Chappell, after what seemed at least to be a vigorous protest, finally yielded, and they started on their homeward journey.

The night was dark and cold—one of those chilly nights which we frequently experience in the first week of June—and they had to walk along briskly to keep themselves warm.

"Halloa, Chappell, is that you? Where are you going at this time of night? It seems to me rather peculiar that a man who sits in his pew every Sunday and listens to eloquent homilies on the evils that result from the keeping of late hours and indulging in bacchanalian revels should be wending his way home in the small hours of the morning. Come, sir, give an account of yourself!" and he slapped Chappell familiarly on the shoulder, and stood right in his way, hindering his further progress.

"Allow me, Lawrence," said Chappell, "before answering your question, to introduce you to Mr. Ashton."

"Oh, that is not necessary; we are old acquaintances, but I did not expect to have the pleasure of meeting him to-night. I thought he had migrated northward. I am happy to meet you again, Mr. Ashton; but it is cold, let us step into Conglin's, he is open yet. I want a few moments' conversation with you, Chappell."

Chappell asked Ashton if he would have any objections, and he, in reply, said if they would excuse him he'd journey homeward, for his friends, Mr. and Mrs. Reid, with whom he was stopping, would not go to bed until he returned, and he would be sinning against their hospitality by remaining longer.

"But a few moments will not make any particular difference," said Lawrence, "and you will particularly oblige me if you step in for a moment or two, as I should like to have your opinion in regard to something of consequence."

Ashton, who, as the reader has already discovered, had a facile disposition, and was easily persuaded, yielded, and followed Lawrence and Chappell into the cosy sitting-room of Conglin's hotel.

The fire was burning brightly, and the atmosphere of the room was particularly warm and comfortable to men who had been out in the chill night air as they had been, with clothing that was not heavy enough to keep them warm.

"Just remain here a moment or two, gentlemen," said Lawrence, "I have a word or two to say to our mutual friend, Tom."

According to his promise he soon returned, but the landlord accompanied him carrying a tray, upon which there were three steaming glasses of whiskey punch.

"Gentlemen," said Lawrence, "it is not necessary for me to introduce you to Tom Conglin, for you have both been acquainted with him and his liquors in the long ago, and you know he always kept the very best brands. But I think this old rye is better than any he has ever had before. It is only, however, as the Scripture says "darkening counsel by words," to tell either of you the quality of liquor, for you have only to taste to immediately and correctly pass judgment. It was in regard to this matter I asked for your counsel. Come, gentlemen, after paying your respects to our jolly host we will do honor to his liquor."

They both shook hands with old Tom Conglin, a large, red-faced individual, who, evidently, knew the flavor of his favorite liquors. He expressed himself as particularly delighted to meet Ashton, and said he was sorry that they lost him; which no doubt was true, for Ashton had been one of his best customers, and had left with him many a dollar.

Chappell, who was standing near to Ashton, and was afraid he was about to refuse, whispered to him not to do so. "It will give offence," he said. "A glass will do you no harm, and may do you a great deal of good."

When the tray was presented he hesitated a moment, and then stifling, as men will sometimes, every warning of conscience, he took the fatal glass, and was again the foolish victim of his facile disposition and his appetite for strong drink.

He might, if he had watched the faces of Chappell and Lawrence, have noticed that a significant look passed between them when he took the glass, and that a gleam of hellish triumph shone in their eyes.

"Come, Tom, bring us some more liquor," said Chappell. "I will have another glass of punch. What will you have, gentlemen?" "I will have the same," said Lawrence.

"What will you have, Ashton?" and as Ashton hesitated a moment before replying Chappell spoke for him: "Silence gives consent; he will keep us company."

"Of course you will bring one for yourself, Tom."

"I never refuse to take a glass with a gentleman, especially in such company as the present."

They were soon engaged sipping their fuming punch, and in a very short time Ashton seemed the gayest and most voluble of the company.



CHAPTER XIX.

A STARTLING NEWSPAPER ITEM TO MR. AND MRS. REID.

That night Mr. and Mrs. Reid waited long and anxiously for Ashton, but as he did not return they concluded he must have decided to remain at the Metropolitan, so at one o'clock in the morning they retired, not, however, without misgivings that all was not right.

They slept long that morning, and when they had completed their toilets Mr. Reid found the Rochester Democrat lying at the door. He read it leisurely as he ate his toast and sipped his coffee, now and then reading an item which he thought would be particularly interesting to his wife. Suddenly he exclaimed:

"My God, it is Ashton!" And in his excitement he sprang from his seat, nearly upsetting the table and seriously frightening Mrs. Reid.

"What is it Robert?" she said. "Oh, read it please."

In answer to her request he read the following:—

"As policeman Rogers was walking his beat about half-past one this morning, he heard a cry for help, which was evidently stifled. He ran towards the spot whence he thought the sound came, and as he neared the bridge he saw three men apparently engaged in a desperate struggle. He sounded his rattle for assistance; two of them, who evidently had been garroting and robbing the third, ran, leaving him lying motionless on the tow-path. He had either been choked until he was insensible, or else he had been made so stupid by drink as to be incapable of thought or action. Policeman Johnson coming up, they gave chase to the other two who, however, made good their escape. They carried the one who had been assaulted to No.—— Station, where he was recognized by Sergeant Jameson as a man by the name of Ashton, who was once in the employ of Robertson & Co., but had lately been residing in Canada. He came over to settle his business with Mr. Howe, who purchased some property from him. He evidently had been intoxicated, and while thus was waylaid and robbed. He had not, up to the time of our going to press, sufficiently recovered to be able to give an account of the affair, so at present it remains a mystery."

"Oh, Robert, you must go at once," said his wife; "the poor fellow has fallen again. I am afraid some of the party have made a pretence of doing him special honor in order that they might entice him to drink, and then waylay and rob him. Do you know, dear, whether he carried much money on his person?"

"I don't think he had any but what he brought from Canada. I remember hearing him say he had deposited what he had received from Mr. Howe in the bank, but I have no doubt he had quite a sum with him, and of course they would rob him of all he had."

"I think he said Eddie was stopping with Mr. Williams. I will run up and tell him, and then go to the police station and see what I can do."

"The poor boy will be nearly frightened to death," said Mrs. Reid; "and if there is anything very serious comes from this, God help Mrs. Ashton! The poor creature has had her own trouble."

Mr. Reid found Eddie eating his breakfast, and in as quiet a manner as possible broke the news, endeavoring to avoid every expression that would cause unnecessary alarm. But at the first hint every particle of color left the boy's face and he sprang to his feet, saying:

"Oh, Mr. Reid! what has happened to my father? Please tell me quickly."

Mr. Reid quietly handed him the paper, and as he took it, so great was his agitation, his hand trembled like an aspen leaf; but when he had read the paragraph which particularly interested him, it had just the opposite effect upon him to what Mr. Reid expected; for he seemed at once to become another person, and the boy of fifteen was as if transformed by some cabalistic power into a man.

"Let us go at once," he said with decision; and, as the tears gushed from his eyes and streamed down over his cheek he murmured, "Oh, my poor mother! if she hears of this it will break her heart."



CHAPTER XX.

A BASE PLOT, AND WHAT IT LED TO.

"I say, Bill, I have a pretty good lay for you, and I think you can work it without much risk."

The speaker was Chappell, and the person whom he addressed was Lawrence.

We, in the preceding chapter, introduced these worthies into this story, but as we wish our readers to become more thoroughly acquainted with them, will now give them a more formal introduction.

Moses Chappell was the son of highly respectable parents, and had the advantages that are ever associated with a home where there is comparative wealth, culture, and purity. He had a fair education, possessed a fine person and a gracious, polished manner.

When quite a young man he commenced the study of law with a firm in the city, but he became so unsteady in his habits that it took him a year or two longer to get through than the course required. When he became an attorney,—it being immediately after the close of the war,—he, through the influence of his friends, secured the position of claim agent; and as there were a great many soldiers who had claims for extra bounty and for pensions to prosecute, it was not long before he secured a large share of this business.

It was just after he had entered into business on his own responsibility that he became acquainted with Ashton. At that time he was simply looked upon as a rather fast young man, who would take a glass with a friend, and, as the boys would say, "just once in a while get a little 'O be joyful!'" But among this class he passed as a "Jolly good fellow!"

During the last year his degeneracy had been very rapid, and he had become almost a confirmed drunkard, it being well known by the initiated that he indulged in the passion of gambling, by which he lost a great deal of money.

A short time before Ashton's return to Rochester, Chappell's losses were, for him, very large indeed; and as his income failed to meet his liabilities, he took the money which he had collected from the Government for his clients, to meet his gambling debts, and also to make new ventures, with the hope that he would win back all his losses. But, as he expressed it, luck seemed to have turned against him, and he lost in one night, by wild, reckless play, hundreds of dollars that he had drawn for poor, wounded, and disabled men, many of whom had expended quite a sum in instituting their claim, and sadly needed it, because they had undermined their constitutions in the campaigns through which they had passed; some of them having wives and children depending upon them for support. In fact, no one knows what disappointment and misery was caused by the dishonest and reckless conduct of this now abandoned young man.

