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THE DAWSON WEEKLY JOURNAL.
pY S. R. WESTON.
pwoit (Wleekln journal,
PUBLI8IIKI) KYKRY TIIBRSDAt.
IF. RJtS— Strictly lit %Mdvance.
Tbr*« month*. • ♦ 75
gii rnontba 1 25
One year * 00
Sequel to ‘‘Hetty and 1 are
ltr HELEN UARBON ROST WICK.
; ,o brought bark tile paper, lawyer, aud fetched
the parson here,
To wo that things are regular- -settled up fair
aud clear.
ror l’re been talking with Caleb, and Caleb has
talked with me,
And the 'mount of it is we’re miuded to try once
iuorc to agree.
So 1 e»mc here on the business, only a word to
say.
tCatch is staking pea vines, aud couldn’t come
to-day),
Just to tell you and parson how that we’ve
changed our mind,
yo I'll tear up the paper lawyer, you see it wasn’t
signed.
And now if parson is ready, I’ll walk with him
towards home,
; want to thank him for some things, ’twas kind
in him to come.
lie's showed the Christian spirit, stood by us firm
and true,
Ifc mightn't have changed our mind squire, if
he’d been a lawyer too.
There! How good the sun feels, aud the grass
and blowing trees,
Something about them lawyers makes me feel fit
to freeze.
1 wasn't bound to state particulars to that man,
but it i« right you should know, parson, about
our change of plan.
ire’d been some days a wavering, a little, Caleb
and me,
dud wished the hateful paper at the bottom of
the sea;
but 1 guess twas the prayer last evening, and the
lew words you said,
That thawed the ice between us, an brought
tilings to a head.
Ton see when wc came to division, there was
things that wouldn’t divide.
There wiuone twelve-year old baby, Blie couldn’t
4a. be satisfied
To go with one or the other, but just kept wliim
perin low,
'l'll Stay with papa and mamma, and where they
go I'll go-”
Then there was Grandsire’s Bible,he died on our
wedding day,
ire couldn’t halve the old Bible, and should it go
or stay f
The sheets that was Caleb’s mothers, hot samplar
on the wall,
With the sweet old names worked in, Tryphena.
and Eunice, and Caul.
It began to be hard then, parson, but it grew
harder still.
Talkin’ of Caleb established down at Mcfleurya
ville;
Three dollars a week ’twould cost him, no mend
ing nor sort of care,
Anti board at the Widow Afcacham’s, % woman
that wears false hair.
Still we went on a talkin , I agreed to knit some
socks.
Aud make a dozen striped shirts, and a pair of
wa’inus frocks;
Aad he was to cut a doarway from the kitchen to
the shed,
'6’avc you climbing steps much, iu frosty weatli*
cr,’ he said.
He brought me the pen at last, 1 felt a siukin
and he
looked as he did with the ngur in the spring of
sixty three.
’Twas then you dropped in parson, twasn't much
that was said,
‘Little children love one another,’ hut the thing
was killed stone dead.
1 should like to make confession, npt that/ am
going to say
The fault was all on my side, that never was my
way.
But it may be true that women, tho’ how it is 1
can’t see,
Arc a trifle more aggravating than pacn know
how to be,
* hen, parson, the neighbors meddlin, it wasn‘t
pouring oil,
Andthechurch a laboring with us, ’twas worse
than wasted toil.
And 1 have thought, and so has Caleb, though
may be wc are wrong,
If they had kept to their own business, we
should have got along-
There was beacon l*urdy, a good man as
wc know,
Hut hadn’t a gift of laboring except with the
scythe and hoe.
Then a load came over in peach time, from the
Wilbur neighborhood,
'Season of prayer,* they called it, didnt do an
atom of good.
I’ll tell you about the heifer, one of the kindest
and best,
That brother hphraim gave me the fall he moved
out JFest.
1 am free to own it riled me that Caleb should
think aud say
Sho died of convulsions- a cow that milked fou r
gallons a day.
have been so eross,
said hard things and hinted as if it was all
my loss;
And 111 take it all back, parsou, that fire shan’t
ever break out,
though the cow was choked with a turnip / never
had a doubt.
lhen there are pints of doctrine, and views of a
future state,
1 am willing to stop discussing we can both afford
to wait.
wont bring the millennium sooner, disputing
about when its due,
Although I feel an assurance that mino is the
Scriptural view.
