Porter and his son-in-law celebrated the wedding by getting gloriously drunk. This caused the young bride intense pain; for though she had been long accustomed to such scenes, it came closer to her when her own husband was involved.

John, jun., did not go near his father's residence, nor indeed take any steps towards reconciliation, for, he said, "the old man will come around all right after awhile." He, for the time being, kept bar for Joe Porter, and was one of his most bibulous, though not one of his most profitable, customers. In fact, he was generally intoxicated each day by noon, and before night was stupidly drunk.

His father, who really thought as much of his boy as it was possible for a man with such a nature as his to think of any one, heard he was going rapidly to destruction, and felt some effort must be made to save him. He had a conversation with his wife in regard to the matter, and though she declared she would never forgive her son for marrying into such a low family, as she knew it would subject her to the cynical and sneering remarks of some of the set with whom she associated, yet she concluded it was better to make the best of the matter, and not, by a course of coldness, drive him utterly to destruction; so she agreed with her husband when he said he thought he had better go and see him, and, if possible, wean him from his present debauch.

Mr. Sealy owned a farm of two hundred acres, which was situated on the shores of the bay, about two miles east of Bayton. It had been the old homestead, and he had always intended to will it to his son; but since the memorable interview, when the latter had spoken so defiantly, and then followed up his words by forming the alliance against which his father had warned him, Mr. Sealy, in his anger, determined to carry out his threat, and cut his son off without a cent. But when he found he was likely, if left much longer with his present surroundings, to degenerate into a dissipated loafer, he relented, and now determined to offer it to him if he would settle there immediately.

The fact was, that now the evil effects of drink was brought home to him, and his only son was one of its victims, he suffered very keenly indeed, and was willing to humiliate himself and make considerable sacrifice to save him.

With this end in view, he went to Porter's quite early one morning, for he was almost certain he would have to be there before his son had an opportunity to indulge to any extent, if he expected to find him sober.

When he arrived at the groggery Old Joe had just opened up, and was taking his morning drink, which his trembling hand indicated he sadly needed.

"Good morning, Joe," he said.

"Morning," replied Joe, gruffly, in answer to the salutation.

"Where is John, Mr. Porter?" This question was asked in Mr. Sealy's blandest tones, for he was sufficiently acquainted with human nature to perceive nothing would be gained by being cross.

"He hasn't come down yet."

"Will you kindly tell him I would like to see him?"

"Yes, I will. But won't you have a glass of something to drink as an appetizer? You must have been up early."

As Porter spoke he handed down a black bottle labelled "Old Rye Whiskey."

"I don't care if I do take a smile," Sealy replied. And taking the bottle from Porter's hand he poured a tumbler half full, and drank it down as if it were so much water.

"I will now run up-stairs and see if John has tumbled out yet," said Porter; and suiting the action to the word, his bloated face and burly form disappeared through the door.

In a few moments John, jun., appeared, his face bearing palpable traces of his last night's debauch.

I will not enter into a lengthy narrative of the interview between father and son; suffice to say that everything was amicably arranged, and in less than a month from the date of the interview, John, jun., and his wife were settled in the old Sealy homestead.

For awhile Mrs. Sealy was cold and distant, but finally she became reconciled, and frequently visited them with her daughter, who from the first had treated her brother's wife with kindness, having found her an amiable and well-disposed little thing, who would have made some man a good wife. But she was not composed of stern enough stuff to have influence upon her husband.

John, jun., certainly did not indulge in drink, after his removal from his father-in-law's, to the same extent as he had previously done, but yet he had got to be such a victim to the habit as now to become intoxicated at every favorable opportunity, which not only caused his wife excruciating pain, but was also the source of annoyance and sorrow to his parents and sister. But though Mr. Sealy was sorely troubled by his son's conduct, and was led to realize, at least to some extent, the worry and shame that is associated with having a near relative an habitual drunkard, strange to say it did not seem to change his views in the least in regard to the drink traffic, for he still remained as stern, and uncompromising an opponent of teetotalism as ever.

It was about a month after John, jun., and his wife had commenced housekeeping that Miss Sealy came to spend a week or two with them. She, in fact, thought she might have a restraining influence upon him, as he had genuine affection for her, whom he had always found to be an affectionate sister and true friend.

While she was there, Stanley Ginsling, who, without loving, she had been coaxed and badgered into recognizing as her affianced husband, came to see her.

John, jun., had, previous to this time, frequently met him since the day when, conversing with his mother, he had employed such stinging epithets to express his opinion of him, but had now changed his mind. In fact, he now thought he was rather a good fellow, and had promised to use his influence to overcome his sister's evident aversion.

Ginsling brought with him a flask of brandy. It was the same flask that he used when tempting Richard Ashton at Charlotte, and he and John, jun. indulged so freely of its contents as soon to be considerably under its influence. Miss Sealy perceived the state they were in, and blaming the former for leading her brother to thus debase himself, gave him to understand his presence was extremely distasteful to her, and that he might consider their engagement broken off; for, no matter what influence might be brought to bear, she had made up her mind, after what had just transpired, she would never marry him.

Her brother, in his drunken foolishness, had gone in to remonstrate with her; but now, thoroughly aroused, she had requested him, in indignant terms, to mind his own business. "It is bad enough," she said, "to be disgraced by a drunken brother, without running with eyes open into greater misery and degradation. I told him our engagement was broken, and I meant it."

John, jun.'s wife also rebelled. She had borne a great deal with patience; but when Luella came in weeping bitterly, the former rated her husband soundly, and told him, "If there was not a change for the better she would leave him." The two women had then retired to the parlor, and the two men went out into the kitchen to smoke.

"I don't see what is the matter with Lou," said Ginsling; "she is as cross as a badger. She gave me my walking-ticket, and told me not to return again. I wonder if she has seen Barton lately?"

"I don't think so. I know he has not been permitted to go to the old man's; though I heard dad say he has been seen several times hanging around there, but he never goes near except he is drunk, which now is pretty nearly all the time. I suppose you heard he had lost his position in the bank?"

"Yes, I heard. The fact is, I told Smith, the manager, I was surprised he had not turned him off long ago."

"I tell you what it is, Ginsling, he was pretty badly gone on Lou, and I believe she liked the beggar. But I never took any stock in him; and if I were the old man, and he came hanging round, I'd shoot him like a dog."

"And so he should. I know, for my part, I would not be annoyed by the drunken nuisance. I only want a good opportunity to pay a debt I owe him, and then he shall have it with compound interest."

Ginsling was quite under the influence of liquor when he made the remark in regard to Barton, and the one to whom he was talking was far from sober. They could both see the mote in Barton's eye, but failed to remove the beams from their own.

