, that were ready togush over with tears, to his face. 

"Come father! won't you come home?" I hear that low, pleading voiceeven now, and my heart gives a quicker throb. Poor child! Darklyshadowed was the sky that bent gloomily over thy young life. 

Morgan arose, and suffered the child to lead him from the room. Heseemed passive in her hands. I noticed that he thrust his fingersnervously into his pocket, and that a troubled look went over his faceas they were withdrawn. His last sixpence was in the till of SimonSlade!

The first man who spoke was Harvey Green, and this not for a minuteafter the father and his child had vanished through the door. 

"If I was in your place, landlord"--his voice was cold andunfeeling--"I'd pitch that fellow out of the bar-room the next time hestepped through the door. He's no business here, in the first place;and, in the second, he doesn't know how to behave himself. There's notelling how much a vagabond like him injures a respectable house. "

"I wish he would stay away, " said Simon, with a perplexed air. 

"I'd make him stay away, " answered Green. 

"That may be easier said than done, " remarked Judge Lyman. "Our friendkeeps a public-house, and can't just say who shall or shall not comeinto it. "

"But such a fellow has no business here. He's a good-for-nothing sot. If I kept a tavern, I'd refuse to sell him liquor. "

"That you might do, " said Judge Lyman; "and I presume your hint willnot be lost on our friend Slade. "

"He will have liquor, so long as he can get a cent to buy it with, "remarked one of the company; "and I don't see why our landlord here, who has gone to so much expense to fit up a tavern, shouldn't have thesale of it as well as anybody else. Joe talks a little freelysometimes; but no one can say that he is quarrelsome. You've got totake him as he is, that's all. "

"I am one, " retorted Harvey Green, with a slightly ruffled manner, "whois never disposed to take people as they are when they choose to renderthemselves disagreeable. If I was Mr. Slade, as I remarked in thebeginning, I'd pitch that fellow into the road the next time he put hisfoot over my door step. "

"Not if I were present, " remarked the other, coolly. 

Green was on his feet in a moment, and I saw, from the flash of hiseyes, that he was a man of evil passions. Moving a pace or two in thedirection of the other, he said sharply. 

"What is that, sir?"

The individual against whom his anger was so suddenly aroused wasdressed plainly, and had the appearance of a working man. He was stoutand muscular. 

"I presume you heard my words. They were spoken distinctly, " hereplied, not moving from where he sat, nor seeming to be in the leastdisturbed. But there was a cool defiance in the tones of his voice andin the steady look of his eyes. 

"You're an impertinent fellow, and I'm half tempted to chastise you. "

Green had scarcely finished the sentence, ere he was lying full lengthupon the floor. The other had sprung upon him like a tiger, and withone blow from his heavy fist, struck him down as if he had been achild. For a moment or two, Green lay stunned and bewildered--then, starting up with a savage cry, that sounded more bestial than human, hedrew a long knife from a concealed sheath, and attempted to stab hisassailant, but the murderous purpose was not accomplished, for theother man, who had superior strength and coolness, saw the design, andwith a well directed blow almost broke the arm of Green, causing theknife to leave his hand and glide far across the room. 

"I'm half tempted to wring your neck off, " exclaimed the man, whosename was Lyon, now much excited, and seizing Green by the throat, hestrangled him until his face grew black. "Draw a knife on me, ha! Youmurdering villain!" And he gripped him tighter. 

Judge Lyman and the landlord now interfered, and rescued Green from thehands of his fully aroused antagonist. For some time they stoodgrowling at each other, like two parted dogs struggling to get free, inorder to renew the conflict, but gradually cooled off. In a littlewhile Judge Lyman drew Green aside, and the two men left the bar-roomto other. In the door, as they were retiring, the former slightlynodded to Willy Hammond, who soon followed them, going into the sittingroom, and from thence, as I could perceive, upstairs to an apartmentabove. 

"Not after much good, " I heard Lyon mutter to himself. "If JudgeHammond don't look a little closer after that boy of his, he'll besorry for it, that's all. "

"Who is this Green?" I asked of Lyon, finding myself alone with him inthe bar-room soon after. 

"A blackleg, I take it, " was his unhesitating answer. 

"Does Judge Lyman suspect his real character?"

"I don't know anything about that, but I wouldn't be afraid to bet tendollars, that if you could look in upon them now, you would find cardsin their hands. "

"What a school, and what teachers for the youth who just went withthem!" I could not help remarking. 

"Willy Hammond?"

"Yes. "

"You may well say that. What can his father be thinking about to leavehim exposed to such influences!"

"He's one of the few who are in raptures about this tavern, because itserection has slightly increased the value of his property about here, but if he is not the loser of fifty per cent for every one gained, before ten years go by, I'm very much in error. "

"How so?"

"It will prove, I fear, the open door to ruin to his son. "

"That's bad, " said I. 

"Bad! It is awful to think of. There is not a finer young man in thecountry, nor one with better mind and heart, than Willy Hammond. Somuch the sadder will be his destruction. Ah, sir! this tavern-keepingis a curse to any place. "

"But I thought, just now, that you spoke in favor of letting even thepoor drunkard's money go into the landlord's till, in order toencourage his commendable enterprise in opening so good a tavern. "

"We all speak with covert irony sometimes, " answered the man, "as I didthen. Poor Joe Morgan! He is an old and early friend of Simon Slade. They were boys together, and worked as millers under the same roof formany years. In fact, Joe's father owned the mill, and the two learnedtheir trade with him. When old Morgan died, the mill came into Joe'shands. It was in rather a worn-out condition, and Joe went in debt forsome pretty thorough repairs and additions of machinery. By and by, Simon Slade, who was hired by Joe to run the mill, received a couple ofthousand dollars at the death of an aunt. This sum enabled him to buy ashare in the mill, which Morgan was very glad to sell in order to getclear of his debt. Time passed on, and Joe left his milling interestalmost entirely in the care of Slade, who, it must be said in hisfavor, did not neglect the business. But it somehow happened--I willnot say unfairly--that at the end of ten years, Joe Morgan no longerowned a share in the mill. The whole property was in the hands ofSlade. People did not much wonder at this; for while Slade was alwaysto be found at the mill, industrious, active, and attentive tocustomers, Morgan was rarely seen on the premises. You would oftenerfind him in the woods, with a gun over his shoulder, or sitting by atrout brook, or lounging at the tavern. And yet everybody liked Joe, for he was companionable, quick-witted, and very kind-hearted. He wouldsay sharp things, sometimes, when people manifested little meannesses;but there was so much honey in his gall, that bitterness rarelypredominated. 

"A year or two before his ownership in the mill ceased, Morgan marriedone of the sweetest girls in our town--Fanny Ellis, that was her name, and she could have had her pick of the young men. Everybody affected towonder at her choice; and yet nobody really did wonder, for Joe was anattractive young man, take him as you would, and just the one to winthe heart of a girl like Fanny. What if he had been seen, now and then, a little the worse for drink! What if he showed more fondness forpleasure than for business! Fanny did not look into the future withdoubt or fear. She believed that her love was strong enough to win himfrom all evil allurements: and, as for this world's goods, they werematters in which her maiden fancies rarely busied themselves. 

"Well. Dark days came for her, poor soul! And yet, in all the darknessof her earthly lot, she has never, it is said, been anything but aloving, forbearing, self-denying wife to Morgan. And he--fallen as heis, and powerless in the grasp of the monster intemperance--has never, I am sure, hurt her with a cruel word. Had he added these, her heartwould, long ere this, have broken. Poor Joe Morgan! Poor Fanny! Oh, what a curse is this drink!"

The man, warming with his theme, had spoken with an eloquence I had notexpected from his lips. Slightly overmastered by his feelings, hepaused for a moment or two, and then added:

"It was unfortunate for Joe, at least, that Slade sold his mill, andbecame a tavern-keeper; for Joe had a sure berth, and wages regularlypaid. He didn't always stick to his work, but would go off on a spreeevery now and then; but Slade bore with all this, and worked harderhimself to make up for his hand's shortcoming. And no matter whatdeficiency the little store-room at home might show, Fanny Morgan neverfound her meal barrel empty without knowing where to get it replenished. 

"But, after Slade sold his mill, a sad change took place. The new ownerwas little disposed to pay wages to a hand who would not give him allhis time during working hours; and in less than two weeks from the dayhe took possession, Morgan was discharged. Since then, he has beenworking about at one odd job and another, earning scarcely enough tobuy the liquor it requires to feed the inordinate thirst that isconsuming him. I am not disposed to blame Simon Slade for thewrong-doing of Morgan; but here is a simple fact in the case--if he hadkept on at the useful calling of a miller, he would have saved thisman's family from want, suffering, and a lower deep of misery than thatinto which they have already fallen. I merely state it, and you candraw your own conclusions. It is one of the many facts, on the otherside of this tavern question, which it will do no harm to mention. Ihave noted a good many facts besides, and one is, that before Sladeopened the 'Sickle and Sheaf, ' he did all in his power to save hisearly friend from the curse of intemperance; now he has become histempter. Heretofore, it was his hand that provided the means for hisfamily to live in some small degree of comfort; now he takes the poorpittance the wretched man earns, and dropping it in his till, forgetsthe wife and children at home who are hungry for the bread this moneyshould have purchased. 

"Joe Morgan, fallen as he is, sir, is no fool. His mind sees quicklyyet; and he rarely utters a sentiment that is not full of meaning. Whenhe spoke of Blade's heart growing as hard in ten years as one of hisold mill-stones, he was not uttering words at random, nor merelyindulging in a harsh sentiment, little caring whether it were closelyapplicable or not. That the indurating process had begun, he, alas! wastoo sadly conscious. "

The landlord had been absent from the room for some time. He left soonafter Judge Lyman, Harvey Green, and Willy Hammond withdrew, and I didnot see him again during the evening. His son Frank was left to attendat the bar; no very hard task, for not more than half a dozen called into drink from the time Morgan left until the bar was closed. 

While Mr. Lyon was giving me the brief history just recorded, I noticeda little incident that caused a troubled feeling to pervade my mind. After a man, for whom the landlord's son had prepared a fancy drink, had nearly emptied his glass, he set it down upon the counter and wentout. A tablespoonful or two remained in the glass, and I noticed Frank, after smelling at it two or three times, put the glass to his lips andsip the sweetened liquor. The flavor proved agreeable; for, aftertasting it, he raised the glass again and drained every drop. 

"Frank!" I heard a low voice, in a warning tone, pronounce the name, and glancing toward a door partly open, that led from the inside of thebar to the yard, I saw the face of Mrs. Slade. It had the same troubledexpression I had noticed before, but now blended with anxiety. 

The boy went out at the call of his mother; and when a new customerentered, I noticed that Flora, the daughter, came in to wait upon him. I noticed, too, that while she poured out the liquor, there was aheightened color on her face, in which I fancied that I saw a tinge ofshame. It is certain that she was not in the least gracious to theperson on whom she was waiting; and that there was little heart in hermanner of performing the task. 

Ten o'clock found me alone and musing in the barroom over theoccurrences of the evening. Of all the incidents, that of the entranceof Joe Morgan's child kept the most prominent place in my thoughts. Thepicture of that mournful little face was ever before me; and I seemedall the while to hear the word "Father, " uttered so touchingly, and yetwith such a world of childish tenderness. And the man, who would haveopposed the most stubborn resistance to his fellow-men, had they soughtto force him from the room, going passively, almost meekly out, led bythat little child--I could not, for a time, turn my thoughts from theimage thereof! And then thought bore me to the wretched home, back towhich the gentle, loving child had taken her father, and my heart grewfaint in me as imagination busied itself with all the misery there. 

And Willy Hammond. The little that I had heard and seen of him greatlyinterested me in his favor. Ah! upon what dangerous ground was hetreading. How many pitfalls awaited his feet--how near they were to thebrink of a fearful precipice, down which to fall was certaindestruction. How beautiful had been his life-promise! How fair theopening day of his existence! Alas! the clouds were gathering already, and the low rumble of the distant thunder presaged the coming of afearful tempest. Was there none to warn him of the danger? Alas! allmight now come too late, for so few who enter the path in which hissteps were treading will hearken to friendly counsel, or heed thesolemn warning. Where was he now? This question recurred over and overagain. He had left the bar-room with Judge Lyman and Green early in theevening, and had not made his appearance since. Who and what was Green?And Judge Lyman, was he a man of principle? One with whom it was safeto trust a youth like Willy Hammond?

While I mused thus, the bar-room door opened, and a man past the primeof life, with a somewhat florid face, which gave a strong relief to thegray, almost white hair that, suffered to grow freely, was pushed back, and lay in heavy masses on his coat collar, entered with a hasty step. He was almost venerable in appearance; yet there was in his dark, quickeyes the brightness of unquenched loves, the fires of which werekindled at the altars of selfishness and sensuality. This I saw at aglance. There was a look of concern on his face, as he threw his eyesaround the bar-room; and he seemed disappointed, I thought, at findingit empty. 

"Is Simon Slade here?"

As I answered in the negative, Mrs. Slade entered through the door thatopened from the yard, and stood behind the counter. 

"Ah, Mrs. Slade! Good evening, madam!" he said. 

"Good evening, Judge Hammond. "

"Is your husband at home?"

"I believe he is, " answered Mrs. Slade. "I think he is somewhere aboutthe house. "

"Ask him to step here, will you?"

Mrs. Slade went out. Nearly five minutes went by, during which timeJudge Hammond paced the floor of the bar-room uneasily. Then thelandlord made his appearance. The free, open, manly, self-satisfiedexpression of his countenance, which I had remarked on alighting fromthe stage in the afternoon, was gone. I noticed at once the change, forit was striking. He did not look steadily into the face of JudgeHammond, who asked him, in a low voice, if his son had been thereduring the evening. 

"He was here, " said Slade. 

"When?"

"He came in some time after dark and stayed, maybe, an hour. "

"And hasn't been here since?"

"It's nearly two hours since he left the bar-room, " replied thelandlord. 

Judge Hammond seemed perplexed. There was a degree of evasion inSlade's manner that he could hardly help noticing. To me it was allapparent, for I had lively suspicions that made my observation acute. 

Judge Hammond crossed his arms behind him, and took three or fourstrides about the floor. 

"Was Judge Lyman here to-night?" he then asked. 

"He was, " answered Slade. 

"Did he and Willy go out together?"

The question seemed an unexpected one for the landlord. Slade appearedslightly confused, and did not answer promptly. 

"I--I rather think they did, " he said, after a brief hesitation. 

"Ah, well! Perhaps he is at Judge Lyman's. I will call over there. "

And Judge Hammond left the bar-room. 

"Would you like to retire, sir?" said the landlord, now turning to me, with a forced smile--I saw that it was forced. 

"If you please, " I answered. 

He lit a candle and conducted me to my room, where, overwearied withthe day's exertion, I soon fell asleep, and did not awake until the sunwas shining brightly into my windows. 

I remained at the village a portion of the day, but saw nothing of theparties in whom the incidents of the previous evening had awakened alively interest. At four o'clock I left in the stage, and did not visitCedarville again for a year. 

NIGHT THE SECOND. 

THE CHANGES OF A YEAR. 

A cordial grasp of the hand and a few words of hearty welcome greetedme as I alighted from the stage at the "Sickle and Sheaf, " on my nextvisit to Cedarville. At the first glance, I saw no change in thecountenance, manner, or general bearing of Simon Slade, the landlord. With him, the year seemed to have passed like a pleasant summer day. His face was round, and full, and rosy, and his eyes sparkled with thatgood humor which flows from intense self-satisfaction. Everything abouthim seemed to say--"All 'right with myself and the world. "

I had scarcely expected this. From what I saw during my last briefsojourn at the "Sickle and Sheaf, " the inference was natural, thatelements had been called into activity, which must produce changesadverse to those pleasant states of mind that threw an almost perpetualsunshine over the landlord's countenance. How many hundreds of timeshad I thought of Tom Morgan and Willy Hammond--of Frank, and thetemptations to which a bar-room exposed him. The heart of Slade must, indeed, be as hard as one of his old mill-stones, if he could remain anunmoved witness of the corruption and degradation of these. 

"My fears have outrun the actual progress of things, " said I to myself, with a sense of relief, as I mused alone in the still neatly arrangedsitting-room, after the landlord, who sat and chatted for a fewminutes, had left me. "There is, I am willing to believe, a basis ofgood in this man's character, which has led him to remove, as far aspossible, the more palpable evils that ever attach themselves to ahouse of public entertainment. He had but entered on the business lastyear. There was much to be learned, pondered, and corrected. Experience, I doubt not, has led to many important changes in themanner of conducting the establishment, and especially in what pertainsto the bar. "

As I thought thus, my eyes glanced through the half-open door, andrested on the face of Simon Slade. He was standing behind hisbar--evidently alone in the room--with his head bent in a musingattitude. At first I was in some doubt as to the identity of thesingularly changed countenance. Two deep perpendicular seams laysharply defined on his forehead--the arch of his eyebrows was gone, andfrom each corner of his compressed lips, lines were seen reachinghalf-way to the chin. Blending with a slightly troubled expression, wasa strongly marked selfishness, evidently brooding over the consummationof its purpose. For some moments I sat gazing on his face, halfdoubting at times if it were really that of Simon Slade. Suddenly agleam flashed over it--an ejaculation was uttered, and one clenchedhand brought down, with a sharp stroke, into the open palm of theother. The landlord's mind had reached a conclusion, and was resolvedupon action. There were no warm rays in the gleam of light thatirradiated his countenance--at least none for my heart, which feltunder them an almost icy coldness. 

"Just the man I was thinking about. " I heard the landlord say, as someone entered the bar, while his whole manner underwent a sudden change. 

"The old saying is true, " was answered in a voice, the tones of whichwere familiar to my ears. 

"Thinking of the old Harry?" said Slade. 

"Yes. "

"True, literally, in the present case, " I heard the landlord remark, though in a much lower tone; "for, if you are not the devil himself, you can't be farther removed than a second cousin. "

A low, gurgling laugh met this little sally. There was something in itso unlike a human laugh, that it caused my blood to trickle, for amoment, coldly along my veins. 

I heard nothing more except the murmur of voices in the bar, for a handshut the partly opened door that led from the sitting room. 

Whose was that voice? I recalled its tones, and tried to fix in mythought the person to whom it belonged, but was unable to do so. I wasnot very long in doubt, for on stepping out on the porch in front ofthe tavern, the well remembered face of Harvey Green presented itself. He stood in the bar-room door, and was talking earnestly to Slade, whose back was toward me. I saw that he recognized me, although I hadnot passed a word with him on the occasion of my former visit, andthere was a lighting up of his countenance as if about to speak--but Iwithdrew my eyes from his face to avoid the unwelcome greeting. When Ilooked at him again, I saw that he was regarding me with a sinisterglance, which was instantly withdrawn. In what broad, black characterswas the word TEMPTER written on his face! How was it possible foranyone to look thereon, and not read the warning inscription!

Soon after, he withdrew into the bar-room and the landlord came andtook a seat near me on the porch. 

"How is the 'Sickle and Sheaf' coming on?" I inquired. 

"First rate, " was the answer--"First rate. "

"As well as you expected?"

"Better. "

"Satisfied with your experiment?"

"Perfectly. Couldn't get me back to the rumbling old mill again, if youwere to make me a present of it. "

"What of the mill?" I asked. "How does the new owner come on?"

"About as I thought it would be. "

"Not doing very well?"

"How could it be expected when he didn't know enough of the millingbusiness to grind a bushel of wheat right? He lost half of the custom Itransferred to him in less than three months. Then he broke his mainshaft, and it took over three weeks to get in a new one. Half of hisremaining customers discovered by this time, that they could get farbetter meal from their grain at Harwood's mill near Lynwood, and so didnot care to trouble him any more. The upshot of the whole matter is, hebroke down next, and had to sell the mill at a heavy loss. "

"Who has it now?"

"Judge Hammond is the purchaser. "

"He is going to rent it, I suppose?"

"No; I believe he means to turn it into some kind of a factory--and, Irather think, will connect therewith a distillery. This is a finegrain-growing country, as you know. If he does set up a distilleryhe'll make a fine thing of it. Grain has been too low in this sectionfor some years; this all the farmers have felt, and they are very muchpleased at the idea. It will help them wonderfully. I always thought mymill a great thing for the farmers; but what I did for them was a meresong compared to the advantage of an extensive distillery. "

"Judge Hammond is one of your richest men?"

"Yes--the richest in the county. And what is more, he's a shrewd, far-seeing man, and knows how to multiply his riches. "

"How is his son Willy coming on?"

"Oh! first-rate. "

The landlord's eyes fell under the searching look I bent upon him. 

"How old is he now?"

"Just twenty. "

"A critical age, " I remarked. 

"So people say; but I didn't find it so, " answered Slade, a littledistantly. 

"The impulses within and the temptations without, are the measure ofits dangers. At his age, you were, no doubt, daily employed at hardwork. "

"I was, and no mistake. "

"Thousands and hundreds of thousands are indebted to useful work, occupying many hours through each day, and leaving them with weariedbodies at night, for their safe passage from yielding youth to firm, resisting manhood. It might not be with you as it is now, had leisureand freedom to go in and out when you pleased been offered at the ageof nineteen. "

"I can't tell as to that, " said the landlord, shrugging his shoulders. "But I don't see that Willy Hammond is in any especial danger. He is ayoung man with many admirable qualities--is social-liberal--generousalmost to a fault--but has good common sense, and wit enough, I takeit, to keep out of harm's way. "

A man passing the house at the moment, gave Simon Slade an opportunityto break off a conversation that was not, I could see, altogetheragreeable. As he left me, I arose and stepped into the bar-room. Frank, the landlord's son, was behind the bar. He had grown considerably inthe year--and from a rather delicate, innocent-looking boy, to a stout, bold lad. His face was rounder, and had a gross, sensual expression, that showed itself particularly about the mouth. The man Green wasstanding beside the bar talking to him, and I noticed that Franklaughed heartily, at some low, half obscene remarks that he was making. In the midst of these, Flora, the sister of Frank, a really beautifulgirl, came in to get something from the bar. Green spoke to herfamiliarly, and Flora answered him with a perceptibly heightening color. 

I glanced toward Frank, half expecting to see an indignant flush on hisyoung face. But no--he looked on with a smile! "Ah!" thought I, "havethe boy's pure impulses so soon died out in this fatal atmosphere? Canhe bear to see those evil eyes--he knows they are evil--rest upon theface of his sister? or to hear those lips, only a moment since pollutedwith vile words, address her with the familiarity of a friend?"

"Fine girl, that sister of yours, Frank! Fine girl!" said Green, afterFlora had withdrawn--speaking of her with about as much respect in hisvoice as if he were praising a fleet racer or a favorite hound. 

The boy smiled, with a pleased air. 

"I must try and find her a good husband, Frank. I wonder if shewouldn't have me?"

"You'd better ask her, " said the boy, laughing. 

"I would if I thought there was any chance for me. "

"Nothing like trying. Faint heart never won fair lady, " returned Frank, more with the air of a man than a boy. How fast he was growing old!

"A banter, by George!" exclaimed Green, slapping his hands together. "You're a great boy, Frank! a great boy! I shall have to talk to yourfather about you. Coming on too fast. Have to be put back in yourlessons--hey!"

And Green winked at the boy, and shook his finger at him. Frank laughedin a pleased way, as he replied: "I guess I'll do. "

"I guess you will, " said Green, as, satisfied with his colloquy, heturned off and left the bar-room. 

"Have something to drink, sir?" inquired Frank, addressing me in abold, free way. 

I shook my head. 

"Here's a newspaper, " he added. 

I took the paper and sat down--not to read, but to observe. Two orthree men soon came in, and spoke in a very familiar way to Frank, whowas presently busy setting out the liquors they had called for. Theirconversation, interlarded with much that was profane and vulgar, was ofhorses, horse-racing, gunning, and the like, to all of which the youngbar-tender lent an attentive ear, putting in a word now and then, andshowing an intelligence in such matters quite beyond his age. In themidst thereof, Mr. Slade made his appearance. His presence caused amarked change in Frank, who retired from his place among the men, astep or two outside of the bar, and did not make a remark while hisfather remained. It was plain from this, that Mr. Slade was not onlyaware of Frank's dangerous precocity, but had already marked hisforwardness by rebuke. 

So far, all that I had seen and heard impressed me unfavorably, notwithstanding the declaration of Simon Slade, that everything aboutthe "Sickle and Sheaf" was coming on "first-rate, " and that he was"perfectly satisfied" with his experiment. Why, even if the man hadgained, in money, fifty thousand dollars by tavern-keeping in a year, he had lost a jewel in the innocence of his boy that was beyond allvaluation. "Perfectly satisfied?" Impossible! He was not perfectlysatisfied. How could he be? The look thrown upon Frank when he enteredthe bar-room, and saw him "hale fellow, well met, " with three or fouridle, profane, drinking customers, contradicted that assertion. 

After supper, I took a seat in the bar-room, to see how life moved onin that place of rendezvous for the surface-population of Cedarville. Interest enough in the characters I had met there a year beforeremained for me to choose this way of spending the time, instead ofvisiting at the house of a gentleman who had kindly invited me to passan evening with his family. 

The bar-room custom, I soon found, had largely increased in a year. Itnow required, for a good part of the time, the active services of boththe landlord and his son to meet the calls for liquor. What pained memost, was to see the large number of lads and young men who came in tolounge and drink; and there was scarcely one of them whose face did notshow marks of sensuality, or whose language was not marred byobscenity, profanity, or vulgar slang. The subjects of conversationwere varied enough, though politics was the most prominent. In regardto politics I heard nothing in the least instructive; but only abuse ofindividuals and dogmatism on public measures. They were all exceedinglyconfident in assertion; but I listened in vain for exposition, or evenfor demonstrative facts. He who asseverated in the most positivemanner, and swore the hardest, carried the day in the petty contests. 

I noticed, early in the evening, and at a time when all the inmates ofthe room were in the best possible humor with themselves, the entranceof an elderly man, on whose face I instantly read a deep concern. Itwas one of those mild, yet strongly marked faces, that strike you at aglance. The forehead was broad, the eyes large and far back in theirsockets, the lips full but firm. You saw evidences of a strong, butwell-balanced character. As he came in, I noticed a look ofintelligence pass from one to another; and then the eyes of two orthree were fixed upon a young man who was seated not far from me, withhis back to the entrance, playing at dominoes. He had a glass of ale byhis side. The old man searched about the room for some moments, beforehis glance rested upon the individual I have mentioned. My eyes werefull upon his face, as he advanced toward him, as yet unseen. Upon itwas not a sign of angry excitement, but a most touching sorrow. 

"Edward!" he said, as he laid his hand gently on the young man'sshoulder. The latter started at the voice, and crimsoned deeply. A fewmoments he sat irresolute. 

"Edward, my son!" It would have been a cold, hard heart indeed thatsoftened not under the melting tenderness of these tones. The call wasirresistible, and obedience a necessity. The powers of evil had, yet, too feeble a grasp on the young man's heart to hold him in thrall. Rising with a half-reluctant manner, and with a shamefacedness that itwas impossible to conceal, he retired as quietly as possible. Thenotice of only a few in the bar-room was attracted by the incident. 

"I can tell you what, " I heard the individual, with whom the young manhad been playing at dominoes, remark--himself not twenty years ofage--"if my old man were to make a fool of himself in thisway--sneaking around after me in bar-rooms-he'd get only his troublefor his pains. I'd like to see him try it, though! There'd be a nicetime of it, I guess. Wouldn't I creep off with him, as meek as a lamb!Ho! ho!"

"Who is that old gentleman who came in just now?" I inquired of theperson who thus commented on the incident which had just occurred. 

"Mr. Hargrove is his name. "

"And that was his son?"

"Yes; and I'm only sorry he doesn't possess a little more spirit. "

"How old is he?"

"About twenty. "

"Not of legal age, then?"

"He's old enough to be his own master. "

"The law says differently, " I suggested. 

In answer, the young man cursed the law, snapping his fingers in itsimaginary face as he did so. 

"At least you will admit, " said I, "that Edward Hargrove, in the use ofa liberty to go where he pleases, and do what he pleases, exhibits butsmall discretion. "

"I will admit no such thing. What harm is there, I would like to know, in a social little game such as we were playing? There were nostakes--we were not gambling. "

I pointed to the half-emptied glass of ale left by young Hargrove. 

"Oh! oh!" half sneered, half laughed a man, twice the age of the one Ihad addressed, who sat near by, listening to our conversation. I lookedat him for a moment, and then said:

"The great danger lies there, without doubt. If it were only a glass ofale and a game of dominoes--but it doesn't stop there, and well theyoung man's father knows it. "

"Perhaps he does, " was answered. "I remember him in his younger days;and a pretty high boy he was. He didn't stop at a glass of ale and agame of dominoes; not he! I've seen him as drunk as a lord many a time;and many a time at a horse-race, or cock-fight, betting with thebravest. I was only a boy, though a pretty old boy; but I can tell you, Hargrove was no saint. "

"I wonder not, then, that he is so anxious for his son, " was my remark. "He knows well the lurking dangers in the path he seems inclined toenter. "

"I don't see that they have done him much harm. He sowed his wildoats--then got married, and settled down into a good, substantialcitizen. A little too religious and pharisaical, I always thought; butupright in his dealings. He had his pleasures in early life, as wasbefitting the season of youth--why not let his son taste of the sameagreeable fruit? He's wrong, sir--wrong! And I've said as much to Ned. I only wish the boy had shown the right spunk this evening, and toldthe old man to go home about his business. "

"So do I, " chimed in the young disciple in this bad school. "It's whatI'd say to my old man, in double quick time, if he was to come huntingafter me. "

"He knows better than to do that, " said the other, in a way that let medeeper into the young man's character. 