Hut the blcsßodest truths of the Bible, I have
learued to think don’t lie
/n the texts we hunt with a candle to prove our
doctrines by.
fi ut them that Some to us in sorrow and when we
were on our knees,
if Caleb won't argu on free will I’li leave alone
the decree,
oue notion of Caleb’s, parson, seems rather mis
ty and dim,
i wish if it comes convenient you'd change a
word with him ;
It don-t quite stand to reason, and for gospel
isnt clear,
folks live better in Heaven for having quar
relled phre.
Ive no such an expectation; why parson, if that
is so,
Yon Modn t havo worked so fsitbful to recorwil
folks below;
' hold another opinion, and hold it straight and
■Puarc,
wp can't br peaceable here, wc won't be peace
able there,
Rut there's the request he made, you know it par
son about
Being laid under the maplea that hia own hand
set out,
And me to be laid beside him when my time comes
to go,
As if-as if-don't mind me; but' twas that on
strung me so.
And now that some scales, as we think have fal
h’u from our eyes,
And things brought so to a crisis have made us
both more wise,
Why Caleb says and so say I, till tho Lord parts
him aud me
WVll love each other better, and try our best to
agree.
[Toledo Blade.
The Wife’s Gift;
—OR—
Tho Village Blacksmith's Three
Glasses a Day.
BY WILLIAM A. SIGOUENEY.
“No, no, Jim ; it’s no use to porsuade
me. lam no teetotaller. Throe glas
ses a day is my rule, and a good ono
it is too. Just enough to make a tal
low foel lively, without upsetting him
iu the least. I leave signing tho pledge
to thoso who four to trust themselves.
No danger of ISill Janes being seen
reeling in the streets.”
“But we liavo such fearful exam
ples before us, William,” urgod tho
friend, who was endoavoring to per
suade young Janos to join tho Good
Templars, and pledge himself to total
abstinence. “There is but ono safe
course for us to pursue.”
“For you, perhaps, but not for mo,”
was the reply. “Every man is his
own best judge. Don’t bo offended,
Jim; your counsel is well meant, and
I thank you for it. But you magnify
the danger. Hero is my little wife ;
she is not afraid to trust mo without
my signing a pledge. Say, Lizzio, my
darling ?”
Lizzie had been a wife but ono short
month, and it was hard for her to say
anything which might seem to differ
from tho opinion which her husband
had advanced; but she was very
truthful, and Jim was an old friend,
so that his presence was little restraint,
and she answered frankly :
“No, William, I am not afraid to
trust you ; and yet I would rather you
would joiii the Templars, aud rosolvo
never to taste another drop of liquor,
unless the doctor ordered it. Make
me a present of three glasses a day.”
“Indeed, I will not, my dear, for I
could not get along without an occa
sional drop of the useful. If you wish
for a present, you must think of some
thing else.”
“Nothing else will do,” replied Liz
zie, smilingly.
“Only hear that, Jim,” said the
young husband, in a jesting tone. —
“Nothing less than three glasses a day
will serve my little wife as a present.
You had better persuado her to join
your society. But never mind, Lizzie,
it shall never bo said that I treated
myself hotter than I did my wife ; and,
therefore, I promise to allow you threo
glasses a day as long as I take them
myself. Bear witness, Jim, every ev
ening on my return from work, 1 will
hand to my dear little wife the price
of three glasses, and she may eat,
drink, or woar it, just as she likes.”
“You are a sad fellow, Bill, or you
would givo her what she askod for,
said his friend, as he bade them good
night.
“And you aro unreasonable, or you
would see that I have done so,’ replied
William, laughingly, at the same time
tendering thirty cents to Lizzie, which
she at first seemed disposed to reject,
but on second thought accepted, say
ing quietly: _ „
“It will come in use some tune.
“No doubt it will, Lizzie,” said tho
advocate of temperance, looking back
as he passed through the gate to tho
main street- “Take my aivice, and
keep all you can get. Three glasses
a day has brought many a man to
want.’’
“Jim is a raven, and you must not
mind his croaking, ’’remarked tho hus
band, as the two re-onterod tho cot-
tage.