When Ginsling spoke of owing Barton a debt, he referred to an incident which had occurred some time before. He had been one evening in "The Retreat," which, my readers will remember, was kept by Ben Tims; and while he was there William Barton had come in, just enough intoxicated to be reckless, and Ginsling himself was far from sober. The latter said something which the former eagerly construed into an insult, and to which he replied by knocking him down. Tims had then interfered, and led Barton into another room, leaving Ginsling to stagger to his feet as best he could. The latter, after picking himself up, went to the wash-room and staunched the blood flowing from his nose, which Barton's blow had made more bulbous than usual, washed all traces from his face, and then left; but before he did so, he vowed he would be even with him yet.

"You had better look out, Barton," said Tims; "that rascal will have his revenge if you give him any chance, and I believe he is as treacherous as he is cowardly. I'm glad you hit him though, only I'd rather it hadn't happened in my place."

"He gave me an opportunity I was waiting for," replied Barton, now seemingly almost sober. "I'll risk all the harm he is likely to do me."

Tims knew very well how it was with the poor fellow, but he had too much good taste to refer to it.

It was of this bar-room squabble Ginsling spake when he said he "owed him a debt which he was determined to pay back to him with interest."

John, jun., who was cognizant of the facts, remarked, "If he were in his (Ginsling's) place, he'd be even with him yet."

"I can't help but suspect that he has seen Lou lately, and I am half inclined to think she likes him yet; if she didn't, she would not have used me as she has done to-night."

"She may have," said John, jun.; "but the reason she was so huffy to-night was because you were drunk. But who's that?" he suddenly exclaimed—"I believe it is Barton!"

As he spoke, he drew back his chair from the window, and gliding therefrom, stealthily crept to where he could observe all Barton's movements, but where the latter could not possibly see him. Ginsling also arose as stealthily as possible, and glided behind John, jun. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and they could see almost as plainly as if it were day.

"Yes; it is Barton!" whispered Ginsling; "and I believe he is drunk."

"I wonder what the idiot is going to do?" questioned John, jun.; "here he comes towards the house."

"Let him come," said Ginsling; "I guess we will be ready for him."

Barton staggered towards the veranda—which extended around three sides of the house—and after one or two attempts to step up on to it, was at last successful; then, muttering to himself, he came towards the window, where the two men were observing him.

"Hush!" said Ginsling, "he seems to be having an interesting soliloquy, and possibly we may hear what he says."

In the dead stillness of the night Barton's low mutterings could be heard distinctly:

"I am bound to see Luella," he said; "I know she loves me, for she has told me so a hundred times, and she is too pure and good to lie. I saw her coming here this morning, and I am determined to see her and hear my fate from her own lips. Oh, Luella! I am sure you love me, and if you will promise to be mine I will swear never again to let a drop of liquor pass my lips."

He looked ghastly in the moonlight, his pale face with its background of jet black hair hanging in tangled masses down upon his shoulders giving him a weird appearance. He became fiercer in his gesticulations as he continued his strange, wild soliloquy.

"I must know to-night from her own lips or I shall go mad."

"He's that already," whispered Ginsling. "Mad as a March hare."

"There will be no sordid father and mother to interfere with us here! They want to sell you to that craven-hearted sot, Ginsling; but he shall never have you, for before that shall happen I will strangle him, even if I have to hang for it."

As he thus spoke he advanced closer to the window. But he suddenly clasped his hand over his heart and exclaimed: "Oh, Luella, I'm shot!" and the same instant, the report of a pistol sounded sharp and clear on the still night air.

The shot was fired by Ginsling, who, maddened by the epithets Barton had applied to him, had drawn a pistol, and, before John, jun., could interfere, had fired through the window straight at his advancing, antagonist.

"Oh! you have done for him, Ginsling," said his companion, "and we will both be arrested for murder."

"But you can swear," replied Ginsling, "that he threatened to murder me, and was advancing to break through the window."

Just then the front door opened, and Luella Sealy ran around the house on the veranda to the spot where William Barton had fallen; for, after receiving the shot, he sank gradually to the ground. When she reached the spot her frantic screams sounded through the house, and echoed and re-echoed over the quiet bay.

"Oh, William! my darling," she exclaimed, "has he murdered you?"

As she thus spoke she sat down upon the floor of the veranda, and lifting his head into her lap kissed him, her fair hair hanging in dishevelled masses as she did so.

Barton, however, was too far gone to respond by word, but Luella could see by the light of the moon, that cast its flickering rays on the scene, a look of joy for a moment illumine his eye and then pass away forever: for William Barton was dead.

Luella Sealy was taken to her room that night a raving maniac. The sight of any member of her family made her furious; and she accused them in the fiercest tones of murdering her darling William. After awhile she became more calm, seeming to be quietly slumbering, and, under the circumstances, they thought it would be safe to leave her for a short time. Her father, acting upon this idea, left her alone for a few moments while he went to call his daughter-in-law to come and remain with her; but when he returned to her room she was gone. In a moment all was excitement, and every part of the house was searched, but she could not be found. As, however, they ran round the varanda they found her under the window, on the spot where William Barton had been murdered, lying cold and dead, with a ghastly gash in her neck, and her white garments dyed red with her life-blood. A razor, the instrument with which she had accomplished her self-destruction, was clutched, with the grip of death, in her red right hand.

Ginsling was tried for the murder of Barton; but as John, jun., swore the latter was about to enter the house to attack him, and, therefore, the shot was fired in self-defense, he got off with a short imprisonment. But after leaving the jail he found that it would be neither agreeable nor safe for him to reside longer in Bayton, as almost all of the inhabitants shunned him, and the friends of Barton vowed vengeance against him. He accordingly left to reside in the town of M——. He did not live long after leaving Bayton. He went down to the quay one night, when he was, as usual, so intoxicated as to have a very unsteady gait. Unheeding the warnings of a companion he would venture too near the edge; a sudden gust of wind came, he was carried off his equilibrium and fell into the lake. His companion did all he could to save him, but as there was a storm raging at the time, his efforts were unavailing. He said Ginsling's bloated face appeared for a moment in the hollow of the waves, and with an agonizing tone he cried to God to save him; then a huge wave, more mighty than its fellows, engulfed him, and he sank in life to rise no more. A few days after his corpse was found floating upon the water. "Accidentally drowned" was the verdict at the inquest, and he was buried in a nameless grave, with no loved one or friend to drop a tear on his last resting-place.

Mr. and Mrs. Sealy were completely prostrated by what had transpired, and retired from active life to hide their sorrows from the world; they are, I believe, so living at the present time.

John, jun., soon vacated the house by the bay, some of the more ignorant saying he did so because it was haunted by the ghosts of William Barton and Luella Sealy. The house is now standing idle, and is known to the children of the neighborhood as the "haunted house," and many say that, in the night, two white figures are seen walking on the verandah, and that frequently the stillness is broken by the sound of a pistol, and the agonizing shrieks of a woman in the anguish of a terrible fear.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

SOME OF THE CHARACTERS WHO HELPED THE REPEAL—A HOODLUM'S VICTORY.

We have only given the reader one or two of the more prominent of the tragic events which transpired after the passing of the Dunkin Act, but a volume of ten thousand pages would fail to tell of the suffering that was endured in hundreds of homes, by wives and mothers and little helpless children; or how far the wave of evil extended that was set in motion by the antis.

