The two roads, or, The right and the wrong
page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ] THE TWO ROADS; OA, THE RIGHT AND THE WRONG. BY JAMES KNORR. PHLADELPHA: "PPINCOTT, GRAMBO & CO. 1854. page: 0-iii (Advertisement) [View Page 0-iii (Advertisement) ] Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by JAMES KNORR, in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. STEREOTYED BY L. JOHNSON AND CO. PHLADELPHA. ADVERTISEMNT. THE author begs to acknowledge with gratitude the obligation he is under to the Hon. Judges KELLEY and ATTTSON, and the Rev. Messrs. NEWTON, DOWLING, COOMBE, WILLITS, CHAMBEIRS, and WADSWORTH; also, GEOROE R. GRAHAM, Esq., for their kindness in tendering the following recommendations. , - P lade aJn. 23 1854. MR. JAMEs KNORR:--Dear Sir--I have read the sheets of ;yiokindness in tendering the following recommendations. MR. FAMES KNO' :-Dear Sir-I have read the sheets of your forthcoming volume," The Two Roads, with much pleasure. It will be an excellent book to put into the hands of youth. Its general circulation will, I am sure, do much good. It embodies much useful information, and many noble sentiments with which 'n I hope our young people will become familiar. Iy -Very truly yours, WM. D. KREiTFY. ^ ;- ,. Philadelphia, Jan. 25, 1854. From a hasty glance over a portion of the proof-sheets of Mr. Knorr's volume, entitled "The Two Roads," I very cheerfully recommend it, as calculated to further the onward progress of the Temperance reformation, by tending to impress the minds of young people with a salutary horror of the fearful evils which beset the drunkard's path. RIocn. NEWTON, ?i/lv .Pastor of St. Paul's Episcopal Church. Xrr . ., Philadelphia, Jan. 26, 1854. Having examined a large portion of the manuscript copy of Mr. Knorr's forthcoming work, entitled "The Two Roads," I most heartily and cheerfully concur in the sentiments of the' Rev. Mr. Newton. - CHARLES WADSWORTH, 4 '19t 1 Pastor of the Arch-st. Presbyterian Church. *A', ' ii :'A page: iv (Advertisement) -v[View Page iv (Advertisement) -v] iv ADVERTISEMENT. Philadelphia, Jan. 19, 1854. Having examined the sheets of "The Two Roads," by Mr. Knorr, I take great pleasure in expressing my favourable- im- pression of it, and in heartily recommending it to the favour of the public. A father could hardly put into the hands of his son a more wholesome book; and a son, with any taste for reading, could hardly fail to be delighted, as well as profited, by its rich and varied contents. A. A. WILLITS, Pastor 1st Reformed Dutch Church. Philadelphia, Jan. 20, 1854. I most entirely concur in the above-recommendation. JOHN CHAMBERS, 402 Walnut st. Philadelphia, Jan. 21, 1854. Believing that the work entitled "The Two Roads" will be of great service to the cause of Temperance, I most cheerfully re- commend it to the public. GEO. R. GRAHAM, Editor of "Saturday Evening Mail." Philadelphia, Jan. 21, 1854. I have no doubt that the publication of Mr. Knorr's book, en- titled "The Two Roads," will further the cause of Temperance; and I cordially recommend it, and wish it success. J. DOWLING, Pastor of Sansom-st. Baptist Church. January 24, 1854. I most cheerfully recommend the work entitled "The Two Roads," by Mr. J. Knorr, to the public, as a suitable book to be put into the hands of youth. P. COOMBE, Pastor of the Kensington Methodist Episcopal Church. Philadelphia, Tan. 24, 1854. Mr. Knorr has placed in my hands the proof-sheets of his "Two Roads," which I have in part examined, and take pleasure in expressing my approval of the plan and object of the work. Designed as it is more especially for the young, I cannot doubt but that it will be the efficient means of good, and save many from the formation of habits most ruinous to their future well- being. JOSEPH ATTTSON. TO THE PUBLIC. THER is, perhaps, no movement of the present day which commands so miuch the attention of the Christian, the Philanthropist and Statesman, as the great TEMPERANCE REFORMATION. In nearly every State of our vast confederacy, the people are moving, as by common consent, to help on with this grand enterprise; some, through the medium of public meetings, lectures, etc., and others, by special petitions to the Legislatures of their respective States, praying that the traffic in this deadly enemy to man's peace and welfare may be abolished. The public Press, too, that great moral lever-when honestly conducted--with but few exceptions, is coming manfully to the rescue; while the strongholds of Intemper- ance, with their votaries, are beginning to totter beneath the mighty force that is brought to bear against them. Indeed, we may well be surprised that the community have remained so long inactive on so important a subject: espe- cially when we know from experience, that tlere never was an inebriate who became ,so by choice; but, on the contrary, from the application of means at the time almost imper- ceptible. The first glass, taken, it may be, at a convivial meeting, or, in the home of his boyhood, and through the at example of a father, generated a desire, the indulgence of which has become a part of his existence; yea, so entirely' is he bound by the chains of the Alcoholic King, that it will page: vi-vii (Table of Contents) [View Page vi-vii (Table of Contents) ] Vi TO THE PUBLIC. require the strongest energies of his nature to rend them asunder. There 'can be no doubt that thousands of young men might have been saved from