The full moon sited a pleasant lus
tre through the clustering vines that
shaded the casement, and made tho
littlo room, with its pretty, though sim
ple furniture, look even more attract
ive than was its wont. It was tho
honey-moon, besides; therefore no one
can wonder that Lizzie should think,
as she lookod around, that it was tho
very softest and most lovely moonlight
she had ever beheld, and that tho lit
tle cottage, and all it coutainod, hus
band included, wore among the most
choice of God’s blessings And no
one can wonder that she slipped her
little hand into William s broad palm,
and nostlod close to his side, as sho
* >
“It would take more than a raven a
croaking to shako my faith in you,
i W’H **
* °ller husband drew hor still closer
to his bosom, and pressed a kiss on
her pure, white forehead, but ho did
not speak, and for awhile they sat to
gether in that pleasant stillness, busy
with thoir own thoughts. At length,
Lizzie again broke the silence, by say-
: n „ slightly tremulous voice :
“Andyetluould rather that you
moddlod not with edged tools, my
dear husband.”
“Still harping on that subject, my
little wife. I thought not Jim s idle
talk would affect you so much.
“B was not alone what lie said
dear William; but his words brought
sad remembrances to mmd-my own
miserable childhood, my poor heart
broken mother, and, more to bo pitied
than all, my wretched, uusgmded fa
ther And yet my mother has often
£ld me of the first happy years of her
married life—of a kmJ busband ’ aud
DAWSON, GA„ THURSDAY JUNE 29, 1871.
a plousaut homo. Intemperance
changod her happiness to misery, and
harsh treatment from him she loved,
brought her to an early grave, anil
left me tho lonely being that I was
until I know you, doar Will. No won
der that 1 dread tho sound of oven
three glasses a day.”
Deep feolings had given to tho once
simple village maiden an unusual de
gree of oloquonco. Ilor blue eyes
beamod upon her husband with such
earnest and imploring tenderness, that
his stornor nature could hardly resist
tho appeal. But false prido came to
his aid ; ho had withstood tho argu
ments of his friends, and ho would not
yield to tho pleadings of his wife. —
That others had fallon, proved not
that he would do tho same. Asa
man, ho would stand forth, and prove
to all that tho moderate drinker and
the drunkard wore not to bo classed
together; that one might stand oa the
brink of a precipice without danger of
plunging in tho abyss bolow.
And thus in his own strength ho
stood. Human strength ! Alas !it is
but woakness 1 Tho power to resist
evil—nay, tho vory consciousness that
evil exists, aud tho desire to shun it,
belongs not to man. In God also
must we trust.
My tale lies but in humblo village
life. William Janes was tho Black
smith ot the pleasant little village
which had been his birth-place, and
which was endeared to him by all tho
tender and endearing associations of
infancy, boyhood and youth. His fa
ther had pursued tho same occupation,
and it was with pride and pleasure
that he placed tho hammer in the
hands of his son, and directed his first
attempt at tho anvil.
“It is a rcspoetablo and useful trade,
Billy,” lie would often say, “and ono
which will always insuro you an hon
est living. This is all you want; tho
lawyers and doctors could desire no
more.”
So William grew to manhood as
thorough a blacksmith as his father ;
and in due time, as tho old man’s
health declined, the business carao al
together into his hands, and tho old
gentleman was content to smoke his
pipe, and watch tho progress of tho
work in which ho had onco taken so
activo a part.
“What a blossing it is,” bo would
sometimes say to his wife, “that our
Bill is a sober, industrious lad, and
works at tho forge as well as 1 could
myself. A good trado is worth all the
new-fangled notions that tho boys
have now-a-days.”
It was a joyful day with tho old
folks when sweet Lizzie was intro
duced to them as William’s future
wife. It was at first proposed that
they should bo made one family ; but
tliero were other sous aud daughters
now nearly mon and women, who
could well fill the vacancy in the old
homestead, and that pretty little cot
tage, half hid in the clustering vinos,
was but a stone’s throw, and the
young pooplo preferred a homo of
their own.
So all was made ready, aud when
the wedding day oamo, it was, as all
wedding days should be, a bright and
happy one. Tho modest, pretty, lit
tle bride, and the manly looking bride
groom, plighted thoir faith in the Til
lage church, on© lovoly Sabbath morn
ing, and as they walked together to
their new home after the usual relig
ious services were over, many wore
the cordial greetings, tho kindly smiles,
and the heartfelt blessings bestowed
upon them. Then followed for tho
next few days the usual amount of
village gossip, concerning the appear
ance and behavior of groom and bride.
This over, and the affair was among
tho things that were. All wont on as
usual; the customary busy sounds
were heard in the old shop ; the young
blacksmith had taken new cares upon
himself, aud must not be idle. Ihe
father smoked his pipe as vigorously
I as ever ; tho mother plied her knitting
I noedlos and superintended tho house
hold oonoerns of both families, for tho
distanco was short, and Lizzio lovod
to come for advice to the kind old la
dy, and was quite sure that William s
favorite dishes could not bo proporly'
prepared unless under hor special di-
I rection And thus all wont quietly
■ and happily along for days and months,
■ and even years.