"Indeed he does. He's tried his hand on me once or twice during thelast year, but found it wouldn't do, no how; Tom Peters is out of hisleading-strings. "

"And can drink his glass with any one, and not be a grain the worse forit. "

"Exactly, old boy!" said Peters, slapping his preceptor on the knee. "Exactly! I'm not one of your weak-headed ones. Oh no!"

"Look here, Joe Morgan!"--the half-angry voice of Simon Slade now rungthrough the bar-room, --"just take yourself off home!"

I had not observed the entrance of this person. He was standing at thebar, with an emptied glass in his hand. A year had made no improvementin his appearance. On the contrary, his clothes were more worn andtattered; his countenance more sadly marred. What he had said toirritate the landlord, I know not; but Slade's face was fiery withpassion, and his eyes glared threateningly at the poor besotted one, who showed not the least inclination to obey. 

"Off with you, I say! And never show your face here again. I won't havesuch low vagabonds as you are about my house. If you can't keep decentand stay decent, don't intrude yourself here. "

"A rum-seller talk of decency!" retorted Morgan. "Pah! You were adecent man once, and a good miller into the bargain. But that time'spast and gone. Decency died out when you exchanged the pick andfacing-hammer for the glass and muddler. Decency! Pah! How you talk! Asif it were any more decent to sell rum than to drink it. "

There was so much of biting contempt in the tones, as well as the wordsof the half-intoxicated man, that Slade, who had himself been drinkingrather more freely than usual, was angered beyond self-control. Catching up an empty glass from the counter, he hurled it with all hisstrength at the head of Joe Morgan. The missive just grazed one of histemples, and flew by on its dangerous course. The quick sharp cry of achild startled the air, followed by exclamations of alarm and horrorfrom many voices. 

"It's Joe Morgan's child!" "He's killed her!" "Good heavens!" Such werethe exclamations that rang through the room. I was among the first toreach the spot where a little girl, just gliding in through the door, had been struck on the forehead by the glass, which had cut a deepgash, and stunned her into insensibility. The blood flowed instantlyfrom the wound, and covered her face, which presented a shockingappearance. As I lifted her from the floor, upon which she had fallen, Morgan, into whose very soul the piercing cry of his child hadpenetrated, stood by my side, and grappled his arms around herinsensible form, uttering as he did so heart-touching moans andlamentations. 

"What's the matter? Oh, what's the matter?" It was a woman's voice, speaking in frightened tones. 

"It's nothing! Just go out, will you, Ann?" I heard the landlord say. 

But his wife--it was Mrs. Slade--having heard the shrieks of pain andterror uttered by Morgan's child, had come running into thebar-room--heeded not his words, but pressed forward into the littlegroup that stood around the bleeding girl. 

"Run for Doctor Green, Frank, " she cried in an imperative voice, themoment her eyes rested on the little one's bloody face. 

Frank came around from behind the bar, in obedience to the word; buthis father gave a partial countermand, and he stood still. Uponobserving which, his mother repeated the order, even more emphatically. 

"Why don't you jump, you young rascal!" exclaimed Harvey Green. "Thechild may be dead before the doctor can get here. "

Frank hesitated no longer, but disappeared instantly through the door. 

"Poor, poor child!" almost sobbed Mrs. Slade, as she lifted theinsensible form from my arms. "How did it happen? Who struck her?"

"Who? Curse him! Who but Simon Slade?" answered Joe Morgan, through hisclenched teeth. 

The look of anguish, mingled with bitter reproach, instantly thrownupon the landlord by his wife, can hardly be forgotten by any who sawit that night. 

"Oh, Simon! Simon! And has it come to this already?" What a world ofbitter memories, and sad forebodings of evil, did that little sentenceexpress. "To this already"--Ah! In the downward way, how rapidly thesteps do tread--how fast the progress!

"Bring me a basin of water, and a towel, quickly!" she now exclaimed. 

The water was brought, and in a little while the face of the child laypure and as white as snow against her bosom. The wound from which theblood had flowed so freely was found on the upper part of the forehead, a little to the side, and extending several inches back, along the topof the head. As soon as the blood stains were wiped away, and theeffusion partially stopped, Mrs. Slade carried the still insensiblebody into the next room, whither the distressed, and now completelysobered father, accompanied her. I went with them, but Slade remainedbehind. 

The arrival of the doctor was soon followed by the restoration of lifeto the inanimate body. He happened to be at home, and came instantly. He had just taken the last stitch in the wound, which required to bedrawn together, and was applying strips of adhesive plaster, when thehurried entrance of some one caused me to look up. What an apparitionmet my eyes! A woman stood in the door, with a face in which maternalanxiety and terror blended fearfully. Her countenance was likeashes--her eyes straining wildly--her lips apart, while the pantingbreath almost hissed through them. 

"Joe! Joe! What is it? Where is Mary? Is she dead?" were her eagerinquiries. 

"No, Fanny, " answered Joe Morgan, starting up from where he wasactually kneeling by the side of the reviving little one, and goingquickly to his wife. "She's better now. It's a bad hurt, but the doctorsays it's nothing dangerous. Poor, dear child!"

The pale face of the mother grew paler--she gasped--caught for breathtwo or three times--a low shudder ran through her frame--and then shelay white and pulseless in the arms of her husband. As the doctorapplied restoratives, I had opportunity to note more particularly theappearance of Mrs. Morgan. Her person was very slender, and her face soattenuated that it might almost be called shadowy. Her hair, which wasa rich chestnut brown, with a slight golden lustre, had fallen from hercomb, and now lay all over her neck and bosom in beautiful luxuriance. Back from her full temples it had been smoothed away by the hand ofMorgan, that all the while moved over her brow and temples with acaressing motion that I saw was unconscious, and which revealed thetenderness of feeling with which, debased as he was, he regarded thewife of his youth, and the long suffering companion of his later andevil days. Her dress was plain and coarse, but clean and well fitting;and about her whole person was an air of neatness and taste. She couldnot now be called beautiful; yet in her marred features--marred bysuffering and grief--were many lineaments of beauty; and much that toldof a true, pure woman's heart beating in her bosom. Life came slowlyback to the stilled heart, and it was nearly half an hour before thecircle of motion was fully restored. 

Then, the twain, with their child, tenderly borne in the arms of herfather, went sadly homeward, leaving more than one heart heavier fortheir visit. 

I saw more of the landlord's wife on this occasion than before. She hadacted with a promptness and humanity that impressed me very favorably. It was plain, from her exclamations on learning that her husband's handinflicted the blow that came so near destroying the child's life, thather faith for good in the tavern-keeping experiment had never beenstrong. I had already inferred as much. Her face, the few times I hadseen her, wore a troubled look; and I could never forget itsexpression, nor her anxious, warning voice, when she discovered Franksipping the dregs from a glass in the bar-room. 

It is rarely, I believe, that wives consent freely to the opening oftaverns by their husbands; and the determination on the part of thelatter to do so, is not unfrequently attended with a breach ofconfidence and good feeling never afterward fully healed. Men lookclose to the money result; women to the moral consequences. I doubt ifthere be one dram-seller in ten, between whom and his wife there existsa good understanding--to say nothing of genuine affection. And, in theexceptional cases, it will generally be found that the wife is asmercenary, or careless of the public good, as her husband. I have knownsome women to set up grog-shops; but they were women of bad principlesand worse hearts. I remember one case, where a woman, with a sober, church-going husband, opened a dram-shop. The husband opposed, remonstrated, begged, threatened--but all to no purpose. The wife, byworking for the clothing stores, had earned and saved about threehundred dollars. The love of money, in the slow process ofaccumulation, had been awakened; and, in ministering to the depravedappetites of men who loved drink and neglected their families, she sawa quicker mode of acquiring the gold she coveted. And so the dram-shopwas opened. And what was the result? The husband quit going to church. He had no heart for that; for, even on the Sabbath day, the fierystream was stayed not in his house. Next he began to tipple. Soon, alas! the subtle poison so pervaded his system that morbid desire came;and then he moved along quick-footed in the way of ruin. In less thanthree years, I think, from the time the grog-shop was opened by hiswife, he was in a drunkard's grave. A year or two more, and the pitthat was digged for others by the hands of the wife, she fell intoherself. After breathing an atmosphere poisoned by the fumes of liquor, the love of tasting it was gradually formed, and she, too, in the end, became a slave to the Demon Drink. She died at last, poor as a beggarin the street. Ah! this liquor-selling is the way to ruin; and they whoopen the gates, as well as those who enter the downward path, alike goto destruction. But this is digressing. 

After Joe Morgan and his wife left the "Sickle and Sheaf, " with thatgentle child, who, as I afterward learned, had not, for a year or more, laid her little head to sleep until her father returned home and who, if he stayed out beyond a certain hour, would go for him, and lead himback, a very angel of love and patience--I re-entered the bar-room, tosee how life was passing there. Not one of all I had left in the roomremained. The incident which had occurred was of so painful a nature, that no further unalloyed pleasure was to be had there during theevening, and so each had retired. In his little kingdom the landlordsat alone, his head resting on his hand, and his face shaded from thelight. The whole aspect of the man was that of one in self-humiliation. As I entered he raised his head, and turned his face toward me. Itsexpression was painful. 

"Rather an unfortunate affair, " said he. "I'm angry with myself, andsorry for the poor child. But she'd no business here. As for JoeMorgan, it would take a saint to bear his tongue when once set a-goingby liquor. I wish he'd stay away from the house. Nobody wants hiscompany. Oh, dear!"

The ejaculation, or rather groan, that closed the sentence showed howlittle Slade was satisfied with himself, notwithstanding this feebleattempt at self-justification. 

"His thirst for liquor draws him hither, " I remarked. "The attractionof your bar to his appetite is like that of the magnet to the needle. He cannot stay away. "

"He MUST stay away!" exclaimed the landlord, with some vehemence oftone, striking his fist upon the table by which he sat. "He MUST stayaway! There is scarcely an evening that he does not ruffle my temper, and mar good feelings in all the company. Just see what he provoked meto do this evening. I might have killed the child. It makes my bloodrun cold to think of it! Yes, sir--he must stay away. If no better canbe done, I'll hire a man to stand at the door and keep him out. "

"He never troubled you at the mill, " said I. "No man was required atthe mill door?"

"No!" And the landlord gave emphasis to the word by an oath, ejaculatedwith a heartiness that almost startled me. I had not heard him swearbefore. "No; the great trouble was to get him and keep him there, thegood-for-nothing, idle fellow!"

"I am afraid, " I ventured to suggest, "that things don't go on quite sosmoothly here as they did at the mill. Your customers are of adifferent class. "

"I don't know about that; why not?" He did not just relish my remark. 

"Between quiet, thrifty, substantial farmers, and drinking bar-roomloungers, are many degrees of comparison. "

"Excuse me, sir!" Simon Slade elevated his person. "The men who visitmy bar-room, as a general thing, are quite as respectable, moral, andsubstantial as any who came to the mill--and I believe more so. Thefirst people in the place, sir, are to be found here. Judge Lyman andJudge Hammond; Lawyer Wilks and Doctor Maynard; Mr. Grand and Mr. Lee;and dozens of others--all our first people. No, sir; you mustn't judgeall by vagabonds like Joe Morgan. "

There was a testy spirit manifested that I did not care to provoke. Icould have met his assertion with facts and inferences of a characterto startle any one occupying his position, who was in a calm, reflective state; but to argue with him then would have been worse thanidle; and so I let him talk on until the excitement occasioned by mywords died out for want of new fuel. 

NIGHT THE THIRD. 

JOE MORGAN'S CHILD. 

"I don't see anything of your very particular friend, Joe Morgan, thisevening, " said Harvey Green, leaning on the bar and speaking to Slade. It was the night succeeding that on which the painful and excitingscene with the child had occurred. 

"No, " was answered--and to the word was added a profane imprecation. "No; and if he'll just keep away from here, he may go to--on ahard-trotting horse and a porcupine saddle as fast as he pleases. He'stried my patience beyond endurance, and my mind is made up that he getsno more drams at this bar. I've borne his vile tongue and seen mycompany annoyed by him just as long as I mean to stand it. Last nightdecided me. Suppose I'd killed that child?"

"You'd have had trouble then, and no mistake. "

"Wouldn't I? Blast her little picture! What business has she creepingin here every night?"

"She must have a nice kind of a mother, " remarked Green, with a coldsneer. 

"I don't know what she is now, " said Slade, a slight touch of feelingin his voice--"heart-broken, I suppose. I couldn't look at her lastnight; it made me sick. But there was a time when Fanny Morgan was theloveliest and best woman in Cedarville. I'll say that for her. Oh, dear! What a life her miserable husband has caused her to lead. "

"Better that he were dead and out of the way. "

"Better a thousand times, " answered Slade. "If he'd only fall down somenight and break his neck, it would be a blessing to his family. "

"And to you in particular, " laughed Green. 

"You may be sure it wouldn't cost me a large sum for mourning, " was theunfeeling response. 

Let us leave the bar-room of the "Sickle and Sheaf, " and itscold-hearted inmates, and look in upon the family of Joe Morgan, andsee how it is in the home of the poor inebriate. We will pass by aquick transition. 

"Joe!" The thin white hand of Mrs. Morgan clasps the arm of herhusband, who has arisen up suddenly, and now stands by the partlyopened door. "Don't go out to-night, Joe. Please, don't go out. "

"Father!" A feeble voice calls from the corner of an old settee, wherelittle Mary lies with her head bandaged. 

"Well, I won't then!" is replied--not angrily, nor even fretfully--butin a kind voice. 

"Come and sit by me, father. " How tenderly, yet how full of concern isthat low, sweet voice. "Come, won't you?"

"Yes, dear. "

"Now hold my hand, father. "

Joe takes the hand of little Mary, that instantly tightens upon his. 

"You won't go away and leave me to-night, will you, father? Say youwon't. "

"How very hot your hand is, dear. Does your head ache?"

"A little; but it will soon feel better. "

Up into the swollen and disfigured face of the fallen father, thelarge, earnest blue eyes of the child are raised. She does not see themarred lineaments; but only the beloved countenance of her parent. 

"Dear father!"

"What, love?"

"I wish you'd promise me something. "

"What, dear?"

"Will you promise?"

"I can't say until I hear your request. If I can promise, I will. "

"Oh, you can promise--you can, father!"

How the large blue eyes dance and sparkle!

"What is it, love?"

"That you will never go into Simon Slade's bar any more. "

The child raises herself, evidently with a painful effort; and leansnearer to her father. 

Joe shakes his head, and poor Mary drops back upon her pillow with asigh. Her lids fall, and the long lashes lie strongly relieved on hercolorless cheeks. 

"I won't go there to-night, dear. So let your heart be at rest. "

Mary's lids unclose, and two round drops, released from their clasp, glide slowly over her face. 

"Thank you, father--thank you. Mother will be so glad. "

The eyes closed again; and the father moved uneasily. His heart istouched. There is a struggle within him. It is on his lips to say thathe will never drink at the "Sickle and Sheaf" again; but resolutionjust lacks the force of utterance. 

"Father!"

"Well, dear?"

"I don't, think I'll be well enough to go out in two or three days. Youknow the doctor said that I would have to keep very still, for I had agreat deal of fever. "

"Yes, poor child. "

"Now, won't you promise me one thing?"

"What is it, dear?"

"Not to go out in the evening until I get well. "

Joe Morgan hesitated. 

"Just promise me that, father. It won't be long; I shall be up again ina little while. "

How well the father knows what is in the heart of his child. Her fearsare all for him. Who is to go up after her poor father, and lead himhome when the darkness of inebriety is on his spirit, and externalperception so dulled that not skill enough remains to shun the harmthat lies in his path?

"Do promise just that, father, dear. "

He cannot resist the pleading voice and look. "I promise it, Mary; soshut your eyes now and go to sleep. I'm afraid this fever willincrease. "

"Oh! I'm so glad--so glad!"

Mary does not clasp her hands, nor show strong external signs ofpleasure; but how full of a pure, unselfish joy is that low-murmuredejaculation, spoken in the depths of her spirit, as well as syllabledby her tongue!

Mrs. Morgan has been no unconcerned witness of all this; but knowingthe child's influence over her father, she has not ventured a word. More was to be gained, she was sure, by silence on her part; and so shekept silent. Now she comes nearer to them, and says, as she lets a handrest on the shoulder of her husband:

"You feel better for that promise already; I know you do. "

He looks up to her, and smiles faintly. He does feel better, but ishardly willing to acknowledge it. 

Soon after Mary is sleeping. It does not escape the observation of Mrs. Morgan that her husband grows restless; for he gets up suddenly, everynow and then, and walks quickly across the room, as if in search ofsomething. Then sits down, listlessly--sighs--stretches himself, andsays, "Oh dear!" What shall she do for him? How is the want of hisaccustomed evening stimulus to be met? She thinks, and questions, andgrieves inwardly. Poor Joe Morgan! His wife understands his case, andpities him from her heart. But what can she do? Go out and get himsomething to drink? "Oh, no! no! no! never!" She answered the thoughtaudibly almost, in the excitement of her feelings. An hour haspassed--Joe's restlessness has increased instead of diminishing. Whatis to be done? Now Mrs. Morgan has left the room. She has resolved uponsomething, for the case must be met. Ah! here she comes, after anabsence of five minutes, bearing in her hand a cup of strong coffee. 

"It was kind and thoughtful in you, Fanny, " says Morgan, as with agratified look he takes the cup. But his hand trembles, and he spills aportion of the contents as ho tries to raise it to his lips. Howdreadfully his nerves are shattered! Unnatural stimulants have beenapplied so long, that all true vitality seems lost. And now the hand ofhis wife is holding the cup to his lips, and he drinks eagerly. 

"This is dreadful--dreadful! Where will it end? What is to be done?"

Fanny suppresses a sob, as she thus gives vent to her troubledfeelings. Twice, already, has her husband been seized with thedrunkard's madness; and, in the nervous prostration consequent uponeven a brief withdrawal of his usual strong stimulants, she sees thefearful precursor of another attack of this dreadful and dangerousmalady. In the hope of supplying the needed tone she has given himstrong coffee; and this for the time, produces the effect desired. Therestlessness is allayed, and a quiet state of body and mind succeeds. It needs but a suggestion to induce him to retire for the night. Afterbeing a few minutes in bed, sleep steals over him, and his heavybreathing tells that he is in the world of dreams. 

And now there comes a tap at the door. 

"Come in, " is answered. 

The latch is lifted, the door swings open, and a woman enters. 

"Mrs. Slade!" The name is uttered in a tone of surprise. 

"Fanny, how are you this evening?" Kindly, yet half sadly, the wordsare said. 

"Tolerable, I thank you. "

The hands of the two women are clasped, and for a few moments they gazeinto each other's face. What a world of tender commiseration is in thatof Mrs. Slade!

"How is little Mary to-night?"

"Not so well, I'm afraid. She has a good deal of fever. "

"Indeed! Oh, I'm sorry! Poor child! what a dreadful thing it was! Oh!Fanny! you don't know how it has troubled me. I've been intending tocome around all day to see how she was, but couldn't get off until now. "

"It came near killing her, " said Mrs. Morgan. 

"It's in God's mercy she escaped. The thought of it curdles the veryblood in my veins. Poor child! is this her on the settee?"

"Yes. "

Mrs. Slade takes a chair, and sitting by the sleeping child, gazes longupon her pale sweet face. Now the lips of Mary part--words aremurmured--what is she saying?

"No, no, mother; I can't go to bed yet. Father isn't home. And it's sodark. There's no one to lead him over the bridge. I'm not afraid. Don't--don't cry so, mother--I'm not afraid! Nothing will hurt me. "

The child's face flushes. She moans, and throws her arms aboutuneasily. Hark again. 

"I wish Mr. Slade wouldn't look so cross at me. He never did when Iwent to the mill. He doesn't take me on his knee now, and stroke myhair. Oh, dear! I wish father wouldn't go there any more. Don't, don't, Mr. Slade. Oh! oh!"--the ejaculation prolonged into a frightened cry, "My head! my head!"

A few choking sobs are followed by low moans; and then the childbreathes easily again. But the flush does not leave her cheek; and whenMrs. Slade, from whose eyes the tears come forth drop by drop, and rolldown her face, touches it lightly, she finds it hot with fever. 

"Has the doctor seen her to-day, Fanny?"

"No, ma'am. "

"He should see her at once. I will go for him"; and Mrs. Slade startsup and goes quickly from the room. In a little while she returns withDoctor Green, who sits down and looks at the child for some momentswith a sober, thoughtful face. Then he lays his fingers on her pulseand times its beat by his watch--shakes his head, and looks graverstill. 

"How long has she had fever?" he asks. 

"All day. "

"You should have sent for me earlier. "

"Oh, doctor! She is not dangerous, I hope?" Mrs. Morgan looksfrightened. 

"She's a sick child, madam. "

"You've promised, father. "--The dreamer is speaking again. --"I'm notwell enough yet. Oh, don't go, father; don't! There! He's gone! Well, well! I'll try and walk there--I can sit down and rest by the way. Oh, dear! How tired I am! Father! Father!"

The child starts up and looks about her wildly. 

"Oh, mother, is it you?" And she sinks back upon her pillow, lookingnow inquiringly from face to face. 

"Father--where is father?" she asks. 

"Asleep, dear. "

"Oh! Is he? I'm glad. "

Her eyes close wearily. 

"Do you feel any pain, Mary?" inquired the doctor. 

"Yes, sir--in my head. It aches and beats so. "

The cry of "Father" had reached the ears of Morgan, who is sleeping inthe next room, and roused him into consciousness. He knows the doctor'svoice. Why is he here at this late hour? "Do you feel any pain, Mary?"The question he hears distinctly, and the faintly uttered reply also. He is sober enough to have all his fears instantly excited. There isnothing in the world that he loves as he loves that child. And so hegets up and dresses himself as quickly as possible; the stimulus ofanxiety giving tension to his relaxed nerves. 

"Oh, father!" The quick ears of Mary detect his entrance first, and apleasant smile welcomes him. 

"Is she very sick, doctor?" he asks, in a voice full of anxiety. 

"She's a sick child, sir; you should have sent for me earlier. " Thedoctor speaks rather sternly, and with a purpose to rebuke. 

The reply stirs Morgan, and he seems to cower half timidly under thewords, as if they were blows. Mary has already grasped her father'shand, and holds on to it tightly. 

After examining the case a little more closely, the doctor preparessome medicine, and, promising to call early in the morning, goes away. Mrs. Slade follows soon after; but, in parting with Mrs. Morgan, leavessomething in her hand, which, to the surprise of the latter, proves tobe a ten-dollar bill. The tears start to her eyes; and she conceals themoney in her bosom--murmuring a fervent "God bless her!"

A simple act of restitution is this on the part of Mrs. Slade, promptedas well by humanity as a sense of justice. With one hand her husbandhas taken the bread from the family of his old friend, and thus withthe other she restores it. 

And now Morgan and his wife are alone with their sick child. Higher thefever rises, and partial delirium seizes upon her over-excited brain. She talks for a time almost incessantly. All her trouble is about herfather; and she is constantly referring to his promise not to go out inthe evening until she gets well. How tenderly and touchingly sheappeals to him; now looking up into his face in partial recognition;and now calling anxiously after him, as if he had left her and wasgoing away. 

"You'll not forget your promise, will you, father?" she says, speakingso calmly, that he thinks her mind has ceased to wander. 

"No, dear; I will not forget it, " he answers, smoothing her hair gentlywith his hand. 

"You'll not go out in the evening again, until I get well?"

"No, dear. "

"Father!"

"What, love?"

"Stoop down closer; I don't want mother to hear; it will make her feelso bad. "

The father bends his ear close to the lips of Mary. How he starts andshudders! What has she said?--only these brief words:

"I shall not get well, father; I'm going to die. "

The groans, impossible to repress, that issued through the lips of JoeMorgan, startled the ears of his wife, and she came quickly to thebedside. 

"What is it? What is the matter, Joe?" she inquired, with a look ofanxiety. 

"Hush, father. Don't tell her. I only said it to you. " And Mary put afinger on her lips, and looked mysterious. "There, mother--you go away;you've got trouble enough, any how. Don't tell her, father. "

But the words, which came to him like a prophecy, awoke such pangs offear and remorse in the heart of Joe Morgan, that it was impossible forhim to repress the signs of pain. For some moments he gazed at hiswife--then stooping forward, suddenly, he buried his face in thebed-clothes, and sobbed bitterly. 

A suggestion of the truth now flashed through the mind of Mrs. Morgan, sending a thrill of pain along every nerve. Ere she had time to recoverherself, the low, sweet voice of Mary broke upon the hushed air of theroom, and she sung:

 "Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are, While on His breast I lean my head, And breathe my life out, sweetly, there. "

It was impossible for Mrs. Morgan longer to repress her feelings. Asthe softly breathed strain died away, her sobs broke forth, and for atime she wept violently. 

"There, " said the child, --"I didn't mean to tell you. I only toldfather, because--because he promised not to go to the tavern any moreuntil I got well; and I'm not going to get well. So, you see, mother, he'll never go again--never--never--never. Oh, dear! how my head pains. Mr. Slade threw it so hard. But it didn't strike father; and I'm soglad. How it would have hurt him--poor father! But he'll never go thereany more; and that will be so good, won't it, mother?"

A light broke over her face; but seeing that her mother still wept, shesaid:

"Don't cry. Maybe I'll be better. "

And then her eyes closed heavily, and she slept again. 

"Joe, " said Mrs. Morgan, after she had in a measure recoveredherself--she spoke firmly--"Joe, did you hear what she said?"

Morgan only answered with a groan. 

"Her mind wanders; and yet she may have spoken only the truth. "

He groaned again. 

"If she should die, Joe--"

"Don't; oh, don't talk so, Fanny. She's not going to die. It's onlybecause she's a little light-headed. "

"Why is she light-headed, Joe?"

"It's the fever--only the fever, Fanny. "

"It was the blow, and the wound on her head, that caused the fever. Howdo we know the extent of injury on the brain? Doctor Green looked veryserious. I'm afraid, husband, that the worst is before us. I've borneand suffered a great deal--only God knows how much--I pray that I mayhave strength to bear this trial also. Dear child! She is better fittedfor heaven than for earth, and it may be that God is about to take herto Himself. She's been a great comfort to me--and to you, Joe, morelike a guardian angel than a child. "

Mrs. Morgan had tried to speak very firmly; but as sentence followedsentence, her voice lost more and more of its even tone. With theclosing words all self-control vanished; and she wept bitterly. Whatcould her feeble, erring husband do, but weep with her?

"Joe, "--Mrs. Morgan aroused herself as quickly as possible, for she hadthat to say which she feared she might not have the heart toutter--"Joe, if Mary dies, you cannot forget the cause of her death. "

"Oh, Fanny! Fanny!"

"Nor the hand that struck the cruel blow. "

"Forget it? Never! And if I forgive Simon Slade--"

"Nor the place where the blow was dealt, " said Mrs. Morgan, interrupting him. 

"Poor--poor child!" moaned the conscience-stricken man. 

"Nor your promise, Joe--nor your promise given to our dying child. "

"Father! Father! Dear father!" Mary's eyes suddenly unclosed, as shecalled her father eagerly. 

"Here I am, love. What is it?" And Joe Morgan pressed up to the bedside. 

"Oh! it's you, father! I dreamed that you had gone out, and--and--butyou won't will you, dear father?"

"No, love--no. "

"Never any more until I get well?"

"I must go out to work, you know, Mary. "

"At night, father. That's what I mean. You won't, will you?"

"No, dear, no. "

A soft smile trembled over the child's face; her eyelids droopedwearily, and she fell off into slumber again. She seemed not sorestless as before--did not moan, nor throw herself about in her sleep. 

"She's better, I think, " said Morgan, as he bent over her, and listenedto her softer breathing. 

"It seems so, " replied his wife. "And now, Joe, you must go to bedagain. I will lie down here with Mary, and be ready to do any thing forher that she may want. "

"I don't feel sleepy. I'm sure I couldn't close my eyes. So let me situp with Mary. You are tired and worn out. "

Mrs. Morgan looked earnestly into her husband's face. His eyes wereunusually bright, and she noticed a slight nervous restlessness abouthis lips. She laid one of her hands on his, and perceived a slighttremor. 

"You must go to bed, " she spoke firmly. "I shall not let you sit upwith Mary. So go at once. " And she drew him almost by force into thenext room. 

"It's no use, Fanny. There's not a wink of sleep in my eyes. I shalllie awake anyhow. So do you get a little rest. " Even as he spoke therewere nervous twitchings of his arms and shoulders; and as he enteredthe chamber, impelled by his wife, he stopped suddenly and said:

"What is that?"

"Where?" asked Mrs. Morgan. 

"Oh, it's nothing--I see. Only one of my old boots. I thought it agreat black cat. "

Oh! what a shudder of despair seized upon the heart of the wretchedwife. Too well she knew the fearful signs of that terrible madness fromwhich, twice before, he had suffered. She could have looked on calmlyand seen him die--but, "Not this--not this! Oh, Father in heaven!" shemurmured, with such a heart-sinking that it seemed as if life itselfwould go out. 

"Get into bed, Joe; get into bed as quickly as possible. "

Morgan was now passive in the hands of his wife, and obeyed her almostlike a child. He had turned down the bed-clothes, and was about gettingin, when he started back, with a look of disgust and alarm. 