He, however, though fallen, had not yet reached such a depth of degradation as to be utterly careless of his reputation, or of the suffering and shame he would entail upon his friends if his wrong-doings were discovered, and he well knew that discovery was inevitable if he did not in some manner recover the amount he had lost. "Desperate diseases require desperate remedies;" and his case was desperate indeed, and he was now in such a state of mind that he was willing to resort to anything short of murder to extricate himself.

He was in this state of mind when Ashton again appeared in Rochester, and when he learned the nature of his business he resolved, if possible, to get possession of his money. He had, in the gambling dens of the city, formed the acquaintance of some hard characters, and resolved to use them as his tools in carrying out his purpose.

"Lawrence will do," he said, "and he can associate Dick Eagle with him in the venture. Lawrence is acquainted with Ashton, as they used to meet at old Tom's when on their drinking bouts. I will sound him, and, if I find he is all serene on the matter, Ashton must have become a more wary fly than he used to be if I do not induce him to enter my spider's web."

It was to further this scheme that he hinted to some mutual friends it would be a gracious thing to give Ashton a supper, and as they immediately entered with fervor into the idea, it was agreed upon. When Ashton stipulated, if he accepted, it must be understood he would not be asked to drink anything but water, it looked as if his well-concerted scheme would be entirely frustrated. And then, after thinking the matter over, he hit upon the plan which he adopted, and which, alas, as we have already made known to our readers, he carried to a successful accomplishment.

Lawrence, the young ruffian whom he made his tool, had been associated with him before, in some transactions that would not bear the light of day, and when he unfolded the present scheme to him he found him ready to be his pliant instrument—willing to enter into any scheme, no matter how villainous its nature, if he could be sure of making something by the venture.

"I am pretty certain," said Chappell, "he will have by that time some four or five hundred dollars in his possession; and if you would meet us and persuade him to accompany us into Tom's, I think, old boy, we can induce him to take a glass. If he takes one, you know he is such a fool that we will soon have him gloriously drunk. But to make certain we will fix his liquor, and then by the time he gets to the bridge he will be completely at your mercy."

"Well, the question is, Chappell, what am I to get for the venture? Of course, if there is any hard work to be done you will expect me to do it, while you will play the role of gentleman."

"I am willing to deal fairly with you, Bill."

"But I want to have an understanding. I know you pretty thoroughly, Mose, and I am not going to let you gull me as you have on some former occasions. The question is what am I to get? And if I can't get what's square, I will wash my hands of the whole affair. 'Honor among thieves,' you know, Mose."

Chappell, who winced at the epithet "thieves," shrugged his shoulders, and a look of supreme disgust gleamed for a moment from his eyes, which did not pass unnoticed by Lawrence.

"Come now, Mose, no airs," he said; "if you don't like me just keep away, and I'll not bother you with my company. When you force yourself upon me you must be a little respectful, or, at least, you must not be so open in your manifestations of disgust, as I am somewhat sensitive and may resent it."

"Who was showing any signs of being disgusted? Now, what is the use of making a fool of yourself, Bill, because you know how; and if I were you I would not speak of "putting on airs." When Bill Lawrence talks of being sensitive, he of course means all he says: the idea of 'Billy the Kid' being sensitive is certainly a new wrinkle."

"Well, Chappell, I know I am not as good as I might be; if I were I would cut you dead, though you do wear kid gloves and move in the so-called 'best society,' like many another scoundrel. But this is neither here nor there; let's come to business. Before I enter into this thing I want an understanding; you are not going to come it over me as you have on former occasions."

"Why, Lawrence, I don't want to come it over you. It seems to me you are deuced suspicious, all at once. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you one half, to be divided between you and Dick Eagle. And when you remember that I put up the job, and run just as much risk as you do, I think you will conclude that I am quite moderate."

"Yes, 'quite moderate;' you are always 'moderate,' especially when it comes to risks; but you don't come none of your moderate games over me. If I get Dick Eagle to assist me in this job I will have to go halves with him. I couldn't gull him if I were to try, and I don't wish to try. I am not quite so mean as to cheat a comrade who runs equal risks with myself, though some would-be gentlemen of my acquaintance would. If we make anything by this venture it must be equally divided, if it is not more than fifteen cents. If you will not agree to this proposition I will wash my hands of the whole affair."

Chappell—after putting in several demurrers, at last, when he saw that he could make no better terms—consented.

It was arranged that Chappell should, if possible, induce Ashton to drink at the supper; but if he could not accomplish that, he was to accompany him up St. Paul street until he came in front of Tom Conglin's, and then Lawrence was to meet them, and between them they were to induce him to enter and, if possible, entice him to drink. Chappell was, after this, to accompany him as far as the bridge and leave him. And then Lawrence and Eagle were—to put it in their classic language—"to go through him."

The scheme was carried to a successful issue, though not with the ease that was anticipated. The drug was not as effective as they supposed it would be; for though, when they started, Ashton was in such a complete state of intoxication as not to be able to walk without the assistance of Chappell, as they continued on their homeward journey, the further they went the stronger he became. The cold morning air seemed to revive him. Chappell accompanied him to the spot agreed upon, and then left him, though not without making a show of wishing to see him all the way home.

Ashton had not proceeded far on his uneven way before Lawrence, who had gone by another route and got ahead of him and Chappell, said to Eagle, who had waited for him near the appointed spot: "Here he comes, and he don't seem to be very drunk either. We'll have to make sure work, Dick. Now, go for him!"

Eagle, with whom Ashton was not acquainted, sprang forward as Lawrence spoke and struck him a terrible blow in the stomach; at the same time, Lawrence from behind swiftly passed his arm around his neck, then drew him across his back, lifting him entirely from the ground and choking him so that he could not cry out. But before Lawrence had succeeded in doing this an alarm had been given; for, though Eagle had struck him a terrible blow, Ashton gave a startled sound, something between a cry and a moan, but afterwards was perfectly helpless in their hands.

It was this sound which Constable Rogers heard, and, as we have already informed our readers, he immediately hastened to the spot, but arrived too late to rescue Ashton from his treacherous and brutal assailants.

All the three worthies secured as the result of their base treachery and inhuman villainy was about twenty dollars; for this was all that Ashton had upon his person at the time.

As soon as the latter was able, he gave an account to a detective of all that had transpired during the previous evening, which led the latter strongly to suspect Chappell and Lawrence, as he was well acquainted with them and knew their antecedents. He arrested them both, but as nothing could be substantiated, though there were strong grounds for believing they were the parties, they were discharged.

The Police Magistrate, however, gave them to understand that it was simply a case of "not proven." And he added, if they were the guilty parties, they deserved to be execrated by every good citizen for their treachery. He admonished them to be cautious, as a strict watch would be kept on their movements, and they would not be able always to escape the punishment they so richly deserved.

It was not long after this before Chappell was called to give an account of the money which he had collected for the soldiers who had entrusted their cases to him. And as it was discovered he had squandered it, the result was he was prosecuted and sent to jail for defrauding his clients, and lay there for a considerable time. Since that period he has been a moral leper, a disgrace to his friends, and loathed and shunned by respectable society.

Lawrence and Eagle, his companions in the nefarious transaction, were soon after captured as they were burglarizing a store, and sent to States Prison for five years.

We will now let them pass from these pages, simply remarking if it had not been for drink, which had made them its slaves and corrupted their young lives, they might have had honorable careers and been respectable and respected citizens; but rum was their ruin, their curse, as it has been of millions of others, and through it they are a disgrace to their friends and a curse to society. Surely "Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging, and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise."



CHAPTER XXI.

UTTERLY BROKEN—BLASTED HOPES.

Ashton's constitution was so severely shaken by the treatment he had received, and from the effects of his debauch, that the physician Mr. Reid called in considered his condition really critical. He said his nervous system had received such a shock that he must have complete rest for a week or two, and then he might possibly be so far recruited as to start for his home; but he doubted if ever he would so recover as to be the same man he was before.

Eddie wrote home to his mother, telling her that "his father had been taken ill, and therefore they would not be able to start for home for a few days; but," he added, "he hoped their return would not long be delayed."

He was almost certain his mother would divine the cause, and that her grief would be inexpressible. But as he did not know what the issue might be, for his father was certainly very ill, he felt if he did not partially reveal the truth to her, and anything serious did happen, he never would forgive himself.

The reader will remember that Eddie's letter was composed under somewhat similar circumstances to those under which his father had written his hurried note just after his arrival in Canada, and if he recollects what the result was at that time he will be able, at least partially, to understand what the effect was in the present instance.