Tho littlo cottago was less lonoly
now, and Lizzio deemed not the time
so long when William was absent at
his daily work. A smiling babe was
in her arms, and a lovely li'tio prat
tler ran by her side, as sho took ltor
usual walk to grandpapa’s. A kind
welcome always awaited her.
“Lay by your things, Lizzie,” said
! the youngest sister, “and give me the
I baby. You are to tako ten*with us,
| this evening ; mother was just send
ing me with an invitation. Your lit
tle maid has a holiday, you know, aud
it is not fitting for you to attend to
household caros with a babo on each
arm.” , _ , T
“Not quite so bad as that, Jennio,
for Willie runs bravely by my side,
and little Lizzie can creep around tho
floor. Howover, 1 would gladly ac
cept your invitation, did I not think
Will would return from work, and
wonder at my absence.”
“lie will know very well where tho
birds have flown, and can follow them
if he likes. Come, no more excuses ;
I know what you would say. It is the
fourth anniversary of your wodding
day, and you wish for a cozy httlo
time at home. No matter, that is sel
i bsli, and yon must learn to deny your- j
& ° “Hush, Jennie, do not run on so,”
said the little old lady, reprovingly.—
“Stay with us, Lizzie, my child, and
you can step home for William when
he returns hern work. 1 atiier is at
tho shop to-day, and they will no doubt
leave together.”
Tho hours passed quickly by, and
the old gentleman was soon at tho
gato before they had thought of its be
ing near tho hour for tea.
“Has William gone be no, futbor,”
askod Lizzie, as she returned his affec
tionate greeting.
“Not yot, dtar. Ho. was obliged to
go to Clyde on business, and will not
return till ovening. You can stay with
us to tea, and have time to prepare
for him after you go homo y I prom
ised to sond Jeuuie to toll you of his
absoneo, but now 1 have dono tho er
rand mysolf.”
“And you will have that cozy little
chat, after all, sister Lizzie,’’whisperod
tho lively Jennie. “The babies will bo
asloep, and nothing to disturb you.”
Lizzie smiled cheerfully, and ac
knowledged that it would be pleasant,
and then turned her attoution to tho
litlie ones, who wore already climbing
upon grandpapa’s knee
The abundant country tea ivas pre
pared, and soon after it " .u' over a
kind good night was said, and tho
young mother and children returned
to their own pleasant home,
Fatigued with tho pleasures of tho
afternoon, tho babies soon slept, and
as Jennie had said, everything bid fair
for tho quiet evening chat. Tho hus
band’s supper was ready ; tho house
hold cares for the day were ended,
and, seuted at hor little work-table,
lizzie busily plied hor needle, casting
ever and anon an expectant glance
along tho shady walk which led to tho
cottage, and indulging, in tho mean
time, in a very delightful retrospect
ive view of tho events of the past four
years. No clouds had as yot.obscurod
tho sunshine. Tho moonlight looked
as ploasaut now as it did
long, long ago, oven in tho honey
moon itself. William was still tho
kindost aud best of husbands, and the
most loving aud indulgent of fathers ;
and when this was said it mattered
littlo to speak of troubles, for with a
good husband, much sorrow may be
cheerfully borne. But thus far thoro
had been no sorrow. Worldly riches
had increased so that tho littlo place
in which they lived was now their
on n, froo from all debts. Tho busi
ness was still thriving, aud would be
come more so, as the villago increased
in size, and William still continued his
old habits of industry. Every one
pronounced him a rising man, and
what everybody said must bo true. —
Even bis old friend Jim had coasod to
urge the temperance cause upon him,
and had nearly arrived at the conclu
sion that William Janos was ono of
tho very few who might with safety
indulge in tho “three glasses a day.”
Regularly were tho throe glasses
taken at tho village saloon, that stood
near to tho blacksmith simp, and as
regularly was a sum equivalent to thoir
cost handed to Lizzie upon his return
from daily work. At first, it was done
in joke, but at length became a thing
of eouvso —a fixed habit, which would
have been diificult to break up. No
question was evor askod as to tho dis
position of tho money. “Hero are
your three glasses,” lie would say, and a
quiet“thank you,’’was tho wife’s reply.
Lizzie’s pleasant reflections were in
terrupted by the sound of footsteps.
She listened; it was certainly William.