"There's nothing there, Joe. What's the matter with you?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Fanny, " and his teeth rattled together, as hespoke. "I thought there was a great toad under the clothes. "

"How foolish you are!"--yet tears were blinding her eyes as she saidthis. "It's only fancy. Get into bed and shut your eyes. I'll make youanother cup of strong coffee. Perhaps that will do you good. You'reonly a little nervous. Mary's sickness has disturbed you. "

Joe looked cautiously under the bedclothes, as he lifted them up stillfarther, and peered beneath. 

"You know there's nothing in your bed, see!"

And Mrs. Morgan threw with a single jerk all the clothes upon the floor. 

"There now! look for yourself. Now shut your eyes, " she continued asshe spread the sheet and quilt over him after his head was on thepillow. "Shut them tight and keep them so until I boil the water andmake a cup of coffee You know as well as I do that it's nothing butfancy. "

Morgan closed his eyes firmly, and drew the clothes over his head. 

"I'll be back in a few minutes" said his wife going hurriedly to thedoor. Ere leaving, however she partly turned her head and glanced back. There sat her husband upright and staring fearfully. 

"Don't Fanny! don't go away!" he cried in a frightened voice. 

Joe! Joe! why will you be so foolish? It's nothing but imagination. Nowdo lie down and shut your eyes. Keep them shut. There now. 

And she laid a hand over his eyes and pressed it down tightly. 

"I wish Doctor Green was here, " said the wretched man. "He could giveme something. "

"Shall I go for him?"

"Go Fanny! Run over right quickly"

"But you won't keep in bed"

"Yes I will. There, now" And he drew the clothes over his face "ThereI'll lie just so until you come back. Now run Fanny, and don't stay aminute. "

Scarcely stopping to think Mrs. Morgan went hurriedly from the room anddrawing an old shawl over her head started with swift feet for theresidence of Doctor Green which was not very far away. The kind doctorunderstood at a word the sad condition of her husband and promised toattend him immediately. Back she flew at even a wilder speed her heartthrobbing with vague apprehension. Oh! what a fearful cry was thatwhich smote her ears as she came within a few paces of home. She knewthe voice, changed as it was by terror, and a shudder almost palsiedher heart. At a single bound she cleared the intervening space and inthe next moment was in the room where she had left her husband. But hewas not there! With suspended breath, and feet that scarcely obeyed herwill, she passed into the chamber where little Mary lay. Not here!

"Joe! husband!" she called in a faint voice. 

"Here he is, mother. " And now she saw that Joe had crept into the bedbehind the sick child and that her arm was drawn tightly around hisneck. 

"You won't let them hurt me, will you dear?" said the pool frightenedvictim of a terrible mania. 

"Nothing will hurt you father, " answered Mary, in a voice that showedher mind to be clear, and fully conscious of her parent's truecondition. 

She had seen him thus before. Ah! what an experience for a child!

"You're an angel--my good angel, Mary, " he murmured, in a voice yettrembling with fear "Pray for me, my child. Oh ask your father inheaven to save me from these dreadful creatures. There now!" he cried, rising up suddenly and looking toward the door. "Keep out! Go away! Youcan't come in here. This is Mary's room, and she's an angel. Ah, ha! Iknew you wouldn't dare come in here--

 "A single saint can put to flight Ten thousand blustering sons of night"

He added in a half wandering way yet with an assured voice, as he laidhimself back upon his pillow and drew the clothes over his head. 

"Poor father!" sighed the child as she gathered both arms about hisneck! "I will be your good angel. Nothing shall hurt you here. "

"I knew I would be safe where you were, " he whispered--"I knew it, andso I came. Kiss me, love. "

How pure and fervent was the kiss laid instantly upon his lips! Therewas a power in it to remand the evil influences that were surroundingand pressing in upon him like a flood. All was quiet now, and Mrs. Morgan neither by word nor movement disturbed the solemn stillness thatreigned in the apartment. In a few minutes the deepened breathing ofher husband gave a blessed intimation that he was sinking into sleep. Oh, sleep! sleep! How tearfully, in times past, had she prayed that hemight sleep; and yet no sleep came for hours and days--even thoughpowerful opiates were given--until exhausted nature yielded, and thensleep had a long, long struggle with death. Now the sphere of hisloving, innocent child seemed to have overcome, at least for the time, the evil influences that were getting possession even of his externalsenses. Yes, yes, he was sleeping! Oh, what a fervent "Thank God!" wentup from the heart of his stricken wife. 

Soon the quick ears of Mrs. Morgan detected the doctor's approachingfootsteps, and she met him at the door with a finger on her lips. Awhispered word or two explained the better aspect of affairs, and thedoctor said, encouragingly:

"That's good, if he will only sleep on. "

"Do you think he will, doctor?" was asked anxiously. 

"He may. But we cannot hope too strongly. It would be something veryunusual. "

Both passed noiselessly into the chamber. Morgan still slept, and byhis deep breathing it was plain that he slept soundly. And Mary, too, was sleeping, her face now laid against her father's, and her armsstill about his neck. The sight touched even the doctor's heart andmoistened his eyes. For nearly half an hour he remained; and then, asMorgan continued to sleep, he left medicine to be given immediately, and went home, promising to call early in the morning. 

It is now past midnight, and we leave the lonely, sad-hearted watcherwith her sick ones. 

I was sitting, with a newspaper in my hand--not reading, but musing--atthe "Sickle and Sheaf, " late in the evening marked by the incidentsjust detailed. 

"Where's your mother?" I heard Simon Slade inquire. He had just enteredan adjoining room. 

"She's gone out somewhere, " was answered by his daughter Flora. 

"Where?"

"I don't know. "

"How long has she been away?"

"More than an hour. "

"And you don't know where she went to?"

"No, sir. "

Nothing more was said, but I heard the landlord's heavy feet movingbackward and forward across the room for some minutes. 

"Why, Ann! where have you been?" The door of the next room had openedand shut. 

"Where I wish you had been with me, " was answered in a very firm voice. 

"Where?"

"To Joe Morgan's. "

"Humph!" Only this ejaculation met my ears. But something was said in alow voice, to which Mrs. Slade replied with some warmth:

"If you don't have his child's blood clinging for life to yourgarments, you may be thankful. "

"What do you mean?" he asked, quickly. 

"All that my words indicate. Little Mary is very ill!"

"Well, what of it?"

"Much. The doctor thinks her in great danger. The cut on her head hasthrown her into a violent fever, and she is delirious. Oh, Simon! ifyou had heard what I heard to-night. "

"What?" was asked in a growling tone. 

"She is out of her mind, as I said, and talks a great deal. She talkedabout you. "

"Of me! Well, what had she to say?"

"She said--so pitifully--'I wish Mr. Slade wouldn't look so cross atme. He never did when I went to the mill. He doesn't take me on hisknee now, and stroke my hair. Oh, dear!' Poor child! She was always sogood. "

"Did she say that?" Slade seemed touched. 

"Yes, and a great deal more. Once she screamed out, 'Oh, don't! don't, Mr. Slade! don't! My head! my head!' It made my very heart ache. I cannever forget her pale, frightened face, nor her cry of fear. Simon--ifshe should die!"

There was a long silence. 

"If we were only back to the mill. " It was Mrs. Slade's voice. 

"There, now! I don't want to hear that again, " quickly spoke out thelandlord. "I made a slave of myself long enough. "

"You had at least a clear conscience, " his wife answered. 

"Do hush, will you?" Slade was now angry. "One would think, by the wayyou talk sometimes, that I had broken every command of the Decalogue. "

"You will break hearts as well as commandments, if you keep on for afew years as you have begun--and ruin souls as well as fortunes. "

Mrs. Slade spoke calmly, but with marked severity of tone. Her husbandanswered with an oath, and then left the room, banging the door afterhim. In the hush that followed I retired to my chamber, and lay for anhour awake, pondering on all I had just heard. What a revelation was inthat brief passage of words between the landlord and his excitedcompanion!

NIGHT THE FOURTH. 

DEATH OF LITTLE MARY MORGAN. 

"Where are you going, Ann?" It was the landlord's voice. Time--a littleafter dark. 

"I'm going over to see Mrs. Morgan, " answered his wife. 

"What for?"

"I wish to go, " was replied. 

"Well, I don't wish you to go, " said Slade, in a very decided way. 

"I can't help that, Simon. Mary, I'm told, is dying, and Joe is in adreadful way. I'm needed there--and so are you, as to that matter. There was a time when, if word came to you that Morgan or his familywere in trouble--"

"Do hush, will you!" exclaimed the landlord, angrily. "I won't bepreached to in this way any longer. "

"Oh, well; then don't interfere with my movements, Simon; that's all Ihave to say. I'm needed over there, as I just said, and I'm going. "

There were considerable odds against him, and Slade, perceiving this, turned off, muttering something that his wife did not hear, and shewent on her way. A hurried walk brought her to the wretched home of thepoor drunkard, whose wife met her at the door. 

"How is Mary?" was the visitor's earnest inquiry. 

Mrs. Morgan tried to answer the question; but, though her lips moved, no sounds issued therefrom. 

Mrs. Slade pressed her hands tightly in both of hers; and then passedin with her to the room where the child lay. A stance sufficed to tellMrs. Slade that death had already laid his icy fingers upon her brow. 

"How are you, dear?" she asked, as she bent over and kissed her. 

"Better, I thank you!" replied Mary, in a low whisper. 

Then she fixed her eyes upon her mother's face with a look of inquiry. 

"What is it, love?"

"Hasn't father waked up yet?"

"No, dear. "

"Won't he wake up soon?"

"He's sleeping very soundly. I wouldn't like to disturb him. "

"Oh, no; don't disturb him. I thought, maybe, he was awake. "

And the child's lids drooped languidly, until the long lashes lay closeagainst her cheeks. 

There was silence for a little while, and then Mrs. Morgan said in ahalf-whisper to Mrs. Slade:

"Oh, we've had such a dreadful time with poor Joe. He got in thatterrible way again last night. I had to go for Doctor Green and leavehim all alone. When I came back, he was in bed with Mary; and she, dearchild, had her arms around his neck, and was trying to comfort him; andwould you believe it, he went off to sleep, and slept in that way for along time. The doctor came, and when he saw how it was, left somemedicine for him, and went away. I was in such hopes that he wouldsleep it all off. But about twelve o'clock he started up, and sprungout of bed with an awful scream. Poor Mary! she too had fallen asleep. The cry wakened her, and frightened her dreadfully. She's been gettingworse ever since, Mrs. Slade. 

"Just as he was rushing out of the room, I caught him by the arm, andit took all my strength to hold him. 

"'Father! father!' Mary called after him as soon as she was awakeenough to understand what was the matter--'Don't go out, father;there's nothing here. '

"He looked back toward the bed, in a frightful way. 

"'See, father!' and the dear child turned down the quilt and sheet, inorder to convince him that nothing was in the bed. 'I'm here, ' sheadded. 'I'm not afraid. Come, father. If there's nothing here to hurtme, there's nothing to hurt you. '

"There was something so assuring in this, that Joe took a step or twotoward the bed, looking sharply into it as he did so. From the bed hiseyes wandered up to the ceiling, and the old look of terror came intohis face. 

"'There it is now! Jump out of bed, quick! Jump out, Mary!' he cried. 'See! it's right over your head. '

"Mary showed no sign of fear as she lifted her eyes to the ceiling, andgazed steadily for a few moments in that direction. 

"'There's nothing there, father, ' said she, in a confident voice. 

"'It's gone now, ' Joe spoke in a tone of relief. 'Your angel-look droveit away. Aha! There it is now, creeping along the floor!' he suddenlyexclaimed, fearfully; starting away from where he stood. 

"'Here, father'! Here!' Mary called to him, and he sprung into the bedagain; while she gathered her arms about him tightly, saying in a low, soothing voice, 'Nothing can harm you here, father. '

"Without a moment's delay, I gave him the morphine left by DoctorGreen. He took it eagerly, and then crouched down in the bed, whileMary continued to assure him of perfect safety. So long as he wasclearly conscious as to where he was, he remained perfectly still. But, as soon as partial slumber came, he would scream out, and spring fromthe bed in terror and then it would take us several minutes to quiethim again. Six times during the night did this occur; and as often, Mary coaxed him back. The morphine I continued to give as the doctorhad directed. By morning, the opiates had done their work, and he wassleeping soundly. When the doctor came, we removed him to his own bed. He is still asleep; and I begin to feel uneasy, lest he should neverawake again. I have heard of this happening. "

"See if father isn't awake, " said Mary, raising her head from thepillow. She had not heard what passed between her mother and Mrs. Slade, for the conversation was carried on in low voices. 

Mrs. Morgan stepped to the door, and looked into the room where herhusband lay. 

"He is still asleep, dear, " she remarked, coming back to the bed. 

"Oh! I wish he was awake. I want to see him so much. Won't you callhim, mother?"

"I have called him a good many times. But you know the doctor gave himopium. He can't wake up yet. "

"He's been sleeping a very long time; don't you think so, mother?"

"Yes, dear, it does seem a long time. But it is best for him. He'll bebetter when he wakes. "

Mary closed her eyes, wearily. How deathly white was her face--howsunken her eyes--how sharply contracted her features!

"I've given her up, Mrs. Slade, " said Mrs. Morgan, in a low, rough, choking whisper, as she leaned nearer to her friend. "I've given herup! The worst is over; but, oh! it seemed as though my heart wouldbreak in the struggle. Dear child! In all the darkness of my way, shehas helped and comforted me. Without her, it would have been theblackness of darkness. "

"Father! father!" The voice of Mary broke out with a startlingquickness. 

Mrs. Morgan turned to the bed, and laying her hand on Mary's arm said:

"He's still sound asleep, dear. "

"No, he isn't, mother. I heard him move. Won't you go in and see if heis awake?"

In order to satisfy the child, her mother left the room. To hersurprise, she met the eyes of her husband as she entered the chamberwhere he lay. He looked at her calmly. 

"What does Mary want with me?" he asked. 

"She wishes to see you. She's called you so many times. Shall I bringher in here?"

"No. I'll get up and dress myself. "

"I wouldn't do that. You've been sick. "

"Father! father!" The clear, earnest voice of Mary was heard calling. 

"I'm coming, dear, " answered Morgan. 

"Come quick, father, won't you?"

"Yes, love. " And Morgan got up and dressed himself--but with unsteadyhands, and every sign of nervous prostration. In a little while, withthe assistance of his wife, he was ready, and supported by her, cametottering into the room where Mary was lying. 

"Oh, father!"--What a light broke over her countenance. --"I've beenwaiting for you so long. I thought you were never going to wake up. Kiss me, father. "

"What can I do for you, Mary?" asked Morgan, tenderly, as he laid hisface down upon the pillow beside her. 

"Nothing, father. I don't wish for anything. I only wanted to see you. "

"I'm here now, love. "

"Dear father!" How earnestly, yet tenderly she spoke, laying her smallhand upon his face. "You've always been good to me, father. "

"Oh, no. I've never been good to anybody, " sobbed the weak, broken-spirited man, as he raised himself from the pillow. 

How deeply touched was Mrs. Slade, as she sat, the silent witness ofthis scene!

"You haven't been good to yourself, father--but you've always been goodto us. "

"Don't, Mary! don't say anything about that, " interrupted Morgan. "Saythat I've been very bad--very wicked. Oh, Mary, dear! I only wish thatI was as good as you are; I'd like to die, then, and go right away fromthis evil world. I wish there was no liquor to drink--no taverns--nobar-rooms. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I wish I was dead. "

And the weak, trembling, half-palsied man laid his face again upon thepillow beside his child, and sobbed aloud. 

What an oppressive silence reigned for a time through the room!

"Father. " The stillness was broken by Mary. Her voice was clear andeven. "Father, I want to tell you something. "

"What is it, Mary?"

"There'll be nobody to go for you, father. " The child's lips nowquivered, and tears filled into her eyes. 

"Don't talk about that, Mary. I'm not going out in the evening any moreuntil you get well. Don't you remember I promised?"

"But, father"--She hesitated. 

"What, dear?"

"I'm going away to leave you and mother. "

"Oh, no--no--no, Mary! Don't say that. "--The poor man's voice wasbroken. --"Don't say that! We can't let you go, dear. "

"God has called me. " The child's voice had a solemn tone, and her eyesturned reverently upward. 

"I wish He would call me! Oh, I wish He would call me!" groaned Morgan, hiding his face in his hands. "What shall I do when you are gone? Oh, dear! Oh. Dear!"

"Father!" Mary spoke calmly again. "You are not ready to go yet. Godwill let you live here longer, that you may get ready. "

"How can I get ready without you to help me, Mary? My angel child!"

"Haven't I tried to help you, father, oh, so many times?" said Mary. 

"Yes--yes--you've always tried. "

"But it wasn't any use. You would go out--you would go to the tavern. It seemed most as if you couldn't help it. "

Morgan groaned in spirit. 

"Maybe I can help you better, father, after I die. I love you so much, that I am sure God will let me come to you, and stay with you always, and be your angel. Don't you think he will, mother?"

But Mrs. Morgan's heart was too full. She did not even try to answer, but sat, with streaming eyes, gazing upon her child's face. 

"Father. I dreamed something about you, while I slept to-day. " Maryagain turned to her father. 

"What was it, dear?"

"I thought it was night, and that I was still sick. You promised not togo out again until I was well. But you did go out; and I thought youwent over to Mr. Slade's tavern. When I knew this, I felt as strong aswhen I was well, and I got up and dressed myself, and started out afteryou. But I hadn't gone far, before I met Mr. Slade's great bull-dog, Nero, and he growled at me so dreadfully that I was frightened and ranback home. Then I started again, and went away round by Mr. Mason's. But there was Nero in the road, and this time he caught my dress in hismouth and tore a great piece out of the skirt. I ran back again, and hechased me all the way home. Just as I got to the door. I looked around, and there was Mr. Slade, setting Nero on me. As soon as I saw Mr. Slade, though he looked at me very wicked, I lost all my fear, andturning around, I walked past Nero, who showed his teeth, and growledas fiercely as ever, but didn't touch me. Then Mr. Slade tried to stopme. But I didn't mind him, and kept right on, until I came to thetavern, and there you stood in the door. And you were dressed so nice. You had on a new hat and a new coat; and your boots were new, andpolished just like Judge Hammond's. I said: 'Oh father! is this you?'And then you took me up in your arms and kissed me, and said: 'Yes, Mary, I am your real father. Not old Joe Morgan--but Mr. Morgan now. 'It seemed all so strange, that I looked into the bar-room to see whowas there. But it wasn't a bar-room any longer; but a store full ofgoods. The sign of the 'Sickle and Sheaf' was taken down; and over thedoor I now read your name, father. Oh! I was so glad, that I awoke--andthen I cried all to myself, for it was only a dream. "

The last words were said very mournfully, and with a drooping of Mary'slids, until the tear-gemmed lashes lay close upon her cheeks. Anotherperiod of deep silence followed--for the oppressed listeners gave noutterance to what was in their hearts. Feeling was too strong forspeech. Nearly five minutes glided away, and then Mary whispered thename of her father, but without opening her eyes. 

Morgan answered, and bent down his ear. 

"You will only have mother left, " she said--"only mother. And she criesso much when you are away. "

"I won't leave her, Mary, only when I go to work, " said Morgan, whispering back to the child. "And I'll never go out at night any more. "

"Yes; you promised me that. "

"And I'll promise more. "

"What, father?"

"Never to go into a tavern again. "

"Never!"

"No, never. And I'll promise still more. "

"Father?"

"Never to drink a drop of liquor as long as I live. "

"Oh, father! dear, dear father!" And with a cry of joy Mary started upand flung herself upon his breast. Morgan drew his arms tightly aroundher, and sat for a long time, with his lips pressed to her cheek--whileshe lay against his bosom as still as death. As death? Yes: for whenthe father unclasped his arms, the spirit of his child was with theangels of the resurrection!

It was my fourth evening in the bar-room of the 'Sickle and Sheaf'. Thecompany was not large, nor in very gay spirits. All had heard of littleMary's illness; which followed so quickly on the blow from the tumbler, that none hesitated about connecting the one with the other. So regularhad been the child's visits, and so gently excited, yet powerful herinfluence over her father, that most of the frequenters at the 'Sickleand Sheaf' had felt for her a more than common interest; which thecruel treatment she received, and the subsequent illness, materiallyheightened. 

"Joe Morgan hasn't turned up this evening, " remarked some one. 

"And isn't likely to for a while" was answered. 

"Why not?" inquired the first speaker. 

"They say the man with the poker is after him. "

"Oh, dear that's dreadful. Its the second or third chase, isn't it?"

"Yes. "

"He'll be likely to catch him this time. "

"I shouldn't wonder. "

"Poor devil! It won't be much matter. His family will be a great dealbetter without him. "

"It will be a blessing to them if he dies. "

"Miserable, drunken wretch!" muttered Harvey Green who was present. "He's only in the way of everybody. The sooner he's off, the better. "

The landlord said nothing. He stood leaning across the bar, lookingmore sober than usual. 

"That was rather an unlucky affair of yours Simon. They say the childis going to die. "

"Who says so?" Slade started, scowled and threw a quick glance upon thespeaker. 

"Doctor Green. "

"Nonsense! Doctor Green never said any such thing. "

"Yes, he did though. "

"Who heard him?"

"I did. "

"You did?"

"Yes. "

"He wasn't in earnest?" A slight paleness overspread the countenance ofthe landlord. "He was, though. They had an awful time there last night. "

"Where?"

"At Joe Morgan's. Joe has the mania, and Mrs. Morgan was alone with himand her sick girl all night. "

"He deserves to have it; that's all I've got to say. " Slade tried tospeak with a kind of rough indifference. 

"That's pretty hard talk, " said one of the company. 

"I don't care if it is. It's the truth. What else could he expect?"

"A man like Joe is to be pitied, " remarked the other. 

"I pity his family, " said Slade. 

"Especially little Mary. " The words were uttered tauntingly, andproduced murmurs of satisfaction throughout the room. 

Slade started back from where he stood, in an impatient manner, sayingsomething that I did not hear. 

"Look here, Simon, I heard some strong suggestions over at LawyerPhillips' office to-day. "

Slade turned his eyes upon the speaker. 

"If that child should die, you'll probably have to stand a trial forman-slaughter. "

"No--girl-slaughter, " said Harvey Green, with a cold, inhuman chuckle. 

"But I'm in earnest. " said the other. "Mr. Phillips said that a casecould be made out of it. "

"It was only an accident, and all the lawyers in Christendom can't makeanything more of it, " remarked Green, taking the side of the landlord, and speaking with more gravity than before. 

"Hardly an accident, " was replied. 

"He didn't throw at the girl. "

"No matter. He threw a heavy tumbler at her father's head. Theintention was to do an injury; and the law will not stop to make anynice discriminations in regard to the individual upon whom the injurywas wrought. Moreover, who is prepared to say that he didn't aim at thegirl?"

"Any man who intimates such a thing is a cursed liar!" exclaimed thelandlord, half maddened by the suggestion. 

"I won't throw a tumbler at your head, " coolly remarked the individualwhose plain speaking had so irritated Simon Slade, "Throwing tumblers Inever thought a very creditable kind of argument--though with some men, when cornered, it is a favorite mode of settling a question. Now, asfor our friend the landlord, I am sorry to say that his new businessdoesn't seem to have improved his manners or his temper a great deal. As a miller, he was one of the best-tempered men in the world, andwouldn't have harmed a kitten. But, now, he can swear, and bluster, andthrow glasses at people's heads, and all that sort of thing, with thebest of brawling rowdies. I'm afraid he's taking lessons in a badschool--I am. "

"I don't think you have any right to insult a man in his own house, "answered Slade, in a voice dropped to a lower key than the one in whichhe had before spoken. 

"I had no intention to insult you, " said the other. "I was onlyspeaking supposititiously, and in view of your position on a trial formanslaughter, when I suggested that no one could prove, or say that youdidn't mean to strike little Mary, when you threw the tumbler. "

"Well, I didn't mean to strike her: and I don't believe there is a manin this bar-room who thinks that I did--not one. "

"I'm sure I do not, " said the individual with whom he was incontroversy. "Nor I"--"Nor I" went round the room. 

"But, as I wished to set forth, " was continued, "the case will not beso plain a one when it finds its way into court, and twelve men, toeach of whom you may be a stranger, come to sit in judgment upon theact. The slightest twist in the evidence, the prepossessions of awitness, or the bad tact of the prosecution, may cause things to lookso dark on your side as to leave you but little chance. For my part, ifthe child should die, I think your chances for a term in the state'sprison are as eight to ten; and I should call that pretty closecutting. "

I looked attentively at the man who said this, all the while he wasspeaking, but could not clearly make out whether he were altogether inearnest, or merely trying to worry the mind of Slade. That he wassuccessful in accomplishing the latter, was very plain; for thelandlord's countenance steadily lost color, and became overcast withalarm. With that evil delight which some men take in giving pain, others, seeing Slade's anxious looks, joined in the persecution, andsoon made the landlord's case look black enough; and the landlordhimself almost as frightened as a criminal just under arrest. 

"It's bad business, and no mistake, " said one. 

"Yes, bad enough. I wouldn't be in his shoes for his coat, " remarkedanother. 

"For his coat? No, not for his whole wardrobe, " said a third. 

"Nor for the 'Sickle and Sheaf thrown into the bargain, " added a fourth. 

"It will be a clear case of manslaughter, and no mistake. What is thepenalty?"

"From two to ten years in the penitentiary, " was readily answered. 

"They'll give him five. I reckon. "

"No--not more than two. It will be hard to prove malicious intention. "

"I don't know that. I've heard him curse the girl and threaten her manya time. Haven't you?"

"Yes"--"Yes"--"I have, often, " ran round the bar-room. 

"You'd better hang me at once, " said Slade, affecting to laugh. 

At this moment, the door behind Slade opened, and I saw his wife'sanxious face thrust in for a moment. She said something to her husband, who uttered a low ejaculation of surprise, and went out quickly. 

"What's the matter now?" asked one of another. 

"I shouldn't wonder if little Mary Morgan was dead, " was suggested. 

"I heard her say dead, " remarked one who was standing near the bar. 

"What's the matter, Frank?" inquired several voices, as the landlord'sson came in through the door out of which his father had passed. 

"Mary Morgan is dead, " answered the boy. 

"Poor child! Poor child!" sighed one, in genuine regret at the notunlooked for intelligence. "Her trouble is over. "

And there was not one present, but Harvey Green, who did not utter someword of pity or sympathy. He shrugged his shoulders, and looked as muchof contempt and indifference as he thought it prudent to express. 

"See here, boys, " spoke out one of the company, "can't we do somethingfor poor Mrs. Morgan? Can't we make up a purse for her?"

"That's it, " was quickly responded; "I'm good for three dollars; andthere they are, " drawing out the money and laying it upon the counter. 

"And here are five to go with them, " said I, quickly stepping forward, and placing a five-dollar bill along side of the first contribution. 

"Here are five more, " added a third individual. And so it went on, until thirty dollars were paid down for the benefit of Mrs. Morgan. 

"Into whose hands shall this be placed?" was next asked. 

"Let me suggest Mrs. Slade, " said I. "To my certain knowledge, she hasbeen with Mrs. Morgan to-night. I know that she feels in her a truewoman's interest. "

"Just the person, " was answered. "Frank, tell your mother we would liketo see her. Ask her to step into the sitting-room. "

In a few moments the boy came back, and said that his mother would seeus in the next room, into which we all passed. Mrs. Slade stood nearthe table, on which burned a lamp. I noticed that her eyes were red, and that there was on her countenance a troubled and sorrowfulexpression. 

"We have just heard, " said one of the company, "that little Mary Morganis dead. "

"Yes--it is too true, " answered Mrs. Slade, mournfully. "I have justleft there. Poor child! she has passed from an evil world. "

"Evil it has indeed been to her, " was remarked. 

"You may well say that. And yet, amid all the evil, she been an angelof mercy. Her last thought in dying was of her miserable father. Forhim, at any time, she would have laid down her life willingly. "

"Her mother must be nearly broken-hearted. Mary is the last of herchildren. "

"And yet the child's death may prove a blessing to her. "

"How so?"

"Her father promised Mary, just at the last moment--solemnly promisedher--that, henceforth, he would never taste liquor. That was all hertrouble. That was the thorn in her dying pillow. But he plucked it out, and she went to sleep, lying against his heart. Oh, gentlemen! it wasthe most touching sight I ever saw. "

All present seemed deeply moved. 

"They are very poor and wretched. " was said. 

"Poor and miserable enough, " answered Mrs. ' Slade. 

"We have just been taking up a collection for Mrs. Morgan. Here is themoney, Mrs. Slade--thirty dollars--we place it in your hands for herbenefit. Do with it, for her, as you may see best. "

"Oh, gentlemen!" What a quick gleam went over the face of Mrs. Slade. "I thank you, from my heart, in the name of that unhappy one, for thisact of true benevolence. To you the sacrifice has been small, to herthe benefit will be great indeed. A new life will, I trust be commencedby her husband, and this timely aid will be something to rest upon, until he can get into better employment than he now has. Oh, gentlemen!let me urge on you, one and all, to make common cause in favor of JoeMorgan. His purposes are good now, he means to keep his promise to hisdying child--means to reform his life. Let good impulses that led tothat act of relief further prompt you to watch over him and, if you seehim about going astray, to lead him kindly back into the right path. Never--oh' never encourage him to drink, but rather take the glass fromhis hand, if his own appetite lead him aside and by all the persuasiveinfluence you possess, induce him to go out from the place oftemptation. 

"Pardon my boldness in saying so much" added Mrs. Slade, recollectingherself and coloring deeply as she did so "My feelings have led meaway. "

And she took the money from the table where it had been placed, andretired toward the door. 