When six months had passed they thought it would be a good time to strike, as they were certain a majority of the voters were not satisfied with the working of the bill. There had been a great number of trials similar in character to the one we have already noticed; and though, in numerous instances, those who were notorious for their open and flagrant violation of the law escaped, because of the questionable evidence given by themselves and the wretched creatures who had been subpoened as witnesses, yet a great many were convicted and fined. They then carried out their pre-concerted scheme—appealed to the court over which Judge McGullet presided, and he postponed, from time to time, his decision. While the cases were thus remaining sub judicia, the hotel-keepers were selling and giving away liquor, thus making as many drunk as possible, and blaming the Act for the result. This, of course, produced the effect they desired upon the great mass of the unthoughtful, who began condemning it as a failure, and clamoring for its repeal.

The judge now gave, as his decision, that in his opinion the law was ultra vires, which, of course, postponed the punishment of the culprits until a higher court should settle the point at issue.

The liquor party were now jubilant, and the judge was toasted by them as a "brick," as his "just decision enabled them to laugh at the fanatics:" and as they now sold liquor with impunity, even a great many of the pretended friends of temperance began to lose heart, not possessing sufficient mental acumen to look back of the effect to the cause which had produced it.

A special meeting of the Bayton Branch of the association was convened at the Bayton House, and a great many of the members of that—in a Picwickian sense—honorable fraternity and their friends were present. But there were two who had formerly taken a very active part in its deliberations, who were now conspicuous by their absence: these were John Sealy, Esq, and Stanley Ginsling. The former had retired from public life to hide his disgrace and sorrow in almost monkish seclusion; while the latter had, before this, gone to "that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns."

The name of the former was mentioned, and a motion of condolence was unanimously passed expressing sorrow for his affliction; but it did not seem to occur to any present that the very traffic they met to defend by such unprincipled means had been instrumental in bringing about the result they affected to deplore; and no sorrow was expressed for the horrible murder of poor Mrs. Flatt, the orphanage of her children, nor the treacherous slaying of William Barton.

Reports were received from all parts of the country of the success which had attended their efforts in plying their traffic—in other words, the number they had succeeded in tempting to their ruin; and many a laughable story was related with great gusto, of how they had "fooled the fanatics," and had succeeded in getting on a jolly tear certain individuals whom the Dunkinites had fondly persuaded themselves they had reclaimed from intemperance. But not one seemed to ponder for a moment upon the lives that had been ruined by their machinations, nor upon what homes had been made wretched, what suffering had been entailed, nor what souls had been eternally lost through the success that attended their devilish treachery.

"Let us to business now, gentleman," said Rivers; "and permit me to remark we have two questions to consider. The first is, Could the repeal be carried at this time in the county? and the second is, If so, what means will it be best for us to adopt in order to make it a grand success? I will simply say that I am as certain as I can be of anything in this world of contingencies, we could carry it now with a sweeping majority."

"There is nothing surer than that," said Bottlesby. It was moved, seconded, and unanimously carried, that the attempt to repeal the Act be made at the earliest opportunity.

The question next considered was, What is the best means to adopt to make success certain?

"I suppose you will employ the Dodger?" said Bottlesby. "He is a whole host in himself, and though he values his services rather highly, it will pay in the end to employ him."

It was moved, seconded, and carried that his services be secured.

"The next thing to do," said Capt. Flannigan, "is to hire all the busses in the town; and all the rigs that can be secured in the county, then run them on the day of the election. We must spare no expense, for we will get all the backing we want. This is a test county, and the eyes of the whole of Canada are upon us, and the association knows it will pay to spend money here, for if we succeed in carrying the repeal in this place it will deter other counties from trying it, thus it will save thousands of dollars in the end."

"I am instructed by the president of the association," said Rivers, "to say that we need not spare expense for either speakers, horse hire, or liquor, if the money is judiciously distributed. So you see we need not be afraid to go ahead, as we shall have good backing."

"I move a vote of thanks to the association for its generous offer," said Joe Porter.

"I second the motion," said Michael Maloney, the keeper of a low groggery in the purlieus of the town.

The others present, who held both the mover and seconder in contempt, would much rather the initiative had been taken in this matter by men of little more respectability—for there is such a thing as caste even among grog-sellers—but as Porter and Maloney had taken the matter into their own hands, the others, though with bad grace, had to accept the situation, and it was put and carried unanimously.

That night the whole scheme was mapped out. What men could be approached, and who could best influence certain voters. They also decided how much each would be called upon to sacrifice, that the necessary ammunition might be furnished to carry on the campaign, and how much would be required from the funds of the "association." Captain McWriggler, the expected M.P., announced that a celebrated speaker from the west who, like himself, was a candidate for parliamentary honors, had intimated to him his willingness to assist them in the campaign, if his services were required. This announcement was received with uproarious applause, and it was moved, seconded, and unanimously carried, that this magnanimous offer be accepted with thanks.

That night the usual banquet was held, and all those who were present in the afternoon, and a great many invited guests who, of course, were sympathizers, were also present. Among others Judge McGullett was toasted because of his fearless, upright, and impartial decisions, and Captain Flannigan sang, "He's a jolly good fellow," etc., the others joining in the chorus.

Their drunken orgies were continued into the small hours the following morning. It is not, I suppose, necessary to state that during this period there were numerous songs sung—some of which, to say the least, were not of a high moral order—and speeches were delivered whose senselessness were only equalled by their blatant untruthfulness, when attacking men and women who were working and suffering for the welfare of their fellow-men, and the honor and glory of God.

I do not think it necessary to enter into the details of the campaign, which came on at the appointed time; and which, although the real and true friends of temperance did all that men and women could do to retain the law until it should receive a fair trial, ended in the complete triumph of the liquor party.

Augustus Adolphus Dodger, as usual, did yeoman's service for those who employed him, and prostituted his really fine speaking talent to the base purposes of giving impetus to a cause that every year— in England and America—is sending over a hundred and fifty thousand human beings to drunkards' graves and to a drunkard's eternity, and which is costing civilized Christendom every year over a thousand million of dollars. He proved to be a complete master of that shallow sophistry which generally carries the unthinking multitudes; and none knew better than he how to appeal to the selfish instincts of those whom he was addressing. He demonstrated to them, as they thought conclusively, that the Temperance Act would have the effect of entirely destroying the market for their barley and rye, and even depreciate the price of their farms. Of course his nonsense was received as it should be by the educated and thoughtful; but it was not to these he was appealing, but to the ignorant, illiterate masses, and upon them it had the effect he desired.

Personally he was held in contempt by many of the respectable among those whose cause he, for hire, advocated. They admired his talents while they despised the man, and would no more associate with him than English gentlemen would with a demagogue who, because they knew he could influence a certain class, was hired to do the dirty work of their party. In fact, he was despised by the better class of hotel keepers, and was always called the "Dodger" by them, being viewed in much the same light as the treacherous miscreant was by the Italian nobleman of the dark ages, who, because he was skilled in the use of the stiletto, was employed to remove a hated enemy.