Yes, it was his step ; and yet it fell on
tho wife’s ear with a different sound
from usual, and it was with an uncer
tain and almost hesitating fueling that
sho rose to open the door.
“Is it you, William ?” she askod,
before she turned the key.
“Who else should it be ? Opon tho
door quickly, and not keep mo stand
ing on tho steps all night.”
Never before had William spoken
in so abrupt and hasty a manner, and
Lizzie looked at him iu astonishment
as she hastily did as he desired.
“What is tho woman looking at ?”
ho exclaimed, in the same li*hli voice.
“One would think she never saw a
man before. Cannot you give mo
somo supper ?”
“Your supper is ready, William,”
tbe wife replied, mildly. Sho said no
more, for hor heart was vory full, and
she could with difficulty restrain her
tears- A moment’s reflection, howov
er, restored her composure. Some
thing vory unusual must havo occur
red to irritate her husband to so un
common a degree. It was her duty
to endeavor to sootbo him—to diveit.
his mind and bring him into a better (
state. With this view, after placing (
his supper before hie), she chatted
cheerfully concerning the littlo inci
dents of tho afternoon, of tho pleasant *
tea at father’s, her disappointment j
that ho could not join her there, and
how littlo Willie had wished tho c fa
ther had a piece of grandma’s nico
cake, and baby Lizzio had socmed
to miss him when they returned home j
and would bo carried from room to
room, as if searching for something.
To all this, and much moro, ho lis- I
toned in silence, and made kindly res- j
ponce. Lizzio was sad, but not dis- j
couragcd ; aud when lio left tho table j
and throw himself upon the old-fash
ion loungo, which was his Javorito
place of evening rest, sho seated her
self upon a low stool at bis side, and
looked affectionately in his faco, as she
whispered:
“What is tho matter, dear Will ?
This is the anniversary of our mar
riage, aud you havo not spoken one
kind word to your poor littlo wife.”
This appeal in somo degree restored
him to himself, aud, indeed, the nice
j cup of tea had done him good- n
j “Never heed mo to-night; Lizzie,
lie said, “I am tired, aud out of sorts,
j To tell you tho truth, I was persuaded
! to take an extra glass or two where I
have been tills aft or noon, and it was
a little too much for urn My good.
supper has nearly sot mo right, how
ever, and a good night’s rest will make
all well. What is the matter, now,
littlo woman ?”ho asked, as Lizzio sat
motionless, and made no rosponso “1
will treift you as well as 1 have done
myself. Hero is tho price of six ‘
glasses !”
The money droppod upon the floor, :
as clasping his hands silo exclaimed : :
“My dear husband, oh, my has- j
band, will you not give it up, alto- j
gether ? It would bo but a littlo sac- :
cilice now ; and, oh, believe mo, it is 1
the only safo conrso ! Think of our \
dear children. Surely you will do it
for their sakos!”
“No, no, foolish child, 1 will not j
givo it up ; but I will tike care to keep
within my allowance in future. Three
glassos a day never harmed any one.”
Lizzio would have urged him still
further, but a look of impatience |
cheeked hor, and with a secret prayer !
that lie might never again bo led into
temptation, sho locked her foam in her
owu bosom. Long after her husband
slept, her tears fell fast upon the pil
low, as sho looked at hor littlo ones
and remembered her own miserable
childhood, and her poor mother’s un
liappy life and early death.
This was tho beginning of sorrows.
For another-week all went well; then
came a second excess. There was still
some good excuse—somo peculiar cir
cumstances which he said might never
occur again. But the path down hill
is a slippery one, and of quick de
scent. Bolero another year had pass
ed, his unsteady habits wero known
and commented upon by those who
had onco respected him as a thriving,
industrious man. Several times ho
had been soon in the street in a stalo
littlo short of absolute intoxication,
and bis work was often neglected, ev
en at the most busy season of tho
year. The parents had remonstrated,
and his wife pleaded iu vain. Oppo
sition seouiod to serve but as fuol to
the flames.
“Wo can but do our duty aud trust
in God,” said Lizzio, sadly, as, after
tho most trying scenes that had yet
occurred, sho took her children to her
grand-father’s for an hour or two,
thinking that a change would bo use
ful to them and to herself.
“But toll me, my poor child,” said
tho motUor, to whom tho remark was
addressed, “is my sou vory unkind to
you and tho littlo ones t Surely, ho
cannot forget himself so far as to uso
personal violence.”