"You have spoken well madam" was answered "And we thank you forreminding us of our duty. "

"One word more--and forgive the earnest heart from which itcomes"--said Mrs. Slade in a voice that trembled on the words sheuttered "I cannot help speaking, gentlemen! Think if some of you be notentering the road wherein Joe Morgan has so long been walking. Save himin heaven's name! but see that ye do not yourselves become castaways!"

As she said this she glided through the door and it closed after her. 

"I don't know what her husband would say to that, " was remarked after afew moments of surprised silence. 

"I don't care what HE would say, but I'll tell you what _I_ will say"spoke out a man whom I had several times noticed as a rather a freetippler "The old lady has given us capital advice, and I mean to takeit, for one. I'm going to try to save Joe Morgan, and--myself too. I'vealready entered the road she referred to; but I'm going to turn back. So good-night to you all; and if Simon Slade gets no more of mysixpences, he may thank his wife for it--God bless her!"

And the man drew his hat with a jerk over his forehead, and leftimmediately. 

This seemed the signal for dispersion, and all retired--not by way ofthe bar-room, but out into the hall, and through the door leading uponthe porch that ran along in front of the house. Soon after the bar wasclosed, and a dead silence reigned throughout the house. I saw no moreof Slade that night. Early in the morning, I left Cedarville; thelandlord looked very sober when he bade me good-bye through thestage-door, and wished me a pleasant journey. 

NIGHT THE FIFTH. 

SOME OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF TAVERN-KEEPING. 

Nearly five years glided away before business again called me toCedarville. I knew little of what passed there in the interval, exceptthat Simon Slade had actually been indicted for manslaughter, incausing the death of Morgan's child. He did not stand a trial, however, Judge Lyman having used his influence, successfully, in getting theindictment quashed. The judge, some people said, interested himself inSlade more than was just seemly--especially, as he had, on severaloccasions, in the discharge of his official duties, displayed whatseemed an over-righteous indignation against individuals arraigned forpetty offences. The impression made upon me by Judge Lyman had not beenfavorable. He seemed a cold, selfish, scheming man of the world. Thathe was an unscrupulous politician, was plain to me, in a singleevening's observation of his sayings and doings among the common herdof a village bar-room. 

As the stage rolled, with a gay flourish of our driver's bugle, intothe village, I noted here and there familiar objects, and marked thevaried evidences of change. Our way was past the elegant residence andgrounds of Judge Hammond, the most beautiful and highly cultivated inCedarville. At least, such it was regarded at the time of my previousvisit. But, the moment my eyes rested upon the dwelling and its varioussurroundings, I perceived an altered aspect. Was it the simple work oftime? or, had familiarity with other and more elegantly arrangedsuburban homes, marred this in my eyes by involuntary contrast? Or hadthe hand of cultivation really been stayed, and the marring fingers ofneglect suffered undisturbed to trace on every thing disfiguringcharacters?

Such questions were in my thoughts, when I saw a man in the largeportico of the dwelling, the ample columns of which, capped in richCorinthian, gave the edifice the aspect of a Grecian temple. He stoodleaning against one of the columns--his hat off, and his long gray hairthrown back and resting lightly on his neck and shoulders. His head wasbent down upon his breast, and he seemed in deep abstraction. Just asthe coach swept by, he looked up, and in the changed features Irecognized Judge Hammond. His complexion was still florid, but his facehad grown thin, and his eyes were sunken. Trouble was written in everylineament. Trouble? How inadequately does the word express my meaning!Ah! at a single glance, what a volume of suffering was opened to thegazer's eye. Not lightly had the foot of time rested there, as iftreading on odorous flowers, but heavily, and with iron-shod heel. ThisI saw at a glance; and then, only the image of the man was present tomy inner vision, for the swiftly rolling stage-coach had borne meonward past the altered home of the wealthiest denizen of Cedarville. In a few minutes our driver reined up before the "Sickle and Sheaf, "and as I stepped to the ground, a rotund, coarse, red-faced man, whom Ifailed to recognize as Simon Slade until he spoke, grasped my hand, andpronounced my name. I could not but contrast, in thought, hisappearance with what it was when I first saw him, some six yearspreviously; nor help saying to myself:

"So much for tavern-keeping!"

As marked a change was visible everywhere in and around the "Sickle andSheaf. " It, too, had grown larger by additions of wings and rooms; butit had also grown coarser in growing larger. When built, all the doorswere painted white, and the shutters green, giving to the house a neat, even tasteful appearance. But the white and green had given place to adark, dirty brown, that to my eyes was particularly unattractive. Thebar-room had been extended, and now a polished brass rod, or railing, embellished the counter, and sundry ornamental attractions had beengiven to the shelving behind the bar--such as mirrors, gilding, etc. Pictures, too, were hung upon the walls, or more accurately speaking;coarse colored lithographs, the subjects of which, if not reallyobscene, were flashing, or vulgar. In the sitting-room, next to thebar, I noticed little change of objects, but much in their condition. The carpet, chairs, and tables were the same in fact, but far frombeing the same in appearance. The room had a close, greasy odor, andlooked as if it had not been thoroughly swept and dusted for a week. 

A smart young Irishman was in the bar, and handed me the book in whichpassenger's names were registered. After I had recorded mine, hedirected my trunk to be carried to the room designated as the one I wasto occupy. I followed the porter, who conducted me to the chamber whichhad been mine at previous visits. Here, too, were evidences of change;but not for the better. Then the room was as sweet and clean as itcould be; the sheets and pillow-cases as white as snow, and thefurniture shining with polish. Now all was dusty and dingy, the airfoul, and the bed-linen scarcely whiter than tow. No curtain madesofter the light as it came through the window; nor would the shuttersentirely keep out the glare, for several of the slats were broken. Afeeling of disgust came over me, at the close smell and foul appearanceof everything; so, after washing my hands and face, and brushing thedust from my clothes, I went down stairs. The sitting-room was scarcelymore attractive than my chamber; so I went out upon the porch and tooka chair. Several loungers were here; hearty, strong-looking, but lazyfellows, who, if they had anything to do, liked idling better thanworking. One of them leaned his chair back against the wall of thehouse, and was swinging his legs with a half circular motion, andhumming "Old Folks at Home. " Another sat astride of a chair, with hisface turned toward, and his chin resting upon, the back. He was in toolazy a condition of body and mind for motion or singing. A third hadslidden down in his chair, until he sat on his back, while his feetwere elevated above his head, and rested against one of the pillarsthat supported the porch; while a fourth lay stretched out on a bench, sleeping, his hat over his face to protect him from buzzing and bitingflies. 

Though all but the sleeping man eyed me inquisitively, as I took myplace among them, not one changed his position. The rolling ofeye-balls cost but little exertion; and with that effort they werecontented. 

"Hallo! who's that?" one of these loungers suddenly exclaimed, as a manwent swiftly by in a light sulky; and he started up, and gazed down theroad, seeking to penetrate the cloud of dust which the fleet rider hadswept up with hoofs and wheels. 

"I didn't see. " The sleeping man aroused himself, rubbed his eyes, andgazed along the road. 

"Who was it, Matthew?" The Irish bar-keeper now stood in the door. 

"Willy Hammond, " was answered by Matthew. 

"Indeed! Is that his new three hundred dollar horse?"

"Yes. "

"My! but he's a screamer!"

"Isn't he! Most as fast as his young master. "

"Hardly, " said one of the men, laughing. "I don't think anything increation can beat Hammond. He goes it with a perfect rush. "

"Doesn't he! Well; you may say what you please of him, he's asgood-hearted a fellow as ever walked; and generous to a fault. "

"His old dad will agree with you in the last remark, " said Matthew. 

"No doubt of that, for he has to stand the bills, " was answered. 

"Yes, whether he will or no, for I rather think Willy has, somehow orother, got the upper hand of him. "

"In what way?"

"It's Hammond and Son, over at the mill and distillery. "

"I know; but what of that!"

"Willy was made the business man--ostensibly--in order, as the old manthought, to get him to feel the responsibility of the new position, andthus tame him down. "

"Tame HIM down! Oh, dear! It will take more than business to do that. The curb was applied too late. "

"As the old gentleman has already discovered, I'm thinking, to hissorrow. "

"He never comes here any more; does he, Matthew?"

"Who?"

"Judge Hammond. "

"Oh, dear, no. He and Slade had all sorts of a quarrel about a yearago, and he's never darkened our doors since. "

"It was something about Willy and--. " The speaker did not mention anyname, but winked knowingly and tossed his head toward the entrance ofthe house, to indicate some member of Slade's family. 

"I believe so. "

"D'ye think Willy really likes her?"

Matthew shrugged his shoulders, but made no answer. 

"She's a nice girl, " was remarked in an under tone, "and good enoughfor Hammond's son any day; though, if she were my daughter, I'd rathersee her in Jericho than fond of his company. "

"He'll have plenty of money to give her. She can live like a queen. "

"For how long?"

"Hush!" came from the lips of Matthew. "There she is now. "

I looked up, and saw at a short distance from the house, andapproaching, a young lady, in whose sweet, modest face, I at oncerecognized Flora Slade, Five years had developed her into a beautifulwoman. In her alone, of all that appertained to Simon Slade, there wasno deterioration. Her eyes were as mild and pure as when first I mether at gentle sixteen, and her father said "My daughter, " with such amingling of pride and affection in his tone. She passed near where Iwas sitting, and entered the house. A closer view showed me some marksof thought and suffering; but they only heightened the attraction ofher face. I failed not to observe the air of respect with which allreturned her slight nod and smile of recognition. 

"She's a nice girl, and no mistake--the flower of this flock, " wassaid, as soon as she passed into the house. 

"Too good for Willy Hammond, in my opinion, " said Matthew. "Clever andgenerous as people call him. "

"Just my opinion, " was responded. "She's as pure and good, almost, asan angel; and he?--I can tell you what--he's not the clean thing. Heknows a little too much of the world--on its bad side, I mean. "

The appearance of Slade put an end to this conversation. A secondobservation of his person and countenance did not remove the firstunfavorable impression. His face had grown decidedly bad in expression, as well as gross and sensual. The odor of his breath, as he took achair close to where I was sitting, was that of one who drankhabitually and freely; and the red, swimming eyes evidenced, toosurely, a rapid progress toward the sad condition of a confirmedinebriate. There was, too, a certain thickness of speech, that gaveanother corroborating sign of evil progress. 

"Have you seen anything of Frank this afternoon?" he inquired ofMatthew, after we had passed a few words. 

"Nothing, " was the bar-keeper's answer. 

"I saw him with Tom Wilkins as I came over, " said one of the men whowas sitting in the porch. 

"What was he doing with Tom Wilkins?" said Slade, in a fretted tone ofvoice. "He doesn't seem very choice in his company. "

"They were gunning. "

"Gunning!"

"Yes. They both had fowling-pieces. I wasn't near enough to ask wherethey were going. "

This information disturbed Slade a good deal. After muttering tohimself a little while, he started up and went into the house. 

"And I could have told him a little more, had I been so inclined, " saidthe individual who mentioned the fact that Frank was with Tom Wilkins. 

"What more?" inquired Matthew. 

"There was a buggy in the case; and a champagne basket. What the lattercontained you can easily guess. "

"Whose buggy?"

"I don't know anything about the buggy; but if 'Lightfoot' doesn't sinkin value a hundred dollars or so before sundown, call me a falseprophet. "

"Oh, no, " said Matthew, incredulously. "Frank wouldn't do an outrageousthing like that. Lightfoot won't be in a condition to drive for a monthto come. "

"I don't care. She's out now; and the way she was putting it down whenI saw her, would have made a locomotive look cloudy. "

"Where did he get her?" was inquired. 

"She's been in the six-acre field, over by Mason's Bridge, for the lastweek or so, " Matthew answered. "Well; all I have to say, " he added, "isthat Frank ought to be slung up and well horse-whipped. I never sawsuch a young rascal. He cares for no good, and fears no evil. He's theworst boy I ever saw. "

"It would hardly do for you to call him a boy to his face, " said one ofthe men, laughing. 

"I don't have much to say to him in any way, " replied Matthew, "for Iknow very well that if we ever do get into a regular quarrel, there'llbe a hard time of it. The same house will not hold us afterward--that'scertain. So I steer clear of the young reprobate. "

"I wonder his father don't put him to some business, " was remarked. "The idle life he now leads will be his ruin. "

"He was behind the bar for a year or two. "

"Yes; and was smart at mixing a glass--but--"

"Was himself becoming too good a customer?"

"Precisely. He got drunk as a fool before reaching his fifteenth year. "

"Good gracious!" I exclaimed, involuntarily. 

"It's true, sir, " said the last speaker, turning to me, "I never sawanything like it. And this wasn't all bar-room talk, which, as you mayknow, isn't the most refined and virtuous in the world. I wouldn't likemy son to hear much of it. Frank was always an eager listener toeverything that was said, and in a very short time became an adept inslang and profanity. I'm no saint myself; but it's often made my bloodrun cold to hear him swear. "

"I pity his mother, " said I; for my thought turned naturally to Mrs. Slade. 

"You may well do that, " was answered. "I doubt if Cedarville holds asadder heart. It was a dark day for her, let me tell you, when SimonSlade sold his mill and built this tavern. She was opposed to it at thebeginning. "

"I have inferred as much. "

"I know it, " said the man. "My wife has been intimate with her foryears. Indeed, they have always been like sisters. I remember very wellher coming to our house, about the time the mill was sold, and cryingabout it as if her heart would break. She saw nothing but sorrow andtrouble ahead. Tavern-keeping she had always regarded as a lowbusiness, and the change from a respectable miller to a lazytavern-keeper, as she expressed it, was presented to her mind assomething disgraceful. I remember, very well, trying to argue the pointwith her--assuming that it was quite as respectable to keep tavern asto do anything else; but I might as well have talked to the wind. Shewas always a pleasant, hopeful, cheerful woman before that time, but, really, I don't think I've seen a true smile on her face since. "

"That was a great deal for a man to lose, " said I. 

"What?" he inquired, not clearly understanding me. 

"The cheerfull face of his wife. "

"The face was but an index of her heart, " said he. 

"So much the worse. "

"True enough for that. Yes, it was a great deal to lose. 

"What has he gained that will make up for this?"

The man shrugged his shoulders. 

"What has he gained?" I repeated. "Can you figure it up?"

"He's a richer man, for one thing. "

"Happier?"

There was another shrug of the shoulders. "I wouldn't like to say that. "

"How much richer?"

"Oh, a great deal. Somebody was saying, only yesterday, that hecouldn't be worth less than thirty thousand dollars. "

"Indeed? So much. "

"Yes. "

"How has he managed to accumulate so rapidly?"

"His bar has a large run of custom. And, you know, that payswonderfully. "

"He must have sold a great deal of liquor in six years. "

"And he has. I don't think I'm wrong in saying that in the six yearswhich have gone by since the 'Sickle and Sheaf' was opened, more liquorhas been drank than in the previous twenty years. "

"Say forty, " remarked a man who had been a listener to what we said. 

"Let it be forty then, " was the according answer. 

"How comes this?" I inquired. "You had a tavern here before the 'Sickleand Sheaf' was opened. "

"I know we had, and several places besides, where liquor was sold. But, everybody far and near knew Simon Slade the miller, and everybody likedhim. He was a good miller, and a cheerful, social, chatty sort of manputting everybody in a good humor who came near him. So it became thetalk everywhere, when he built this house, which he fitted up nicerthan anything that had been seen in these parts. Judge Hammond, JudgeLyman, Lawyer Wilson, and all the big bugs of the place at oncepatronized the new tavern, and of course, everybody else did the same. So, you can easily see how he got such a run. "

"It was thought, in the beginning, " said I, "that the new tavern wasgoing to do wonders for Cedarville. "

"Yes, " answered the man laughing, "and so it has. "

"In what respect?"

"Oh, in many. It has made some men richer, and some poorer. "

"Who has it made poorer?"

"Dozens of people. You may always take it for granted, when you see atavern-keeper who has a good run at his bar, getting rich, that a greatmany people are getting poor. "

"How so?" I wished to hear in what way the man who was himself, as wasplain to see, a good customer at somebody's bar, reasoned on thesubject. 

"He does not add to the general wealth. He produces nothing. He takesmoney from his customers, but gives them no article of value inreturn--nothing that can be called property, personal or real. He isjust so much richer and they just so much poorer for the exchange. Isit not so?"

I readily assented to the position as true, and then said--

"Who, in particular, is poorer?"

"Judge Hammond, for one. "

"Indeed! I thought the advance in his property, in consequence of thebuilding of this tavern, was so great, that he was reaping a richpecuniary harvest. "

"There was a slight advance in property along the street after the'Sickle and Sheaf' was opened, and Judge Hammond was benefited thereby. Interested parties made a good deal of noise about it; but it didn'tamount to much, I believe. "

"What has caused the judge to grow poorer?"

"The opening of this tavern, as I just said. "

"In what way did it affect him?"

"He was among Slade's warmest supporters, as soon as he felt theadvance in the price of building lots, called him one of the mostenterprising men in Cedarville--a real benefactor to the place--and allthat stuff. To set a good example of patronage, he came over every dayand took his glass of brandy, and encouraged everybody else that hecould influence to do the same. Among those who followed his examplewas his son Willy. There was not, let me tell you, in all the countryfor twenty miles around, a finer young man than Willy, nor one of somuch promise, when this man-trap"--he let his voice fall, and glancedaround, as he thus designated Slade's tavern--"was opened; and now, there is not one dashing more recklessly along the road to ruin. Whentoo late, his father saw that his son was corrupted, and that thecompany he kept was of a dangerous character. Two reasons led him topurchase Slade's old mill, and turn it into a factory and a distillery. Of course, he had to make a heavy outlay for additional buildings, machinery, and distilling apparatus. The reasons influencing him werethe prospect of realizing a large amount of money, especially indistilling, and the hope of saving Willy, by getting him closelyengaged and interested in business. To accomplish, more certainly, thelatter end, he unwisely transferred to his son, as his own capital, twenty thousand dollars, and then formed with him a regularcopartnership--giving Willy an active business control. 

"But the experiment, sir, " added the man, emphatically, "has proved afailure. I heard yesterday, that both mill and distillery were to beshut up, and offered for sale. "

"They did not prove as money-making as was anticipated?"

"No, not under Willy Hammond's management. He had made too many badacquaintances--men who clung to him because he had plenty of money athis command, and spent it as freely as water. One-half of his time hewas away from the mill, and while there, didn't half attend tobusiness. I've heard it said--and I don't much doubt its truth--thathe's squandered his twenty thousand dollars, and a great deal morebesides. "

"How is that possible?"

"Well; people talk, and not always at random. There's been a manstaying here, most of his time, for the last four or five years, namedGreen. He does not do anything, and don't seem to have any friends inthe neighborhood. Nobody knows where he came from, and he is not at allcommunicative on that head himself. Well, this man became acquaintedwith young Hammond after Willy got to visiting the bar here, andattached himself to him at once. They have, to all appearance, beenfast friends ever since; riding about, or going off on gunning orfishing excursions almost every day, and secluding themselves somewherenearly every evening. That man, Green, sir, it is whispered, is agambler; and I believe it. Granted, and there is no longer a mystery asto what Willy does with his own and his father's money. "

I readily assented to this view of the case. 

"And so assuming that Green is a gambler, " said I, "he has grownricher, in consequence of the opening of a new and more attractivetavern in Cedarville. "

"Yes, and Cedarville is so much the poorer for all his gains; for I'venever heard of his buying a foot of ground, or in any way encouragingproductive industry. He's only a blood-sucker. "

"It is worse than the mere abstraction of money, " I remarked; "hecorrupts his victims, at the same time that he robs them. "

"True. "

"Willy Hammond may not be his only victim, " I suggested. 

"Nor is he, in my opinion. I've been coming to this bar, nightly, for agood many years--a sorry confession for a man to make, I must own, " headded, with a slight tinge of shame; "but so it is. Well, as I wassaying, I've been coming to this bar, nightly, for a good many years, and I generally see all that is going on around me. Among the regularvisitors are at least half a dozen young men, belonging to our bestfamilies--who have been raised with care, and well educated. That theirpresence here is unknown to their friends, I am quite certain--or, atleast, unknown and unsuspected by some of them. They do not drink agreat deal yet; but all try a glass or two. Toward nine o'clock, oftenat an earlier hour, you will see one and another of them go quietly outof the bar, through the sitting-room, preceded, or soon followed, byGreen and Slade. At any hour of the night, up to one or two, andsometimes three o'clock, you can see light streaming through the rentin a curtain drawn before a particular window, which I know to be inthe room of Harvey Green. These are facts, sir; and you can draw yourown conclusion. I think it a very serious matter. "

"Why does Slade go out with these young men?" I inquired. "Do you thinkhe gambles also?"

"If he isn't a kind of a stool-pigeon for Harvey Green, then I'mmistaken again. "

"Hardly. He cannot, already, have become so utterly unprincipled. "

"It's a bad school, sir, this tavern-keeping, " said the man. 

"I readily grant you that. "

"And it's nearly seven years since he commenced to take lessons. Agreat deal may be learned, sir, of good or evil, in seven years, especially if any interest be taken in the studies. "

"True. "

"And it's true in this case, you may depend upon it. Simon Slade is notthe man he was, seven years ago. Anybody with half an eye can see that. He's grown selfish, grasping, unscrupulous, and passionate. There couldhardly be a greater difference between men than exists between SimonSlade the tavern-keeper, and Simon Slade the miller. "

"And intemperate, also?" I suggested. 

"He's beginning to take a little too much, " was answered. 

"In that case, he'll scarcely be as well off five years hence as he isnow. "

"He's at the top of the wheel, some of us think. "

"What has led to this opinion?"

"He's beginning to neglect his house, for one thing. "

"A bad sign. "

"And there is another sign. Heretofore, he has always been on hand, with the cash, when desirable property went off, under forced sale, ata bargain. In the last three or four months, several great sacrificeshave been made, but Simon Slade showed no inclination to buy. Put thisfact against another, --week before last, he sold a house and lot in thetown for five hundred dollars less than he paid for them, a yearago--and for just that sum less than their true value. "

"How came that?" I inquired. 

"Ah! there's the question! He wanted money; though for what purpose hehas not intimated to any one, as far as I can learn. "

"What do you think of it?"

"Just this. He and Green have been hunting together in times past; butthe professed gambler's instincts are too strong to let him spare evenhis friend in evil. They have commenced playing one against the other. "

"Ah! you think so?"

"I do; and if I conjecture rightly, Simon Slade will be a poorer man, in a year from this time, than he is now. "

Here our conversation was interrupted. Some one asked my talkativefriend to go and take a drink, and he, nothing loath, left me withoutceremony. 

Very differently served was the supper I partook of on that evening, from the one set before me on the occasion of my first visit to the"Sickle and Sheaf. " The table-cloth was not merely soiled, butoffensively dirty; the plates, cups, and saucers, dingy and sticky; theknives and forks unpolished; and the food of a character to satisfy theappetite with a very few mouthfuls. Two greasy-looking Irish girlswaited on the table, at which neither landlord nor landlady presided. Iwas really hungry when the supper-bell rang; but the craving of mystomach soon ceased in the atmosphere of the dining-room, and I was thefirst to leave the table. 

Soon after the lamps were lighted, company began to assemble in thespacious bar-room, where were comfortable seats, with tables, newspapers, backgammon boards, dominoes, etc. The first act of nearlyevery one who came in was to call for a glass of liquor; and sometimesthe same individual drank two or three times in the course of half anhour, on the invitation of new comers who were convivially inclined. 

Most of those who came in were strangers to me. I was looking from faceto face to see if any of the old company were present, when onecountenance struck me as familiar. I was studying it, in order, ifpossible, to identify the person, when some one addressed him as"Judge. "

Changed as the face was, I now recognized it as that of Judge Lyman. Five years had marred that face terribly. It seemed twice the formersize; and all its bright expression was gone. The thickened andprotruding eyelids half closed the leaden eyes, and the swollen lipsand cheeks gave to his countenance a look of all predominatingsensuality. True manliness had bowed itself in debasing submission tothe bestial. He talked loudly, and with a pompous dogmatism--mainly onpolitical subjects--but talked only from memory; for any one could see, that thought came into but feeble activity. And yet, derationalized, soto speak, as he was, through drink, he had been chosen a representativein Congress, at the previous election, on the anti-temperance ticket, and by a very handsome majority. He was the rum candidate; and the ruminterest, aided by the easily swayed "indifferents, " swept aside theclaims of law, order, temperance, and good morals; and the districtfrom which he was chosen as a National Legislator sent him up to theNational Councils, and said in the act--"Look upon him we have chosenas our representative, and see in him a type of our principles, ourquality, and our condition, as a community. "

Judge Lyman, around whom a little circle soon gathered, was very severeon the temperance party, which, for two years, had opposed hiselection, and which, at the last struggle, showed itself to be arapidly growing organization. During the canvass, a paper was publishedby this party, in which his personal habits, character, and moralprinciples were discussed in the freest manner, and certainly not in away to elevate him in the estimation of men whose opinion was of anyvalue. 

It was not much to be wondered at, that he assumed to think temperanceissues at the polls were false issues; and that when temperance mensought to tamper with elections, the liberties of the people were indanger; nor that he pronounced the whole body of temperance men asselfish schemers and canting hypocrites. 

"The next thing we will have, " he exclaimed, warming with his theme, and speaking so loud that his voice sounded throughout the room, andarrested every one's attention, "will be laws to fine any man who takesa chew of tobacco, or lights a cigar. Touch the liberties of the peoplein the smallest particular, and all guarantees are gone. The Stamp Act, against which our noble forefathers rebelled, was a light measure ofoppression to that contemplated by these worse than fanatics. "

"You are right there, judge; right for once in your life, if you (hic)were never right before!" exclaimed a battered-looking specimen ofhumanity, who stood near the speaker, slapping Judge Lyman on theshoulder familiarly as he spoke. "There's no telling what they will do. There's (hic) my old uncle Josh Wilson, who's been keeper of thePoor-house these ten years. Well, they're going to turn him out, ifever they get the upper hand in Bolton county. "

"If? That word involves a great deal, Harry!" said Lyman. "We mus'n'tlet them get the upper hand. Every man has a duty to perform to hiscountry in this matter, and every one must do his duty. But what havethey got against your Uncle Joshua? What has he been doing to offendthis righteous party?"

"They've nothing against him, (hic) I believe. Only, they say, they'renot going to have a Poor-house in the county at all. "

"What! Going to turn the poor wretches out to starve?" said one. 

"Oh no! (hic), " and the fellow grinned, half shrewdly and halfmaliciously, as he answered--"no, not that. But, when they carry theday, there'll be no need of Poor-houses. At least, that's theirtalk--and I guess maybe there's something in it, for I never knew a manto go to the Poor-house, who hadn't (hic) rum to blame for his poverty. But, you see, I'm interested in this matter. I go for keeping up thePoor-house (hic); for I guess I'm travelling that road, and I shouldn'tlike to get to the last milestone (hic) and find no snug quarters--noUncle Josh. You're safe for one vote, any how, old chap, on nextelection day!" And the man's broad hand slapped the member's shoulderagain. "Huzza for the rummies! That's (hic) the ticket! Harry Grimesnever deserts his friends. True as steel!"

"You're a trump!" returned Judge Lyman, with low familiarity. "Neverfear about the Poor-house and Uncle Josh. They're all safe. "

"But look here, judge, " resumed the man. "It isn't only the Poor-house, the jail is to go next. "

"Indeed!"

"Yes, that's their talk; and I guess they ain't far out of the way, neither. What takes men to jail? You can tell us something about that, judge, for you've jugged a good many in your time. Didn't pretty muchall of 'em drink rum (hic)?"

But the judge answered nothing. 

"Silence (hic) gives consent, " resumed Grimes. "And they say more; oncegive 'em the upper hand--and they're confident of beating us--and theCourthouse will be to let. As for judges and lawyers, they'll starve, or go into some better business. So you see, (hic) judge, yourliberties are in danger. But fight hard, old fellow; and if you mustdie, (hic) die game!"

How well Judge Lyman relished this mode of presenting the case, was notvery apparent; he was too good a politician and office-seeker, to showany feeling on the subject, and thus endanger a vote. Harry Grimes'vote counted one, and a single vote sometimes gained or lost anelection. 

"One of their gags, " he said, laughing. "But I'm too old a stager notto see the flimsiness of such pretensions. Poverty and crime have theirorigin in the corrupt heart, and their foundations are laid long andlong before the first step is taken on the road to inebriety. It iseasy to promise results; for only the few look at causes, and tracethem to their effects. "

"Rum and ruin (hic). Are they not cause and effect?" asked Grimes. 

"Sometimes they are, " was the half extorted answer. 

"Oh, Green, is that you?" exclaimed the judge, as Harvey Green came inwith a soft cat-like step. He was, evidently, glad of a chance to getrid of his familiar friend and elector. 

I turned my eyes upon the man, and read his face closely. It wasunchanged. The same cold, sinister eye; the same chiselled mouth, sofirm now, and now yielding so elastically; the same smile "from theteeth outward"--the same lines that revealed his heart's deep, darkselfishness. If he had indulged in drink during the five interveningyears, it had not corrupted his blood, nor added thereto a singledegree of heat. 

"Have you seen anything of Hammond this evening?" asked Judge Lyman. 

"I saw him an hour or two ago, " answered Green. 

"How does he like his new horse?"

"He's delighted with him. "

"What was the price?"

"Three hundred dollars. "

"Indeed!"

The judge had already arisen, and he and Green were now walking side byside across the bar-room floor. 