Capt. McWriggler and his western friend were also on the ground, speaking and working to carry the repeal. It was well understood they were catering for the liquor vote, and were willing to resort to any means, however low, to accomplish their end.

Not only were these unprincipled hirelings, and would-be M.P.'s, on the stump, to assist the liquor party in their endeavors, but, astonishing to relate, there was also a minister of the Gospel, who was actually engaged as a co-adjutor of these men and their drunken battalions. The person to whom I refer was a certain Mr. Turnwell. Dryden's picture of a celebrated personage in his day would equally serve as a description of him; for he certainly was "everything by turns and nothing long." He had, in his early manhood, belonged to a certain church, and owed the education and the culture he possessed to it; but because that body did not, as he thought, recognize his exalted ability, nor give him such charges as a man of his exceptional powers should occupy, he left them in disgust, and from that time forward was their most rabid opponent. In the charge he occupied immediately preceding his present one, finding that his leading men were in sympathy with the Dunkin Act, he gave it his actual support—stumping the country in its behalf—and even after coming to Bayton he spoke in favor of it; but receiving a hint from some who financially, were main pillars of his church, he suddenly veered round and became one of the strongest champions for its repeal. If he had possessed the smallest modicum of good sense he would, after changing his views—remembering his former course—have remained neutral, or, in a modest manner, have endeavored to convince men he was influenced simply by his convictions; but he was so lost to good taste and what he owed to his holy office, as a professed priest of Him who said, "Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh," as to take the stump as a blatant opponent of what the great mass of the good and pure of the county were advocating in order to arrest the ravages of the greatest curse that ever destroyed mankind. He soon became a recognized leader of the rum party, and there is no doubt he influenced some, as he was constantly quoting Scripture and twisting its meaning to suit his purpose, conveniently forgetting to mention those passages that would consign the major portion of those whose cause he was advocating to everlasting infamy and woe. As might be expected, the party he was assisting pointed to him as a model clergyman; many of them who had not read a passage of Scripture for years, having shaken the dust off their Bibles, turned to the verses to which he referred, and when in the taverns, so intoxicated as to be scarcely able to stand, they, with maudlin utterances, and serio-comic grimaces, would unctiously quote these hackneyed texts in the pauses which intervened between their drinks.

The night the returns came in the liquor party, finding they had carried the county by a large majority, had a grand torch-light procession, and the "Dodger," with Capt. McWriggler, his western friend, Ald. Toper, the president of the association, Rivers, Bottlesby and Capt. Flannigan, were elevated into an open "bus," and drawn by their enthusiastic admirers through the principal streets of Bayton. They had hoisted a broom in the front of their vehicle as an emblem of their victory.

"What does that mane, Mike?" queried one of the army of ragged, blear-eyed tatterdemalions of his mate.

"Why, don't you know, Patsy," replied his friend, "that it manes our party have made a clane swape of the cowld-wather men?"

As the procession swept on the band played "See the conquering hero comes," and Augustus Adolphus Dodger, who was vain enough to suppose it was all meant for him, stood smirking, smiling, and raising his hat to the mob of the "great unwashed" with as much pride as if he had been a mighty hero receiving the homage of his countrymen after returning from a splendid victory.

If a stranger had formed his opinion of the citizens of Bayton from those who made up that procession it certainly would not have been a favorable one; for respectable men in the ranks were the exception, not the rule. It appeared, for the time being, the denizens of the lowest dens of the town and the surrounding country were holding a drunken Saturnalia; for, as numerous kegs of beer were rolled out into the street and tapped, while liquor of a much stronger character was furnished without stint, it was not long before it was almost literally a huge reeling mass of drunkenness. Ever and anon some hero, smitten by the deadly shaft of king alcohol, would tumble from the ranks of the ragged regiment, his place being immediately supplied by another volunteer, who was also willing to vigorously tackle the enemy, though he should fall in the conflict.

It only required a slight effort of memory to decide as to the vast superiority of the virtuous Christian band, who were victors in the former contest, to the reeling host of Bacchanalian revellers, who were now, with howling songs of exultation, celebrating their victory. And yet in some of the leading journals the next day there were editorials rejoicing over what they termed "the triumph of liberty," though, if they were open to conviction, they had but to observe the character of the majority of those who were celebrating their conquest to conclude it was for the time being a supremacy of vice over virtue, of brute force over principle, and of selfishness over philanthrophy. How respectable papers of acknowledged ability could join in the brutal shout of the ruffianly host—thus lending their powerful influence to sweep away the barriers which the good and true had been endeavoring to erect, that the onward tides of vice, crime, and misery, might be kept back—we will allow them to answer? We will observe, however, that in our opinion, it is not an indication of wisdom in a great public journal to array itself against the great forces of temperance and morality; for we believe it will discover, possibly when it is too late, it has destroyed its influence with those whose good opinion was best worth possessing.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

DEATH OF LITTLE MAMIE—A PROMISE.

As we have for a time lost sight of Richard Ashton and his family we will now return to them. He had become almost an imbecile, being a complete mental wreck, his family having to watch him as they would a child to keep him from obtaining liquor. He was now so weak in this respect that he would actually steal away, if he could do so without being observed not returning until he was brought back completely intoxicated.

They had become quite poor; for though Mr. Gurney was giving Eddy a good salary for one of his years and experience, yet, as Allie, who had become weak from worry and over-work, was forced for a time to desist from giving music lessons, his earnings barely sufficed to procure life's necessities.

Little Mamie was now becoming quite frail. She had in the early part of the winter contracted a severe cold, which, having settled on her lungs, congestion had ensued. She, after a protracted illness, was now convalescent, yet it was evident she was not long for earth, but, like a beautiful flower, was slowly fading away.

"Mamma," she said one day, "I am going to die. Oh, how sad it will be to leave this beautiful world, and papa, and you, my mamma, and Eddie, and Allie! But," she added, "I am going to the beautiful home of which I was dreaming, to be with Jesus, who loves little children. And then in a little while you and papa will come, and we will live in one of the 'many mansions' which Jesus has gone to prepare. I shall not be long with you here, mamma; but you will come to be with me. Eddie and Allie will be coming too, some day, when God calls them, and we will all be home together."

Her mother was deeply moved, but endeavored to conceal her emotion from her little daughter.

"My darling must not talk of leaving us; we could not spare our little Mamie. No doubt, dear, but you will get better, now the spring is coming, and soon you will be out with the flowers."

Mrs. Ashton had to endure the agony that an intelligent, loving mother must always experience when an almost idolized child, that she could press to her heart forever, is fading from her. She could see her dear, loving, bright little daughter—who was very precocious, talking more like a girl of ten than one of only five— slowly, almost imperceptibly, failing every day, and every day becoming more bright and beautiful; but it was the beauty of the flower that was to bloom but for a few hours, and then whither and die away.