an untimely grave, had they, before first partaking of the wine-cup, been made fully aware of the danger of the inebriating draught. It is only of late years that kindly warnings and fearful examples have been placed before the young, by editors of newspapers friendly to the Temperance cause, and by well-illustrated books. The latter, to be useful, should be made as inte- resting as possible; particularly to the young in orde to enlist their attention, and receive an extensive circulation and perusal. Should this book answer the purpose intended by its publication, viz. to do good among the youth of our country, and be the humble instrumentality of rescuing one, only one poor inebriate from the dominion of the destroyer, and leading him back to the paths of sobriety and peace, the Author will have received his highest reward. Philadelphia, February lat, 1854. ' Ig S ' tC o L ir CONTENTS. TL0ho on this oPicture. erane Rft.' 8 uttiongtheiBottle to our Neighbour'. Lips...................................41 Look not upon the Wine ................................... Cold Water .................................. ... ......... ... The Victim of Intemperance .............. 4' . . .......... Ke Xth. T.. 46 ,.. . . ........... TS Reforeme Debate. A, T hingsPerih su e...... ......... ........... ---, Th e emperane Dweoing....... ..................... ......................... 8 :$i Soene in a Drunkard' Home. .............. L oThe Stream o BDtath ................... -JlS} She td**ef lera Dwell ............................. ............... PRo btoeep nt . .r. a........' . ............. .............. Putting the Bottle to our Neighb0Ur's Lips....... ......................... 41 The SapireGahee44. P There's Poison in the Cu ........ ............................. 4 dAlcohol s -Curse k............................ .............................. AlThi erishe Vigt- .... ... e..4..s iP Thi ngs. .....s. Vi . ..u. .................................... : : The EvilResults ofRum Selling.... ADlogus. ..... ******-*-*'**- ;4 6i:' ***Wishming s es. .... ....... .. .......e e eee, eeee..eee b ee)E iquor Corrupts the Balot -Box ............ ... . 60 '-.: Memories of theI nebr iat e ............................ 6 '- ..... Prohibition...........a.. ...........................X...........to*O........o.... . ....64 The Samphire G6therer 5. *. ... -::: Pioneers in the Good Cause............. . 69 XA Visit to a MdI-Houset o 71 ";'? To Sign, or Not. b b 74 The Revelers. ...................................... 74 The Beehive; or, Last of the Village Taverns. A Dialogue ............ 76 v. page: viii (Table of Contents) -ix (Table of Contents) [View Page viii (Table of Contents) -ix (Table of Contents) ] "i CONTENTS. PAGE John Cary and his Gallon Keg ................. ................................. 90 Drinking with the People ............. ..... 94 The Blessings of Temperance. A Dialogue.................................. 95 Fill up the Glass ........................... . ....................................... 102 The Forsaken Wife .................................... ............................ 103 The Travellers ....... ............ ....... .... ......... ................* . 104 The Warning. ....s m.... ................................................ 106 Souls, not Stations........................................... ............... 107 The Wolf; or, the Horrors of Intemperance.............................. 108 The Three Crimes................................................................. 114 How much there is that's Beautiful ........................................ 117 If I were a Voice... ...................... ............................................. 118 The Apples of Sodom ........................................... .................. 118 Speak to that Youth ......... ................. .................................. 121 The Hate of the Bowl ..................................... ....................... 122 Growth of Intemperance ......................................................... 123 The Moral Effects of Intemperance ................................. ........ 124 There's Death in the Pot...... . *................... ................. 126 The Reason Why ................... ........ ....................................... ............ 126 The Politician. A Dialogue ..... ... .............................................. 127 Be Kind.. ........................................................................... 131 The Liquor Traffic Debasing .................................................. 132 Blighted Prospects ...... ............................................... ........... 134 The Lunatic ................ ......................................... .......... 134 Intemperance ............................................... ..... .............. 144 Beware the Wine-Cup .................. ......................................... 146 An Evening at Home. A Dialogue............................................. 147 Faith, Hope, and Charity....................................................... 156 Alcohol Dethrones Reason .......................... ......... .... 158 Away from the Revel .......... .............................................. 160 I Chasten whom I Love ........................................................... 161 The Fearful Funeral .................... , *............... 162 Dear Father, Drink no More ....................... . ........ ..... 