When Allie returned from the post-office with the letter, Mrs. Ashton found herself strangely excited, even before she had broken the seal. She held it with nervous hand, and ere she had read the first page sank pale and trembling into her chair, and gasped out, rather than spoke: "Oh, Allie, my worst fears are more than realized! Oh! what will become of us all?"

Allie and Mamie were immediately by their mother's side, the face of the former manifesting by its alarmed and saddened expression that she divined, at least to some extent, what had happened. While the face of innocent little Mamie wore a puzzled, troubled look; and though she could not understand what had happened to grieve her mother, tears glistened in her eyes in sympathy with her grief.

"What has happened to papa?" said Allie. "Is it anything very serious?" and she looked anxiously up in her mother's face.

The question was purely mechanical; she felt sure her father had again fallen, and she also knew if her mother thought so she would not give expression to her fears.

"Eddie writes he is ill," said her mother; "but he says he has hopes he will soon recover, and that their return will not long be delayed."

Allie sat down in her mother's lap, and, as she entwined her arms round her neck and kissed her, she said, "Mamma, you must not give way too much to trouble and sorrow, for God knows what is best, and He will take care of papa and of us all."

Little Mamie, who had been an attentive listener, now endeavored to console her mother.

"Mamma," she said, "you read me from the Bible the other day, that Dod cared for the dood man, and sent the raven to feed him. And you taid He would send His angel to care for me if I was a dood dirl. Will not Dod care for papa and Eddie?"

Mrs. Ashton returned Allie's caresses; and catching little Mamie in her arms, and kissing the tears from her face, she said, "Mamma's daughters are a great comfort to her. God will take care of us all, my darling. He will send His angel down to care for papa and Eddie, and to console us who are troubled and sorrowing because of them. He will care for us all!"

In a few days she received a letter from Eddie stating that, though his father was still weak, the doctor thought he was so far convalescent as to be able to start upon his journey, and therefore they might expect them in a short time; and he mentioned the day when he thought they would reach Bayton.

Four days after they received the letter, Eddie and his father arrived. But what was the grief and anguish of Mrs. Ashton, and the sorrow of Mr. Gurney, who had accompanied her to the station, to discover that even now, when they had come with hearts full of sympathy to administer consolation to him in his hour of sickness and suffering, he had been so far forgetful of what was due to himself and to his friends, also of the anguish with which he would wring the heart of his wife, as to be in a state of semi-intoxication.

As they looked at him they were both terribly shocked at the change which a few days had wrought in him. He did not appear like the same person as the one who left them two short weeks before. He was, in fact, only the dilapidated wreck of his former self. His manhood, his self-respect, his glory had departed.

His wife welcomed both him and Eddie with a kiss; but Mr. Gurney, who was shocked beyond measure, coldly turned away—he could not trust himself to speak, for, if he had, burning as he was with indignation and a sense of violated trust, he would have given utterance to words that would have caused him future regret.

Mrs. Ashton had Eddie call a cab, and had her husband driven home, and by the time he reached there he seemed to become so intoxicated as to be almost helpless, having to be carried from the cab into the house; and what added to the shame and anguish of Mrs. Ashton was that there were a great many of the neighbors who had gathered to welcome him who, of course, took in the situation, though they were too well bred to give expression to their astonishment. It caused her exquisite pain to think her husband had again been degraded in the sight of the world, and that she and her children shared with him that degradation.

Richard Ashton, from that time, rapidly degenerated. He seemed to be sapped of both physical and moral strength. His friends rallied round and endeavored to induce him to reform. Mr. and Mrs. Gurney used every art they could command to restore him, but though he would promise to listen to their injunction, his promises were never put in practice. He really meant to be as good as his word, but he lacked the moral stamina, and the consequence was he sank to a lower level every day. It at last became evident he wished to avoid a meeting, and they therefore felt their endeavors in his behalf were becoming distasteful to him. So with great sorrow of heart, for they had become sincerely attached to him, they had, for the time being, to desist from their benevolent attempts and leave him to his fate.

And just then, to make matters still worse, Stanley Ginsling appeared upon the scene. Like the foul buzzard, he seemed to have scented his quarry from afar. And to add to the intense pain of Mrs. Ashton and her children, they were again boon companions.

The strain was finally too great for poor Ruth. Like thousands of other poor, heart-broken wives and mothers, she used every endeavor to keep up her spirits and try and maintain her strength; but her sensitive mind was daily tortured with the most exquisite pain.

Finally her strength gave way, and she was completely prostrated, all the more completely because of the unequal struggle she had been maintaining for the last few months.

"A complete collapse of the system," said the doctor. "She must have good nursing and rest; for without she has rest of mind and body I cannot possibly bring her through."

The doctor had a private interview with Ashton and told him, in language we will not repeat, for it was more energetic than select, that it was a shame for a man with his intelligence and refinement to so degrade himself, and then he added: "You are killing your wife, and if you do not desist from drinking it is very little use for me to come."

But his appetite seemed to have so gained the ascendancy that he daily came home in a state of intoxication. He seemed to have lost every vestige of his manhood's strength, and was such a vile slave to his appetite as not to be able to restrain himself even to save his wife.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE DUNKIN ACT.—A DISCUSSION IN WHICH STRONG LANGUAGE IS USED.

"I say, Judge, I hear they are about to try and carry the Dunkin Act in this county, and I guess they will succeed, for I think there are a sufficient number of fools and fanatical humbugs to carry anything. What is your opinion in regard to it?"

The speaker was Sheriff Bottlesby, and the question was asked in one of the private rooms of the Bayton House—a house that was kept by Charles Rivers, Esq., and it was looked upon as the most respectable hotel in town.

There were assembled there at this time Judge McGullet, Sheriff Botttesby, Captain McWriggler, who was an aspirant for the position of M.P., and whose only hope of success was in gaining the whiskey vote. There were also present Charles Dalton, Charles Sealey, Esq. (a prominent magistrate), Stanley Ginsling, and a retired captain—late of the British service—who rejoiced in the name of Timothy Flannigan. He kept a second-class tavern in Bayton, which was known as the "Crown Hotel."

"Well," said the judge, "you ask me a question which you should not expect me, situated as I am, to answer. But," he continued with a chuckle, "I will say it may, but if it succeeds here this will be the first place it has ever done so."

"Yes, it may," said Ginsling, "and elephants may fly, but they are not likely-looking birds. I have too high an opinion of the men of this county to believe they will give away their manhood. But if its advocates do succeed in their fanatical endeavours it will be a brutem fulmen. No true man will be weak enough to be bound by it. No man, or set of men, has a right to dictate to me what I shall eat or drink, and a man who would submit to it is a fool and a slave."

Dr. Dalton, who had been indulging very freely in drink, and had arrived at that stage when men are generally demonstrative, started up the refrain:

"Britons never, never shall be slaves."

"If any man could be a greater slave than you are, Dalton, his condition would be worse than any nigger I ever came across in the south. A fellow that can't take a glass of liquor with a friend, without getting beastly drunk, is about the worst specimen of a slave a man could even imagine. It is men like you that furnish the teetotal fanatics with their strongest arguments, and because of such fellows sensible men must suffer."

The words of Bottlesby had a magical effect upon Dalton, and he seemed to become sober in a moment. He sprang to his feet, his eyes flashed fire, and cutting, stinging words came to his lips.

"I am no greater slave than you are, Bottlesby," he said; "and, if I were, you are the last man in the world should taunt me with the fact. You know you drink twice the quantity of liquor that I do, and if you don't get drunk, it is because it does not find any brain to expend its strength upon. Whiskey attacks a man in his most prominent point, which, in your case, is your stomach. Men of genius like Savage, Goldsmith, Sheridan, Poe and others, it attacked their brains and made madmen of them; but it always soaks into a fool, because he is soft and porous like a sponge; and any man at a look would place you among the latter. Why, sir, you are at present full to the eyebrows, and your nose is a danger-signal to warn all young men to keep out of your track. It would have been well for me if I had heeded the warning."

"Dalton," said Bottlesby, emphasizing his remarks with expletives that can have no place here, "I want no more of your insults, and if you don't shut up I'll make you. I won't be insulted by a drunken blackguard like you, without resenting it. If it were not that I don't wish to disgrace my office and the company I am in, I would wring your neck."

"It is a good thing for you," said Dalton sardonically, "that those weighty considerations keep you from undertaking a contract you might not successfully complete. The government must have lost sight of the dignity of the office, or you would never have got the appointment. Your consideration of your office and the company you are in remind me of Pompey's, who, when he was asked why he ran from a battle, gave as his reason 'that he knew the rebs too well to have anything to do with such a pesky lot, and den,' he added, 'back, of dis dare is a pusonal consideration.' I wouldn't wonder if back of your other considerations there is one of a personal nature. Why, man, if you were even to touch me with your finger, in anger, I would leave you so you would have to employ a sub to draw your pay and drink your whiskey, which is your principal occupation at present."