"I want to speak a word with you, " I heard Lyman say. 

And then the two went out together. I saw no more of them during theevening. 

Not long afterward, Willy Hammond came in. Ah! there was a sad changehere; a change that in no way belied the words of Matthew thebar-keeper. He went up to the bar, and I heard him ask for Judge Lyman. The answer was in so low a voice that it did not reach my ear. 

With a quick, nervous motion, Hammond threw his hand toward a row ofdecanters on the shelf behind the bar-keeper, who immediately set oneof them containing brandy before him. From this he poured a tumblerhalf full, and drank it off at a single draught, unmixed with water. 

He then asked some further question, which I could not hear, manifesting, as it appeared, considerable excitement of mind. Inanswering him, Matthew glanced his eyes upward, as if indicating someroom in the house. The young man then retired, hurriedly, through thesitting-room. 

"What's the matter with Willy Hammond tonight?" asked some one of thebar-keeper. "Who's he after in such a hurry?"

"He wants to see Judge Lyman, " replied Matthew. 

"Oh!"

"I guess they're after no good, " was remarked. 

"Not much, I'm afraid. "

Two young men, well dressed, and with faces marked by intelligence, came in at the moment, drank at the bar, chatted a little whilefamiliarly with the bar-keeper, and then quietly disappeared throughthe door leading into the sitting-room. I met the eyes of the man withwhom I had talked during the afternoon, and his knowing wink brought tomind his suggestion, that in one of the upper rooms gambling went onnightly, and that some of the most promising young men of the town hadbeen drawn, through the bar attraction, into this vortex of ruin. Ifelt a shudder creeping along my nerves. 

The conversation that now went on among the company was of such anobscene and profane character that, in disgust, I went out. The nightwas clear, the air soft, and the moon shining down brightly. I walkedfor some time in the porch, musing on what I had seen and heard; whilea constant stream of visitors came pouring into the bar-room. Only afew of these remained. The larger portion went in quickly, took theirglass, and then left, as if to avoid observation as much as possible. 

Soon after I commenced walking in the porch, I noticed an elderly ladygo slowly by, who, in passing, slightly paused, and evidently tried tolook through the bar-room door. The pause was but for an instant. Inless than ten minutes she came back, again stopped--this timelonger--and again moved off slowly, until she passed out of sight. Iwas yet thinking about her, when, on lifting my eyes from the ground, she was advancing along the road, but a few rods distant. I almoststarted at seeing her, for there no longer remained a doubt on my mind, that she was some trembling, heartsick woman, in search of an erringson, whose feet were in dangerous paths. Seeing me, she kept on, thoughlingeringly. She went but a short distance before returning; and thistime, she moved in closer to the house, and reached a position thatenabled her eyes to range through a large portion of the bar-room. Anearer inspection appeared to satisfy her. She retired with quickersteps; and did not again return during the evening. 

Ah! what a commentary upon the uses of an attractive tavern was here!My heart ached, as I thought of all that unknown mother had suffered, and was doomed to suffer. I could not shut out the image of herdrooping form as I lay upon my pillow that night; she even haunted mein my dreams. 

NIGHT THE SIXTH. 

MORE CONSEQUENCES. 

The landlord did not make his appearance on the next morning untilnearly ten o'clock; and then he looked like a man who had been on adebauch. It was eleven before Harvey Green came down. Nothing about himindicated the smallest deviation from the most orderly habit. Cleanshaved, with fresh linen, and a face, every line of which was smoothedinto calmness, he looked as if he had slept soundly on a quietconscience, and now hailed the new day with a tranquil spirit. 

The first act of Slade was to go behind the bar and take a stiff glassof brandy and water; the first act of Green, to order beefsteak andcoffee for his breakfast. I noticed the meeting between the two men, onthe appearance of Green. There was a slight reserve on the part ofGreen, and an uneasy embarrassment on the part of Slade. Not even theghost of a smile was visible in either countenance. They spoke a fewwords together, and then separated as if from a sphere of mutualrepulsion. I did not observe them again in company during the day. 

"There's trouble over at the mill, " was remarked by a gentleman withwhom I had some business transactions in the afternoon. He spoke to aperson who sat in his office. 

"Ah! what's the matter?" said the other. 

"All the hands were discharged at noon, and the mill shut down. "

"How comes that?"

"They've been losing money from the start. "

"Rather bad practice, I should say. "

"It involves some bad practices, no doubt. "

"On Willy's part?"

"Yes. He is reported to have squandered the means placed in his hands, after a shameless fashion. "

"Is the loss heavy?"

"So it is said. "

"How much?"

"Reaching to thirty or forty thousand dollars. But this is rumor, and, of course, an exaggeration. "

"Of course. No such loss as that could have been made. But what wasdone with the money? How could Willy have spent it? He dashes about agreat deal; buys fast horses, drinks rather freely, and all that; butthirty or forty thousand dollars couldn't escape in this way. "

At the moment a swift trotting horse, bearing a light sulky and a man, went by. 

"There goes young Hammond's three hundred dollar animal, " said the lastspeaker. 

"It was Willy Hammond's yesterday. But there has been a change ofownership since then; I happen to know. "

"Indeed. "

"Yes. The man Green, who has been loafing about Cedarville for the lastfew years--after no good, I can well believe--came into possessionto-day. "

"Ah! Willy must be very fickle-minded. Does the possession of a covetedobject so soon bring satiety?"

"There is something not clearly understood about the transaction. I sawMr. Hammond during the forenoon, and he looked terribly distressed. "

"The embarrassed condition of things at the mill readily accounts forthis. "

"True; but I think there are causes of trouble beyond the mereembarrassments. "

"The dissolute, spendthrift habits of his son, " was suggested. "Theseare sufficient to weigh down the father's spirits, --to bow him to thevery dust. "

"To speak out plainly, " said the other, "I am afraid that the young manadds another vice to that of drinking and idleness. "

"What?"

"Gaining. "

"No!"

"There is little doubt of it in my mind. And it is further my opinion, that his fine horse, for which he paid three hundred dollars only a fewdays ago, has passed into the hands of this man Green, in payment of adebt contracted at the gaming table. "

"You shock me. Surely, there can be no grounds for such a belief. "

"I have, I am sorry to say, the gravest reasons for what I allege. ThatGreen is a professional gambler, who was attracted here by theexcellent company that assembled at the 'Sickle and Sheaf' in thebeginning of the lazy miller's pauper-making experiment, I do not inthe least question. Grant this, and take into account the fact thatyoung Hammond has been much in his company, and you have sufficientcause for the most disastrous effects. "

"If this be really so, " observed the gentleman, over whose face ashadow of concern darkened, "then Willy Hammond may not be his onlyvictim. "

"And is not, you may rest assured. If rumor be true, other of ourpromising young men are being drawn into the whirling circles thatnarrow toward a vortex of ruin. "

In corroboration of this, I mentioned the conversation I had held withone of the frequenters of Slade's bar room, on this very subject; andalso what I had myself observed on the previous evening. 

The man, who had until now been sitting quietly in a chair, started up, exclaiming as he did so--

"Merciful heaven! I never dreamed of this! Whose sons are safe?"

"No man's, " was the answer of the gentleman in whose office we weresitting--"No man's--while there are such open doors to ruin as you mayfind at the 'Sickle and Sheaf. ' Did not you vote the anti-temperanceticket at the last election?"

"I did, " was the answer; "and from principle. "

"On what were your principles based?" was inquired. 

"On the broad foundations of civil liberty. "

"The liberty to do good or evil, just as the individual may choose?"

"I would not like to say that. There are certain evils against whichthere can be no legislation that would not do harm. No civil power inthis country has the right to say what a citizen shall eat or drink. "

"But may not the people, in any community, pass laws, through theirdelegated law-makers, restraining evil-minded persons from injuring thecommon good?"

"Oh, certainly--certainly. "

"And are you prepared to affirm, that a drinking-shop, where young menare corrupted, aye, destroyed, body and soul--does not work an injuryto the common good?"

"Ah! but there must be houses of public entertainment. "

"No one denies this. But can that be a really Christian community whichprovides for the moral debasement of strangers, at the same time thatit entertains them? Is it necessary that, in giving rest andentertainment to the traveler, we also lead him into temptation?"

"Yes--but--but--it is going too far to legislate on what we are to eatand drink. It is opening too wide a door for fanatical oppression. Wemust inculcate temperance as a right principle. We must teach ourchildren the evils of intemperance, and send them out into the world aspractical teachers of order, virtue and sobriety. If we do this, thereform becomes radical, and in a few years there will be no bar-rooms, for none will crave the fiery poison. "

"Of little value, my friend, will be, in far too many cases, yourprecepts, if temptation invites our sons at almost every step of theirway through life. Thousands have fallen, and thousands are nowtottering, soon to fall. Your sons are not safe; nor are mine. Wecannot tell the day nor the hour when they may weakly yield to thesolicitation of some companion, and enter the wide open door of ruin. And are we wise and good citizens to commission men to do the evil workof enticement--to encourage them to get gain in corrupting anddestroying our children? To hesitate over some vague ideal of humanliberty when the sword is among us, slaying our best and dearest? Sir!while you hold back from the work of staying the flood that isdesolating our fairest homes, the black waters are approaching your owndoors. "

There was a startling emphasis in the tones with which this lastsentence was uttered; and I do not wonder at the look of anxious alarmthat it called to the face of him whose fears it was meant to excite. 

"What do you mean, sir?" was inquired. 

"Simply, that your sons are in equal danger with others. "

"And is that all?"

"They have been seen, of late, in the bar-room of the 'Sickle andSheaf. '"

"Who says so?"

"Twice within a week I have seen them going there, " was answered. 

"Good heavens! No!"

"It is true, my friend. But who is safe? If we dig pits, and concealthem from view, what marvel if our own children fall therein?"

"My sons going to a tavern?" The man seemed utterly confounded. "HowCAN I believe it? You must be in error, sir. "

"No. What I tell you is the simple truth. And if they go there--"

The man paused not to hear the conclusion of the sentence, but wenthastily from the office. 

"We are beginning to reap as we have sown, " remarked the gentleman, turning to me as his agitated friend left the office. "As I told themin the commencement it would be, so it is happening. The want of a goodtavern in Cedarville was over and over again alleged as one of thechief causes of our want of thrift, and when Slade opened the 'Sickleand Sheaf, ' the man was almost glorified. The gentleman who has justleft us failed not in laudation of the enterprising landlord; the moreparticularly, as the building of the new tavern advanced the price ofground on the street, and made him a few hundred dollars richer. Really, for a time, one might have thought, from the way people wenton, that Simon Slade was going to make every man's fortune inCedarville. But all that has been gained by a small advance inproperty, is as a grain of sand to a mountain, compared with thefearful demoralization that has followed. "

I readily assented to this, for I had myself seen enough to justify theconclusion. 

As I sat in the bar-room of the "Sickle and Sheaf" that evening, Inoticed, soon after the lamps were lighted, the gentleman referred toin the above conversation, whose sons were represented as visitors tothe bar, come in quietly, and look anxiously about the room. He spoketo no one, and, after satisfying himself that those he sought were notthere, went out. 

"What sent him here, I wonder?" muttered Slade, speaking partly tohimself, and partly aside to Matthew, the bar-keeper. 

"After the boys, I suppose, " was answered. 

"I guess the boys are old enough to take care of themselves. "

"They ought to be, " returned Matthew. 

"And are, " said Slade. "Have they been here this evening?"

"No, not yet. "

While they yet talked together, two young men whom I had seen on thenight before, and noticed particularly as showing signs of intelligenceand respectability beyond the ordinary visitors at a bar-room, came in. 

"John, " I heard Slade say, in a low, confidential voice, to one ofthem, "your old man was here just now. "

"No!" The young man looked startled--almost confounded. 

"It's a fact. So you'd better keep shady. "

"What did he want?"

"I don't know. "

"What did he say?"

"Nothing. He just came in, looked around, and then went out. "

"His face was as dark as a thunder-cloud, " remarked Matthew. 

"Is No. 4 vacant?" inquired one of the young men. 

"Yes. "

"Send us up a bottle of wine and some cigars. And when Bill Harding andHarry Lee come in, tell them where they can find us. "

"All right, " said Matthew. "And now, take a friend's advice and makeyourselves scarce. "

The young men left the room hastily. Scarcely had they departed, ere Isaw the same gentleman come in, whose anxious face had, a little whilebefore, thrown its shadow over the apartment. He was the father insearch of his sons. Again he glanced around nervously; and this timeappeared to be disappointed. As he entered, Slade went out. 

"Have John and Wilson been here this evening?" he asked, coming up tothe bar and addressing Matthew. 

"They are not here;" replied Matthew, evasively. 

"But haven't they been here?"

"They may have been here; I only came in from my supper a little whileago. "

"I thought I saw them entering, only a moment or two ago. "

"They're not here, sir. " Matthew shook his head and spoke firmly. 

"Where is Mr. Slade?"

"In the house, somewhere. "

"I wish you would ask him to step here. "

Matthew went out, but in a little while came back with word that thelandlord was not to be found. 

"You are sure the boys are not here?" said the man, with a doubting, dissatisfied manner. 

"See for yourself, Mr. Harrison!"

"Perhaps they are in the parlor?"

"Step in, sir, " coolly returned Matthew. The man went through the doorinto the sitting-room, but came back immediately. 

"Not there?" said Matthew. The man shook his head. "I don't thinkyou'll find them about here, " added the bar-keeper. 

Mr. Harrison--this was the name by which Matthew addressed him--stoodmusing and irresolute for some minutes. He could not be mistaken aboutthe entrance of his sons, and yet they were not there. His manner wasmuch perplexed. At length he took a seat, in a far corner of thebar-room, somewhat beyond the line of observation, evidently with thepurpose of waiting to see if those he sought would come in. He had notbeen there long, before two young men entered, whose appearance at onceexcited his interest. They went up to the bar and called for liquor. AsMatthew set the decanter before them, he leaned over the counter, andsaid something in a whisper. 

"Where?" was instantly ejaculated, in surprise, and both of the youngmen glanced uneasily about the room. They met the eyes of Mr. Harrison, fixed intently upon them. I do not think, from the way they swallowedtheir brandy and water, that it was enjoyed very much. 

"What the deuce is he doing here?" I heard one of them say, in a lowvoice. 

"After the boys, of course. "

"Have they come yet?"

Matthew winked as he answered, "All safe. "

"In No. 4?"

"Yes. And the wine and cigars all waiting for you. "

"Good. "

"You'd better not go through the parlor. Their old man's not at allsatisfied. He half suspects they're in the house. Better go off downthe street, and come back and enter through the passage. "

The young men, acting on this hint, at once retired, the eyes ofHarrison following them out. 

For nearly an hour Mr. Harrison kept his position, a close observer ofall that transpired. I am very much in error, if, before leaving thatsink of iniquity, he was not fully satisfied as to the propriety oflegislating on the liquor question. Nay, I incline to the opinion, that, if the power of suppression had rested in his hands, there wouldnot have been, in the whole state, at the expiration of an hour, asingle dram-selling establishment. The goring of his ox had opened hiseyes to the true merits of the question. While he was yet in thebar-room, young Hammond made his appearance. His look was wild andexcited. First he called for brandy, and drank with the eagerness of aman long athirst. 

"Where is Green?" I heard him inquire, as he set his glass upon thecounter. 

"Haven't seen anything of him since supper, " was answered by Matthew. 

"Is he in his room?"

"I think it probable. "

"Has Judge Lyman been about here tonight?"

"Yes. He spouted here for half an hour against the temperance party, asusual, and then"--Matthew tossed his head toward the door leading tothe sitting-room. 

Hammond was moving toward this door, when, in glancing around the room, he encountered the fixed gaze of Mr. Harrison--a gaze that instantlychecked his progress. Returning to the bar, and leaning over thecounter, he said to Matthew:

"What has sent him here?"

Matthew winked knowingly. 

"After the boys?" inquired Hammond. 

"Yes. "

"Where are they?"

"Up-stairs. "

"Does he suspect this?"

"I can't tell. If he doesn't think them here now, he is looking forthem to come in. "

"Do they know he is after them?"

"Oh, yes. "

"All safe then?"

"As an iron chest. If you want to see them, just rap at No. 4. "

Hammond stood for some minutes leaning on the bar, and then, not onceagain looking toward that part of the room where Mr. Harrison wasseated, passed out through the door leading to the street. Soonafterward Mr. Harrison departed. 

Disgusted as on the night before, with the unceasing flow of vile, obscene, and profane language, I left my place of observation in thebar-room and sought the open air. The sky was unobscured by a singlecloud, and the moon, almost at the full, shone abroad with more thancommon brightness. I had not been sitting long in the porch, when thesame lady, whose movements had attracted my attention, came in sight, walking very slowly--the deliberate pace assumed, evidently, for thepurpose of better observation. On coming opposite the tavern, sheslightly paused, as on the evening before, and then kept on, passingdown the street until she was beyond observation. 

"Poor mother!" I was still repeating to myself, when her form again metmy eyes. Slowly she advanced, and now came in nearer to the house. Theinterest excited in my mind was so strong, that I could not repress thedesire I felt to address her, and so stepped from the shadow of theporch. She seemed startled, and retreated backward several paces. 

"Are you in search of any one?" I inquired, respectfully. 

The woman now stood in a position that let the moon shine full upon herface, revealing every feature. She was far past the meridian of life;and there were lines of suffering and sorrow on her fine countenance. Isaw that her lips moved, but it was some time before I distinguishedthe words. 

"Have you seen my son to-night? They say he comes here. "

The manner in which this was said caused a cold thrill to run over me. I perceived that the woman's mind wandered. I answered:

"No, ma'am; I haven't seen any thing of him. "

My tone of voice seemed to inspire her with confidence, for she came upclose to me, and bent her face toward mine. 

"It is a dreadful place, " she whispered, huskily. "And they say hecomes here. Poor boy! He isn't what he used to be. "

"It is a very bad place, " said I. "Come"--and I moved a step or two inthe direction from which I had seen her approaching--"come, you'dbetter go away as quickly as possible. "

"But if he's here, " she answered, not moving from where she stood, "Imight save him, you know. "

"I am sure you won't find him, ma'am, " I urged. "Perhaps he is home, now. "

"Oh, no! no!" And she shook her head mournfully. "He never comes homeuntil long after midnight. I wish I could see inside of the bar-room. I'm sure he must be there. "

"If you will tell me his name, I will go in and search for him. "

After a moment of hesitation she answered:

"His name is Willy Hammond. "

How the name, uttered so sadly, and yet with such moving tenderness bythe mother's lips, caused me to start--almost to tremble. 

"If he is in the house, ma'am, " said I, firmly, "I will see him foryou. " And I left her and went into the bar. 

"In what room do you think I will find young Hammond?" I asked of thebar-keeper. He looked at me curiously, but did not answer. The questionhad come upon him unanticipated. 

"In Harvey Green's room?" I pursued. 

"I don't know, I am sure. He isn't in the house to my knowledge. I sawhim go out about half an hour since. "

"Green's room is No. ----?"

"Eleven, " he answered. 

"In the front part of the house?"

"Yes. "

I asked no further question, but went to No. 11, and tapped on thedoor. But no one answered the summons. I listened, but could notdistinguish the slightest sound within. Again I knocked; but louder. Ifmy ears did not deceive me, the chink of coin was heard. Still therewas neither voice nor movement. 

I was disappointed. That the room had inmates, I felt sure. Remembering, now, what I had heard about light being seen in this roomthrough a rent in the curtain, I went down-stairs, and out into thestreet. A short distance beyond the house, I saw, dimly, the woman'sform. She had only just passed in her movement to and fro. Glancing upat the window, which I now knew to be the one in Green's room, lightthrough the torn curtain was plainly visible. Back into the house Iwent, and up to No. 11. This time I knocked imperatively; and this timemade myself heard. 

"What's wanted?" came from within. I knew the voice to be that ofHarvey Green. 

I only knocked louder. A hurried movement and the low murmur of voiceswas heard for some moments; then the door was unlocked and held partlyopen by Green, whose body so filled the narrow aperture that I couldnot look into the room. Seeing me, a dark scowl fell upon hiscountenance. 

"What d'ye want?" he inquired, sharply. 

"Is Mr. Hammond here? If so, he is wanted downstairs. "

"No, he's not, " was the quick answer. "What sent you here for him, hey?"

"The fact that I expected to find him in your room, " was my firm answer. 

Green was about shutting the door in my face, when some one placed ahand on his shoulder, and said something to him that I could not hear. 

"Who wants to see him?" he inquired of me. 

Satisfied, now, that Hammond was in the room, I said, slightlyelevating my voice:

"His mother. "

The words were an "open sesame" to the room. The door was suddenlyjerked open, and with a blanching face, the young man confronted me. 

"Who says my mother is down-stairs?" he demanded. 

"I come from her in search of you, " I said. "You will find her in theroad, walking up and down in front of the tavern. "

Almost with a bound he swept by me, and descended the stairway at twoor three long strides. As the door swung open, I saw besides Green andHammond, the landlord and Judge Lyman. It needed not the loose cards onthe table near which the latter were sitting to tell me of theirbusiness in that room. 

As quickly as seemed decorous, I followed Hammond. On the porch I methim, coming in from the road. 

"You have deceived me, sir, " said he, sternly--almost menacingly. 

"No, sir!" I replied. "What I told you was but too true. Look! Thereshe is now. "

The young man sprung around, and stood before the woman, a few pacesdistant. 

"Mother! oh, mother! what HAS brought you here?" he exclaimed, in anunder tone, as he caught her arm, and moved away. He spoke--notroughly, nor angrily--but with respect--half reproachfulness--and anunmistakable tenderness. 

"Oh, Willy! Willy!" I heard her answer. "Somebody said you came here atnight, and I couldn't rest. Oh, dear. They'll murder you! I know theywill. Don't, oh!--"

My ears took in the sense no further, though her pleading voice stillreached my ears. A few moments, and they were out of sight. 

Nearly two hours afterward, as I was ascending to my chamber, a manbrushed quickly by me. I glanced after him, and recognized the personof young Hammond. He was going to the room of Harvey Green!

NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 

SOWING THE WIND. 

The state of affairs in Cedarville, it was plain, from the partialglimpses I had received, was rather desperate. Desperate, I mean, asregarded the various parties brought before my observation. An eatingcancer was on the community, and so far as the eye could mark itsdestructive progress, the ravages were tearful. That its roots werestriking deep, and penetrating, concealed from view, in manyunsuspected directions, there could be no doubt. What appeared on thesurface was but a milder form of the disease, compared with its hidden, more vital, and more dangerous advances. 

I could not but feel a strong interest in some of these parties. Thecase of young Hammond had, from the first, awakened concern; and now anew element was added in the unlooked-for appearance of his mother onthe stage, in a state that seemed one of partial derangement. Thegentleman at whose office I met Mr. Harrison on the day before--thereader will remember Mr. H. As having come to the "Sickle and Sheath"in search of his son--was thoroughly conversant with the affairs of thevillage, and I called upon him early in the day in order to make someinquiries about Mrs. Hammond. My first question, as to whether he knewthe lady, was answered by the remark:

"Oh, yes. She is one of my earliest friends. "

The allusion to her did not seem to awaken agreeable states of mind. Aslight shade obscured his face, and I noticed that he sighedinvoluntarily. 

"Is Willy her only child?"

"Her only living child. She had four; another son, and two daughters;but she lost all but Willy when they were quite young. And, " he added, after a pause, --"it would have been better for her, and for Willy, too, if he had gone to a better land with them. "

"His course of life must be to her a terrible affliction. " said I. 

"It is destroying her reason, " he replied, with emphasis, "He was heridol. No mother ever loved a son with more self-devotion than Mrs. Hammond loved her beautiful, fine-spirited, intelligent, affectionateboy. To say that she was proud of him, is but a tame expression. Intense love--almost idolatry--was the strong passion of her heart. Howtender, how watchful was her love! Except when at school, he wasscarcely ever separated from her. In order to keep him by her side, shegave up her thoughts to the suggestion and maturing of plans forkeeping his mind active and interested in her society--and her successwas perfect. Up to the age of sixteen or seventeen, I do not think hehad a desire for other companionship than that of his mother. But this, you know, could not last. The boy's maturing thought must go beyond thehome and social circle. The great world, that he was soon to enter, wasbefore him; and through loopholes that opened here and there heobtained partial glimpses of what was beyond. To step forth into thisworld, where he was soon to be a busy actor and worker, and to stepforth alone, next came in the natural order of progress. How his mothertrembled with anxiety, as she saw him leave her side! Of the dangersthat would surround his path, she knew too well; and these weremagnified by her fears--at least so I often said to her. Alas! how farthe sad reality has outrun her most fearful anticipations. 

"When Willy was eighteen--he was then reading law--I think I never sawa young man of fairer promise. As I have often heard it remarked ofhim, he did not appear to have a single fault. But he had a dangerousgift--rare conversational powers, united with great urbanity of manner. Every one who made his acquaintance became charmed with his society;and he soon found himself surrounded by a circle of young men, some ofwhom were not the best companions he might have chosen. Still, his ownpure instincts and honorable principles were his safeguard; and I neverhave believed that any social allurements would have drawn him awayfrom the right path, if this accursed tavern had not been opened bySlade. "

"There was a tavern here before the 'Sickle and Sheaf' was opened?"said I. 

"Oh, yes. But it was badly kept, and the bar-room visitors were of thelowest class. No respectable young man in Cedarville would have beenseen there. It offered no temptations to one moving in Willy's circle. But the opening of the 'Sickle and Sheaf' formed a new era. JudgeHammond--himself not the purest man in the world, I'm afraid--gave hiscountenance to the establishment, and talked of Simon Slade as anenterprising man who ought to be encouraged. Judge Lyman and other menof position in Cedarville followed his bad example; and the bar-room ofthe 'Sickle and Sheaf' was at once voted respectable. At all times ofthe day and evening you could see the flower of our young men going inand out, sitting in front of the bar-room, or talking hand-and-glovewith the landlord, who, from a worthy miller, regarded as well enoughin his place, was suddenly elevated into a man of importance, whom thebest in the village were delighted to honor. 

"In the beginning, Willy went with the tide, and, in an incrediblyshort period, was acquiring a fondness for drink that startled andalarmed his friends. In going in through Slade's open door, he enteredthe downward way, and has been moving onward with fleet footsteps eversince. The fiery poison inflamed his mind, at the same time that itdimmed his noble perceptions. Fondness for mere pleasure followed, andthis led him into various sensual indulgences, and exciting modes ofpassing the time. Every one liked him--he was so free, socompanionable, and so generous--and almost every one encouraged, ratherthan repressed, his dangerous proclivities. Even his father, for atime, treated the matter lightly, as only the first flush of younglife. 'I commenced sowing my wild oats at quite as early an age, ' Ihave heard him say. 'He'll cool off, and do well enough. Never fear. 'But his mother was in a state of painful alarm from the beginning. Hertruer instincts, made doubly acute by her yearning love, perceived theimminent danger, and in all possible ways did she seek to lure him fromthe path in which he was moving at so rapid a pace. Willy was alwaysvery much attached to his mother, and her influence over him wasstrong; but in this case he regarded her fears as chimerical. The wayin which he walked was, to him, so pleasant, and the companions of hisjourney so delightful, that he could not believe in the prophesiedevil; and when his mother talked to him in her warning voice, and witha sad countenance, he smiled at her concern, and made light of herfears. 

"And so it went on, month after month, and year after year, until theyoung man's sad declensions were the town talk. In order to throw hismind into a new channel--to awaken, if possible, a new and betterinterest in life--his father ventured upon the doubtful experiment wespoke of yesterday; that of placing capital in his hands, and makinghim an equal partner in the business of distilling and cotton-spinning. The disastrous--I might say disgraceful--result you know. The young mansquandered his own capital and heavily embarrassed his father. 

"The effect of all this upon Mrs. Hammond has been painful in theextreme. We can only dimly imagine the terrible suffering through whichshe has passed. Her present aberration was first visible after a longperiod of sleeplessness, occasioned by distress of mind. During thewhole of two weeks, I am told, she did not close her eyes; the most ofthat time walking the floor of her chamber, and weeping. Powerfulanodynes, frequently repeated, at length brought relief. But, when sheawoke from a prolonged period of unconsciousness, the brightness of herreason was gone. Since then, she has never been clearly conscious ofwhat was passing around her, and well for her, I have sometimes thoughtit was, for even obscurity of intellect is a blessing in her case. Ah, me! I always get the heart-ache, when I think of her. "

"Did not this event startle the young man from his fatal dream, if Imay so call his mad infatuation?" I asked. 

"No. He loved his mother, and was deeply afflicted by the calamity; butit seemed as if he could not stop. Some terrible necessity appeared tobe impelling him onward. If he formed good resolutions--and I doubt notthat he did--they were blown away like threads of gossamer, the momenthe came within the sphere of old associations. His way to the mill wasby the 'Sickle and Sheaf'; and it was not easy for him to pass therewithout being drawn into the bar, either by his own desire for drink, or through the invitation of some pleasant companion, who was loungingin front of the tavern. "

"There may have been something even more impelling than his love ofdrink, " said I. 

"What?"

I related, briefly, the occurrences of the preceding night. 

"I feared--nay, I was certain--that he was in the toils of this man!And yet your confirmation of the fact startles and confounds me, " saidhe, moving about his office in a disturbed manner. "If my mind hasquestioned and doubted in regard to young Hammond, it questions anddoubts no longer. The word 'mystery' is not now written over the doorof his habitation. Great Father! and is it thus that our young men areled into temptation? Thus that their ruin is premeditated, secured?Thus that the fowler is permitted to spread his net in the open day, and the destroyer licensed to work ruin in darkness? It is awful tocontemplate!" The man was strongly excited. 