One day in the spring, as she was looking at her mother, who was working among her flowers, she began coughing violently; Allie, who had been attending to her household duties, now joining them, stooped down to help her, but as she did so she saw her face was of deathlike pallor, and that the blood was slowly oozing from her mouth, staining her pale lips with its crimson tide.

"Mother! come quickly," she said, as she lifted Mamie in her arms and ran with her into the house. She gently laid her on the sofa, and then wiped the blood from her lips.

Mrs. Ashton, when she reached the sofa, found her heart beating violently; but she resolutely forced back her emotion, so that she might not agitate Mamie. As she took her eldest daughter's place, she whispered: "Go to the garden, dear, and tell your father to run for the doctor. He must make haste, for I am afraid Mamie is dying."

Allie ran for her father, but, though he was there a short time before, he could not now be found. The fact is, the wretched man, who had been working in the vegetable-garden, had been watching all morning for an opportunity to steal away and get a drink. Finding the coast clear, when Mrs. Ashton and Allie had gone in with Mamie, he, like a truant child stealing away from its parents, glided out on to the sidewalk, and hastily made his way to the nearest groggery.

Allie told her mother her father had disappeared, when the latter requested her to hasten and tell the doctor to come immediately, as the case was very urgent.

The doctor, when he arrived, endeavored to quiet Mrs. Ashton's fears by assuring her there was no immediate danger; "but," he gently continued, "she will not long be with you—two or three days at the longest, and she may not linger that long."

When Eddie came home he went for his father, and found him in Flannigan's groggery with several others who were unfortunates like himself. At the voice of his son, he straightened himself up as well as he could in his intoxicated condition, looking at him with a sort of dazed, stupid stare; but as Eddie went over to him, saying, "Come, father, we want you at home," he took his arm and walked quietly away.

When they arrived at the house, Eddie took him round the back way so as not to disturb the dying child, and after requesting him to be as quiet as possible, as Mamie was seriously ill, he then went in and told his mother his father was safe at home.

Eddie and Allie wished their mother to rest for a time, as they thought if she did not do so the fatigue and worry might result disastrously to her. But she was firm in her resolve not to leave the bedside of her dying child, so that all their solicitations were in vain.

Mrs. Gurney came to remain all night with them, so Eddie and Allie retired. Mrs. Ashton was very grateful for this practical expression of sympathy for this noble Christian woman. Mamie passed the night quietly—not suffering excessive pain, but they concluded she was growing weaker, the end being not far off.

She was peacefully sleeping about five o'clock, and Allie having awakened joined the watchers; she, with the assistance of Mrs. Gurney, finally prevailed upon her mother to lie down, and, if possible, snatch a little sleep. About six o'clock Mrs. Gurney noticed there was a change for the worse in the little slumberer, and she had just remarked it to Allie, when Mamie languidly opened her large blue eyes—which now shone as if they reflected the light of the heavenly land—"Mamma! Mamma!" she called in a low but very distinct voice.

Allie bent over her and asked, "What is it darling? Mamma has gone to lie down for a little while."

Mamie closed her eyes for a moment, and then opening them, said, "Call her, and call papa and Eddie, for I think I am dying."

Allie quietly left her side to call her mother. Eddie having just arrived glided silently into the room, and then went to call his father. He experienced difficulty in awakening him, who, though he appeared to be in a stupor, no sooner heard that Mamie had asked for him, and that she said she was dying, than he, having dressed, made haste to go to her. When he arrived in the room he eagerly asked his wife, "Is Mamie worse? You had better make haste, Eddie, and run for the doctor."

Mamie looked up as she heard her father's voice. "My own dear papa!" she murmured; and then she continued, "don't go, Eddie; if you do I shall never see you again, for I shall have gone home before you return."

"Papa, Mamma," she said, "each of you give me a hand." Her father taking her right hand and her mother her left, she continued, "Papa, I want you to promise me you will never drink again. I am going to be with Jesus, and when I look down from heaven I want to see my papa good, and not doing anything to make my mamma grieve so, because then I shall grieve too. I know I shall feel so sorry when I am in heaven, if my darling papa is out with the naughty men drinking; for my mamma will come some day to meet me, but the Bible says no drunkard can enter there; so if my papa dies a drunkard I shall never see him again. Oh papa! shall I meet only my mamma there, and will not my papa come too? Shall I look and look for papa, and never find him?"

She paused for breath, looking inquiringly at her father. The effort had evidently taken from her most of her rapidly failing strength, and every individual in the room was sobbing before she had finished speaking.

"God bless you, my darling!" replied her father, "I will promise never to drink again, and God helping me, I will keep my promise."

"Kiss me, papa, mamma, all." They each lovingly kissed her, she murmured "thank you for—" but she could say no more, her eyes speaking the gratitude her failing voice could not utter. Her eyes closed for a moment, and then slowly opening, she, turning them upon all, faintly whispered, "Good-bye," and then they closed never to open again to the light of this life. She lingered on as if sleeping quietly with a sweet smile of peace irradiating her face, and sank gently to rest, so gently they could not tell the exact moment of her departure.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

RICHARD ASHTON MURDEROUSLY ATTACKED—HIS DEATH.

Richard Ashton faithfully kept the promise made to little Mamie; for he never touched nor tasted liquor again. His struggle was a desperate one; but as he was determined, by the help of God, to conquer, he succeeded. Mr. Gurney again employed him, but in a subordinate position; and though there was subdued sadness in the house, because they missed the prattle of their lost darling— missed her sunny face and cheery songs—yet even in her death she had left such a benediction that they were still experiencing its blessedness months after she had passed away. It was her dying request which had influenced her father to change, and he was truly changed; for not only had he, as we have noticed, conquered his appetite for strong drink, but he had so completely repented of the past as to have become a devoted Christian, and was trusting that through the merits of his crucified Redeemer he would, one day, meet his little daughter in heaven.

But trouble, dark and terrible, was again to visit the home of the Ashtons, and this time it was the poor lost sheep who had lately been gathered by the Good Shepherd into the lower fold, that was to be translated—though by a cruel death—to the green pastures and still waters of the homeland above.

One very dark night as he was returning home from the store, where he had been detained later than usual, having reached the back street on which his house was situated, and when within a short distance of it, as he was passing an alley he was suddenly struck a terrific blow on the head, which felled him senseless to the earth. The ruffian who had attacked him was not content with knocking him down, but continued brutally kicking him after he had fallen, and did not desist until his victim was lying still, as though dead.

"I guess that settles the score I have against him," muttered Joe Porter, for he it was who had made the murderous attack. "I'm thinking they'll have a good time finding out who did it. And he'll be some time before he swears against me again. If I only had that young dandy here that took his part I'd settle with him, too. No man ever meddled with me yet without suffering for it, for I hold spite like an Injun, and I'll have satisfaction out of him if I swing for it." Thus muttering to himself he glided off into the darkness.