“No, mother, he is rather more sur
ly than violent At such times lie dis
likos to bo spokon to, and is angry if
tho children make a noise. Tho poor
babos used to spring with delight
when they heard his steps. Now they
shrink from him with fear. Last ev
ening when I bade W illio say his
prayer for poor lather because ho was
sick, the little fellow wept and suiil,
‘Willie will say his prayer for poor
fathor, but father don’t love Willio
any more.’ ” Tears fell fast from Liz
zie’s eyes as she spoke, aud the moth
er wept also. William was her eldest
born, and had ovor been hor pride and
delight. It was, ideod, hard to know
Hint o ho had thus gono astray,
“And is there no hope for tho fu
ture ?” sho said, bitterly. “Will ho
thus willfully pursue tho road to ruin,
until it is too late to retrace his steps.”
“We know not tho end,” ropliud
Lizzio, “but I fear that things will be
come worse. May God help us .
Lizzio’s fears wero but too well
grounded. Tho dark cloud about
them became more dense. • Dissipation
led to idleness ; work was neglected;
debts accumulated ; and povery stared
them in the face.
Deeper grow tlio shadow on tho
brow of tho old blacksmith, as he
watched tho gradul decline from vir
tue of his son. For hours ho would
sit at tho door of his own cottago, ap
parently in a state of moody abstrac
tion, and thon mournfully shaking his
head, would say, as ho aroused him
self, “All is silent now; tho black
smith’s hammer is no moro heard in
tho old shop. Oh, my boy, my boy !
Would that I could havo stood beside
thy gravo, ere I had soen tlioe thus !”
Suddenly he scorned to have form
ed some new resolution, llisiug one
morning earlier than had been his
wont for several years, he took tho well
known cross-path to tho shop. It was
closed, aud tho eutranco well-socurcd.
! For a moment ho paused, irresolute,
: and thon walked with quick steps to a
' small house in the neighborhood,
j “Is Mr. Birch in ?” he inquired of
! tho little boy who answered las knock
■ 1 at the door.
| Tho man in quostion, who had long
boon in Janos’ employ, immediately
stepped forward.
“Tho shop is locked, sir, said tho
old gentleman. “Have you tho key?”
“1 havo, was tho reply but Mr.
William is so seldom at his work,
now, that I never open without his or-
I dors. lam about seeking a situation
in Clyde. Working one -day in seven,
will not support a family." j
j “It will not, indeed, Mr. Iviuli; but
if you will rely upon me, I will soej
that you are paid as usual. Open the •
1 shop at onco, and bo ready for what- (
over may offer.”
“But I do not feel myself qmto com- j
i potent to take the whole charge, Mr. j
Janes, I am willing to work undor or
• Clol-B-’’ I
i “ I will be there myself, was tho
j reply, “and wo will see w hether 1 imo j
’ has robbed my arm of it’s strength.’
In half an hour all was bustle and
: activity at tho old blacksmith shop.
Tho wondering neighbors—who laid
for months past been obliged to go ten
miles to tho next village, when any
thing in that line was retired, heard
with surprise the busy strokes of the
hammer.
| Bam Junes almost rejoiced when his
horso lost a shoe, because it gave lain
; an opportunity to satisfy bis curiosity.
110 was a rough man, but his heart
I was touched when ho suw tho old gon
| (lonian hard at work, aud it was with
almost an air of deference that he ask
ed if his horse could bo shod immod
: iately, as he was in haste to go to
: Clyde on important business.
‘ Without delay, Sam. Hero, Mr.
I Rich, will you attend to this V— or,
stay, 1 will do it myself. It is ten
1 years, or more, since 1 have shod a
horse , but I know the right way yet.
if I mistake not.”
Tho job was about half completed,
and tho old blacksmith, with all the
interest aud activity of former years,
was bending over the uplifted foot of
tho animal, when another person en
tered tho shop. For a moment he
stood unnoticed, but an attentive obser
ver of what was passing. Tho hand
of tho gentleman trembled, as ho per
formed tho unusual labor, aud ho pau
sed, as if fatigued.
“Father,” said a well-known voice
at his elbow, “what means this ? This
work becomes not your gray hairs;
give me the hammer.”
“I have a vow, vVilliam,’’ was tho
reply, “that your wife and children
shall never want whilo I can raise a
hammer ; nor your good name be dis
graced with debts, if 1 cun earn tho
means to nay them. God will givo mo
strength.”