"Come now, Charley," said Rivers, coming in between the two, who were standing in a threatening attitude and glaring at each other, "don't be so fast and rash; and, Sheriff, there is no sense in getting up, a row. How would it sound if it got out that there was a fight at the Bayton House between Dr. Dalton and Sheriff Bottlesby, and that Judge McGullet and Captain McWriggler were there to see fair play. If you are both very desirous to have your names figuring in the papers as participants in such a disgraceful brawl, you had better retire to some other quarters, as I am determined it shall not take place in my establishment, if I can hinder it."

"I'll be blowed! but it would be as good as a circus, wouldn't it though?" observed Ginsling. "I wonder who would act as Her Majesty's representative, to vindicate the honor of outraged justice, if our sheriff happened to be the principal in a case of aggravated assault, and our judge had to be subpoened as a witness for the Crown!"

"Be jabers, boys, go on!" said Captain Flannigan; "I havn't seen a dacent fight for a twelvemonth, barring a skirmish in which I meself was somewhat interested. You may desarn traces of it here." And, suiting the action to the word, he pointed to his eye, which was slightly discolored. "I had an argument with Bill Duffy yesterday, and he became so excited he emphasized his remarks by giving me a blow in the eye; but I soon demonstrated, to his complate satisfaction, that if he came to that style of argument I could make two points to his one, and put them in much more emphatically. He has kept to his room since to ponder the matter over. Now, boys, the best thing you can do is to take a walk out of town, and settle the matter dacently; but don't stop here, scolding like a couple of fishwives. Or put it off now and settle it after—there would be no nade for it to go any farther."

"As far as I am concerned, I am willing to settle it now or any other time," said Dalton.

Judge McGullet, who had been quietly listening, now spoke.

"I should think," he said, "you fellows have exhibited enough foolishness for one scene; it is about time for a change. I did not think you were capable of making such asses of yourselves. You were saying, Sheriff, before you entered into your extremely interesting conversation with Dalton, that the teetotalers were about to try and carry the Dunkin Act in this county. Well, if you desire to ensure them complete success, just have a brawl, and have the present company figuring in the papers as either participating in the row or of being present when it took place. You know they are extremely verdant, as well as what you term fanatical, and they are not likely to make any capital out of such a muss! Come, now, sit down, and act like rational beings."

The two men sank into their seats, but grumbling as they did, and each muttering he would yet have satisfaction.

"Boys, will yez just kape quiet for a minute, until I sing a song? and then the fellow that won't drink to the health of every man present, and be willing to shake hands with each and every one in this dacent company—well, then, Tim Flannigan will recognize him as a friend no more for ever!"

"Come, Rivers, fill up our glasses, and prove that your name is not a misnomer, by furnishing this thirsty crowd with something to drink."

Rivers, after taking their orders, brought in the liquor, and then they all clamored for Flannigan to give them his song. "And we want you to give us one of your own, Captain."

"Yes, yes, Captain," they all shouted; "give us a war song of your own composition."

Now this was something that would please Flannigan exceedingly, for he imagined he was quite a poet. He had written some wretched doggerel, in which he had endeavored to embody his thoughts of persons and of personal experiences during the war. He actually thought the wretched stuff was equal to the best efforts of "Tom" Moore. And if any one wished especially to flatter him he would best accomplish his purpose by asking him to sing one of his own songs. Those who knew him were well aware of this, and often enjoyed a good laugh at the expense of his vanity. This accounts for the clamorous call he received to give them a song of his own composition.

Flannigan cleared his throat. "Ye do me honor," he said; "but I shall be happy to plase ye. I will at this time give yez the song I composed when I quit the sarvice and had made up my mind to come to Canada." He then, in high cracked notes, sang:

THE SOLDIER'S FAREWELL!

I'll put by my musket, Also my red coat; On war and its glory I'll no longer gloat.

CHO.—I'll go to the land Of the green maple tree; Whose emblem's the baver, Whose paple are free.

No thoughts of ambition Inspires now my breast. My solduring's o'er— In peace I'll now rest.—Cho.

And now I heed not The trumpet or drum. My battles are ended— No more will now come.—Cho.

They greeted his song with uproarious applause, which he drank in as a genuine tribute to his genius as a poet, and also to his power in the realm of song.

It was really strange that a man with his, in some respects, sharp intellect and native wit, should be so weak as to imagine the trash he jumbled together was poetry, and thus leave himself open to be laughed at by even his own cronies. But it is said we all have a weak point—this was his.

After the applause which greeted his song had somewhat subsided, he said: "Come, now, each man of you saze his glass and let us drink to the toast—'Prosperity to our cause, and bad luck to the Dunkinites.'" After they had all drunk, he said: "Now, boys, let us have a talk of these cold-water men."

"If they are 'cold-water' men, as you contemptuously dub them, you'll find they will fight like heroes for what they believe to be right," remarked Dr. Dalton.

"Well," answered Flannigan, "they may, Charley; but I am tould they go in for petticoat government, for the best man among them is a woman. If such be the case we are not worth much if we let them bate us."

They all joined in a laugh at Flannigan's Hibernianism.

"That is a genuine Irish bull, Captain," said Sealy. "But as we are here we may as well have an informal talk as to the best course to pursue in the present contingency. In my opinion, it is our best policy not to make a very strong fight this time. I would be for almost letting them have a walk over. And then when they think the victory is theirs, I would commence the real battle. After it becomes law I would sell whiskey just the same as ever, and entice all the bummers in the country to drink and have a regular drunken carnival. You will not have to pay any license, so you will be able to stand being fined a time or two. But I can tell you what it is, boys, they will have a hard time to convict. From my experience—and it has been considerable—I have learned it is a pretty difficult thing to worm the truth out of unwilling witnesses. Then there is another thing in your favor, the majority of the magistrates have no sympathy with this movement. I would therefore badger and bother them all I could, and have free trade in whiskey; and after the people are thoroughly disgusted I would go in for repeal. I saw Jobson, the President of the Licensed Liquor Sellers' Association, the other day, and when I suggested this course to him he said he thought it would be the wisest one to pursue. Have you heard from him, Rivers?"

"Yes, I received a letter yesterday," answered Rivers. "And I have notified the members of the association in the county to meet here on Saturday, when I shall use my influence to get them to play a waiting game, and then, when the time comes, we will force the fighting."

"I think that will be the wisest policy," said the sheriff.

"If the Act is carried, there will be whiskey enough drunk here to satisfy Bacchus himself. We won't have to fight our battles without assistance, as we have had promised to us all the money that is really necessary from the outside. The Licensed Liquor Sellers' Association will supply all the needful we want. And if we don't flood this county with whiskey, then you may call Charley Rivers a liar. They may have a chance to chuckle for a while, but we'll be more than even with them yet."

"Your craft is in danger," sneered Dalton, who, though he was such a slave to liquor, sympathised with the temperance party and constantly manifested his sympathy with them. "There is no doubt but you will fight for your interest, no matter who suffers."

"Now, Charley, don't be raising another row," said Ginsling. "You are as prickly as a hedgehog."

"What I say is the truth," he answered. "When the tavern-keepers fight against the Dunkin Act they are fighting in company with their father, the devil, and his angels, their brethren, against the right. My sympathy is with the temperance party, for I know that every one who really cares for me is among them, and my only hope in this world and the world to come is in their success. If there was no liquor to be got I might be a man yet."

"Well, if you sympathise with them you had better associate with them. We would manage to exist without you."

Rivers spoke very angrily, for he was irritated almost beyond endurance by the words and manner of Dr. Dalton.

"It is my intention to join them; so you had better not concoct any more schemes in my presence; but I promise what I have heard to-night shall never be repeated outside. Yes, I will join them; for if I continue as I am the end is not far off, and God only knows what that end will be."

"Come, Judge, let us go. I perceive you have about as large a cargo as you can conveniently carry. You will not be fit for court to-morrow, if you don't take time to sober off."

The judge had not been in the room during the time they were doing the greater part of their talking, as he had been called out just after he had replied to the sheriff; for though he sympathised with them they would not have talked quite so freely in his presence. In answer to Dalton he said:

"You will oblige me if you take care of yourself, Doctor, and leave me to mind my own affairs. I—hic—hic—have an idea it is just about as much as you can attend to, and I think I know what I am doing."

The worthy judge then turned to the company and said: "Good night, gentlemen. Don't all get drunk, or some of you may be more formally introduced to me. Come, Doctor, if I leave you here there is sure to be a row."

He then took the arm of Dalton, and bowed himself out, and as the last bow he made was rather an elaborate effort, he lost his equilibrium; and, if Dalton had not held him up, he might have demonstrated that a judge could be lowly as well as learned.

When they were out of hearing, Rivers said: "I am glad that fellow, Dalton, has gone. If the judge had not been with him I would have kicked him out long ago. He has a sharp, impudent tongue, when he has a mind to be ugly."