"Thus it is, " he continued; "and we who see the whole extent, origin, and downward rushing force of a widely sweeping desolation, lift ourvoices of warning almost in vain. Men who have everything atstake--sons to be corrupted, and daughters to become the wives of youngmen exposed to corrupting influences--stand aloof, questioning anddoubting as to the expediency of protecting the innocent from thewolfish designs of bad men; who, to compass their own selfish ends, would destroy them body and soul. We are called fanatics, ultraists, designing, and all that, because we ask our law-makers to stay thefiery ruin. Oh, no! we must not touch the traffic. All the dearest andbest interests of society may suffer; but the rum-seller must beprotected. He must be allowed to get gain, if the jails and poorhousesare filled, and the graveyards made fat with the bodies of young menstricken down in the flower of their years, and of wives and motherswho have died of broken hearts. Reform, we are told, must commence athome. We must rear temperate children, and then we shall have temperatemen. That when there are none to desire liquor, the rum-seller'straffic will cease. And all the while society's true benefactors areengaged in doing this, the weak, the unsuspecting, and the erring mustbe left an easy prey, even if the work requires for its accomplishmenta hundred years. Sir! a human soul destroyed through the rum-seller'sinfernal agency, is a sacrifice priceless in value. No considerationsof worldly gain can, for an instant, be placed in comparison therewith. And yet souls are destroyed by thousands every year; and they will fallby tens of thousands ere society awakens from its fatal indifference, and lays its strong hand of power on the corrupt men who are scatteringdisease, ruin, and death, broadcast over the land!

"I always get warm on this subject, " he added, repressing hisenthusiasm. "And who that observes and reflects can help growingexcited? The evil is appalling; and the indifference of the communityone of the strangest facts of the day. "

While he was yet speaking, the elder Mr. Hammond came in. He lookedwretched. The redness and humidity of his eyes showed want of sleep, and the relaxed muscles of his face exhaustion from weariness andsuffering. He drew the person with whom I had been talking aside, andcontinued an earnest conversation with him for many minutes--oftengesticulating violently. I could see his face, though I heard nothingof what he said. The play of his features was painful to look upon, forevery changing muscle showed a new phase of mental suffering. 

"Try and see him, will you not?" he said, as he turned, at length, toleave the office. 

"I will go there immediately, " was answered. 

"Bring him home, if possible. "

"My very best efforts shall be made. "

Judge Hammond bowed and went out hurriedly. 

"Do you know the number of the room occupied by the man Green?" askedthe gentleman, as soon as his visitor had retired. 

"Yes. It is No. 11. "

"Willy has not been home since last night. His father, at this lateday, suspects Green to be a gambler. The truth flashed upon him onlyyesterday; and this, added to his other sources of trouble, is drivinghim, so he says, almost mad. As a friend, he wishes me to go to the'Sickle and Sheaf, ' and try and find Willy. Have you seen any thing ofhim this morning?"

I answered in the negative. 

"Nor of Green?"

"No. "

"Was Slade about when you left the tavern?"

"I saw nothing of him. "

"What Judge Hammond fears may be all too true--that, in the presentcondition of Willy's affairs, which have reached the point of disaster, his tempter means to secure the largest possible share of property yetin his power to pledge or transfer, --to squeeze from his victim thelast drop of blood that remains, and then fling him, ruthlessly, fromhis hands. "

"The young man must have been rendered almost desperate, or he wouldnever have returned, as he did, last night. Did you mention this to hisfather?"

"No. It would have distressed him the more, without effecting any good. He is wretched enough. But time passes, and none is to be lost now. Will you go with me?"

I walked to the tavern with him; and we went into the bar together. Twoor three men were at the counter, drinking. 

"Is Mr. Green about this morning?" was asked by the person who had comein search of young Hammond. 

"Haven't seen any thing of him. "

"Is he in his room?"

"I don't know. "

"Will you ascertain for me?"

"Certainly. Frank, "--and he spoke to the landlord's son, who waslounging on a settee, --"I wish you would see if Mr. Green is in hisroom. "

"Go and see yourself. I'm not your waiter, " was growled back, in anill-natured voice. 

"In a moment I'll ascertain for you, " said Matthew, politely. 

After waiting on some new customers, who were just entering, Matthewwent up-stairs to obtain the desired information. As he left thebar-room, Frank got up and went behind the counter, where he mixedhimself a glass of liquor, and drank it off, evidently with realenjoyment. 

"Rather a dangerous business for one so young as you are, " remarked thegentleman with whom I had come, as Frank stepped out of the bar, andpassed near where we were standing. The only answer to this was anill-natured frown, and an expression of face which said almost asplainly as words, "It is none of your business. "

"Not there, " said Matthew, now coming in. 

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, sir. "

But there was a certain involuntary hesitation in the bar-keeper'smanner, which led to a suspicion that his answer was not in accordancewith the truth. We walked out together, conferring on the subject, andboth concluded that his word was not to be relied upon. 

"What is to be done?" was asked. 

"Go to Green's room, " I replied, "and knock at the door. If he isthere, he may answer, not suspecting your errand. "

"Show me the room. "

I went up with him, and pointed out No. 11. He knocked lightly, butthere came no sound from within. He repeated the knock; all was silent. Again and again he knocked, but there came back only a hollowreverberation. 

"There's no one there, " said he, returning to where I stood, and wewalked down-stairs together. On the landing, as we reached the lowerpassage, we met Mrs. Slade. I had not, during this visit at Cedarville, stood face to face with her before. Oh! what a wreck she presented, with her pale, shrunken countenance, hollow, lustreless eyes, and bent, feeble body. I almost shuddered as I looked at her. What a haunting andsternly rebuking spectre she must have moved, daily, before the eyes ofher husband. 

"Have you noticed Mr. Green about this morning?" I asked. 

"He hasn't come down from his room yet, " she replied. 

"Are you certain?" said my companion. "I knocked several times at thedoor just now, but received no answer. "

"What do you want with him?" asked Mrs. Slade, fixing her eyes upon us. 

"We are in search of Willy Hammond; and it has been suggested that hewas with Green. "

"Knock twice lightly, and then three times more firmly, " said Mrs. Slade; and as she spoke, she glided past us with noiseless tread. 

"Shall we go up together?"

I did not object; for, although I had no delegated right of intrusion, my feelings were so much excited in the case, that I went forward, scarcely reflecting on the propriety of so doing. 

The signal knock found instant answer. The door was softly opened, andthe unshaven face of Simon Slade presented itself. 

"Mr. Jacobs!" he said, with surprise in his tones. "Do you wish to seeme?"

"No, sir; I wish to see Mr. Green, " and with a quick, firm pressureagainst the door, he pushed it wide open. The same party was there thatI had seen on the night before, --Green, young Hammond, Judge Lyman, andSlade. On the table at which the three former were sitting, were cards, slips of paper, an ink-stand and pens, and a pile of bank-notes. On aside-table, or, rather, butler's tray, were bottles, decanters, andglasses. 

"Judge Lyman! Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Jacobs, the name of mycompanion. "I did not expect to find you here. "

Green instantly swept his hands over the table to secure the money andbills it contained; but, ere he had accomplished his purpose, youngHammond grappled three or four narrow strips of paper, and hastily torethem into shreds. 

"You're a cheating scoundrel!" cried Green, fiercely, thrusting hishand into his bosom as if to draw from thence a weapon; but the wordswere scarcely uttered, ere Hammond sprung upon him with the fiercenessof a tiger, bearing him down upon the floor. Both hands were alreadyabout the gambler's neck, and, ere the bewildered spectators couldinterfere, and drag him off. Green was purple in the face, and nearlystrangled. 

"Call me a cheating scoundrel!" said Hammond, foaming at the mouth, ashe spoke, --"Me, whom you have followed like a thirsty blood-hound. Me!whom you have robbed, and cheated, and debased from the beginning! Oh!for a pistol to rid the earth of the blackest-hearted villain thatwalks its surface. Let me go, gentlemen! I have nothing left in theworld to care for, --there is no consequence I fear. Let me do societyone good service before I die!"

And, with one vigorous effort, he swept himself clear of the hands thatwere pinioning him, and sprung again upon the gambler with the fierceenergy of a savage beast. By this time, Green had got his knife freefrom its sheath, and, as Hammond was closing upon him in his blindrage, plunged it into his side. Quick almost as lightning, the knifewas withdrawn, and two more stabs inflicted ere we could seize anddisarm the murderer. As we did so, Willy Hammond fell over with a deepgroan, the blood flowing from his side. 

In the terror and excitement that followed, Green rushed from the room. The doctor, who was instantly summoned, after carefully examining thewound, and the condition of the unhappy young man, gave it as hisopinion that he was fatally injured. 

Oh! the anguish of the father, who had quickly heard of the dreadfuloccurrence, when this announcement was made. I never saw such fearfulagony in any human countenance. The calmest of all the anxious groupwas Willy himself. On his father's face his eyes were fixed as if by akind of fascination. 

"Are you in much pain, my poor boy!" sobbed the old man, stooping overhim, until his long white hair mingled with the damp locks of thesufferer. 

"Not much, father, " was the whispered reply. "Don't speak of this tomother, yet. I'm afraid it will kill her. "

What could the father answer? Nothing! And he was silent. 

"Does she know of it?" A shadow went over his face. 

Mr. Hammond shook his head. 

Yet, even as he spoke, a wild cry of distress was heard below. Someindiscreet person had borne to the ears of the mother the fearful newsabout her son, and she had come wildly flying toward the tavern, andwas just entering. 

"It is my poor mother, " said Willy, a flush coming into his pale face. "Who could have told her of this?"

Mr. Hammond started for the door, but ere he had reached it, thedistracted mother entered. 

"Oh! Willy, my boy! my boy!" she exclaimed, in tones of anguish thatmade the heart shudder. And she crouched down on the floor, the momentshe reached the bed whereon he lay, and pressed her lips--oh, sotenderly and lovingly!--to his. 

"Dear mother! Sweet mother! Best of mothers!" He even smiled as he saidthis; and, into the face now bent over him, looked up with glances ofunutterable fondness. 

"Oh, Willy! Willy! Willy! my son, my son!" And again her lips were laidclosely to his. 

Mr. Hammond now interfered, and endeavored to remove his wife, fearingfor the consequence upon his son. 

"Don't, father!" said Willy; "let her remain. I am not excited nordisturbed. I am glad that she is here, now. It will be best for usboth. "

"You must not excite him, dear, " said Mr. Hammond--"he is very weak. "

"I'll not excite him, " answered the mother. "I'll not speak a word. There, love"--and she laid her fingers softly upon the lips of herson--"don't speak a single word. "

For only a few moments did she sit with the quiet formality of a nurse, who feels how much depends on the repose of her patient. Then she beganweeping, moaning, and wringing her hands. 

"Mother!" The feeble voice of Willy stilled, instantly, the tempest offeeling. "Mother, kiss me!"

She bent down and kissed him. 

"Are you there, mother?" His eyes moved about, with a straining motion. 

"Yes, love, here I am. "

"I don't see you, mother. It's getting so dark. Oh, mother! mother!" heshouted suddenly, starting up and throwing himself forward upon herbosom--"save me! save me!"

How quickly did the mother clasp her arms around him--how eagerly didshe strain him to her bosom! The doctor, fearing the worstconsequences, now came forward, and endeavored to release the arms ofMrs. Hammond, but she resisted every attempt to do so. 

"I will save you, my son, " she murmured in the ear of the young man. "Your mother will protect you. Oh! if you had never left her side, nothing on earth could have done you harm. "

"He is dead!" I heard the doctor whisper; and a thrill of horror wentthrough me. The words reached the ears of Mr. Hammond, and his groanwas one of almost mortal agony. 

"Who says he is dead?" came sharply from the lips of the mother, as shepressed the form of her child back upon the bed from which he hadsprung to her arms, and looked wildly upon his face. One long scream ofhorror told of her convictions, and she fell, lifeless, across the bodyof her dead son!

All in the room believed that Mrs. Hammond had only fainted. But thedoctor's perplexed, troubled countenance, as he ordered her carriedinto another apartment, and the ghastliness of her face when it wasupturned to the light, suggested to every one what proved to be true. Even to her obscured perceptions, the consciousness that her son wasdead came with a terrible vividness--so terrible, that it extinguishedher life. 

Like fire among dry stubble ran the news of this fearful event throughCedarville. The whole town was wild with excitement. The prominentfact, that Willy Hammond had been murdered by Green, whose realprofession was known by many, and now declared to all, was on everytongue; but a hundred different and exaggerated stories as to the causeand the particulars of the event were in circulation. By the timepreparations to remove the dead bodies of mother and son from the"Sickle and Sheaf" to the residence of Mr. Hammond were completed, hundreds of people, men, women, and children, were assembled around thetavern and many voices were clamorous for Green; while some called outfor Judge Lyman, whose name, it thus appeared, had become associated inthe minds of the people with the murderous affair. The appearance, inthe midst of this excitement, of the two dead bodies, borne forth onsettees, did not tend to allay the feverish state of indignation thatprevailed. From more than one voice, I heard the words, "Lynch thescoundrel!"

A part of the crowd followed the sad procession, while the greaterportion, consisting of men, remained about the tavern. All bodies, nomatter for what purpose assembled, quickly find leading spirits who, feeling the great moving impulse, give it voice and direction. It wasso in this case. Intense indignation against Green was firing everybosom; and when a man elevated himself a few feet above the agitatedmass of humanity, and cried out:

"The murderer must not escape!"

A wild responding shout, terrible in its fierceness, made the airquiver. 

"Let ten men be chosen to search the house and premises, " said theleading spirit. 

"Ay! ay! Choose them! Name them!" was quickly answered. 

Ten men were called by name, who instantly stepped in front of thecrowd. 

"Search everywhere; from garret to cellar; from hayloft to dog-kennel. Everywhere! everywhere!" cried the man. 

And instantly the ten men entered the house. For nearly a quarter of anhour, the crowd waited with increasing signs of impatience. Thesedelegates at length appeared, with the announcement that Green wasnowhere about the premises. It was received with a groan. 

"Let no man in Cedarville do a stroke of work until the murderer isfound, " now shouted the individual who still occupied his elevatedposition. 

"Agreed! agreed! No work in Cedarville until the murderer is found, "rang out fiercely. 

"Let all who have horses saddle and bridle them as quickly as possible, and assemble, mounted, at the Court House. "

About fifty men left the crowd hastily. 

"Let the crowd part in the centre, up and down the road, starting froma line in front of me. "

This order was obeyed. 

"Separate again, taking the centre of the road for a line. "

Four distinct bodies of men stood now in front of the tavern. 

"Now search for the murderer in every nook and corner, for a distanceof three miles from this spot; each party keeping to its own section;the road being one dividing line, and a line through the centre of thistavern the other. The horsemen will pursue the wretch to a greaterdistance. "

More than a hundred acquiescing voices responded to this, as the mansprung down from his elevation and mingled with the crowd, which beganinstantly to move away on its appointed mission. 

As the hours went by, one, and another, and another, of the searchingparty returned to the village, wearied with their efforts, or confidentthat the murderer had made good his escape. The horsemen, too, began tocome in, during the afternoon, and by sundown, the last of them, wornout and disappointed, made their appearance. 

For hours after the exciting events of the forenoon, there were but fewvisitors at the "Sickle and Sheaf. " Slade, who did not show himselfamong the crowd, came down soon after its dispersion. He had shaved andput on clean linen; but still bore many evidences of a night spentwithout sleep. His eyes were red and heavy and the eyelids swollen;while his skin was relaxed and colorless. As he descended the stairs, Iwas walking in the passage. He looked shy at me, and merely nodded. Guilt was written plainly on his countenance; and with it was blendedanxiety and alarm. That he might be involved in trouble, he had reasonto fear; for he was one of the party engaged in gambling in Green'sroom, as both Mr. Jacobs and I had witnessed. 

"This is dreadful business, " said he, as we met, face to face, half anhour afterward. He did not look me steadily in the eyes. 

"It is horrible!" I answered. "To corrupt and ruin a young man, andthen murder him! There are few deeds in the catalogue of crime blackerthan this!"

"It was done in the heat of passion, " said the landlord, with somethingof an apology in his manner. "Green never meant to kill him. "

"In peaceful intercourse with his fellow-men, why did he carry a deadlyweapon? There was murder in his heart, sir. "

"That is speaking very strongly. "

"Not stronger than the facts will warrant, " I replied. "That Green is amurderer in heart, it needed not this awful consummation to show. Witha cool, deliberate purpose, he has sought, from the beginning, todestroy young Hammond. "

"It is hardly fair, " answered Slade, "in the present feverishexcitement against Green, to assume such a questionable position. Itmay do him a great wrong. "

"Did Willy Hammond speak only idle words, when he accused Green ofhaving followed him like a thirsty bloodhound?--of having robbed, andcheated, and debased him from the beginning?"

"He was terribly excited at the moment. "

"Yes, " said I, "no ear that heard his words could for an instant doubtthat they were truthful utterances, wrung from a maddened heart. "

My earnest, positive manner had its effect upon Slade. He knew thatwhat I asserted, the whole history of Green's intercourse with youngHammond would prove; and he had, moreover, the guilty consciousness ofbeing a party to the young man's ruin. His eyes cowered beneath thesteady gaze I fixed upon him. I thought of him as one implicated in themurder, and my thoughts must have been visible in my face. 

"One murder will not justify another, " said he. 

"There is no justification for murder on any plea, " was my response. 

"And yet, if these infuriated men find Green, they will murder him. "

"I hope not. Indignation at a horrible crime has fearfully excited thepeople. But I think their sense of justice is strong enough to preventthe consequences you apprehend. "

"I would not like to be in Green's shoes, " said the landlord, with anuneasy movement. 

I looked him closely in the face. It was the punishment of the man'scrime that seemed so fearful in his eyes; not the crime itself. Alas!how the corrupting traffic had debased him. 

My words were so little relished by Slade, that he found some readyexcuse to leave me. I saw little more of him during the day. 

As evening began to fall, the gambler's unsuccessful pursuers, oneafter another, found their way to the tavern, and by the time night hadfairly closed in, the bar-room was crowded with excited and angry men, chafing over their disappointment, and loud in their threats ofvengeance. That Green had made good his escape, was now the generalbelief; and the stronger this conviction became, the more steadily didthe current of passion begin to set in a new direction. It had becomeknown to every one that, besides Green and young Hammond, Judge Lymanand Slade were in the room engaged in playing cards. The merestsuggestion as to the complicity of these two men with Green in ruiningHammond, and thus driving him mad, was enough to excite strong feelingsagainst them; and now that the mob had been cheated out of its victim, its pent-up indignation sought eagerly some new channel. 

"Where's Slade?" some one asked, in a loud voice, from the centre ofthe crowded bar-room. "Why does he keep himself out of sight?"

"Yes; where's the landlord?" half a dozen voices responded. 

"Did he go on the hunt?" some one inquired. 

"No!" "No!" "No!" ran around the room. "Not he. "

"And yet, the murder was committed in his own house, and before his owneyes!"

"Yes, before his own eyes!" repeated one and another, indignantly. 

"Where's Slade? Where's the landlord? Has anybody seen him tonight?Matthew, where's Simon Slade?"

From lip to lip passed these interrogations; while the crowd of menbecame agitated, and swayed to and fro. 

"I don't think he's home, " answered the bar-keeper, in a hesitatingmanner, and with visible alarm. 

"How long since he was here?"

"I haven't seen him for a couple of hours. "

"That's a lie!" was sharply said. 

"Who says it's a lie?" Matthew affected to be strongly indignant. 

"I do!" And a rough, fierce-looking man confronted him. 

"What right have you to say so?" asked Matthew, cooling offconsiderably. 

"Because you lie!" said the man, boldly. "You've seen him within a lesstime than half an hour, and well you know it. Now, if you wish to keepyourself out of this trouble, answer truly. We are in no mood to dealwith liars or equivocators. Where is Simon Slade?"

"I do not know, " replied Matthew, firmly. 

"Is he in the house?"

"He may be, or he may not be. I am just as ignorant of his exactwhereabouts as you are. "

"Will you look for him?"

Matthew stepped to the door, opening from behind the bar, and calledthe name of Frank. 

"What's wanted?" growled the boy. 

"Is your father in the house?"

"I don't know, nor don't care, " was responded in the same ungraciousmanner. 

"Someone bring him into the bar-room, and we'll see if we can't makehim care a little. "

The suggestion was no sooner made, than two men glided behind the bar, and passed into the room from whence the voice of Frank had issued. Amoment after they reappeared, each grasping an arm of the boy, andbearing him like a weak child between them. He looked thoroughlyfrightened at this unlooked-for invasion of his liberty. 

"See here, young man. " One of the leading spirits of the crowdaddressed him, as soon as he was brought in front of the counter. "Ifyou wish to keep out of trouble, answer our questions at once, and tothe point. We are in no mood for trifling. Where's your father?"

"Somewhere about the house, I believe, " Frank replied, in an humbletone. He was no little scared at the summary manner with which he hadbeen treated. 

"How long since you saw him?"

"Not long ago. "

"Ten minutes. "

"No; nearly half an hour. "

"Where was he then?"

"He was going up-stairs. "

"Very well, we want him. See him, and tell him so. "

Frank went into the house, but came back into the bar-room after anabsence of nearly five minutes, and said that he could not find hisfather anywhere. 

"Where is he then?" was angrily demanded. 

"Indeed, gentlemen, I don't know. " Frank's anxious look and frightenedmanner showed that he spoke truly. 

"There's something wrong about this--something wrong--wrong, " said oneof the men. "Why should he be absent now? Why has he taken no steps tosecure the man who committed a murder in his own house, and before hisown eyes?

"I shouldn't wonder if he aided him to escape, " said another, makingthis serious charge with a restlessness and want of evidence thatillustrated the reckless and unjust spirit by which the mob is evergoverned. 

"No doubt of it in the least!" was the quick and positive response. Andat once this erroneous conviction seized upon every one. Not a singlefact was presented. The simple, bold assertion, that no doubt existedin the mind of one man as to Slade's having aided Green to escape, wassufficient for the unreflecting mob. 

"Where is he? Where is he? Let us find him. He knows where Green is, and he shall reveal the secret. "

This was enough. The passions of the crowd were at fever heat again. Two or three men were chosen to search the house and premises, whileothers dispersed to take a wider range. One of the men who volunteeredto go over the house was a person named Lyon, with whom I had formedsome acquaintance, and several times conversed with on the state ofaffairs in Cedarville. He still remained too good a customer at thebar. I left the bar at the same time that he did, and went up to myroom. We walked side by side, and parted at my door, I going in, and hecontinuing on to make his searches. I felt, of course, anxious and muchexcited, as well in consequence of the events of the day, as thepresent aspect of things. My head was aching violently, and in the hopeof getting relief, I laid myself down. I had already lighted a candle, and turned the key in my door to prevent intrusion. Only for a shorttime did I lie, listening to the hum of voices that came with a hoarsemurmur from below, to the sound of feet moving along the passages, andto the continual opening and shutting of doors, when something likesuppressed breathing reached my ears, I started up instantly, andlistened; but my quickened pulses were now audible to my own sense, andobscured what was external. 

"It is only imagination, " I said to myself. Still, I sat upright, listening. 

Satisfied, at length, that all was mere fancy, I laid myself back onthe pillow, and tried to turn my thoughts away from the suggested ideathat some one was in the room. Scarcely had I succeeded in this, whenmy heart gave a new impulse, as a sound like a movement fell upon myears. 

"Mere fancy!" I said to myself, as some one went past the door at themoment. "My mind is overexcited. "

Still I raised my head, supporting it with my hand, and listened, directing my attention inside, and not outside of the room. I was aboutletting my head fall back upon the pillow, when a slight cough, sodistinct as not to be mistaken, caused me to spring to the floor, andlook under the bed. The mystery was explained. A pair of eyes glitteredin the candlelight. The fugitive, Green, was under my bed. For somemoments I stood looking at him, so astonished that I had neitherutterance nor decision; while he glared at me with a fierce defiance. Isaw that he was clutching a revolver. 

"Understand!" he said, in a grating whisper, "that I am not to be takenalive. "

I let the blanket, which had concealed him from view, fall from myhand, and then tried to collect my thoughts. 

"Escape is impossible, " said I, again lifting the temporary curtain bywhich he was hid. "The whole town is armed, and on the search; andshould you fall into the hands of the mob, in its present state ofexasperation, your life would not be safe an instant. Remain, then, quiet, where you are, until I can see the sheriff, to whom you hadbetter resign yourself, for there's little chance for you except underhis protection. "

After a brief parley he consented that things should take this course, and I went out, locking the room door after me, and started in searchof the sheriff. On the information I gave, the sheriff acted promptly. With five officers, fully armed for defence, in case an effort weremade to get the prisoner out of their hands, he repaired immediately tothe "Sickle and Sheaf. " I had given the key of my room into hispossession. 

The appearance of the sheriff, with his posse, was sufficient to startthe suggestion that Green was somewhere concealed in the house; and asuggestion was only needed to cause the fact to be assumed, andunhesitatingly declared. Intelligence went through the reassemblingcrowd like an electric current, and ere the sheriff could manacle andlead forth his prisoner, the stairway down which he had to come waspacked with bodies, and echoing with oaths and maledictions. 

"Gentlemen, clear the way!" cried the sheriff, as he appeared with thewhite and trembling culprit at the head of the stairs. "The murderer isnow in the hands of the law, and will meet the sure consequences of hiscrime. "

A shout of execration rent the air; but not a single individual stirred. 

"Give way, there! Give way!" And the sheriff took a step or twoforward, but the prisoner held back. 

"Oh, the murdering villain! The cursed blackleg! Where's WillyHammond?" was heard distinctly above the confused mingling of voices. 

"Gentlemen! the law must have its course; and no good citizen willoppose the law. It is made for your protection--for mine--and for thatof the prisoner. "

"Lynch law is good enough for him, " shouted a savage voice. "Hand himover to us, sheriff, and we'll save you the trouble of hanging him, andthe county the cost of the gallows. We'll do the business right. "

Five men, each armed with a revolver, now ranged themselves around thesheriff, and the latter said firmly:

"It is my duty to see this man safely conveyed to prison; and I'm goingto do my duty. If there is any more blood shed here, the blame willrest with you. " And the body of officers pressed forward, the mobslowly retreating before them. 

Green, overwhelmed with terror, held back. I was standing where I couldsee his face. It was ghastly with mortal fear. Grasping his pinionedarms, the sheriff forced him onward. After contending with the crowdfor nearly ten minutes, the officers gained the passage below; but themob was denser here, and blocking up the door, resolutely maintainedtheir position. 

Again and again the sheriff appealed to the good sense and justice ofthe people. 

"The prisoner will have to stand a trial and the law will execute surevengeance. "

"No, it won't!" was sternly responded. 

"Who'll be judge in the case?" was asked. 

"Why, Judge Lyman!" was contemptuously answered. 

"A blackleg himself!" was shouted by two or three voices. 

"Blackleg judge, and blackleg lawyers! Oh, yes! The law will executesure vengeance! Who was in the room gambling with Green and Hammond?"

"Judge Lyman!" "Judge Lyman!" was answered back. 

"It won't do, sheriff! There's no law in the country to reach the casebut Lynch law; and that the scoundrel must have. Give him to us!"

"Never! On, men, with the prisoner!" cried the sheriff resolutely, andthe posse made a rush toward the door, bearing back the resisting andnow infuriated crowd. Shouts, cries, oaths, and savage imprecationsblended in wild discord; in the midst of which my blood was chilled bythe sharp crack of a pistol. Another and another shot followed; andthen, as a cry of pain thrilled the air, the fierce storm hushed itsfury in an instant. 

"Who's shot? Is he killed?"

There was a breathless eagerness for the answer. 

"It's the gambler!" was replied. "Somebody has shot Green. "

A low muttered invective against the victim was heard here and there;but the announcement was not received with a shout of exultation, though there was scarcely a heart that did not feel pleasure at thesacrifice of Harvey Green's life. 

It was true as had been declared. Whether the shot were aimeddeliberately, or guided by an unseen hand to the heart of the gambler, was never known; nor did the most careful examination, institutedafterward by the county, elicit any information that even directedsuspicion toward the individual who became the agent of his death. 

At the coroner's inquest, held over the dead body of Harvey Green, Simon Slade was present. Where he had concealed himself while the mobwere in search of him, was not known. He looked haggard; and his eyeswere anxious and restless. Two murders in his house, occurring in asingle day, were quite enough to darken his spirits; and the more so, as his relations with both the victims were not of a character toawaken any thing but self-accusation. 

As for the mob, in the death of Green its eager thirst for vengeancewas satisfied. Nothing more was said against Slade, as a participatorin the ruin and death of young Hammond. The popular feeling was one ofpity rather than indignation toward the landlord; for it was seen thathe was deeply troubled. 

One thing I noticed, and it was that the drinking at the bar was notsuspended for a moment. A large proportion of those who made up thecrowd of Green's angry pursuers were excited by drink as well asindignation, and I am very sure that, but for the maddening effects ofliquor, the fatal shot would never have been fired. After the fearfulcatastrophe, and when every mind was sobered, or ought to have beensobered, the crowd returned to the bar-room, where the drinking wasrenewed. So rapid were the calls for liquor, that both Matthew andFrank, the landlord's son, were kept busy mixing the various compoundsdemanded by the thirsty customers. 