More affected than ho cared to own,
William walked to the further part of
the shop, and busied himself with some
work that stood ready. For many
days he had boon absent from home,
and had returned at a late hour on
tlie previous evening. His feelings
had been a good deal softened by tho
appearance of absolute poverty at his
cottage hud assumed. Somotliing
must be done; and after an anxious
and restless night, ho foil asleep just
before tho day dawned, with tho full
resolution to work steadily for three
months, at least, aud then see how’
things would go.
Tho bright morning sun steaming in
t tho window awakened him. ILo
prang up,“and the first-sound that fell
pen his ear was tho busy strokes of
lie blacksmith’s hammer. Ho listen
ed in sui prise ; Rich was not wont to
go to work with orders. Hastily dros
ing hiiusolf, he left tho cottage and
sought his shop. Bride, shamo, ami
self-reproach, struggled in his mind,
as ho watched his aged fathor steadily
pursuing his unwonted task. Tho lat
ter feelings at length gained tho mas
tery.
“Rest yourself, now, fathor,” ho
said, as tho old gentleman paused from
very exhaustion. “Fear neither for
iny family nor my good name ; for,
w ith God’s help, both shall be cared
for.”
“Bloss you, my boy, bless you!”
was the agitated reply. Be yourself
again, Billy. Thu dark cloud is pas
sing away ”
At tho littlo cottago nothing was
known of what had taken taken placo.
With hor mind tilled with hor own
sad thoughts, Lizzio noticed not the
sounds that showed all wore actively
engaged at tho shop. Her husband
did not return at noon—and, indeed,
sho scarcely expected him, for he was
seldom with them at meals. Sho had
a lingering hope that ho might come
in tho evening; but oven this was
very doubtful. Her heart boat (juici -
ly, when just after the sun had sank
behind tho western hills, his step was
heard at tho door. Tho liitlo ones
clung to her dross as he entered, for
they had learned to fear his approach
“Are you not coaling to sco lathor?”
ho said kindly. “You are not iffraid
of me, Willio, ray littlo man ?”
“Not to night, father,” replied Wil
lie boldly. “Come, sister, come to
father; he will not hurt us.”
Lizzie trembled lost the reply should
irritate him; but he only sighed deep
ly, and took tho children in his arms
without speaking. With moro cheer
fulness than sho had felt for mouths.
Lizzio busied herself with prepa
rations for tho evening moal.
“Fathor tolls me there is to boa
famous lecturer in the villiage this ev
ening,” said William, ns they took
their seats at tho table. “Can yo go
with me to hear him, Lizzio ? Never
mind the children,” he added, as his
wife glanced toward the littlo ouos.
“Sister Jennio has promised to come
round and stay with them.”
“Thou I will go with pleasure,
Will,” replied Lizzie, an l tLo untast
ed food stood before her, for sho felt
too happy to eat.
“Take some supper, mamma,” lisp
ed littlo L'zde; and Willie seconded
tho petition by saying ;
Yes, mamma, tako some supper.
Don't it make yon glad to havo fath
or homo with us ? You always cry
when ho is gone.”
There wore tears in Lizzie’s eyes,
now : but a loving glance from her
husband sent a thrill of • happiness
through her heart, to which it had
long boon a stranger.
It soomed almost like a droam to
' Lizzie, when she found herself actua
:ly walking through the littlo village
j of Bose Valley, leaning upon hor hus
band's arm, for it was l“Bg since they
I hod Wn soon together, Sho was sil
; out, for her heart was too full to speak,
| and hor husband soomed busv with
his own thoughts.
She was startled with surprise whorl
! she found tho subject was temperance ;
and she wood'cod, and would havo
given numb to have known if William
wore aware of this before lie invited
her to attend. The speaker was an
able one. Most eloquently did he
bpeak of the miseries of intemperance,
of tho perfect thralldom in which it
Uoll* its victim. AduuraSly did he
TOE. VI. —NO 20.
portray tho homo of tho drunkard. —
The wretched wife aud miserable, neg
lected children. Then followed an
earnest appeal to those he was address
ing—to those in particular, who stood
on the brink of tho fatal precipice,
but who had not yet precipitated them
selves into tho gulf bolow. “Pause,”
ho said, “pause, and while there is yet
tinu, pledge yourselves with the help of
f/od, to shake off the yoke that binds you.
l'e true to yourselves, and to the dear ones
that gather around your household hearths."
The pledge was produced, arid old
and young pressed forward to enroll
their names, to ho installed as mem
bers of tho infant lodge of Good Tem
plars.