"Yes," said Sealy, "I am glad he has gone and taken the judge with him; for, even though he was more than half-seas-over, he did not wish to compromise himself by listening to our conversation upon that subject. I think he was glad that Peters called him out."

"He is on our side, though," said Rivers, "and will use every technicality that the law furnishes to baulk the fanatics and make their efforts fruitless."



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE CONSPIRATORS FORMULATING THEIR SCHEME.

After the judge and Dr. Dalton had left, the worthies who remained sat long in council concocting their Satanic schemes for the final defeat of the Dunkinites. Each one who was present promised to exert all his influence to make as many drunk as possible, after the law was adopted in the county.

"You, Bottlesby, will be able to give a good account of Dalton, and you, Ginsling, can take care of Ashton," said Rivers. "I know that old Gurney and his wife will be doing their level best with them, but if you only work your cards for what they are worth they will not succeed worth a cent, for if whiskey is put in their way they are bound to drink."

"But what about the fine, Rivers?" said Capt. Flannigan. "If we sell liquor we will be fined, and if we have to pay a couple of hundred dollars in this way, or kape company with the rats for five or six months in jail, I guess we'll soon tire of that game. And they say that ould nager of a service is a regular sleuth-hound on the hunt. By St. Patrick! if he comes nosing round my place I will bate him until his skin is blacker than it is at present, and to do that I'll have to nearly murder him entirely."

"Don't you do anything of the kind; for if you did you would be putting your foot in it," said Rivers. "The Dunkinites would like us to resort to that kind of thing that they might get up a howl about ruffianism, brutality, etc. They well know this would enlist the sympathy of the public to their side of the question; now this would just defeat the object I have in view. What I intend to do is to sell liquor as usual, and when I can't sell it I will give it away, and make as many drunk as possible. If some of those to whom I sell give me away, and I am hauled up, I will then show what I can do on the fight."

"You'll beat them every time," said Bottlesby, "for almost every sensible magistrate in the county will sympathise with you."

"Yes, I am counting on that, and those who are not on our side I intend to employ a good sharp lawyer to badger and bother as much as possible, and I guess you are aware that a great many of our Justices of the Peace are as innocent of any knowledge of law as a ten-year-old boy. I have no doubt but most of them can be so frightened as to be afraid to convict. And you know most of the witnesses will be our friends, and, as Seely has just remarked, it will be pretty hard to worm the truth out of unwilling witnesses."

"But supposing they do convict, what will you do then?" asked Capt. Flannigan.

I will appeal, and if it is decided against me in the lower court then I will appeal to a higher, and during the time it remains sub judice my friends and I will be flooding the county with liquor."

"But who will pay the piper?" asked Ginsling.

"The Licensed Liquor Sellers' Association," answered Rivers. "The Association is bound to beat if it costs them a hundred thousand dollars. The hotel-keepers of this county will only have to pay their fee into the society, and it won't cost them a cent more; so you see we can afford to fight and be cheerful. And after we have bothered them and kept them from carrying out the law for six or seven months, having, in the meantime, deluged the county with whiskey, we will then start the cry that the Act is a failure; and any one who is at all acquainted with human nature knows that it will not be long before we will have thousands to join in the cry."

"Of course they will," said Bottlesby, "the great majority of those who vote for it will do so because it is fashionable. They don't care a cent who gets drunk so long as they don't lose anything. It happens that just now it is thought rather respectable to be on the side of temperance, and so they are voting for it; but in their hearts half of them hope it will fail, and they will not turn their fingers to make it a success. And if the plan which has been suggested by my friend, Rivers, is carried out, that is, to badger and bother them in every way we can, and at the same time to make this county, if possible, a perfect pandemonium of drunkenness and revelry, these parties will then eagerly join in the cry that the Act is a huge failure, and when we try to have the thing repealed they will give us their active support, because they will be able to assume the same role upon our side they did on the other, that is, that they are philanthropic citizens working on the side of morality and order. You mark my words, in a year from the present we will carry the repeal with an overwhelming majority."

The party broke up in the small hours of the morning, and the only one who was then sober was the landlord. In fact it was well understood, even among his cronies, that he was too mean to drink to any excess except he drank on the treats of his numerous customers; and then he was careful not to be so much under its influence as to neglect his business. He was one of those men of whom, alas! the world has too many, who live to satisfy their own selfish interest no matter who may be made to suffer.



CHAPTER XXIV.

ALDERMAN TOPER'S FLATTERING OPINION OF THE "DODGER."

The next week the "Licensed Liquor Sellers' Association" of the county held the meeting of which Rivers had spoken, and there were also representatives present from Toronto and other places. They all agreed that the plan outlined by Rivers would be the best to adopt; that was, if the reader recollects, to play a waiting game, and at the same time to treat the law with supreme contempt.

"I tell you what it is," said Alderman Toper, who was one of the representatives from the city—having been elected an alderman by the whiskey interest, for He was proprietor of the "Toper House," one of the largest second-class hotels in the city—"I will spend a thousand dollars of my own money in order in the end to beat them."

"Don't you think, Toper," said Rivers, "it would pay us to employ Gustavus Adolphus Dodger. I hear he is one of the best stump-speakers in the country, and that he can do as he likes with an average crowd What do you think? You know him better than I do."

"Yes," said Toper, in an undertone, "I know his face better than I do his dimes, for I have had the former at my bar every day for the last six months, though nary one of the latter have I seen. But 'he is just the man for Galway,' for all that. He is the aptest, smoothest, most oily rascal I have ever met, and there is not a man in Canada that can hold a candle to him as a speaker in his own line. Why, I remember at a certain meeting he addressed a crowd who had been shouting themselves hoarse against the man in whose behalf he was about to speak, but he pleaded so eloquently and plausibly for his friend—and he was the man's friend, because he had received a consideration—that, before he was through, they shouted as loudly for the one whose cause he was advocating as they had a few moments before for his opponent."

"I suppose," said William Soker, one of the delegates from the county, "there is no fear of the other side getting the start of us and buying him up, for, from what you say, I should judge he was in the market and ready to sell himself to the highest bidder."

"There is no danger of that," said Toper, "for he has committed himself, soul and body, to the liquor interest, both upon the stump and through the press; and, though a man may not be troubled with that inconvenient article called principle, yet he has, to secure success, to be somewhat consistent."

"Oh, bosh about consistency," remarked Bottlesby; "I would not trust the rascal if he could make more than he could with us."

"Neither would I, if he had any chance to sell us, not a bit quicker than I would a fox in a goose-pen or a monkey on a peanut-stand, but there is no fear of the Dodger (that's what we call him) in this case, because he has so far committed himself to our side that the public would not believe him if he turned. But if he were ever so willing, the teetotal party 'wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole.'"

That night, after they were through with the business part of their programme, a supper was held by them at the Bayton House. There were present Judge McGullett, Capt. McWriggler, Sheriff Bottlesby, Capt. Flannigan, John Sealy, Esq., Stanley Ginsling, and as many of the magistrates of the town and county as could be induced to come. All were jubilant that so many of the latter responded to their invitation; for they considered their presence indicated their sympathy with them. Rivers, in a private conversation that he managed to have with Sealy, said with a chuckle:

"We have them as good as beaten already, for we have here the principal part of the men before whom the cases must be tried."

"That's so," replied Sealy, "but we will have some hard fighting to do first."

The party broke up in the small hours of the morning. During the course of their night's debauch there was a great deal of speechifying, and the epithets fanatical, humbug, etc., were used ad infinitum. Over the state of nearly every one of the party it is well to cast the veil of oblivion. But what may be expected of a town or a county that has such men to administer justice and to hold its most responsible positions.



CHAPTER XXV.

THE FRIENDS OF TEMPERANCE REJOICING OVER THE VICTORY.

"I am certain, friends, from my knowledge of the places from which we have not yet received any returns, that our victory is assured; for I think we may depend upon those we have received as being correct, and those which are yet to be reported will help to swell the majority.

"We should be very thankful, as we are gaining a greater victory than what was anticipated by even the most sanguine of us. Our opponents seemed to have been paralysed, and were routed horse and foot.

"I am more thankful than I can find words to express that such is the case. When I remember the many who are miserable, degraded drunkards, without shame, and many of them without honor, who a few years ago were respectable citizens and worthy of our esteem and our confidence, but who have been thus degraded by the drink traffic; when I remember the number of those we once knew, and some of them amongst the most brilliant in intellect, the purest in morals, and the best loved of our citizens, who were cut off in their prime by this fell destroyer—who, if it had not been for alcohol, might have been with their friends—their hope, their joy, and their pride; when I think of the miserable, desolate homes—the brokenhearted wives—the wretched, starving little ones, whom rum has made so, then I thank God for this victory.