164 An Exciting Scene ......................................... ................****..... 165 Be Thou Ready.................................................................... 168 The Drinker's Song ................................................................ 169 The Fool's Pence............. .................................................... 171 A Mother's Tear ............................. .................................... 174 The Inebriate ..................................... ............ ..................... 175 Pity for the Poor Inebriate ................................................... 176 3 S. CONTENTS iX Temperance among Youth *........................ A Lot of Breaks........... ........... ^ 90 0sge *s' 178 A Lesson-initself ublime....................181 Going a Fishing. A Dalogue .................. ***.. 182 The Water Spirit ...... ......................................... ......a , 187 A-Mother's Love . ........ ............. , ** A O 188 Drink the Maddening Bowl no More ............................. ...... 190 aiT Speak for the Right .............................1... . . .. 0- 191 '3 What will you Have?..................92 i-4 t The Stand Point,-,, @*... ..................09 o........ e . ^ ^ 0oooo 4 e e **^ ^e 194 : The Temperance Father's Return Home .r 19 ! The Old Man's Story......................... 196 A Mother to her Son...............- 203 Endurance -...........................- a. . 204 No Poor-House for Me. A Dialogue.......... to-se O 1**- 41----0*-0206 - ,:A Freedom' G eift ......... ................ 12 ; Drn The Rum Maniac .................................... 214 The Praise of Drunkenness......... ..1............ .I..'.......I........*.to* 216 Death e Drunkard......................... 218 : Wh....at is Noble? s*......................... 220 a Independence Day. A Dialogue....................... O a O ........... .',. " 221 X-^ The Stranger ............................. .. ..... 19. so, 224 i hKeep up a Good Heart...... ...............*.......... . *....** 226 ; Solemn Warnings O ... O.................. ..............." .. 227- Bright Water for e ............... ........... 230 Spurn not the Guilty ........................... ... .................. sees*.* . .... 231 / , The Mourning Father's ...................... .. .........232 T The Bird's Song ........................ 234 ' Crime-Engendering Cities.................. 9 234 Crush not the. Fallen ............................ ................ .....*....*... 236 "-! Th e Temperance Reform. A Dialogue........................ 237 Sowing and Reapi ................................................. 240 - The W idow's Sorn........*..... ...*.... ............ e . * ......* 10 .se e,*^ ^**.* . " too 241 Temperance Meeting in a Bar-Room....................................... 242 /t.! Summer's Bacchanal ................. .....,....... 248 ; The Golden Bowl Broken....................... ..............O 249 /::t! The Auger-Hole in the Chimney .......................... a 260 B . The Pledge o .......o........................... 255 . The Festive Cup.................... ...... . .......... 256 -D t - The Two Picture................................ le . . (i: ............................... 2 *In eedneDyA iou ..................... page: x (Table of Contents) -xi (Table of Contents) [View Page x (Table of Contents) -xi (Table of Contents) ] CONTENTS. PAGE The Wine-Cup .............................. 269 Tom Toperly; or, the Imprisoned ........................... *...... 260 Honest and .Happy........... ........................... Where there's a Will there's a Way .............. .. 266 The Temperance Exhibition. ADialogue ...... .... . . 267 Wife wad Home.................... *........... .........271 The Drninkard ..... ....... ............ .... ................ **271 The Rumsellers' Champion ............................. .............. ... 273 Waste not a Moment .............. .......................................... . 2" Onward ......................... ............... . ; ............. 278 You ask, How I Live? .......................................280 King Alcohol and the Cold Water Boys. A Dialogue.............,..... 281 Be ye Sober ................. ............ 285 Affecting Scene............................................... ................ -286 Bad Fruits from Bad Seeds.............................................. 289 Doubt Not .. .............. .. 291 New Year's Eve... ........ .... ... ... 292 W ater and Alcohol ..................................... .. ......................... 294 The Bridal Wine-Cup ...................................., ................ ., 296 For Ever with the Lord .. ................... ................................... 299 He will Forgive you, Father ..................... . .......s............ .300 Reformed Drunkard's Hymn .................................................. 02 Live not to Yourself ......8.......... 0. . .. ... 303 Forbearance................................... ....................... ...,* .. 305 The Cast-out Evergreen................................ ....... .... 306 Resignation ..................... t 3...'..*...... *.. ..." ................ s ... 309 The Silver Cup 3. . ........ 3" The Deacon's Complaint..................... ....................................31 Reasons for Leaving off Strong Drink ......................... . 816 Great Misery from Small Causes.............................................317 AWord of Kindness ........... ...... ........... ... a....a , 319 The Little Teetotaler. A Dialogue .......... ... ............ ..20 Intemperance ..................................... ................. 323 Sow thy Seed ... .... ............................................................. 324 The Dying Maiden's Dream ...................... ............ 325 Look always on the Sunny Side.................................... 382 Swallowing an Eel. A Dialogue.................................333 Light in Darkness.. . ............................. 838 The Temperance Effort ........................................... 339 The Moral Resurrection..... ............... ...... ... 840 :7 CONTENTS. xi PAGE Sequel to "The Rum Maniac" ................ ................. 347 The Drunkard's Bible ..........8.......... * ................... 349 :^ Life's Sunny Spot............;.................8*....................*......... . 353 Chesterfield on Intemperance............................... ......... . 54 The Land that we Live in....................8....5.....5... .*;.***osoe **.., 365 ; A Sad Scene.. ....... 856. 366 Appearances................... .................... ., . ............................ 856 Appearances I 58 Go, Speak to Him...86..**....*0. ..*** ... .. 6.... ... .........*.-** ........8..* 363 The Ruined Family ...8....... 64 i- Pity, Good Gentlefolks ..... ................................................3. 865 The Use of Intoxicating Drinks ....................... 3867 -i' Live to do Good ................................................... ........ . 368 The OpenHan.............................. 869 Benedictus ........8................71 * - r " -1 ,; " :2 :: ):f page: xii-25[View Page xii-25] THE TWO ROADS; OR, THE RIGHT AND THE WRONG. "OOK ON THS PICTURE. IT is a small low liquor-shop, out in a country village, with its sign of death and destruction swinging from its door-post. In dull, dark nights the mournful creaking of that sign sounds like the wail,of the miserable victims whom it has lured to the path of ruin, and dragged down to the depths of degradation. Miserable-lpoking men stand in the doorway of that shop, and lean up against the old rotten fences. Oaths, and low jests pass from one to another. Within stands the dealer at his bar, and around are several besotted beings, more miserable even than those standing at the door. They sit with their hats on one side, their feet in chairs, and leaning back as if asleep. Miserable creatures, with thoughts no higher than the beasts, lost to con- sciousness, sleeping off the effects of their heavy potions ere they can go to their homes. Yet these were once smart, active men, useful members of society, and walked the earth with the firm, steady tread of manhood. By little and little they have fallen,-the craving appetite has been indulged more and more every day, till here they are, loi- terers around a dram-shop, filthy and ragged in appearance, with eyes bloodshot and vacant, faces flushed and swollen, and lips full of cursing and bitterness! Here they are, and here they ,a$ 3 ' 25 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 THE TWO ROADS. hold their drunken revels, and here midnight finds them. The strong, burning draught has poisoned their life-blood, has blunted their faculties, and the drunkard's grave yawns before them A splendid saloon in the city. Brilliant light, gay music, merry company, the glitter of wealth, the paraphernalia of fashion, and the bright, sparkling wine. Rich viands load the sumptuous table, toasts are given, glasses rattle, and more than one hand grows unsteady, more than one voice boisterous in its mirth. Time speeds on merrily--the morning hours look in upon flushed cheeks and unsteady steps, and the gay, fashion- able wine-drinker bears the brand of intemperance upon him as plainly as the miserable, degraded drunkard in that mean coun- try grocery. He stands upon the selfsame precipice, the same gulf yawns beneath, and though he would spurn that low, mise- rable being from his sight, yet doubtful is it which will be first engulphed in the frightful abyss. The fashionable wine-drinker! Ah, he is a gay, good fellow, with open hand and purse, a noble-hearted being. But the loiterer around the village dram-shop, the bar-room frequenter -he is a low, degraded being, and must soon be the inmate of an alms-house, or perhaps be found ere long dead by the roadside. Ah, it makes a vast difference in the eyes of the world by what road, and in what guise, a man travels. Shortsighted mortals,-they see not the end thereof, and that they both lead to the same' dark valley. A small house in a country town, going to ruin. The paint is worn from the outside, shingles gone from the roof and never been replaced, fences torn down for firewood, out-buildings seem- ing to have but a slight hold upon the earth, with their doors half fallen from their hinges, and the boards loosened and creak- ing in every breeze of heaven. It is a scene of desolation and decay. - Enter, and the same tale is written upon all--poverty and degradation, filth and squalid wretchedness. Reader, this is the drunkard's home! That is the druankard's wife who sits there before that scanty fire, with every vestige of hope and ambition dead in her heart. Pale is "OOK ON THS PICTURE. 