Eddie, when on his way home a few moments afterwards, saw, by the light of his lantern, a man lying on the sidewalk; and, on closer inspection, what was his surprise and horror to find it was his father. The, latter's face was all covered with blood, and though he seemed to be still insensible, he began to groan as though conscious of pain. Eddie ran to a neighbour's, and procuring the assistance of a Mr. Thompson, and two grown-up sons, he asked them to kindly carry his father home, while he would run ahead and prepare his mother for the shock which must certainly ensue; for he wisely concluded, if on their entering the house she should come to the door and meet them carrying what would appear to be the lifeless body of her husband—in her present delicate state of health—the effect would be most serious. He broke the news to her as gently as possible, but he had uttered but a very few words when she concluded something alarming had occurred. "Oh, Eddie!" she exclaimed, as all color forsook her face—leaving it as white as marble—"what has happened? Is your father dead?"

Eddie answered in the negative, but said he had been hurt, though he hoped not seriously. Hearing Mr. Thompson and his sons coming with his father, he ran to meet them; his mother, having by this time mastered her emotion, was now quite calm and prepared for the worst. They bringing him in laid him on the bed, and Mrs. Ashton, immediately getting a towel, began washing the blood off his temple, knowing the water would likely have the effect of restoring him to consciousness. She had not continued it long before he awakened out of his stupor and faintly asked: "Where am I? What has happened?"

Mrs. Ashton replied, "You have been hurt, dear, but lie still, and don't agitate yourself now, for you will know all about it after awhile." He shut his eyes at her request and lay perfectly still.

Eddie, in the meanwhile, had gone for the doctor, and in a few minutes returning with him the latter proceeded to examine Mr. Ashton. He found him very seriously, if not fatally injured. He had been first struck on the temple by a cane or club. This blow of itself was sufficient to do him very grave injury, but it had been followed by brutal kicks on the prostrate man's body. The doctor pronounced two of his ribs broken and his spine seriously injured.

"Will he recover, doctor?" asked Mrs. Ashton. "I would like you to give me your honest opinion as to what you think the result will be."

"We must leave results with God," Mrs. Ashton. "He has been brutally beaten, and what I fear most is the shock to his nervous system. His constitution was so seriously impaired previous to this attack that I have the gravest fears as to the issue."

He never arose from his bed; though he lingered for several days, and gave his wife and family the sweet consolation of knowing his whole trust was in Christ, through whose merits and intercession he expected to have an abundant entrance into His kingdom. Before he died his ante-mortem statement was taken, when he said he just had a glimpse of the person who struck him, and he believed his assailant was Joe Porter.

He remained conscious to the last, and the parting with his wife and family was very affecting. He asked Eddie to be faithful to his mother, which he promised to be. "Oh, Ruth," he said, "I have been a very unfaithful husband. Rum has been our curse, but I know you forgive me, darling." He then kissed them each; asking them to meet him in heaven, and in a few moments after quietly departed.

Thus died Richard Ashton, in the flower of his manhood, a victim of the drink curse; for rum had broken his constitution, robbed him of his intellectual vigor, reduced him and his family almost to beggary, and he was finally murdered by one of its vendors. He was endowed by his Maker with a bright intellect and a loving heart. In his early manhood he fell heir to an ample fortune, and was blessed with as good a wife as God ever gave to man; but rum, "cursed rum," had blighted all his prospects, made life a failure, and was instrumental in bringing him to an untimely grave.

They buried him by the side of little Mamie in the beautiful Bayton cemetery, "Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, to wait the resurrection of the just."

Joe Porter was arrested and tried for the crime, but, as several of his creatures swore he was present in his bar until after ten o'clock that night he was acquitted; though the public believed he was the criminal, and he was despised and shunned by all but the lowest dregs of the populace.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

MR. GURNEY SPEAKS HIS MIND—DEATHS OF DR. DALTON AND AUNT DEBIE.

The antis were wild with joy because of their complete triumph; and certainly, looking at the result from their standpoint, they had cause to rejoice, for their victory was far-reaching in its results. It strengthened the opponents of temperance throughout our fair Dominion—yes, beyond its bounds—while it certainly had a depressing effect upon its staunch supporters, for they were well aware the failure would not be attributed to its true source —that is, the bitter opposition it had met with from its unprincipled opponents, the lethargy of many of its pretended friends, and from other causes which we have already mentioned in this book. But it would be published "from Dan to Beersheba" that it had received a fair trial and, after being "weighed in the balance and found wanting," had been spurned from the county with contumely by the intelligent electors.

"I told you it would never succeed," said Bottlesby to Mr. Gurney, just after the repealers had gained their victory. "The fact is, Mr. Gurney, while every one respects you personally, because they know you are an honorable and upright citizen, having the best interests of the public at heart, they think you are a little off on this matter of total prohibition. I tell you such a law will never be successful, because people will not stand to have their private rights invaded in such a manner. No man has a right to dictate to me what I shall eat or drink; and it is because the intelligent electors have thus thought, this tyrannical bill has failed."

Mr. Gurney thoroughly despised the speaker, because he knew he was a low, cunning knave, and a thorough-paced hypocrite. He was also aware of the part Bottlesby had taken in opposition to the bill; that he was one of the chief concoctors of the hellish scheme which had for the time being proved so successful, and that in giving the reason he did for its defeat he was simply lying. Mr. Gurney thought, therefore, he would take advantage, of this opportunity to "give him a bit of his mind," and lead him to understand he was not ignorant of the means employed by the rum party to accomplish their purpose.

"It would probably have been better, Sheriff," he said, "not to have entered into any discussion in regard to the, matter; but as you have thought fit to do so, and have advanced what you say is your opinion as to the cause of the failure of this bill, you must not feel aggrieved if I plainly give you mine. And as I have listened with patience until you were through, kindly do not interrupt me. Now, I do not believe, as you say you do"—and Mr. Gurney laid particular stress upon the you say—"that the Act was a failure because men would not have their private rights interfered with—though I know there are many who are so selfish as to be willing to allow thousands to perish rather than practice a little self-denial; but that is not the reason of its failure. It failed, sir, because there was a vile conspiracy against it; and what made the conspiracy successful was, that among the leading conspirators were officers of the law—the very men without whose active co-operation it was impossible for it to be successful. Allow me to illustrate what I mean by an anecdote: A few years ago there was a gang of desperadoes, who operated in one of the south-western states. They robbed every one with perfect impunity for several years, all attempts to capture them proving abortive, for they seemed, in some mysterious manner, to get notice of any move made in that direction. But, strange to relate, the people in that section did not cry for the repeal of the law against stealing; on the contrary, they determined to vigorously use the means placed at their disposal until those who had violated its precepts had received the punishment they merited. At last one of the desperadoes, having been taken ill and expecting to die, revealed the secret of their successful evadence of the law. It was because there were some in league with the outlaws who were officers of the state, who, being in a position to know, would warn them when any attempt was to be made to capture them. Now, sir, this is a case in point; for I have no doubt there has been a huge conspiracy to defeat the Dunkin Act in this county, and among the conspirators there have been many whom, forsooth, we must look upon as the guardians of the law."