From the constant stream of human beings that flowed toward the "Sickleand Sheaf, " after the news of Green's discovery and death went forth, it seemed as if every man and boy within a distance of two or threemiles had received intelligence of the event. Few, very, of those whocame, but went first into the bar-room; and nearly all who entered thebar-room called for liquor. In an hour after the death of Green, thefact that his dead body was laid out in the room immediately adjoining, seemed utterly to pass from the consciousness of every one in the bar. The calls for liquor were incessant; and, as the excitement of drinkincreased, voices grew louder, and oaths more plentiful, while thesounds of laughter ceased not for an instant. 

"They're giving him a regular Irish wake, " I heard remarked, with abrutal laugh. 

I turned to the speaker, and, to my great surprise, saw that it wasJudge Lyman, more under the influence of drink than I remembered tohave seen him. He was about the last man I expected to find here. If heknew of the strong indignation expressed toward him a little whilebefore, by some of the very men now excited with liquor, his own freedrinking had extinguished fear. 

"Yes, curse him!" was the answer. "If they have a particularly hotcorner 'away down below, ' I hope he's made its acquaintance beforethis. "

"Most likely he's smelled brimstone, " chuckled the judge. 

"Smelled it! If old Clubfoot hasn't treated him with a brimstone-bathlong before this, he hasn't done his duty. If I thought as much, I'dvote for sending his majesty a remonstrance forthwith. "

"Ha! ha!" laughed the judge. "You're warm on the subject. "

"Ain't I? The blackleg scoundrel! Hell's too good for him. "

"H-u-s-h! Don't let your indignation run into profanity, " said JudgeLyman, trying to assume a serious air; but the muscles of his face butfeebly obeyed his will's feeble effort. 

"Profanity! Poh! I don't call that profanity. It's only speaking out inmeeting, as they say, --it's only calling black, black--and white, white. You believe in a hell, don't you, judge?"

"I suppose there is one; though I don't know very certain. "

"You'd better be certain!" said the other, meaningly. 

"Why so?"

"Oh! because if there is one, and you don't cut your cards a littledifferently, you'll be apt to find it at the end of your journey. "

"What do you mean by that?" asked the judge, retreating somewhat intohimself, and trying to look dignified. 

"Just what I say, " was unhesitatingly answered. 

"Do you mean to insinuate any thing?" asked the judge, whose brows werebeginning to knit themselves. 

"Nobody thinks you a saint, " replied the man, roughly. 

"I never professed to be. "

"And it is said"--the man fixed his gaze almost insultingly upon JudgeLyman's face--"that you'll get about as hot a corner in the lowerregions as is to be found there, whenever you make the journey in thatdirection. "

"You are insolent!" exclaimed the judge, his face becoming inflamed. 

"Take care what you say, sir!" The man spoke threateningly. 

"You'd better take care what YOU say. "

"So I will, " replied the other. "But--"

"What's to pay here?" inquired a third party, coming up at the moment, and interrupting the speaker. 

"The devil will be to pay, " said Judge Lyman, "if somebody don't lookout sharp. "

"Do you mean that for me, ha?" The man, between whom and himself thisslight contention had so quickly sprung up, began stripping back hiscoat sleeves, like one about to commence boxing. 

"I mean it for anybody who presumes to offer me an insult. "

The raised voices of the two men now drew toward them the attention ofevery one in the bar-room. 

"The devil! There's Judge Lyman!" I heard some one exclaim, in a toneof surprise. 

"Wasn't he in the room with Green when Willy Hammond was murdered?"asked another. 

"Yes, he was; and what's more, it is said he had been playing againsthim all night, he and Green sharing the plunder. "

This last remark came distinctly to the ears of Lyman, who started tohis feet instantly, exclaiming fiercely:

"Whoever says that is a cursed liar!"

The words were scarcely out of his mouth, before a blow staggered himagainst the wall, near which he was standing. Another blow felled him, and then his assailant sprang over his prostrate body, kicking him, andstamping upon his face and breast in the most brutal, shocking manner. 

"Kill him! He's worse than Green!" somebody cried out, in a voice sofull of cruelty and murder that it made my blood curdle. "RememberWilly Hammond!"

The terrible scene that followed, in which were heard a confusedmingling of blows, cries, yells, and horrible oaths, continued forseveral minutes, and ceased only when the words--"Don't, don't strikehim any more! He's dead!" were repeated several times. Then the wildstrife subsided. As the crowd parted from around the body of JudgeLyman, and gave way, I caught a single glance at his face. It wascovered with blood, and every feature seemed to have been literallytrampled down, until all was a level surface! Sickened at the sight, Ipassed hastily from the room into the open air, and caught my breathseveral times, before respiration again went on freely. As I stood infront of the tavern, the body of Judge Lyman was borne out by three orfour men, and carried off in the direction of his dwelling. 

"Is he dead?" I inquired of those who had him in charge. 

"No, " was the answer. "He's not dead, but terribly beaten, " and theypassed on. 

Again the loud voices of men in angry strife arose in the bar-room. Idid not return there to learn the cause, or to witness the fiend-likeconduct of the men, all whose worst passions were stimulated by drinkinto the wildest fervor. As I was entering my room, the thought flashedthrough my mind that, as Green was found there, it needed only the baresuggestion that I had aided in his concealment, to direct toward me theinsane fury of the drunken mob. 

"It is not safe to remain here. " I said this to myself, with theemphasis of a strong internal conviction. 

Against this, my mind opposed a few feeble arguments; but the more Ithought of the matter, the more clearly did I become satisfied, that toattempt to pass the night in that room was to me a risk it was notprudent to assume. 

So I went in search of Mrs. Slade, to ask her to have another roomprepared for me. But she was not in the house; and I learned, uponinquiry, that since the murder of young Hammond, she had been sufferingfrom repeated hysterical and fainting fits, and was now, with herdaughter, at the house of a relative, whither she had been carriedearly in the afternoon. 

It was on my lip to request the chambermaid to give me another room;but this I felt to be scarcely prudent, for if the popular indignationshould happen to turn toward me, the servant would be the onequestioned, most likely, as to where I had removed my quarters. 

"It isn't safe to stay in the house, " said I, speaking to myself. "Two, perhaps three, murders have been committed already. The tiger's thirstfor blood has been stimulated, and who can tell how quickly he mayspring again, or in what direction?"

Even while I said this, there came up from the bar-room louder andmadder shouts. Then blows were heard, mingled with cries and oaths. Ashuddering sense of danger oppressed me, and I went hastilydown-stairs, and out into the street. As I gained the passage, I lookedinto the sitting-room, where the body of Green was laid out. Just then, the bar-room door was burst open by a fighting party, who had beenthrown, in their fierce contention, against it. I paused only for amoment or two; and even in that brief period of time, saw blowsexchanged over the dead body of the gambler!

"This is no place for me, " I said, almost aloud, and hurried from thehouse, and took my way to the residence of a gentleman who had shown memany kindnesses during my visits at Cedarville. There was neededscarcely a word of representation on my part, to secure the cordialtender of a bed. 

What a change! It seemed almost like a passage from Pandemonium to aheavenly region, as I seated myself alone in the quiet chamber acheerful hospitality had assigned me, and mused on the exciting andterrible incidents of the day. They that sow the wind shall reap thewhirlwind. How marked had been the realization of this prophecy, couched in such strong but beautiful imagery!

On the next day I was to leave Cedarville. Early in the morning Irepaired to the "Sickle and Sheaf. " The storm was over, and all wascalm and silent as desolation. Hours before, the tempest had subsided;but the evidences left behind of its ravaging fury were fearful to lookupon. Doors, chairs, windows, and table's were broken, and even thestrong brass rod that ornamented the bar had been partially wrenchedfrom its fastenings by strong hands, under an impulse of murder, thatonly lacked a weapon to execute its fiendish purpose. Stains of blood, in drops, marks, and even dried-up pools, were to be seen all over thebar-room and passage floors, and in many places on the porch. 

In the sitting-room still lay the body of Green. Here, too, were manysigns to indicate a fierce struggle. The looking-glass was smashed to ahundred pieces, and the shivered fragments lay yet untouched upon thefloor. A chair, which it was plain had been used as a weapon ofassault, had two of its legs broken short off, and was thrown into acorner. And even the bearers on which the dead man lay were pushed fromtheir true position, showing that even in its mortal sleep, the body ofGreen had felt the jarring strife of elements he had himself helped toawaken into mad activity. From his face, the sheet had been drawnaside; but no hand ventured to replace it; and there it lay, in itsghastly paleness, exposed to the light, and covered with restlessflies, attracted by the first faint odors of putridity. With gazeaverted, I approached the body, and drew the covering decently over it. 

No person was in the bar. I went out into the stable-yard, where I metthe hostler with his head bound up. There was a dark blue circle aroundone of his eyes, and an ugly-looking red scar on his cheek. 

"Where is Mr. Slade?" I inquired. 

"In bed, and likely to keep it for a week, " was answered. 

"How comes that?"

"Naturally enough. There was fighting all around last night, and he hadto come in for a share. The fool! If he'd just held his tongue, hemight have come out of it with a whole skin. But, when the rum is in, the wit is out, with him. It's cost me a black eye and a broken head;for how could I stand by and see him murdered outright?"

"Is he very badly injured?"

"I rather think he is. One eye is clean gone. "

"Oh, shocking!"

"It's shocking enough, and no mistake. "

"Lost an eye?"

"Too true, sir. The doctor saw him this morning, and says the eye wasfairly gouged out, and broken up. In fact, when we carried him upstairsfor dead, last night, his eye was lying upon his cheek. I pushed itback with my own hand!"

"Oh, horrible!" The relation made me sick. "Is he otherwise muchinjured?"

"The doctor thinks there are some bad hurts inside. Why, they kickedand trampled upon him, as if he had been a wild beast! I never saw sucha pack of blood-thirsty devils in my life!"

"So much for rum, " said I. 

"Yes, sir; so much for rum, " was the emphatic response. "It was therum, and nothing else. Why, some of the very men who acted the mostlike tigers and devils, are as harmless persons as you will find inCedarville when sober. Yes, sir; it was the rum, and nothing else. Rumgave me this broken head and black eye. "

"So you had been drinking also?"

"Oh, yes. There's no use in denying that. "

"Liquor does you harm. "

"Nobody knows that better than I do. "

"Why do you drink, then?"

"Oh, just because it comes in the way. Liquor is under my eyes and noseall the time, and it's as natural as breathing to take a little now andthen. And when I don't think of it myself, somebody will think of itfor me, and say--'Come, Sam, let's take something. ' So, you see, for abody such as I am, there isn't much help for it. "

"But ain't you afraid to go on in this way? Don't you know where itwill all end?"

"Just as well as anybody. It will make an end of me or--of all that isgood in me. Rum and ruin, you know, sir. They go together like twinbrothers. "

"Why don't you get out of the way of temptation?" said I. 

"It's easy enough to ask that question, sir; but how am I to get out ofthe way of temptation? Where shall I go, and not find a bar in my road, and somebody to say--'Come, Sam, let's take a drink'? It can't be done, sir, nohow. I'm a hostler, and I don't know how to be anything else. "

"Can't you work on a farm?"

"Yes; I can do something in that way. But, when there are taverns andbar-rooms, as many as three or four in every mile all over the country, how are you to keep clear of them? Figure me out that. "

"I think you'd better vote on the Maine Law side at next election, "said I. 

"Faith, and I did it last time!" replied the man, with a brighteningface--"and if I'm spared, I'll go the same ticket next year. "

"What do you think of the Law?" I asked. 

"Think of it! Bless your heart! if I was a praying man, which I'm sorryto say I ain't--my mother was a pious woman, sir"--his voice fell andslightly trembled--"if I was a praying man, sir, I'd pray, night andmorning, and twenty times every day of my life, for God to put it intothe hearts of the people to give us that Law. I'd have some hope then. But I haven't much as it is. There's no use in trying to let liquoralone. "

"Do many drinking men think as you do?"

"I can count up a dozen or two myself. It isn't the drinking men whoare so much opposed to the Maine Law as your politicians. They throwdust in the people's eyes about it, and make a great many, who knownothing at all of the evils of drinking in themselves, believe somebugbear story about trampling on the rights of I don't know who, northey either. As for rum-sellers' rights, I never could see any rightthey had to get rich by ruining poor devils such as I am. I think, though, that we have some right to be protected against them. "

The ringing of a bell here announced the arrival of some traveler, andthe hostler left me. 

I learned, during the morning, that Matthew, the bar-keeper, and alsothe son of Mr. Slade, were both considerably hurt during the affrays inthe bar-room, and were confined, temporarily, to their beds. Mrs. Sladestill continued in a distressing and dangerous state. Judge Lyman, though shockingly injured, was not thought to be in a criticalcondition. 

A busy day the sheriff had of it, making arrests of various partiesengaged in the last night's affairs. Even Slade, unable as he was tolift his head from his pillow, was required to give heavy bail for hisappearance at court. Happily, I escaped the inconvenience of being heldto appear as a witness, and early in the afternoon had the satisfactionof finding myself rapidly borne away in the stage-coach. It was twoyears before I entered the pleasant village of Cedarville again. 

NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 

REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. 

I was in Washington City during the succeeding month. It was the short, or closing session, of a regular Congressional term. The implication ofJudge Lyman in the affair of Green and young Hammond had brought himinto such bad odor in Cedarville and the whole district from which hehad been chosen, that his party deemed it wise to set him aside, andtake up a candidate less likely to meet with so strong and, it mightbe, successful an opposition. By so doing, they were able to secure theelection, once more, against the growing temperance party, whichsucceeded, however, in getting a Maine Law man into the StateLegislature. It was, therefore, Judge Lyman's last winter at theFederal Capital. 

While seated in the reading-room at Fuller's Hotel, about noon, on theday after my arrival in Washington, I noticed an individual, whose facelooked familiar, come in and glance about, as if in search of some one. While yet questioning my mind who he could be, I heard a man remark toa person with whom he had been conversing:

"There's that vagabond member away from his place in the House, again. "

"Who?" inquired the other. 

"Why. Judge Lyman, " was answered. 

"Oh!" said the other, indifferently; "it isn't of much consequence. Precious little wisdom does he add to that intelligent body. "

"His vote is worth something, at least, when important questions are atstake. "

"What does he charge for it?" was coolly inquired. 

There was a shrug of the shoulders, and an arching of the eyebrows, butno answer. 

"I'm in earnest, though, in the question, " said the last speaker. 

"Not in saying that Lyman will sell his vote to the highest bidders?"

"That will depend altogether upon whom the bidders may be. They must bemen who have something to lose as well as gain--men not at all likelyto bruit the matter, and in serving whose personal interests noabandonment of party is required. Judge Lyman is always on good termswith the lobby members, and may be found in company with some of themdaily. Doubtless, his absence from the House, now, is for the purposeof a special meeting with gentlemen who are ready to pay well for votesin favor of some bill making appropriations of public money for privateor corporate benefit. "

"You certainly can not mean all you say to be taken in its broadestsense, " was replied to this. 

"Yes; in its very broadest. Into just this deep of moral and politicaldegradation has this man fallen, disgracing his constituents, anddishonoring his country. "

"His presence at Washington doesn't speak very highly in favor of thecommunity he represents. "

"No; still, as things are now, we cannot judge of the moral worth of acommunity by the man sent from it to Congress. Representatives showmerely the strength of parties. The candidate chosen in party primarymeetings is not selected because he is the best man they have, and theone fittest to legislate wisely in national affairs; but he who happensto have the strongest personal friends among those who nominate, or whois most likely to poll the highest vote. This is why we find, ' inCongress, such a large preponderance of tenth-rate men. "

"A man such as you represent Judge Lyman to be would sell his country, like another Arnold. "

"Yes; if the bid were high enough. "

"Does he gamble?"

"Gambling, I might say, is a part of his profession. Very few nightspass, I am told, without finding him at the gaming-table. "

I heard no more. At all this, I was not in the least surprised; for myknowledge of the man's antecedents had prepared me for allegationsquite as bad as these. 

During the week I spent at the Federal Capital, I had severalopportunities of seeing Judge Lyman, in the House and out of it, --inthe House only when the yeas and nays were called on some importantmeasure, or a vote taken on a bill granting special privileges. In thelatter case, his vote, as I noticed, was generally cast on theaffirmative side. Several times I saw him staggering on the Avenue, andonce brought into the House for the purpose of voting, in so drunken astate, that he had to be supported to his seat. And even worse thanthis--when his name was called, he was asleep, and had to be shakenseveral times before he was sufficiently aroused to give his vote!

Happily, for the good of his country, it was his last winter inWashington. At the next session, a better man took his place. 

Two years from the period of my last visit to Cedarville, I foundmyself approaching that quiet village again. As the church-spire camein view, and house after house became visible, here and there, standingout in pleasant relief against the green background of woods andfields, all the exciting events which rendered my last visit somemorable, came up fresh in my mind. I was yet thinking of WillyHammond's dreadful death, and of his broken-hearted mother, whose lifewent out with his, when the stage rolled by their old homestead. Oh, what a change was here! Neglect, decay, and dilapidation were visible, let the eye fall where it would. The fences were down, here and there;the hedges, once so green and nicely trimmed, had grown rankly in someplaces, but were stunted and dying in others; all the beautiful walkswere weedy and grass-grown, and the box-borders dead; the garden, rainbow-hued in its wealth of choice and beautiful flowers when I firstsaw it, was lying waste, --a rooting-ground for hogs. A glance at thehouse showed a broken chimney, the bricks unremoved from the spot wherethey struck the ground; a moss grown roof, with a large limb from alightning-rent tree lying almost balanced over the eaves, andthreatening to fall at the touch of the first wind-storm that sweptover. Half of the vines that clambered about the portico were dead, andthe rest, untrained, twined themselves in wild disorder, or fellgroveling to the earth. One of the pillars of the portico was broken, as were, also, two of the steps that went up to it. The windows of thehouse were closed, but the door stood open, and, as the stage wentpast, my eyes rested, for a moment, upon an old man seated in the hall. He was not near enough to the door for me to get a view of his face;but the white flowing hair left me in no doubt as to his identity. Itwas Judge Hammond. 

The "Sickle and Sheaf" was yet the stage-house of Cedarville, andthere, a few minutes afterward, I found myself. The hand of change hadbeen here also. The first object that attracted my attention was thesign-post, which at my earlier arrival, some eight or nine yearsbefore, stood up in its new white garment of paint, as straight as aplummet-line, bearing proudly aloft the golden sheaf and gleamingsickle. Now, the post, dingy and shattered and worn from the frequentcontact of wheels, and gnawing of restless horses, leaned from its trimperpendicular at an angle of many degrees, as if ashamed of the faded, weather-worn, lying symbol it bore aloft in the sunshine. Around thepost was a filthy mud-pool, in which a hog lay grunting out its senseof enjoyment. Two or three old empty whisky barrels lumbered up thedirty porch, on which a coarse, bloated, vulgar-looking man sat leaningagainst the wall--his chair tipped back on its hind legs--squinting atme from one eye, as I left the stage and came forward toward the house. 

"Ah! is this you?" said he, as I came near to him, speaking thickly, and getting up with a heavy motion. I now recognized the altered personof Simon Slade. On looking at him closer, I saw that the eye which Ihad thought only shut was in fact destroyed. How vividly, now, uprosein imagination the scenes I had witnessed during my last night in hisbar-room; the night when a brutal mob, whom he had inebriated withliquor, came near murdering him. 

"Glad to see you once more, my boy! Glad to see you! I--I--I'm notjust--you see. How are you? How are you?"

And he shook my hand with a drunken show of cordiality. 

I felt shocked and disgusted. Wretched man! down the crumbling sides ofthe pit he had digged for other feet, he was himself sliding, while notenough strength remained even to struggle with his fate. 

I tried for a few minutes to talk with him; but his mind was altogetherbeclouded, and his questions and answers incoherent; so I left him, andentered the bar-room. 

"Can I get accommodations here for a couple of days?" I inquired of astupid, sleepy-looking man, who was sitting in a chair behind the bar. 

"I reckon so, " he answered, but did not rise. 

I turned, and walked a few paces toward the door, and then walked backagain. 

"I'd like to get a room, " said I. 

The man got up slowly, and going to a desk, fumbled about it for awhile. At length he brought out an old, dilapidated bank-book, andthrowing it open on the counter, asked me, with an indifferent manner, to write down my name. 

"I'll take a pen, if you please. "

"Oh, yes!" And he hunted about again in the desk, from which, after awhile, he brought forth the blackened stump of a quill, and pushed ittoward me across the counter. 

"Ink, " said I--fixing my eyes upon him with a look of displeasure. 

"I don't believe there is any, " he muttered. "Frank, " and he called thelandlord's son, going to the door behind the bar as he did so. 

"What d'ye want?" a rough, ill-natured voice answered. 

"Where's the ink?"

"Don't know anything about it. "

"You had it last. What did you do with it?"

"Nothing!" was growled back. 

"Well, I wish you'd find it. "

"Find it yourself, and--" I cannot repeat the profane language he used. 

"Never mind, " said I. "A pencil will do just as well. " And I drew onefrom my pocket. The attempt to write with this, on the begrimed andgreasy page of the register, was only partially successful. It wouldhave puzzled almost any one to make out the name. From the date of thelast entry, it appeared that mine was the first arrival, for over aweek, of any person desiring a room. 

As I finished writing my name, Frank came stalking in, with a cigar inhis mouth, and a cloud of smoke around his head. He had grown into astout man--though his face presented little that was manly, in the truesense of the word. He was disgustingly sensual. On seeing me, a slightflush tinged his cheeks. 

"How do you do?" he said, offering me his hand. "Peter, "--he turned tothe lazy-looking bar-keeper--"tell Jane to have No. 11 put in order fora gentleman immediately, and tell her to be sure and change the bedlinen. "

"Things look rather dull here, " I remarked, as the bar-keeper went outto do as he had been directed. 

"Rather; it's a dull place, anyhow. "

"How is your mother?" I inquired. 

A slight, troubled look came into his face, as he answered:

"No better. "

"She's sick, then?"

"Yes; she's been sick a good while; and I'm afraid will never be muchbetter. " His manner was not altogether cold and indifferent, but therewas a want of feeling in his voice. 

"Is she at home?"

"No, sir. "

As he showed no inclination to say more on the subject, I asked nofurther questions, and he soon found occasion to leave me. 

The bar room had undergone no material change, so far as its furnitureand arrangements were concerned; but a very great change was apparentin the condition of these. The brass rod around the bar, which, at mylast visit was brightly polished, was now a greenish-black, and therecame from it an unpleasant odor of verdigris. The walls were fairlycoated with dust, smoke, and fly-specks, and the windows let in thelight but feebly through the dirt-obscured glass. The floor was filthy. Behind the bar, on the shelves designed for a display of liquors, was aconfused mingling of empty or half-filled decanters, cigar-boxes, lemons and lemon-peel, old newspapers, glasses, a broken pitcher, ahat, a soiled vest, and a pair of blacking brushes, with otherincongruous things, not now remembered. The air of the room was loadedwith offensive vapors. 

Disgusted with every thing about the bar, I went into the sitting-room. Here, there was some order in the arrangement of the dingy furniture;but you might have written your name in dust on the looking-glass andtable. The smell of the torpid atmosphere was even worse than that ofthe bar-room. So I did not linger here, but passed through the hall, and out upon the porch, to get a draught of pure air. 

Slade still sat leaning against the wall. 

"Fine day this, " said he, speaking in a mumbling kind of voice. 

"Very fine, " I answered. 

"Yes, very fine. "

"Not doing so well as you were a few years ago, " said I. 

"No--you see--these--these 'ere blamed temperance people are ruiningeverything. "

"Ah! Is that so?"

"Yes. Cedarville isn't what it was when you first came to the 'Sickleand Sheaf. ' I--I--you see. Curse the temperance people! They've ruinedevery thing, you see. Every thing! Ruined--"

And he muttered and mouthed his words in such a way, that I couldunderstand but little he said; and, in that little, there was scarcelyany coherency. So I left him, with a feeling of pity in my heart forthe wreck he had become, and went into the town to call upon one or twogentlemen with whom I had business. 

In the course of the afternoon, I learned that Mrs. Slade was in aninsane asylum, about five miles from Cedarville. The terrible events ofthe day on which young Hammond was murdered completed the work ofmental ruin, begun at the time her husband abandoned the quiet, honorable calling of a miller, and became a tavern-keeper. Reason couldhold its position no longer. When word came to her that Willy and hismother were both dead, she uttered a wild shriek, and fell down in afainting fit. From that period the balance of her mind was destroyed. Long before this, her friends saw that reason wavered. Frank had beenher idol. A pure, bright, affectionate boy he was, when she removedwith him from their pleasant cottage-home, where all the surroundinginfluences were good, into a tavern, where an angel could scarcelyremain without corruption. From the moment this change was decided onby her husband, a shadow fell upon her heart. She saw, before herhusband, her children, and herself, a yawning pit, and felt that, in avery few years, all of them must plunge down into its fearful darkness. 

Alas! how quickly began the realization of her worst fears in thecorruption of her worshipped boy! And how vain proved all effort andremonstrance, looking to his safety, whether made with himself or hisfather! From the day the tavern was opened, and Frank drew into hislungs full draughts of the changed atmosphere by which he was nowsurrounded, the work of moral deterioration commenced. The very smellof the liquor exhilarated him unnaturally; while the subjects ofconversation, so new to him, that found discussion in the bar-room, soon came to occupy a prominent place in his imagination, to theexclusion of those humane, child-like, tender, and heavenly thoughtsand impressions it had been the mother's care to impart and awaken. Ah!with what an eager zest does the heart drink in of evil. And how almosthopeless is the case of a boy, surrounded, as Frank was, by thecorrupting, debasing associations of a bar-room! Had his fathermeditated his ruin, he could not have more surely laid his plans forthe fearful consummation; and he reaped as he had sown. With a selfishdesire to get gain, he embarked in the trade of corruption, ruin, anddeath, weakly believing that he and his could pass through the fireharmless. How sadly a few years demonstrated his error, we have seen. 

Flora, I learned, was with her mother, devoting her life to her. Thedreadful death of Willy Hammond, for whom she had conceived a strongattachment, came near depriving her of reason also. Since the day onwhich that awful tragedy occurred, she had never even looked upon herold home. She went away with her unconscious mother, and ever since hadremained with her--devoting her life to her comfort. Long before this, all her own and mother's influence over her brother had come to an end. It mattered not how she sought to stay his feet, so swiftly movingalong the downward way, whether by gentle entreaty, earnestremonstrance, or tears; in either case, wounds for her own heart werethe sure consequences, while his steps never lingered a moment. A swiftdestiny seemed hurrying him on to ruin. The change in her father--onceso tender, so cheerful in his tone, so proud of and loving toward hisdaughter--was another source of deep grief to her pure young spirit. Over him, as well as over her brother, all her power was lost; and heeven avoided her, as though her presence were an offense to him. Andso, when she went out from her unhappy home, she took with her nodesire to return. Even when imagination bore her back to the "Sickleand Sheaf, " she felt an intense, heart-sickening repulsion toward theplace where she had first felt the poisoned arrows of life; and in thedepths of her spirit she prayed that her eyes might never look upon itagain. In her almost cloister-like seclusion, she sought to gather themantle of oblivion about her heart. 

Had not her mother's condition made Flora's duty a plain one, the true, unselfish instincts of her heart would have doubtless led her back tothe polluted home she had left, there, in a kind of living death, tominister as best she could to the comfort of a debased father andbrother. But she was spared that trial--that fruitless sacrifice. 

Evening found me once more in the bar-room of the "Sickle and Sheaf. "The sleepy, indifferent bar-keeper, was now more in his element--lookedbrighter, and had quicker motions. Slade, who had partially recoveredfrom the stupefying effects of the heavy draughts of ale with which hewashed down his dinner, was also in a better condition, though notinclined to talk. He was sitting at a table, alone, with his eyeswandering about the room. Whether his thoughts were agreeable ordisagreeable, it was not easy to determine. Frank was there, the centreof a noisy group of coarse fellows, whose vulgar sayings and profaneexpletives continually rung through the room. The noisiest, coarsest, and most profane was Frank Slade; yet did not the incessant volume ofbad language that flowed from his tongue appear in the least to disturbhis father. 

Outraged, at length, by this disgusting exhibition, that had not eventhe excuse of an exciting cause, I was leaving the bar-room, when Iheard some one remark to a young man who had just come in: "What! youhere again, Ned? Ain't you afraid your old man will be after you, asusual?"

"No, " answered the person addressed, chuckling inwardly, "he's gone toa prayer-meeting. "

"You'll at least have the benefit of his prayers, " was lightly remarked. 

I turned to observe the young man more closely. His face I remembered, though I could not identify him at first. But, when I heard himaddressed soon after as Ned Hargrove, I had a vivid recollection of alittle incident that occurred some years before, and which then made astrong impression. The reader has hardly forgotten the visit of Mr. Hargrove to the bar-room of the "Sickle and Sheaf, " and theconversation among some of its inmates, which his withdrawal, incompany with his son, then occasioned. The father's watchfulness overhis boy, and his efforts to save him from the allurements andtemptations of a bar-room, had proved, as now appeared, unavailing. Theson was several years older; but it was sadly evident, from theexpression of his face, that he had been growing older in evil fasterthan in years. 

The few words that I have mentioned as passing between this young manand another inmate of the bar-room, caused me to turn back from thedoor, through which I was about passing, and take a chair near to whereHargrove had seated himself. As I did so, the eyes of Simon Sladerested on the last-named individual. 