"I have no children of my own. God, in His mercy, has taken them 'one by one.' They are now where no destroyer can enter; but my friends and neighbours have children, and I see, with alarm, that some of them are being led to their ruin by those who frequent the rum-shops in our town; for their sakes I rejoice that this temptation is about to be removed.

"As I was on my way to this meeting to-night, I called upon one who was once a happy wife, but who now is a very wretched one, for her husband has been nearly ruined by this awful curse; one who, as those who know her best can testify, is a cultured lady, and her husband was once every way worthy of her, but he is now a poor, dilapidated wretch—a wreck, mentally, morally, and physically; and she is now prostrated upon what, in all probability, will be her death-bed, brought low by the hardship and mental anguish she has endured; for she and her children—and God never blessed a mother with better ones—have been reduced to abject poverty through rum. As I was leaving, she grasped my hand in both of her emaciated ones, and said, 'Oh, Mr. Gurney, may God give you the victory to-day! and if the prayers of a wretched wife and mother can affect the issue, He will. We are being brought to utter ruin, and if liquor is not kept from my husband we shall soon both be in our graves, and our children will be orphans in a cold, cold world. Oh! tell them that a worse than widowed wife, who is now very near the grave, but who was a happy wife and mother until the drink-curse blighted her hopes and destroyed her home, is now praying for the victory. May God bless you!'

"I am certain, friends," continued Mr. Gurney, "there are hundreds of such wives in our town and county, and thousands within the bounds of our fair Dominion who are praying for our success."

When Mr. Gurney, who was chairman of the temperance meeting, which was held in the Sons of Temperance Hall, in Bayton, on the evening of the polling day, sat down, there was a lady arose to address the meeting. When she stood up the audience was immediately hushed into silence. She had a beautifully modulated voice, full and round as the notes of a flute, over which she had perfect control, and that could be heard to the furthest corner of the room.

The speaker was Mrs. Holman, who has since been recognized as one of the most able prohibition speakers in Canada. Her first attempts at public speaking was when she addressed the Ladies' Temperance Association of the town of Bayton, of which she was president, and then she was inducted to talk to the Sunday-school children upon the same topic. Her friends were so much impressed with her ability as a speaker, they urged her to come out and publicly address meetings upon this subject. At first she could not be persuaded to do so; the ordeal was too severe, for she was naturally sensitive, and her refined mind shrank from appearing upon the platform, where she would be subjected to the taunts of rough and vulgar men. But finally her sense of duty overcame every restraining influence, and she came forward as the eloquent pleader for the wretched drunkards and their wives and mothers, and their poor, helpless children, the last mentioned of whom, as she eloquently expressed it, were subjected to unmentionable and almost unimagined indignities, and had to suffer untold, misery through the curse of intoxicating liquor.

She, upon the occasion to which we refer, said:—"Friends, we have gained a great victory to-day. There has been in this struggle, arrayed upon opposite sides, light against darkness, philanthropy against, selfishness, virtue against vice, heaven against hell; and I do thank God for the help He has given us. The prayers of the vast majority of the great and good in our land, of the poor, suffering and wretched wives and mothers, have been ascending like an incense of a sweet-smelling savor in our behalf to-day; from many a sad heart whose life has been made wretched and whose home has been made desolate, has gone up the prayer, 'God help the Temperance Cause.' These prayers have been answered." And she added, looking upward: "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name give glory for Thy mercy." Her face shone with a seraphic glow, as she thus offered the glory and praise unto Him to whom all glory belongeth; and she seemed, like one of old, to be holding intercourse with God. The impression that these words, with their concomitant action, had upon the meeting was indescribable.

"But," she added, "something whispers to me that the hardest part of our fighting is yet before us. Our victory has been secured in a manner so easy that I think they intend to make the greatest resistance now when we imagine we have nothing to do but enjoy its triumph. I have been informed they intend to fight the Act in every possible manner, and, as they are inspired by their selfishness, you may rest assured they will not be very particular as to the means employed to accomplish their end. I have reasons for believing that the greater part of the hotels, and groggeries in this county will not only be kept open to sell, in defiance of the law, but also to give rum away, when they can in no other manner accomplish their diabolical purpose of making men drunk. This town and county is to be made a perfect saturnalia of drunkenness, and the Licensed Victimizers—I cannot call them by any other name—promise to pay all the cost, though it should amount to a hundred thousand dollars. Friends! What care they for the misery and crime this cruel, heartless course will entail upon this country? They are utterly regardless of the men who are now pure, who may be degraded and wrecked, both in soul and body, and sent to drunkards' graves and a drunkard's eternity. They think not of the poor wives who will be beaten and bruised, and it may be murdered, by husbands who have become besotted and brutalized by drink; nor of the poor, innocent little children who will be neglected and have to endure barbarity and hunger because of this course. Their traffic has entirely hardened their hearts; they care not who suffer so they prosper. God will require a fearful reckoning from them some day.

"Now, friends, it is for us to do our duty—to work, to sacrifice, to suffer, and, having done all, to stand. Let us each and every one resolve that now we have carried this Act, that when the time comes for it to become law it must and shall be respected; and that those who violate it with impunity shall be punished.

"I congratulate the men and women who have prayed and worked in the good cause for the success which has crowned our efforts. Let us be firm to our purpose, and let nothing daunt us or keep us from performing our duty, and God will uphold and bless the right."

When Mrs. Holman sat down there was loud applause, and many were the vows audibly registered that, God helping them, they would be true.

Just then an old lady, with hair of snowy whiteness and a face which, though beautiful with the goodness and benevolence which it expressed, was marked and seamed with care, arose. Her trembling limbs had scarcely strength to sustain her body, emaciated though it was with care and suffering. She attempted two or three times to speak, but not a word escaped from her quivering lips; and the tears gushing from her eyes followed each other in quick succession down her cheeks; and, finally, her pent-up feelings found expression in short, convulsive sobs. Her inability to speak because of her emotion had a greater power to move the meeting than the most fervid eloquence could have had. Soon there was scarcely a dry eye in the room, and many were sobbing in sympathy with her inexpressible woe. Her voice was finally heard, and though low and quavering, the sweetly modulated tones indicated a cultivated mind and loving nature:

"I thank my heavenly Father," she murmured, "for this day's victory. He only knows what I have suffered; Rum has blighted and ruined my fondest anticipations. It has changed a life radiant with joy into blackest desolation. It robbed me of peace in my young womanhood. It made my middle age one terrible struggle with poverty and despair, and has left me in my old age—bereft of all my natural supports—like an aged tree in a desert; withered and alone.

"I had a husband, and God and my own heart know how pure and true he was. It first robbed him of his manhood and his purity, and then murdered him. No tongue can depict, no mind can imagine, the torture, the agony I suffered during the years that he was sinking deeper, deeper into the unholy abyss; nor my utter despair when they brought him home to me dead, slain by rum, and I was left with my helpless little ones to struggle on alone. And now my only son, for whom I toiled, and wept, and prayed, and who was—as many of you know—worthy of a mother's love, is a wretched drunkard. Oh! I pray that this victory may be the means of his salvation, that my grey hairs may not go down in sorrow to the grave."

When she took her seat there was not a person in the room but was visibly affected.

Several others made good speeches, but one of the most telling of the evening was made by the Rev. J. H. Mason. He, though a young man, had won for himself an enviable reputation as a brilliant preacher and humble Christian worker. In fact, he had manifested, by what he had accomplished and by the hold he had gained of his people's affections, that he was eminently qualified for the position he occupied.

He was now pastor of the most influential church in Bayton, and had thrown himself, heart and soul, into the campaign which was now ended. He said he had borne calumny and insult in the cause, and expected he would still have to endure it; but, God helping him, he would, in the future as in the past, do his duty, and had no doubt but every one who had worked for the end now accomplished would do the same.

They were about to close the meeting when a man arose and asked permission to read a communication from the Globe. Permission was given, and he read amid the profoundest silence, the following:

"A BAYTON MAN KILLED ON THE RAILWAY TRACK! THE LAST OF A WILFUL SON.

"The engineer of the morning train from Belleville thought he noticed something upon the track, shortly after leaving the city. He whistled down brakes, and the train was stopped. Upon going back the horrible discovery was made of the dead body of a man, with both legs cut off just above the knee.

"The body was lying on the south side of the track, face downward, and the remnants of his legs on the inside between the rails. Upon his head was a wound which may have rendered him senseless at the moment of the fatal occurrence. The man was well dressed and appeared to be respectable. It is supposed he fell from the train which had immediately preceded the one by which he was found. The coroner was sent for and, upon searching the dead man's pockets, nothing was found but a letter, enclosed in a mourning envelope, and addressed to Willie Fleming, Bayton. The letter reads as follows, and founds the only clue to his person and character:

"BAYTON, June 20th, 187—.