27 she and meagre in appearance, yet she was once joyful and happy. Her step is slow and hopeless, it was once light and elastic. Once she sang about her W*ork as gayly as a bird, now she goes , about her daily toil without a smile; she never sings, not even to the babe upon her breast. Reader, those are the drunkard's children, those small, thin creatures with sunburnt faces, uncombed locks, hands begrimed with dirt, clothes patched and yet still ragged. Those are the drunkard's children, and they hear their father's curses, and they see their mother's tears, and they get used to misery and wretched- ness in their young days, and want teaches them many a lesson it were better their young hearts never knew. The evil passions rise unchecked, and if they grow up reckless and evil, what wonder? At whose door lieth the sin? Hark! His his step upon the threshold! They know it, that mother, those children. The young babe hides its head upon its mother's breast, the next younger runs into an adjoin- ing room, the oldest stands firmly up, his dark eyes flashing beneath his elfish locks, his little hands tightened together. He does not fear him, not he! The mother looks not up as he enters, why should she? She looks not up even when he speaks to her with reviling. She is used to that. But ah, the worm will turn when trodden upon, and in his inebriation the wretched man goes too far, beyond even her woman's endurance, and she rises against him, giving him back bitterness for bitterness, and there is con- tention and strife, hard, burning words between husband and wife. The father and mother quarrel before the eyes and within the hear- ing of their own children, and their cup of wretchedness is full. Is there a sadder sight than this?, A stately house in the city, with every thing about it rich and elegant. Wealth -is written plainly upon its imposing front, within is taste and luxury. Soft carpets of rich, gorgeous colours cover the floors, mirrors and costlypaintings-adorn the walls., all that the most exacting lover of the beautiful might covet, is here. And it is night. The lights have gone out in the parlours,'but one still burns in the large hall, and another up in the chamber page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 THE TWO ROADS. of the mistress of the house. A servant sleeps heavily upon a couch in the hall, and the mistress sits within her chamber with dim, weary, but unsleeping eyes. The night wears on, still the lamps burn, still the servant sleeps, still the wife keeps her lone, sad vigil! It is a sad face that looks out of the window of that chamber upon the street below. It is a slight, frail form that turns and sinks upon the couch and buries her face in her hands. It is a heavy heart, bearing a world of wo, that beats beneath the rich dressing-robe folded so closely around her, for the night is cold, and grief and sorrow are yet colder. Still wears the night away, and again she looks out upon the street. The moon is shining now upon the city covered with its mantle of snow. A dark object stands leaning against yonder lamp-post. It is a man. Yes; she knows him. A man in form, but without the consciousness of being one, he stands throwing his arms wildly about and dashing his hat upon the snow. In vain he tries to rise from his reclining position. She sees him, and although she has seen him thus before-although she expected to meet as unwelcome a sight, yet the blood forsakes her cheek and her heart almost stops its beating. She leaves her chamber, and flying swiftly down the wide staircase, speaks to the slumber. ing servant, "Your master is without." Bewildered, the man opens the door and goes out, but soon returns, leading in the master. The wife stands there pale as marble, and as the servant carries her husband up stairs, she follows with a slow, hopeless step. Insensible and stupefied, that man is laid upon his bed, and when the morning breaks it finds him in the same state. And this, too, is the drunkard's home. This, too, with its wealth and luxury. It is the same prostration of the mind and faculties of the man, the same hopeless sorrow of the wife. The road leadeth to the same dark end. This holds out, per- haps, a little farther, keeps up appearances a little longer, but just as surely leadeth it to the same dark gulf. The same dark shadow falls upon the different pathways, the same evil spirits haunt them, the same sin bringeth the same results. The same hopes have been crushed, the same curse entailed, the "OOK ON THS PICTURE. 29 same grave opens for both; a drunkard's curse, a drunkard's grave. A wretched, miserable man, with long straggling hair falling over his bloated features, his mind wholly prostrated, his recollec- tions confused and indistinct, he drags out his life in an alms- house. His family are scattered, he knows not, cares not where. He lives, he breathes, and that is all; he thinks not, feels not. And this is the wreck of a man-this is what strong drink has done! The work begun in that low village dram-shop is nearly hfinished. The sad dirge will be sung when that man is struck by death and another name is added to the already swelled list. The tale is nearly told: from the bar of the dealer in strong drink to the alms-house and the drunkard's grave are but few steps, and those are poverty, degradation, recklessness, and despair! The stately house has long since been sold. The pale, sad face that looked from its windows has been overshadowed by the still deeper paleness of death. The heart is still that bore that weight of wo, and the tale began in that brilliant saloon is nearly finished. A man old before his time, sunk in a state of stupefaction walked totteringly along the city streets, and'mid its bustle and rude jostling suddenly fell upon the pavement and died. From the brilliant saloon to that quick, sudden death, were but few steps, and they ended in the drunkard's grave. All along in the two paths lay crushed hopes, talents wasted intellects darkened, and hearts broken. What differed they? One was the path of the rich and fashionable, the other, the com- mon man. They both ended in ruin. One was gilded over with the customs of good society and the sanction of the powerful--the other stood out in its bold, naked deformity, but they both ended in the drunkard's grave. God looked on each with his impartial eye, and judged them by his unerring law of justice, and saw that they both led to the gates of death!