"Ned Hargrove!" he said, speaking roughly--"if you want a drink, you'dbetter get it, and make yourself scarce. "

"Don't trouble yourself, " retorted the young man, "you'll get yourmoney for the drink in good time. "

This irritated the landlord, who swore at Hargrove violently, and saidsomething about not wanting boys about his place who couldn't stir fromhome without having "daddy or mammy running after them. "

"Never fear!" cried out the person who had first addressedHargrove--"his old man's gone to a prayer-meeting. We shan't have thelight of his pious countenance here to-night. "

I fixed my eyes upon the young man to see what effect this coarse andirreverent allusion to his father would have. A slight tinge of shamewas in his face; but I saw that he had not sufficient moral courage toresent the shameful desecration of a parent's name. How should he, whenhe was himself the first to desecrate that name?

"If he were forty fathoms deep in the infernal regions, " answeredSlade, "he'd find out that Ned was here, and get half an hour's leaveof absence to come after him. The fact is, I'm tired of seeing hissolemn, sanctimonious face here every night. If the boy hasn't spiritenough to tell him to mind his own business, as I have done more thanfifty times, why, let the boy stay away himself. "

"Why don't you send him off with a flea in his ear, Ned?" said one ofthe company, a young man scarcely his own age. "My old man tried thatgame with me, but he soon found that I could hold the winning cards. "

"Just what I'm going to do the very next time he comes after me. "

"Oh, yes! So you've said twenty times, " remarked Frank Slade, in asneering, insolent manner. 

Edward Hargrove had not the spirit to resent this; he only answered:

"Just let him show himself here to-night, and you will see. "

"No, we won't see, " sneered Frank. 

"Wouldn't it be fun!" was exclaimed. "I hope to be on hand, should itever come off. "

"He's as 'fraid as death of the old chap, " laughed a sottish-lookingman, whose age ought to have inspired him with some respect for therelation between father and son, and doubtless would, had not a longcourse of drinking and familiarity with debasing associates blunted hismoral sense. 

"Now for it!" I heard uttered, in a quick, delighted voice. "Now forfun! Spunk up to him, Ned! Never say die!"

I turned toward the door, and there stood the father of EdwardHargrove. How well I remembered the broad, fine forehead, the steady, yet mild eyes, the firm lips, the elevated, superior bearing of the manI had once before seen in that place, and on a like errand. His formwas slightly bent now; his hair was whiter; his eyes farther back inhis head; his face thinner and marked with deeper lines; and there wasin the whole expression of his face a touching sadness. Yet, superiorto the marks of time and suffering, an unflinching resolution wasvisible in his countenance, that gave to it a dignity, and extortedinvoluntary respect. He stood still, after advancing a few paces, andthen, his searching eyes having discovered his son, he said mildly, yetfirmly, and with such a strength of parental love in his voice thatresistance was scarcely possible:

"Edward! Edward! Come, my son. "

"Don't go. " The words were spoken in an undertone, and he who utteredthem turned his face away from Mr. Hargrove, so that the old man couldnot see the motion of his lips. A little while before, he had spokenbravely against the father of Edward; now, he could not stand up in hispresence. 

I looked at Edward. He did not move from where he was sitting, and yetI saw that to resist his father cost him no light struggle. 

"Edward. " There was nothing imperative--nothing stern--nothingcommanding in the father's voice; but its great, its almostirresistible power, lay in its expression of the father's belief thathis son would instantly leave the place. And it was this power thatprevailed. Edward arose, and, with eyes cast upon the floor, was movingaway from his companions, when Frank Slade exclaimed:

"Poor, weak fool!"

It was a lightning flash of indignation, rather than a mere glance fromthe human eye, that Mr. Hargrove threw instantly upon Frank; while hisfine form sprung up erect. He did not speak, but merely transfixed himwith a look. Frank curled his lip impotently, as he tried to return theold man's withering glances. 

"Now look here!" said Simon Slade, in some wrath, "there's been justabout enough of this. I'm getting tired of it. Why don't you keep Nedat home? Nobody wants him here. "

"Refuse to sell him liquor, " returned Mr. Hargrove. 

"It's my trade to sell liquor, " answered Slade, boldly. 

"I wish you had a more honorable calling, " said Hargrove, almostmournfully. 

"If you insult my father, I'll strike you down!" exclaimed Frank Slade, starting up and assuming a threatening aspect. 

"I respect filial devotion, meet it where I will, " calmly replied Mr. Hargrove, --"I only wish it had a better foundation in this case. I onlywish the father had merited----"

I will not stain my page with the fearful oath that Frank Slade yelled, rather than uttered, as, with clenched fist, he sprung toward Mr. Hargrove. But ere he had reached the unruffled old man--who stoodlooking at him as one would look into the eyes of a wild beast, confident that he could not stand the gaze--a firm hand grasped hisarm, and a rough voice said:

"Avast, there, young man! Touch a hair of that white head, and I'llwring your neck off. "

"Lyon!" As Frank uttered the man's name, he raised his fist to strikehim. A moment the clenched hand remained poised in the air; then itfell slowly to his side, and he contented himself with an oath and avile epithet. 

"You can swear to your heart's content. It will do nobody any harm butyourself, " coolly replied Mr. Lyon, whom I now recognized as the personwith whom I had held several conversations during previous visits. 

"Thank you, Mr. Lyon, " said Mr. Hargrove, "for this manly interference. It is no more than I should have expected from you. "

"I never suffer a young man to strike an old man, " said Lyon firmly. "Apart from that, Mr. Hargrove, there are other reasons why your personmust be free from violence where I am. "

"This is a bad place for you, Lyon, " said Mr. Hargrove; "and I've saidso to you a good many times. " He spoke in rattier an undertone. "WhyWILL you come here?"

"It's a bad place, I know, " replied Lyon, speaking out boldly, "and weall know it. But habit, Mr. Hargrove--habit. That's the cursed thing!If the bar-rooms were all shut up, there would be another story totell. Get us the Maine law, and there will be some chance for us. "

"Why don't you vote the temperance ticket?" asked Mr. Hargrove. 

"Why did I? you'd better ask, " said Lyon. 

"I thought you voted against us. "

"Not I. Ain't quite so blind to my own interest as that. And, if thetruth were known, I should not at all wonder if every man in this room, except Slade and his son, voted on your side of the house. "

"It's a little strange, then, " said Mr. Hargrove, "that with thedrinking men on our side, we failed to secure the election. "

"You must blame that on your moderate men, who see no danger and goblind with their party, " answered Lyon. "We have looked the evil in theface, and know its direful quality. "

"Come! I would like to talk with you, Mr. Lyon. "

Mr. Hargrove, his son, and Mr. Lyon went out together. As they left theroom, Frank Slade said:

"What a cursed liar and hypocrite he is!"

"Who?" was asked. 

"Why, Lyon, " answered Frank, boldly. 

"You'd better say that to his face. "

"It wouldn't be good for him, " remarked one of the company. 

At this Frank started to his feet, stalked about the room, and put onall the disgusting airs of a drunken braggart. Even his father saw theridiculous figure he cut, and growled out:

"There, Frank, that'll do. Don't make a miserable fool of yourself!"

At which Frank retorted, with so much of insolence that his father flewinto a towering passion, and ordered him to leave the bar-room. 

"You can go out yourself if you don't like the company. I'm very wellsatisfied, " answered Frank. 

"Leave this room, you impudent young scoundrel!"

"Can't go, my amiable friend, " said Frank, with a cool self-possessionthat maddened his father, who got up hastily, and moved across thebar-room to the place where he was standing. 

"Go out, I tell you!" Slade spoke resolutely. 

"Would be happy to oblige you, " Frank said, in a taunting voice; "but, 'pon my word, it isn't at all convenient. "

Half intoxicated as he was, and already nearly blind with passion, Slade lifted his hand to strike his son. And the blow would have fallenhad not some one caught his arm, and held him back from the meditatedviolence. Even the debased visitors of this bar-room could not stand byand see nature outraged in a bloody strife between father and son; forit was plain from the face and quickly assumed attitude of Frank, thatif his father had laid his hand upon him, he would have struck him inreturn. 

I could not remain to hear the awful imprecations that father and son, in their impotent rage, called down from heaven upon each other'sheads. It was the most shocking exhibition of depraved human naturethat I had ever seen. And so I left the bar-room, glad to escape fromits stifling atmosphere and revolting scenes. 

NIGHT THE NINTH. 

A FEARFUL CONSUMMATION. 

Neither Slade nor his son was present at the breakfast-table on thenext morning. As for myself, I did not eat with much appetite. Whetherthis defect arose from the state of my mind, or the state of the foodset before me, I did not stop to inquire; but left the stifling, offensive atmosphere of the dining-room in a very few moments afterentering that usually attractive place for a hungry man. 

A few early drinkers were already in the bar-room--men with shatterednerves and cadaverous faces, who could not begin the day's work withoutthe stimulus of brandy or whisky. They came in, with gliding footsteps, asked for what they wanted in low voices, drank in silence, anddeparted. It was a melancholy sight to look upon. 

About nine o'clock the landlord made his appearance. He, too, camegliding into the bar-room, and his first act was to seize upon a brandydecanter, pour out nearly half a pint of the fiery liquid, and drink itoff. How badly his hand shook--so badly that he spilled the brandy bothin pouring it out and in lifting the glass to his lips! What ashattered wreck he was! He looked really worse now than he did on theday before, when drink gave an artificial vitality to his system, atension to his muscles, and light to his countenance. The miller of tenyears ago, and the tavern-keeper of today! Who could have identifiedthem as one?

Slade was turning from the bar, when a man? came in. I noticed aninstant change in the landlord's countenance. He looked startled;almost frightened. The man drew a small package from his pocket, andafter selecting a paper therefrom, presented it to Slade, who receivedit with a nervous reluctance, opened, and let his eye fall upon thewriting within. I was observing him closely at the time, and saw hiscountenance flush deeply. In a moment or two it became paleagain--paler even than before. 

"Very well--all right. I'll attend to it, " said the landlord, trying torecover himself, yet swallowing with every sentence. 

The man who was no other than a sheriff's deputy, and who gave him asober, professional look, then went out with a firm step, and an air ofimportance. As he passed through the outer door, Slade retired from thebar-room. 

"Trouble coming, " I heard the bar-keeper remark, speaking partly tohimself and partly with the view, as was evident from his manner, ofleading me to question him. But this I did not feel that it was rightto do. 

"Got the sheriff on him at last, " added the bar-keeper. 

"What's the matter, Bill?" inquired a man who now came in with abustling, important air, and leaned familiarly over the bar. "Who wasJenkins after?"

"The old man, " replied the bar-keeper, in a voice that showed pleasurerather than regret. 

"No!"

"It's a fact. " Bill, the bar-keeper, actually smiled. 

"What's to pay?" said the man. 

"Don't know, and don't care much. " "Did he serve a summons or anexecution?"

"Can't tell. "

"Judge Lyman's suit went against him. "

"Did it?"

"Yes; and I heard Judge Lyman swear, that if he got him on the hip, he'd sell him out, bag and basket. And he's the man to keep his word. "

"I never could just make out, " said the bar-keeper, "how he ever cameto owe Judge Lyman so much. I've never known of any businesstransactions between them. "

"It's been dog eat dog, I rather guess, " said the man. 

"What do you mean by that?" inquired the bar-keeper. 

"You've heard of dogs hunting in pairs?"

"Oh, yes. "

"Well, since Harvey Green got his deserts, the business of fleecing oursilly young fellows, who happened to have more money than wit ordiscretion, has been in the hands of Judge Lyman and Slade. They huntedtogether, Slade holding the game, while the judge acted asblood-sucker. But that business was interrupted about a year ago; andgame got so scarce that, as I suggested, dog began to eat dog. And herecomes the end of the matter, if I'm not mistaken. So mix us a stifftoddy. I want one more good drink at the 'Sickle and Sheaf, ' before thecolors are struck. "

And the man chuckled at his witty effort. 

During the day, I learned that affairs stood pretty much as this manhad conjectured. Lyman's suits had been on sundry notes payable ondemand; but nobody knew of any property transactions between him andSlade. On the part of Slade, no defense had been made--the suit goingby default. The visit of the sheriff's officer was for the purpose ofserving an execution. 

As I walked through Cedarville on that day, the whole aspect of theplace seemed changed. I questioned with myself, often, whether thiswere really so, or only the effect of imagination. The change was fromcheerfulness and thrift, to gloom and neglect. There was, to me, abrooding silence in the air; a pause in the life-movement; a folding ofthe hands, so to speak, because hope had failed from the heart. Theresidence of Mr. Harrison, who, some two years before, had suddenlyawakened to a lively sense of the evil of rum-selling, because his ownsons were discovered to be in danger, had been one of the most tastefulin Cedarville. I had often stopped to admire the beautiful shrubberyand flowers with which it was surrounded; the walks so clear--theborders so fresh and even--the arbors so cool and inviting. There wasnot a spot upon which the eye could rest, that did not show the hand oftaste. When I now came opposite to this house, I was not longer indoubt as to the actuality of a change. There were no marked evidencesof neglect; but the high cultivation and nice regard for the smalldetails were lacking. The walks were cleanly swept; but the box-borderswere not so carefully trimmed. The vines and bushes that in formertimes were cut and tied so evenly, could hardly have felt the keentouch of the pruning-knife for months. 

As I paused to note the change, a lady, somewhat beyond the middle age, came from the house. I was struck by the deep gloom that overshadowedher countenance. Ah! said I to myself, as I passed on, how many dearhopes, that once lived in that heart, must have been scattered to thewinds. As I conjectured, this was Mrs. Harrison, and I was notunprepared to hear, as I did a few hours afterward, that her two sonshad fallen into drinking habits; and, not only this, had been enticedto the gaming-table. Unhappy mother! What a life-time of wretchednesswas compressed for thee into a few short years!

I walked on, noting, here and there, changes even more marked thanappeared about the residence of Mr. Harrison. Judge Lyman's beautifulplace showed utter neglect; and so did one or two others that, on myfirst visit to Cedarville, charmed me with their order, neatness, andcultivation. In every instance, I learned, on inquiring, that theowners of these, or some members of their families, were, or had been, visitors at the "Sickle and Sheaf"; and that the ruin, in progress orcompleted, began after the establishment of that point of attraction inthe village. 

Something of a morbid curiosity, excited by what I saw, led me on totake a closer view of the residence of Judge Hammond than I hadobtained on the day before. The first thing that I noticed, onapproaching the old, decaying mansion, were handbills, posted on thegate, the front-door, and on one of the windows. A nearer inspectionrevealed their import. The property had been seized, and was nowoffered at sheriff's sale!

Ten years before, Judge Hammond was known as the richest man inCedarville; and now, the homestead which he had once so loved tobeautify--where all that was dearest to him in life oncegathered--worn, disfigured, and in ruins, was about to be wrested fromhim. I paused at the gate, and leaning over it, looked in with saddenedfeelings upon the dreary waste within. No sign of life was visible. Thedoor was shut--the windows closed--not the faintest wreath of smoke wasseen above the blackened chimney-tops. How vividly did imaginationrestore the life, and beauty, and happiness, that made their home thereonly a few years before, --the mother and her noble boy, one lookingwith trembling hope, the other with joyous confidence, into thefuture, --the father, proud of his household treasures, but not theirwise and jealous guardian. 

Ah! that his hands should have unbarred the door, and thrown it wide, for the wolf to enter that precious fold! I saw them all in their sunnylife before me; yet, even as I looked upon them, their sky began todarken. I heard the distant mutterings of the storm, and soon thedesolating tempest swept down fearfully upon them. I shuddered as itpassed away, to look upon the wrecks left scattered around. What achange!

"And all this, " said I, "that one man, tired of being useful, and eagerto get gain, might gather in accursed gold!"

Pushing open the gate, I entered the yard, and walked around thedwelling, my footsteps echoing in the hushed solitude of the desertedplace. Hark! was that a human voice?

I paused to listen. 

The sound came, once more, distinctly to my ears, I looked around, above, everywhere, but perceived no living sign. For nearly a minute Istood still, listening. Yes; there it was again--a low, moaning voice, as of one in pain or grief. I stepped onward a few paces; and now sawone of the doors standing ajar. As I pushed this door wide open, themoan was repeated. Following the direction from which the sound came, Ientered one of the large drawing-rooms. The atmosphere was stifling, and all as dark as if it were midnight. Groping my way to a window, Idrew back the bolt and threw open the shutter. Broadly the light fellacross the dusty, uncarpeted floor, and on the dingy furniture of theroom. As it did so, the moaning voice which had drawn me thitherswelled on the air again; and now I saw, lying upon an old sofa, theform of a man. It needed no second glance to tell me that this wasJudge Hammond. I put my hand upon him, and uttered his name; but heanswered not. I spoke more firmly, and slightly shook him; but only apiteous moan was returned. 

"Judge Hammond!" I now called aloud, and somewhat imperatively. 

But it availed nothing. The poor old man aroused not from the stupor inwhich mind and body were enshrouded. 

"He is dying!" thought I; and instantly left the house in search ofsome friends to take charge of him in his last, sad extremity. Thefirst person to whom I made known the fact shrugged his shoulders, andsaid it was no affair of his, and that I must find somebody whosebusiness it was to attend to him. My next application was met in thesame spirit; and no better success attended my reference of the matterto a third party. No one to whom I spoke seemed to have any sympathyfor the broken-down old man. Shocked by this indifference, I went toone of the county officers, who, on learning the condition of JudgeHammond, took immediate steps to have him removed to the Alms-house, some miles distant. 

"But why to the Alms-house?" I inquired, on learning his purpose. "Hehas property. "

"Everything has been seized for debt, " was the reply. 

"Will there be nothing left after his creditors are satisfied?"

"Very few, if any, will be satisfied, " he answered. "There will not beenough to pay half the judgments against him. "

"And is there no friend to take him in, --no one, of all who moved byhis side in the days of prosperity, to give a few hours' shelter, andsoothe the last moments of his unhappy life?"

"Why did you make application here?" was the officer's significantquestion. 

I was silent. 

"Your earnest appeals for the poor old man met with no words ofsympathy?"

"None. "

"He has, indeed, fallen low. In the days of his prosperity, he had manyfriends, so called. Adversity has shaken them all like dead leaves fromsapless branches. "

"But why? This is not always so. "

"Judge Hammond was a selfish, worldly man. People never liked him much. His favoring, so strongly, the tavern of Slade, and his distilleryoperations, turned from him some of his best friends. The corruptionand terrible fate of his son--and the insanity and death of hiswife--all were charged upon him in people's minds, and every one seemedto turn from him instinctively after the fearful tragedy was completed. He never held tip his head afterward. Neighbors shunned him as theywould a criminal. And here has come the end at last. He will be takento the poorhouse, to die there--a pauper!"

"And all, " said I, partly speaking to myself, "because a man, too lazyto work at an honest calling, must needs go to rum-selling. "

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, " remarked theofficer with emphasis, as he turned from me to see that his directionstouching the removal of Mr. Hammond to the poor-house were promptlyexecuted. 

In my wanderings about Cedarville during that day, I noticed a smallbut very neat cottage, a little way from the centre of the village. There was not around it a great profusion of flowers and shrubbery; butthe few vines, flowers, and bushes that grew green and flourishingabout the door, and along the clean walks, added to the air of tasteand comfort that so peculiarly marked the dwelling. 

"Who lives in that pleasant little spot?" I asked of a man whom I hadfrequently seen in Blade's bar-room. He happened to be passing thehouse at the same time that I was. 

"Joe Morgan, " was answered. 

"Indeed!" I spoke in some surprise. "And what of Morgan? How is hedoing?"

"Very well. "

"Doesn't he drink?"

"No. Since the death of his child, he has never taken a drop. Thatevent sobered him, and he has remained sober ever since. "

"What is he doing?"

"Working at his old trade. "

"That of a miller?"

"Yes. After Judge Hammond broke down, the distillery apparatus andcotton spinning machinery were all sold and removed from Cedarville. The purchaser of what remained, having something of the fear of God, aswell as regard for man, in his heart, set himself to the restoration ofthe old order of things, and in due time the revolving mill-wheel wasat its old and better work of grinding corn and wheat for bread. Theonly two men in Cedarville competent to take charge of the mill wereSimon Slade and Joe Morgan. The first could not be had, and the secondcame in as a matter of course. "

"And he remains sober and industrious?"

"As any man in the village, " was the answer. 

I saw but little of Slade or his son during the day. But both were inthe bar-room at night, and both in a condition sorrowful to look upon. Their presence, together, in the bar-room, half intoxicated as theywere, seemed to revive the unhappy temper of the previous evening, asfreshly as if the sun had not risen and set upon their anger. 

During the early part of the evening, considerable company was present, though not of a very select class. A large proportion were young men. To most of them the fact that Slade had fallen into the sheriff's handswas known; and I gathered from some aside conversation which reached myears, that Frank's idle, spendthrift habits had hastened the presentcrisis in his father's affairs. He, too, was in debt to Judge Lyman--onwhat account, it was not hard to infer. 

It was after nine o'clock, and there were not half a dozen persons inthe room, when I noticed Frank Slade go behind the bar for the third orfourth time. He was just lifting a decanter of brandy, when his father, who was considerably under the influence of drink, started forward, andlaid his hand upon that of his son. Instantly a fierce light gleamedfrom the eyes of the young man. 

"Let go of my hand!" he exclaimed. 

"No, I won't. Put up that brandy bottle--you're drunk now. "

"Don't meddle with me, old man!" angrily retorted Frank. "I'm not inthe mood to bear anything more from YOU. "

"You're drunk as a fool now, " returned Slade, who had seized thedecanter. "Let go the bottle. "

For only an instant did the young man hesitate. Then he drove hishalf-clenched hand against the breast of his father, who wentstaggering several paces from the counter. Recovering himself, and nowalmost furious, the landlord rushed forward upon his son, his handraised to strike him. 

"Keep off!" cried Frank. "Keep off! If you touch me, I'll strike youdown!" At the same time raising the half-filled bottle threateningly. 

But his father was in too maddened a state to fear any consequences, and so pressed forward upon his son, striking him in the face themoment he came near enough to do so. 

Instantly, the young man, infuriated by drink and evil passions, threwthe bottle at his father's head. The dangerous missile fell, crashingupon one of his temples, shivering it into a hundred pieces. A heavy, jarring fall too surely marked the fearful consequences of the blow. When we gathered around the fallen man, and made an effort to lift himfrom the floor, a thrill of horror went through every heart. A mortalpaleness was already on his marred face, and the death-gurgle in histhroat! In three minutes from the time the blow was struck, his spirithad gone upward to give an account of the deeds done in the body. 

"Frank Slade! you have murdered your father!"

Sternly were these terrible words uttered. It was some time before theyoung man seemed to comprehend their meaning. But the moment herealized the awful truth, he uttered an exclamation of horror. Almostat the same instant, a pistol-shot came sharply on the ear. But themeditated self-destruction was not accomplished. The aim was not surelytaken; and the ball struck harmlessly against the ceiling. 

Half an hour afterward, and Frank Slade was a lonely prisoner in thecounty jail!

Does the reader need a word of comment on this fearful consummation?No; and we will offer none. 

NIGHT THE TENTH. 

THE CLOSING SCENE AT THE "SICKLE AND SHEAF. "

On the day that succeeded the evening of this fearful tragedy, placardswere to be seen all over the village, announcing a mass meeting at the"Sickle and Sheaf" that night. 

By early twilight, the people commenced assembling. The bar, which hadbeen closed all day, was now thrown open, and lighted; and in thisroom, where so much of evil had been originated, encouraged andconsummated, a crowd of earnest-looking men were soon gathered. Amongthem I saw the fine person of Mr. Hargrove. Joe Morgan--or rather, Mr. Morgan--was also one of the number. The latter I would scarcely haverecognized, had not some one near me called him by name. He was welldressed, stood erect, and though there were many deep lines on histhoughtful countenance, all traces of his former habits were gone. While I was observing him, he arose, and addressing a few words to theassemblage, nominated Mr. Hargrove as chairman of the meeting. To thisa unanimous assent was given. 

On taking the chair, Mr. Hargrove made a brief address, something tothis effect. 

"Ten years ago, " said he, his voice evincing a slight unsteadiness ashe began, but growing firmer as he proceeded, "there was not a happierspot in Bolton county than Cedarville. Now, the marks of ruin areeverywhere. Ten years ago, there was a kind-hearted, industrious millerin Cedarville, liked by every one, and as harmless as a little child. Now, his bloated, disfigured body lies in that room. His death wasviolent, and by the hand of his own son!"

Mr. Hargrove's words fell slowly, distinctly, and marked by the mostforcible emphasis. There was scarcely one present who did not feel alow shudder run along his nerves, as the last words were spoken in ahusky whisper. 

"Ten years ago, " he proceeded, "the miller had a happy wife, and twoinnocent, glad-hearted children. Now, his wife, bereft of reason, is ina mad-house, and his son the occupant of a felon's cell, charged withthe awful crime of parricide!"

Briefly he paused, while his audience stood gazing upon him withhalf-suspended respiration. 

"Ten years ago, " he went on, "Judge Hammond was accounted the richestman in Cedarville. Yesterday he was carried, a friendless pauper, tothe Alms-house; and to-day he is the unmourned occupant of a pauper'sgrave! Ten years ago, his wife was the proud, hopeful, loving mother ofa most promising son. I need not describe what Willy Hammond was. Allhere knew him well. Ah! what shattered the fine intellect of thatnoble-minded woman? Why did her heart break? Where is she? Where isWilly Hammond?"

A low, half-repressed groan answered the speaker. 

"Ten years ago, you, sir, " pointing to a sad-looking old man, andcalling him by name, "had two sons--generous, promising, manly-heartedboys. What are they now? You need not answer the question. Too well istheir history and your sorrow known. Ten years ago, I had ason, --amiable, kind, loving, but weak. Heaven knows how I sought toguard and protect him! But he fell also. The arrows of destructiondarkened the very air of our once secure and happy village. And who issafe? Not mine, nor yours!

"Shall I go on? Shall I call up and pass in review before you, oneafter another, all the wretched victims who have fallen in Cedarvilleduring the last ten years? Time does not permit. It would take hoursfor the enumeration! No; I will not throw additional darkness into thepicture. Heaven knows it is black enough already! But what is the rootof this great evil? Where lies the fearful secret? Who understands thedisease? A direful pestilence is in the air--it walketh in darkness, and wasteth at noonday. It is slaying the first-born in our houses, andthe cry of anguish is swelling on every gale. Is there no remedy?"

"Yes! yes! There is a remedy!" was the spontaneous answer from manyvoices. 

"Be it our task, then, to find and apply it this night, " answered thechairman, as he took his seat. 

"And there is but one remedy, " said Morgan, as Mr. Hargrove sat down. "The accursed traffic must cease among us. You must cut off thefountain, if you would dry up the stream. If you would save the young, the weak, and the innocent--on you God has laid the solemn duty oftheir protection--you must cover them from the tempter. Evil is strong, wily, fierce, and active in the pursuit of its ends. The young, theweak, and the innocent can no more resist its assaults, than the lambcan resist the wolf. They are helpless, if you abandon them to thepowers of evil. Men and brethren! as one who has himself been well-nighlost--as one who, daily, feels and trembles at the dangers that besethis path--I do conjure you to stay the fiery stream that is bearingevery thing good and beautiful among you to destruction. Fathers! forthe sake of your young children, be up now and doing. Think of WillyHammond, Frank Slade, and a dozen more whose names I could repeat, andhesitate no longer! Let us resolve, this night, that from henceforththe traffic shall cease in Cedarville. Is there not a large majority ofcitizens in favor of such a measure? And whose rights or interests canbe affected by such a restriction? Who, in fact, has any right to sowdisease and death in our community? The liberty, under sufferance, todo so, wrongs the individual who uses it, as well as those who becomehis victims. Do you want proof of this? Look at Simon Slade, the happy, kind-hearted miller; and at Simon Slade, the tavern-keeper. Was hebenefited by the liberty to work harm to his neighbor? No! no! Inheaven's name, then, let the traffic cease! To this end, I offer theseresolutions:--

"Be it resolved by the inhabitants of Cedarville, That from this dayhenceforth, no more intoxicating drink shall be sold within the limitsof the corporation. 

"Resolved, further, That all the liquors in the 'Sickle and Sheaf' beforthwith destroyed, and that a fund be raised to pay the creditors ofSimon Slade therefor, should they demand compensation. 

"Resolved, That in closing up all other places where liquor is sold, regard shall be had to the right of property which the law secures toevery man. 

"Resolved, That with the consent of the legal authorities, all theliquor for sale in Cedarville be destroyed, provided the owners thereofbe paid its full value out of a fund specially raised for that purpose. "

But for the calm yet resolute opposition of one or two men, theseresolutions would have passed by acclamation. A little sober argumentshowed the excited company that no good end is ever secured by theadoption of wrong means. 

There were, in Cedarville, regularly constituted authorities, whichalone had the power to determine public measures, or to say whatbusiness might or might not be pursued by individuals. And throughthese authorities they must act in an orderly way. 

There was some little chafing at this view of the case. But good senseand reason prevailed. Somewhat modified, the resolutions passed, andthe more ultra-inclined contented themselves with carrying out thesecond resolution, to destroy forthwith all the liquor to be found onthe premises; which was immediately done. After which the peopledispersed to their homes, each with a lighter heart, and better hopesfor the future of their village. 

On the next day, as I entered the stage that was to bear me fromCedarville, I saw a man strike his sharp axe into the worn, faded, andleaning post that had, for so many years, borne aloft the "Sickle andSheaf"; and, just as the driver gave word to his horses, the falseemblem which had invited so many to enter the way of destruction, fellcrashing to the earth. 

THE END.