"Why, sir," broke in Bottlesby, "there have been among those who opposed the Act ministers of the gospel, and numerous others, whose characters are above reproach.

"I admit there have been, and these, no doubt, conscientiously oppose all coercive measures, but in my opinion, such are comparatively few in number. The opponents of the Act are principally those interested in the liquor business, whose craft is in danger; the great body of their poor, miserable victims, comprising among their number the vilest elements of society: designing politicians, who pander to the liquor vote; and the great mass of the indifferent, who will throw their influence upon which ever side they are led to believe their interest lies. The liquor party have appealed to their selfishness; and because this class is not as rule intelligent, by employing such orators as Dodger, and by a lavish expenditure of money, they have succeeded for the present in getting their support—but, I warn you, it is only for the present. The masses are becoming more enlightened. With enlightenment there will be broader views of duty—of what they hold to fellowmen and what to God. They will then be able to place the proper value upon the shallow sophistries of the paid demagogues, whose mission is to mislead them.

"I ask you to mention to me one appeal that was made to anything high or holy by Dodger or either of his confreres the other day. You cannot do so, because they only appealed to the passions, prejudices, and selfishness of those whom they were addressing. You have gained the victory now, and we view it with sorrow, though not with despair; for we will, by the help of God, pass the Scott Act in this county, which is, I understand, a more mature piece of legislation than the Dunkin Act. Its framers, having been active participants in several temperance campaigns where the latter has been on trial, have embodied in the new bill what they have learned by experience and observation; even not failing to learn something from the rabid and unfair criticisms of their opponents. We, who have wrought and toiled to drive the liquor curse out of the country, lose nothing in a pecuniary sense by your victory—we had a higher purpose in view than our own gain. It is the poor, miserable inebriates, and their wives and children, who will suffer; and when the news of your victory was flashed over our Dominion, it caused sorrow to visit the hearts of thousands of the purest and best, while a fiendish howl of exultation went up from every low groggery and brothel that the tidings reached."

Bottlesby stood like one stunned, as these words of indignation and scorn flowed from the lips of Mr. Gurney. He made no attempt to reply, but grew angry as he realized that the latter was well aware of the active part he had taken in the plots of the rum party; finally, cursing him as an old fanatic, he walked rapidly away.

About the time the conversation which we have related occurred, Dr. Dalton had an interview with Mary Fulton, who had once been his betrothed bride. She had been visiting some of her friends in Bayton, and Dalton called to see her, but so absolutely was he the slave of his appetite as to be under the influence of liquor when he did so. He begged her to reconsider what he considered her cruel decision, and to receive him on the same terms as of old; but she kindly though firmly refused to accede to his request. With tears in her eyes she told him she loved him yet, and should never love another; "but," she added, "I cannot place the slightest reliance upon your word, you have broken it so often; nor will I ever marry one who is so addicted to drink, as it would, in the end, involve us both in bitterest misery."

He left her that night in a state of desperation, and she was the last person who saw him alive. For a short time his absence was not commented upon, as he frequently absented himself for lengthy periods from his boarding-place; but as weeks passed away and there were no tidings of him, the anxiety of his friends became intense, and advertisments were inserted in the leading papers asking him to reply, if alive. Receiving no response, a reward was offered for any information regarding him; but this also proved futile, and a year passed before they had any idea of his fate. One day a boy who was gathering wood on the beach, which separated the bay from the lake, when going into a thick grove of cedar bushes which grew luxuriantly there, was stricken with horror to see a ghastly human skull grinning at him. He immediately ran to Bayton to tell what he had found, and he looked almost half-dead with fright at his discovery.

Those who went back with him searched and found in the skull the mark of a pistol ball, and buried in the sand, 'neath the skeleton fingers, was found a Smith & Wesson revolver. In the side pocket of his coat his wallet was discovered, with its contents untouched, and among numerous other articles was a letter addressed to Charles Dalton.

Thus perished, at the early age of twenty-six, one who possessed a bright intellect and noble nature, but who had, after being the source of inexpressible sorrow to his friends, been brought to an untimely and dishonored grave through the drink curse.

Mary Fulton now dresses in deep mourning, and still remains faithful to her vow never to marry. She says her heart lies buried in the grave with Charles Dalton, and her pale, sad face seals the testimony of her lips.

When Aunt Debie was informed of the doctor's death she said—"Did I not tell thee, Phoebe, two years ago, when I dreamt of them plucking the ears of corn, that Dr. Dalton would die before long? Thee sees it has come troo, and I've never known it to fail. I wonder if James Gurney would laugh now?"

As the old lady spoke it would be difficult to conjecture which was the predominant sentiment of her mind—sorrow, because of the untimely death of Dr. Dalton; or a certain feeling of triumph, because her predictions had proven correct.

Aunt Debie always claimed credit for her prophetic powers if any person happened to die of whom she had dreamt; and if they did not, she asked her auditors just to wait and time would vindicate her. Of course the old lady was correct in that, for, if they waited for a sufficient length of time all would die."

"Thee told it as straight as could be," said Phoebe. "I was sartin it would come troo, for I never knew thee to fail. But what a blessing it was that his mother died before this terrible deed was committed." Genuine tears shone in the eyes of Phoebe as she thus spoke.

"Yes," said Aunt Debie, "God is sometimes like Jacob when he blessed Joseph's children with crossed hands. We say, at some visitation of His providence, that seems hard to us, 'Not so, father;' but He knows where He is placing His hands. It was in mercy that He took Rebecca that she might not have to bear still greater sorrows. She is better where she is, and I shall soon be with her; then these eyes shall no longer be sightless, but shall be brighter than in youth. O! I long to be where I shall see the King in His beauty, and the glory and loveliness of the Father's home; where, these deaf ears being unsealed, I shall hear the rapturous music of those who surround the throne and swell the rapturous songs of the redeemed."

Aunt Debie's wish has since been granted, and she has gone to meet the friends of her youth in the land where they will part no more.



CHAPTER XL.

CONCLUSION.

Six years have passed since the events narrated in the last chapter transpired. Judge McGullet, Sheriff Bottlesby and Old Joe Porter, have in the interval been summoned to attend the last assize. The latter died of delirium tremens, and it was whispered around that his family were afraid to bring a physician, because he raved so of the treacherous slaying of Richard Ashton. The judge was said to have died of brain fever, and the sheriff of inflammation; yet it is an open secret that drink was the real agent in their destruction.

Rivers, Ben Tims, and the others whom we have mentioned, are still plying their nefarious trade, which will in all probability ultimately involve themselves and their unfortunate customers in a common ruin.