-[Mrs. XN S. Munroe. page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 THE TWO ROADS. "OOK NOT UPON THE WINE. "OOK not upon the wine when it Is red within the cup Stay not for pleasure when she fills Her tempting beaker up! Though clear its depths, and'rich its glow, A spell of madness lurks below. They say 'tis pleasant on the lip, And merry on the brain; They say -it stirs the sluggish blgod, And dulls the tooth of, pain. Ay--but within its glowing deeps A stinging serpent, -unseen, sleeps. Its rosy lights will turn to fire, Its coolness change to thirst; And, by its mirth, within the brain A sleepless worm is nursed. There's not a bubble at the brim- That does not carry food for him; Then dash the brimming cup aside, And spill its purple wine; Take not its madness to thy lip- Let not its curse be thine. 'Tis red and rich-but grief and wo Are hid those rosy depths below.-[ Willis. COLD WATER. THE thirsty flowerets droop. The parching grass Doth crisp beneath the foot, and the wan trees Perish for lack of moisture. By the side Of the dried rills, the herds despairing stand, With tongue protruded. Summer's fiery heat Exhaling, checks the thousand springs of life. Mark'd ye yon cloud glide forth on angel wing? Heard ye the herald-drops, with gentle force Stir the broad heavens?-And the protracted rain -4- 1THE VICTIM OP INTEMPERANCE. 8 Waking the streams to run their tuneful way? Saw ye the flocks rejoice, and did ye fail To thank the God of fountains? See the hart Pant for the water-brooks. The fever'd sun Of Asia glitters on his leafy lair As, fearful of the lion's wrath, he hastes With timid footsteps through the whispering reeds; Quick leaping to the renovating stream, The copious draught his bounding veins inspires With joyful vigour. Patient o'er the sands, The burden-bearer of the desert clime, The camel toileth. Paint with deadly thirst, His writhing neck of bitter anguish speaks. Lo! an oasis, and a" tree-girt well,- And moved by powerful instinct, on he speeds, With agonizing haste to drink or die. On'his swift courser, o'er the burning wild The Arab cometh. Prom his eager eye Flashes desire. Seeks he the sparkling wine, Giving its golden colour to the cup? No! to the gushing spring he flies, and deep Buries his scorching lip and laves his brow, And blesses Alla. Christian pilgrim, come! Thy brother of the Koran's broken creed Shall teach thee wisdom,--and, with courteous hand, Nature, thy mother, holds the crystal cup, And bids thee pledge her in the element Of temperance and health. Drink, and be whole, And purge the fever-poison from thy veins, And pass, in purity and peace, to taste The river flowing from the throne of God! [Mrs. Sigourney. THE VICTIM OF INTEMPERANCE. DURING my school-boy years I became most ardently attached to a boy, who, although several years my senior, was a member of the same youthful company. He was one of those truly noble page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 THE TWO ROADS. and generous lads that all will love for their "very goodness." He possessed a mind powerfully discriminating, which induced us to respect and reverence his superior judgment. Indeed, such was the solidity of his characteri such the prudence of his con- duct, and the benevolence of his hear3t, as to afford him a kind of parental authority over us, which each one found himself happy in obeying. No difficulties arose in our circle but were amicably adjusted under his arbitration; no sports were engaged in by us except such as he approved.- One so uniformly kind, so conscientiously devoted to the promotion of -happiness, would naturally, almost necessarily, be loved by all who knew him. Such was my friend, and so was he loved. He was the only child of wealthy and respectable parents, whose chief anxiety appeared to be the proper qualification of their son for the faithful discharge of the various-duties of life. All that the kindest care could do for him was done most gladly. Every opportunity which the most ample means could afford him he enjoyed. And richly did he repay those efforts of parental love, for few young men had ever left the university with higher honours and more extensive scientific attainments. He entered immediately after the con- elusion of his studies upon a most brilliant career of professional life. His prospects indeed were most flattering. No, lowering skies hung over him. No dark clouds -arose to obscure the light of the rising sun. Smoothly, happily glided the current of his life along. His bosom companion need not be here described. Suffice it to say of her, that to a naturally kind and benevolent disposition, she added all the graces of the Christian religion, which ever appear