"MY DEAR SON WILLIE,—"I received your letter last week, after I had almost given up hope of hearing from you again. My son, remember that 'hope deferred maketh the heart sick.' Please do not cause your poor old mother again to suffer such pain and anguish.

"My darling boy, you have had another warning not to indulge in strong drink. I would to God, my son, you would take it. Your course is cruel, and is slowly but surely killing me. God forgive the man who first led you astray, and the men, some of them in high position in this town, who have helped on the work.

"Oh! my son, I long to see you, and my daily prayer to our heavenly Father is that you may become—as you once were—pure and good. I hope you are now steady and giving good satisfaction to your employers. No more at present from your heart-broken MOTHER.

"P.S.—Write as soon as you receive this, and it will save me a great deal of mental anguish. M. F."

When the man had finished reading, he said: "Most of you know that that communication brings me the news of the awful end of my only brother. I am on my way to break it, as gently as possible, to my mother, but I could not resist the impulse—even in this hour of awful woe—to come in and read it to you all, that you might be influenced to greater zeal and nobler sacrifices in the temperance cause. You know how bright his prospects were a short time ago, but he has been murdered in his prime by whiskey, and I have no hesitancy in saying that the man who was the chief instrument in his destruction is a hotel-keeper in this town who is the strongest opponent of this prohibition movement.

"Oh, friends! be true to your principles, that many may be saved from a similar fate; and pray to God for my poor old mother, for I am afraid this will break her heart."

"I have one request to make," said the Rev. Mr. Mason, "before this meeting breaks up: Let every person in this room who has heard that communication read, which comes laden with anguish to a broken-hearted mother, and sorrow to such a large circle of relatives and friends, now enter a solemn vow before high heaven, to do all they can to banish this our curse from this town and country. All that will thus promise, please stand upon your feet."

In an instant every person stood up.

"My friends," said Mr. Mason, "remember your vow; and remember, this sad case is only one of many thousands. Oh! what millions of lives have been and are still being blighted! What hearts are being blasted and broken by this fearful traffic! May God give us all power to resist temptation, and throw all our soul into our endeavors in this cause. Let us now sing, as we never sang before,

"'Praise God, from whom all blessings flow.'"

After singing, the benediction was pronounced and the meeting broke up.



CHAPTER XXVI.

IN WHICH THE READER LISTENS TO A TETE-A-TETE BETWEEN MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

A mother and daughter were conversing on what would appear, from their earnestness, to be a very important subject, in a cosy drawing-room of a beautiful brick villa, situated in the suburbs of Bayton. Their surroundings would lead the careful observer to the conclusion that they were in easy if not affluent circumstances. Though the effect of the room's furnishing would cause one to be possessed with the idea that there was more wealth than refinement;— there was too much coloring, too much gauze and glitter, to be reconciled with any considerable degree of aesthetic taste or true culture.

The elder of the two was dressed in a manner that would better become a miss of twenty than a matron who was on the shady side of fifty; and the young lady, though not displaying the ingrained vulgarity of the mother, was not costumed with that simple elegance that would indicate a refined taste.

They were the wife and daughter of John Sealy, Esq., whom we have already introduced to our fit readers.

"I don't think, Luella," said the mother, "you should hesitate for a moment in deciding between Bill Barton and Mr. Ginsling."

"Neither do I, mother; but while I would prefer the former, I should judge, from your accent on the 'Bill,' your preference would be given to the latter."

"It certainly would, Luella; for what has Barton to offer a young lady of your wealth? He has neither looks, nor money, nor position. I think he had a great deal of assurance to come to see you, in the first place. He knows my opinion in regard to the matter; and, if I am not mistaken, thinks about as much of me as I do of him, and that is not saying a great deal."

"What has Ginsling to offer, mother, besides his bloated face and aristocratic airs? And then he looks nearly as old as pa."

"He is a gentleman, Luella, and is from one of the most aristocratic houses in England." Mrs. Sealy particularly emphasized the fact of his being of an old family; for, like all artificial and vulgar natures, she would have made any sacrifices to be related in any way to those whom she endeavored, though ineffectually, to copy. "As to age, Luella," she continued, "though he may be a few years older, that does not signify. I prefer to see a husband a few years older than his wife. Your father is ten years older than I am, and yet, I am sure, the difference is not particularly noticeable, though I do not think time has been particularly severe upon me." And the lady viewed her rather good-looking face in the glass, and, from the complacent look that swept over it, one would be led to believe the answer to her interrogation was to her eminently satisfactory.

"Mother, all I have to say is, I love William Barton, while I cannot help loathing Ginsling. You say the former has neither money, nor position, nor beauty; though in regard to the latter assertion, it will be sufficient for me to say we differ. But if he has neither of these he has brains, and manhood, and purity."

"I don't see anything particularly smart about him, Luella; and in regard to purity he is, I suppose, on a level with, the average young man about town."

"Now, ma, it is not fair to speak of him in that manner; for I am sure you know of nothing but what's to his credit, and if Ginsling is what you term a gentleman by birth, he certainly is not one by instinct; though no one can truthfully make such an assertion in regard to William Barton."

"As you just remarked, Luella, there may be difference of opinion as to which is by nature the greater gentleman, but, as I said before, I can't conceive how he had the audacity to come to see you, in the first place."

"I guess he wouldn't have come if he had not received some encouragement; and I am sure, ma, he is not only my equal but my superior in every respect."

"You don't mean to say, Luella Sealy," said the mother, with what seemed at least indignation, "that you were so unmaidenly as to make the first advances to this young man. If I thought you were capable of doing such a thing I should be ashamed of you. It would be bad enough if he were your equal, and a gentleman, but when he is a mere bank clerk and a person of no position, how you could descend to do so is beyond my comprehension."

"Mother," said the daughter, while a quizzical smile lit up her face, "when pa came to see you did you not encourage him, or in some manner give him to understand that his visits were not altogether distasteful to you? From what I have heard pa say, I should rather think you did. Now, ma, I rather liked William Barton; and while I did not tell him so, he seemed in some manner or other to find out my secret, and I have not tried to deceive him."

"But, Luella," said her mother,—not replying to her daughter's mischievous reference to her days of romance and love, for, like many other ambitious, scheming mothers, if she ever had such a foolish emotion as love, she had forgotten it, or else she had been led to believe it was all Moonshine; and if a girl only married wealth and position, she thought love would come,—"what is the use of acting so foolishly? If you marry William Barton you will have to leave the set with which you are now associating, and if you degrade yourself by a mesalliance you will drag us down with you."

"You had better wait, mother, until he asks me to marry him."

"No! I want to talk it over now, and then you will be prepared to act like a sensible girl. If Barton wishes to marry you it is because you have money, and he will bring you nothing in exchange but degradation. How the McWrigglers will sneer if such a thing happens! They schemed and plotted until they got Captain Merton to marry that baby-faced Elaine; and because he is an officer in the English army and the youngest son of a gentleman, they have been putting on airs ever since; and they are now so stuck-up there is scarcely any living for them."

"I am sure, ma, they are welcome to him, for I hear he does not use her very kindly when he is in liquor, which is most of the time."

"Oh! I guess that is like a great deal of what people say— scandal. I am certain since that alliance they have moved in society into which they could not gain entrance before. Now, if you marry Stanley Ginsling, as he is first cousin to Lord Fitzjinkins, we will have the entree to society to which they dare not aspire; and then the airs of superiority can be on our side, not theirs."

"So, ma, you would have me marry a sot, who is twice my age, and whom I detest, in order that you may have a paltry advantage over one who, when she calls, you kiss and use the most endearing epithets in your vocabulary, in order to express your friendship for her. To tell you the truth, I don't see much in what you call 'our set,' to encourage me to sacrifice myself in order to remain in it. When you meet you are all honey, smiles, and kisses, and you profess to be the dearest of friends; and yet you are constantly endeavoring to gain some petty triumph at each other's expense, and then to relate it in such a manner as to cut and cause envy and jealousy. 'Our set,' ma, is too superficial and spiteful for me to wish to remain in it."

"Your remarks, Luella, are the reverse of complimentary; but I am not going to be angry. If you don't like the set you are in get above it. If you only become the wife of one who, some day, will become the Hon. Stanley Ginsling, you will be lifted out of anything of that kind."

"You mean dragged beneath it, ma. It would be a nice thing to be a drunkard's wife."

"O there is no fear of that. The majority of men drink before they are married. All they want is a good wife, and then they settle down; and as to that, I have been told that Barton drinks. So there is as, much danger with one as the other. You had better be sensible, dear, for your father will feel like disowning you if you marry Barton, and he has set his heart upon a match between you and Mr. Ginsling."

"Mother, I don't believe William Barton drinks; and it is wrong to repeat as fact what is nothing but malicious scandal. I also think it is very unkind of you to threaten me, and thus try and force me to marry one I despise. Surely, since I will have to live with the man I marry, I should have some choice in the matter."