The temperance men are not disheartened, but intend ere long to try and pass the Scott Act, which has more grip to it than the Dunkin Act, in King's County; for in every county the friends of temperance can apply to Government for the appointment of a stipendiary magistrate, from whose decisions there can be no appeal. So the antis, as they have found to their cost in several counties where it has been tried, cannot trifle with it as they did with the latter. The liquor party know this to be the case, and so they have lately held a monster meeting, which was presided over by the chief distiller in the Dominion—a man who has become a millionaire by the manufacture of that which, no doubt, has destroyed thousands of men, caused untold misery in thousands of homes, and sent, God only knows the number, to a drunkard's hell. What he has manufactured has, no doubt, prepared many men to murder their wives; mothers to neglect, starve, and even destroy their children; and, I have no hesitancy in saying, I believe has caused more wide-spread devastation and ruin in this Dominion since its establishment than what has been caused in the same period by those two destructive agencies—flood and fire combined. The meeting was convened for the purpose of taking steps to fight the Scott Act in every county where it was submitted, and it was there resolved to employ the "Dodger" to again take the stump as the champion of their life-destroying traffic.

"I can assure you, gentlemen," said one present, who had lately come from a county where the Scott Act was in force, and who had been fined until he was forced to give up the business, "you are not fighting the Dunkin Act this time, for it was a thing without vertebrae or claws; but the present Act has both; yes, and teeth, too, as I have found to my cost. What we have to do is to resort to every means to defeat it; for if it once becomes law in a county then we are done."

Before the meeting closed forty thousand dollars were subscribed by those present to stubbornly contest every inch of ground, and if possible still to keep, this fair province under the demon rule of "Old King Alcohol."

The liquor party in King's County are not so confident as they endeavor to lead people to think they are, as may be gathered from the following conversation between Rivers and Capt. McWriggler, M.P. He has gained the coveted position; but it is the opinion of the most intelligent men in the riding that the whiskey-horse, which carried him to victory this time will utterly fail him in the next campaign.

"I hear," said Rivers, "that old Gurney and his set are determined to pass the Scott Act in this county, and Murden says it is a much more perfect bill than the Dunkin Act was."

"Yes, I believe they are," said McWriggler, "and, as far as I can learn, it is about as perfect as any sumptuary law can be; but Toper says they will have that fixed all right. George Maltby, M.P., member for Eastmorland, is going to introduce a clause next session, if possible, which will utterly destroy it. The clause stipulates that there must be a majority of all the legal voters; and as there are hundreds who cannot be induced to go to the polls, you can easily see, if this amendment carries, it will make the Act as good as nil. Maltby could not have been elected had it not been for the help he received from the association, and he will do anything to retain their good will; for it is only by their favor he can hope to win again."

"But supposing he does not succeed," said Rivers, "what will you do then?"

"I don't think there is much danger of that in the present house. In fact we have calculated pretty closely, and have every reason to be satisfied with the conclusion at which we have arrived; but if he fails we hold another trump card. Allsot, in the senate, will introduce a rider to it, which will be so heavy as to break its back."

McWriggler laughed at his play upon words, manifesting the fact that one person, at least, could enjoy his attempt at wit.

We will now bid a final farewell to these worthies. Their plots have so far been successful, but the end is not yet. The untimely death of the majority of those who were their associates in iniquity should, one would think, be to them as the handwriting upon the wall, to warn them, what would be their fate if they still persisted in their course. But such men seem to forget that God's word, which is certain of fulfilment, says:

"The wicked plotteth against the just, and gnasheth upon him with his teeth.

"The Lord shall laugh at him: for he seeth that his day is coming....

"I have seen the wicked in great power, and spreading himself like a green-bay tree.

"Yet he passed away, and, lo, he was not: yea, I sought him, but he could not be found."

Mr. and Mrs. Gurney still reside in Bayton, and his business is the most prosperous in the town. They have not grown weary in well-doing, but are now actively engaged agitating the public mind for the submission of the Scott Act in King's County, and they ardently hope they will live to see the day when a prohibitory law shall be passed in our Dominion, and the liquor curse shall be banished forever.

Mrs. Holman is still actively engaged in helping on, with pen and voice, the good cause of temperance, and has deservedly won for herself a continental fame.

Eddy Ashton, who is a fine specimen of handsome, intellectual manhood, has, by his business tact and energy, so engratiated himself into the good will of his employer that he has now for over a year occupied the position in Mr. Gurney's establishment which was formerly held by his father. He removed with his mother and sister to the house which was their home the first happy year they spent in Bayton, and it is as beautiful and cosy as ever.

Allie developed into a beautiful and cultured woman, and shortly after they were again settled in their old home, desisted from giving music lessons; there were, however, for some time those mysterious preparations which are the certain precursors of a wedding. And a wedding, my dear young friends, in due time there was. Allie was the happy bride, the bridegroom being Frank Congdon, the young man who so chivalrously came to her rescue when she was so grossly insulted by the brutal Joe Porter. Congdon's father, who was a retired merchant, had had extensive business transactions with some of the Bayton establishments. It was to settle some old standing accounts that Frank first went there, and, while taking a stroll for the purpose of viewing the town and its surroundings, he went into Joe Porter's to make certain enquiries, and met with the adventure which we have already narrated to the reader.

He had at that time formed such a liking for Bayton that he resolved, with his father's consent, to purchase a partnership in one of the leading dry goods firms in the town, of which he is at the present sole proprietor, and doing a flourishing business.

He had not been long there when he sought out Allie, who had made such an impression upon him that it was a case of love at first sight. Closer acquaintance served to deepen that impression; for he, who was himself a noble, intelligent young fellow, when he became more intimate loved her, not only from a mere passing impulse or fancy, but from a deep and ever deepening respect for her intelligent, womanly, self-sacrificing nature. In fact, they became affianced lovers, and the wedding day came as such days do. Mrs. Gurney insisted upon furnishing the trouseau, and there was a small but select company at the wedding.

As Allie stood by her husband a fair young bride, her mother, in memory, went back to a wedding that took place over twenty-five years before in the dear home land, and she prayed that the daughter might not have to "pass under the rod" as she had done.

Eddie is still unmarried, and lives with his mother. And Ruth is now happy, though that happiness is mellowed by the sorrows through which she has passed, and the memories of the loved ones she has lost; but the hope of meeting them again is the rainbow that spans the sky of her existence, shining out radiantly in her hours of mist and gloom, enabling her to say, even when most cast down: "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."

Friends, we will now say farewell. The sad tale which you have read but faintly conveys an idea of the misery, degradation, and sin which is caused in thousands of homes by this blighting; withering traffic.

Oh, rum! cursed rum! I hate it with intensest hatred: for it dims the brightest intellects; it sullies and makes impure the most spotless and the best; it spares neither frail and unprotected womanhood, innocent childhood, nor hoary age; it enters like a serpent the Eden called home and seduces its inmates to their fall, thus turning this paradise of love into a hell of fiercest passions and intensest hate; it entails upon the drunkard's children in their very existence a patrimony of depraved appetites and unholy passions; and it supplies the prisons and lunatic asylums with a large percentage of their inmates, the gallows with its victims, and hell with lost souls. If what he has written will be effective in winning any from the ranks of the indifferent, or from the ranks of those who oppose prohibitory laws, to become active, energetic workers in the cause of temperance, and what he is convinced is the cause of God, it will amply repay



THE AUTHOR.

THE END