so divinely enchanting when blended with the gentleness and simplicity of the female character. The duties of my vocation called me away from the home of my childhood. Years rolled onward to the bosom' of eternity before I again visited him whose company had ever been so dear to me. The duties and cares of life I supposed had produced some change in the appearance of my early and beloved associate. It was not reasonably to be expected that I should find him the same, and unchanged by time -and care and toil. Anticipating considerable change from the lapse of years and the influence of the most active business habits, I sought the dwelling of my early i:.; tO YOUT13H.. 38 friend, expecting to be gladdened by his presence and instructed by his chastened conversation. On my entry, his companion saluted me, but not in her accustomed tone of gladness and joy. I could not but mark a fearful change in her appearance. Melan- choly and sadness were strongly depicted in her faded counte- nance. Anguish and despair appeared to have taken possession of her once happy heart. A deadly worm was too evidently gnawing at the vitals of her peace and life. She conducted me to the apartment of her dying husband. Good God! what a spectacle! There he lay in the awful torments of deirTizm tremens! The frenzy of that dreadful disease was upon him. He raved, he tore in a thousand'tatters the covering upon his bed,-he blasphemed the holy name of his Maker,-and with almost unspeakable curses upon his lips, his spirit returned to God who gave it. This was my friend. This was my early, my loved associate. This was my cherished, my endeared L-- . He had gone i but how! Not sweetly, as the virtuous die; not gently, as summer breezes fan the green bosom of nature; not submissively, as {"sinks a righteous soul to rest.' Oh! not so--he died in agony, in despair; he died the poor victim of his own debased appetite; he died unhonoured, but not unwept. What fell destroyer could cause all this? What fiend incarnate would produce such misery? Alas! the tale is soon told. My friend could not resist tempta- tzon. With his companions he sipped the winecup. In the social circle he "(first endured, then pitied, then embraced" the destroyer. The demon Intemperance claimed him as her own, and hurried him to an untimely and dishonoured grave. TO YOUTH. THNGS of high import sound I in thine ears, Dear child, though now thou mayest not feel their power; But hoard them up, and in thy coming years Forget them not, arid when earth's tempests lower, A talisman unto thee shall they be, To give thy weak arm strength--to make thy dim eye see. page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] 34 THE TWO ROADS. Seek truth-that pure, celestial truth-whose birth Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth; But her majestic port, the willing mind, Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul, Nor'faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll. Be free. Not chiefly from Intemperance' iron chain, But from the one which passion forges--be The master of thyself. If lost, regain The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free! Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet, And stand erect-as for a heaven-born one is meet. Seek virtue. Wear her armour to the fight; Then, as a wrestler gathers strength. from strife Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigorous might By each contending turbulent ill of life. Seek virtue. She alone is all diviner And having found, be strong, in GofDs own strength and thine. Truth--freedom--virtue-these, dear child, have'power, If rightly cherish'd, to uphold. sustain, And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour;. - Neglect them-thy celestial gifts are vain- In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soil'd; Thy soul be crush'd 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. THE TEMPERANCE DWELLING. THE verdant mead, the flow'ry lawn, All bright in summer's blushing dawn; The winding stream, whose crystal tide Reflects the o'erhanging lily's pride, In modest beauty by its side; The lofty wood, where all day long, Is heard the linnet's glowing song; Where all the feather'd warbling throng Their tales of love are telling: These-nature's beauties fresh and-gay, In all the brilliancy of May- Surround the temperance dwelling. SCENE IN A DRUNKARD'S HOME. When winter's rudeness, winter's storm Earth's brightest, loveliest scenes deform; Whem summer's genial glow is past, And man would shun the stormy blast That fans to rage the billow vast Around his humble fireside, Where mirth and innocence preside Peace, harmony, and love abide Domestic strife expelling The houseless poor a shelter find- A fond salute-a welcome kind, Within the temperance dwelling. When mortal life's brief span is o'er, And earth's gay scenes attract no more; When dust with dust at last is blent, The aspiring soul, no longer pent -Within her clayey tenement, In regions that to bliss belong, She eager joins the myriad throng, That sound the "everlasting song" Jehovah's praises swelling, In realms that for aye endure, The pure in heart, in "spirit poor" Obtain a blissful dwelling. SCENE IN A DRUNKARD'S HOME. SCENE IN A DRUNKARD'S HOME. IT was Saturday night; the rain was falling in torrents. In a miserable dwelling, on an old broken chair, almost the only one the house contained, sat a poor bowed down woman. She still retained enough of youth