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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.”