“Are there not more who should
come ?” continued tho speaker, as the
last signature was signed “Are there
not those who are still hesitating be
tween life and death? Remember, that
this pledge binds you not to slavory,
but it is the token of freedom.’'
Calmly anil deliberately William
Janos, tho Villago Blacksmith, left
his wife’s side and advanced to the
table. There was a general murmer
of pleasure throughout tho assembly,
but Lizzie spoke not, and, to an in
different spectator, might have ap
peared unmoved. Tho mime William
Jakes was plainly and legibly written
the assembly dispersed, and each took
his way to his own home, or joined
numerous little groups who stood eori
vering upon topics of the evening,
As Lizzio passed out leaning on the
arm of her husband, many a congrat
ulatory smile or kind shako of the
hand was received, but appearently
they wero almost unnoticed. Not ono
word was spokon until they were pas
sing up the slmly walk to tho cottage
door. Tho sight of the house, with
its bright light within, broke tho spoil,
a full realization of tho change which
might now take place came over hor.
Tho dark cloud hail passed away, and
hor husband, tho father of her chil
dren, was restored to hor.
“William ! dear, dear William !”
sho murmured, and burst into tears.
“My own Lizzio! my doar, true
hearted littlo wife !” ho said tenderly
as he encircled hor with liis arm.
No more passed betwocn them, for
Jennie was watching for thorn; and
with many assurances that she hail
boon faithful to hor charge, said sho
must bid them good-night, Avithout
delay, for mother and father would lie
AA'eary with waiting for her.
William and Lizzio stood watching
hor, as with light stops sho passed
down tho walk, aud across the field
that led to the “old place,” and then
entered the cottago.
Tho babies slopt quietly ; and side
by side, as in days gone by, they sat
down near the vine-covered casement,
aud talked long aud freely ol’ the past,
present, and future.
“It has boon a long night, dearest,'
lie said, “but witli God’s help, the day
will now dawn upon you. You have
evor boon a faithful wife and mother.
I liavo caused you much sulfoiing;
but iu future it shall bo my onileavor
to bo what I ought to be, both to you
and my children.”
Lizzie pressed closer to liis side, and'
looked confidingly in his face, but he
mado no reply; and after a short pause,
William said, hesitatingly :
Berhaps, Lizzio, you are not aware
that wo still have somo trials to pass
through. Wo are in debt, and unless
I can make sumo arrangements with
my creditors, wo must part with our
pleasant homo to satisfy their claims.
“Do wo owe so vory much asked
Lizzie, a shade of anxiety passing-over
hor countenance.
“A mero triflo to tlioso who have'
riches ; but a largo sum to thoso who
have nothing," was tho reply. “About
five hundred dollars, I boleivo.”
Lizzio gently disengaged horsolf
from tho arm which hor husband and
thrown around hor, and entered the
littlo room ivliere tho children wore
sleeping. In a foiv minutes she re
turned, and placing a small work-box
in her husband’s hand, said, smiling-
ly;
“Iloro is a gift for you, dear Wil
liam.”
“And a rather heavy one, for tho
size, to say the least, ’ lie replied, as
ho raised tho lid. “Why, Lizzio .
was his astern ishedexclamati'>n. Whore
did this money come from V”
Havo you forgotten tho three glass
es a day you indulged mo ill for
so many years ?” replied Lizzie, smi
ling at tho look of amazement with
which her iiusbniiu surveyed tuo large
collection of five, ten, and twenty-fire
cent pieces which formed the contents
of tho work-box.
“Js it posiblo that yon treasured it
up in this manner, my littlo wife
“I saved it against time of need,
William dear; it is all yours now.
Thoro is moro than jive hundred dollar a
there. Wo may keep our own doav
home V
“And I am a free man onco men,
thanks to my own, dear wife,” exclaim
ed William, as ho clasped her to liis
bosom. “1 accept your GIFT, love,
as freely as it is given. Strange that
both sorrow and gladness should be
caused by the “threo « day.
Years passed on. The busy sound
of tho blacksmith’s hammer was still
heard in tho little shop. Tho gray
hairod gentleman still aiiiokod his
pipe, as, with a complacent air, lie
watched . his industrious sou at his
Work ; and both, ut tho old homestead
and the cottago, all was sunshine and
happiness. The dark clouds had
indeed passed awy.
I A littlo boy in a Danvers school was
' asked by bis- teacher for some reason
I why worn on should not vote, and tri
' umphantly answered “t'auss they
' are afraid of catterpillaro.”