After she thus spoke she abruptly left the room in a passion of tears.

The mother did not introduce the subject again, but it was constantly in her mind, and she knew Luella would not forget it. She understood her daughter's weak points, and had no doubt if she persevered she would gain her end. In fact, though Luella Sealy was in every respect, except in narrow strength, her mother's superior, yet her intellectual and moral nature was not all golden—there were some parts of baser metal, and even of clay, in her composition. As the reader will conclude from her conversation with her mother, she possessed more than ordinary intelligence, which was subdued and chastened by the emotions of a warm, loving heart; and if uninfluenced she would have proved true to a friend, even though it caused her self-sacrifice and suffering. But yet she was not of the stuff of which martyrs are made, for she was weak, being easily persuaded, and withal a little selfish; and though she would endure a great deal for friendship's sake, yet when the opposing forces came on thick and fast, and persevered in their effort—when that opposition came which would have caused a stronger nature to be all the more real—she would yield to the opposing forces and desert the one who trusted her, leaving him to endure scorn and contumely alone.

She had met William Barton at a party, and, being introduced by a mutual friend, was fascinated by his manly bearing and intelligent, racy conversation. And he, as his blood tingled at coy cupid's whisperings, soliloquized: "She is the most intelligent and charming girl I ever saw." They met several times at parties during the winter, and he became marked in his attentions, which she did not discourage. And soon—at least on his part—the friendship ripened into genuine love; and she, as the sequel will show, though for a time carried down by the force of an opposing current, really entertained for him an undying affection.

William Barton was the son of respectable parents who resided in Bayton. They were comparatively poor, but managed to give their son a good business education. He had entered as a junior clerk in one of the banks of the town, and, by strict attention to business and a natural adaptation to the profession chosen, had risen to a position of considerable responsibility.

He was a young man of more than average ability, not strictly handsome, but possessed a good figure and pleasant, intelligent countenance, though the lower portion of the face was disappointing, for it did not denote decision of character or massive strength. And the face was an index of the man, for he was so intelligent, kindly and gentle in his manner, that he was a favorite in society; but he was volatile, and easily influenced for good or evil.

As he was moving in the best society of the town when he met Miss Sealy, her father and mother did not, at first, object to his keeping company with their daughter, though his attentions were very marked indeed. But when Stanley Ginsling appeared upon the scene, and they learned he was the scion of an old and aristocratic family—a near kin to a live lord—their vain, selfish, and artificial minds became excited, and they determined, if possible, to have the latter allied with the house of Sealy, then they turned against Barton.

From this time Mrs. Sealy especially gave the latter to understand his visits were simply tolerated, and Mr. Sealy took no pains to conceal the fact that something had transpired to change his views in regard to him.

Barton went one evening determined, if possible, to discover the cause of their coldness. He was received by Luella with her usual cordiality, but by her mother with marked discourtesy bordering on rudeness. He was scarcely seated when Mr. Sealy came in, accompanied by Stanley Ginsling; and as Mrs. Sealy received the latter with special attention, which, was all the more noticeable because of her icy reserve in Barton's case, the latter thought he understood the situation.

"Can it be possible," he soliloquized, "they are anxious to get rid of me that the coast may be clear for that drunken loafer?" The thought at first could be scarcely entertained, it seemed so monstrous; but before he left he had substantial reasons for believing that Mr. and Mrs. Sealy were actually scheming to make a match between Ginsling and Luella.

Barton and Luella were both sitting on the sofa, when Mr. Sealy and Stanley Ginsling came in, much to Mrs. Sealy's disgust, and she managed to separate them several times during the evening by resorting to the manoeuvres which never fail an accomplished female tactician; but as her daughter invariably returned to her seat near Barton, she was determined to make a final effort that should not fail.

"Luella," she said, "will you kindly favor us with a little music? Give us that duet Mr. Ginsling and you rendered the other evening. You have a magnificent bass voice, sir," she said to Mr. Ginsling, in her most dulcet tones; "will you not kindly assist Miss Sealy?"

"Your will is my pleasure," Ginsling replied, "though I would rather sit and listen while Miss Sealy gives us a number of her varied and delightful selections. The last time I was here I thought her playing was exquisite."

"Mr. Barton will excuse you," said Mrs. Sealy, after a significant pause, and her tone conveyed the idea that the remark was merely a cold conventionalism.

"Certainly," he replied.

Luella reluctantly left her seat on the sofa and took her position at the piano. The mother had certainly manifested the astuteness of an accomplished artist, for she had not only separated her daughter and Barton, but by her manner wounded his sensitive nature, and had also given Mr. Ginsling to understand that, if he wished to pay his addresses to Miss Sealy, his doing so would be eminently satisfactory to her parents.

Barton's position, after what had occurred, was an unenviable one, for he was placed in the cruel dilemma of either remaining in a home where his presence was not agreeable to the host and hostess, or abruptly leaving without having an understanding with the one he so dearly loved. He chose the latter alternative, and burning with indignation, but with cool exterior, he took advantage of the pause which ensued after Miss Sealy and Ginsling had finished their duet, and politely took his leave. Luella, though she knew it was contrary to her mother's wishes, accompanied him to the door and bade him an affectionate goodbye.

These events transpired on the day previous to that on which the mother and daughter engaged in the conversation which is related in the commencement of this chapter.



CHAPTER XXVII.

BARTON'S DESPAIR, AND WHAT IT LED TO.

It would be impossible to give an analysis of William Barton's feelings as he walked rapidly away from the Sealy residence upon the night in question.

In the evening he had gone to the home of one whom he had looked upon as his betrothed bride, with calm confidence. True, he had not as yet asked her to be his wife, though he had vowed again and again he would do so; and had determined that very evening he would get her to give the pledge that should bind them for ever. He had no misgivings as to her answer. He had, however, lately been somewhat pained by Mrs. Sealy's not receiving him with the cordiality that she once did; but he had not thought there would be serious opposition to his suit. He argued: "Luella certainly loves me, and will be as true as the needle to the pole, and her mother will give way when she is convinced that if she does not she will be sacrificing her daughter's happiness." But when he left, this calm assurance had been succeeded by positive fear; his joy by agonizing doubt; and dread and disgust, jealousy and fierce hatred, reigned supreme in his soul.

"To think" he soliloquized, "they would bring her down to the level of that disgusting brute; that they should actually scheme to entrap him as a husband for Luella, while they have driven me away from their home by slights so little concealed that I would be a fool if I did not take them; and I have either to give her up or else become the rival of that degraded being. I will never do it. I will see Luella, and tell her she must decide at once between us, and take a decisive stand in the matter. I saw a sneer upon the licentious mouth and a leer in the bloodshot eye of the reptile as he saw me treated so cavalierly. If I had him here for about five minutes I would settle this matter with him. And then I thought Luella's parting was not as warm as usual. Was it my jealous fears, or has she really been influenced? Her failing is that she is too easily persuaded; and if her father and mother are very strong in their opposition to me, may she not yield? Oh, this would be the crowning sorrow of all! How could I bear up under it? How can a mother become so forgetful of her own bright youth as to sacrifice a pure, lovely daughter on the altar of brutal lust, in order to satisfy a shallow and selfish vanity?"

William Barton's estimation of the woman whose daughter he passionately loved, was anything but flattering to her. He did not attach the same blame to Mr. Sealy, because he believed the latter had been influenced by his wife, and in this he was correct; for Mr. Sealy had no ambitious designs when he first introduced Stanley Ginsling to his home; but after his wife had unfolded her plans to him, he approved of them. What had considerable influence with him was the fact that he had learned, through Ginsling's lawyer, that the former had inherited a considerable fortune by the death of a maiden aunt, and, therefore, was not only a gentleman by birth, but would have the wealth to maintain a style essential to that dignity. Neither of the worthy pair ever considered for a moment the pain it would cause the young man whom they had received, at least without disapproval, and had, by so doing, to a certain extent encouraged. Nor did they even for a moment consider that their daughter might also be involved in that suffering. They only thought of working out their own selfish schemes, as thousands of other selfish parents have done, and no doubt are still doing. Mr. Sealy at first had some misgivings, as he well knew Ginsling was, as he put it, "addicted to drink." "I know," he said, "he is far from being perfect, yet he is much the same as society men in general, and I am not a model of propriety myself. No doubt but a few years will tone him down and make him a model husband."

Barton walked rapidly on, he scarcely knew or cared whither. The excited state of his mind seemed to propel him to celerity of flight. This quickness of movement acted as a safety-valve, and let off some of the pressure.

He came at last to a small hotel on the opposite side of the town from whence he started. It was situated in a cosy little bower in the outskirts, and was called "The Retreat." And rumor had it that many of the so-called gentlemen of Bayton were wont to resort thither to get on a genteel debauch, and to engage in the innocent diversions of euchre, poker, and whist, and it was said a great deal of money changed hands here on certain occasions.