to show that she had once been beauti- ful, though now careworn and emaciated. She was singing, in a low, sweet; plaintive voice, to a sickly, restless infant; another child, a little girl, sat on the floor, gazing wistfully up into her mother's face; and that patient, wo-worn mother smiled-smiled to hide her tears as she stooped to smooth her cheek, and mur- mured, "My darling, he will soon be here; and then my little one shall have her supper." A few minutes after, the latch was lifted. A slight and (in spite of his tattered garments) a geriteel- page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 THE TWO RQOADS. looking boy entered. "They will not let me have any more, dear mother," said he, flinging down his ragged cap with an air of despondency: "they say my father drinks, and there is little probability of their ever getting paid for what we have already had;" and here the poor boy's voice faltered. The woman sat for some time in mute despair; at last she said, "Well, Edward, what is to be done? To-morrow is Sunday, and we must cer- tainly starve, unless you go again to"-she seemed almost afraid to say the word-" your uncle's, and beg a few shillings: perhaps, if you will tell him how absolute is our want, he will not, he cannot, refuse." As the mother spoke, the boy's white cheek became instantly suffused with burning crimson; his large, dark, yet sunken eye flashed, as he exclaimed, vehemently, "Never, mother, never, never! Oh, mother, do not ask me!" and he hid his face in the arm that rested on the table. A long silence en- sued, which was at last broken by the little girl: "Mother, you said I should have some suppbrother wcame back." long-suppressed sob was the only answer. The next instant the boy's head was raised, the cheek had settled to its ashy hue and the fiery light was quenched in his dark. eye; and he stood at his mother's side, threw his arm round her neck, and stooping to kiss her furrowed brow, whispered, "Forgive me, dear, dear mo, ther; I knew not what I said. Oh, don't kill me by these tears, as if you had not misery enough, without my increasing it. I will go this instant, and, after all, he cannot say more than he did the last time. Mother, look up-I will go." "Edward," said the agitated woman, pressing him to her bosom, "gladly, most gladly would I lay down my own life to save my precious boy one pang, one moment's grief; but it is not for myself that I ask you to do what I feel and know to be so. humiliating; but for their sake, (and she glanced at the sleeping infant,) for their sake my Ed- ,ward will do his duty." Edward did go, and when he came home he brought food and gladness. But he did not then tell his mother how he had again and again been spurned; how he had been taunted; how he had been told that the hard-earned bread of industry was not to be given to the drunken father and his lazy son; how he had borne all this opprobrium for her sake and quelled his proud spirit, and on his knees sued again and r SCENE IN A DRUN;KARD'S HOME. 37 again; and at last gained, by his' importunity, that which was denied to his misery. But the bright hectic spot that shame had called into his pale cheek, and that still burned there, told to :- that observant mother how great had been the mortification which the heroic boy had endured. I* k * * * * All was silent in the low dwelling. "Mother," said the dying boy, "raise my head, and lay it once again on your bosom. Do you weep," he-continued, after a short pause, and making a feeble effort to throw his arm round her neck, "do you weep, dearest mother, that to-day you have a son on earth-to-morrow, one in heaven? Do you weep that I ameavaing a world so full of wo- a world that you yourself are so weary of-for that bright heaven, that happy home, which we have so often talked about? The thought of parting from you is the only sting that death has for me. Oh if I could but take you, sweet mother, with me! But you will soon come-you cannot stay without me." Here his whisper became inaudible.; his head pressed heavier on her bosom; a short gasp-a low sigh, and the unhappy mother clasped convulsively to her breast the lifeless corpse of her dear dear boy! Many hours had passed, yet that mother still hung motionless over her son; so still: and immovable was she, you might have imagined that she too had bid farewell toher-earthly sorrows. Pre- sently, the door was pushed violently open, and a man staggered into the room. He stood for some time gazing round him, as if endeavouring to remember where he was. At last, recognising his wife, and reeling toward her, he seized her arm and pulled her rudely up. As he did so, a low, agonizing groan showed that she was awakening to consciousness; but as her eyes rested upon his face, a long, loud appalling laugh ran through the cold, dim room; then suddenly stopping, and laying one hand on the shoulder of the now sobered man, and with the other parting back the long black locks from the face of the dead boy, "Do you see him, Charles?" she exclaimed; "do you see him? and do you know who has laid him in his early grave? Do you know who clouded his young days with misery; that gave him for his por- tion here poverty, and hardship, and shame; that filled his cup page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] 838 THE TWO ROADS. of life so full of bitterness, that at the first taste he turned with loathing from it, and pined and died? . Need I tell you, man! murderer!" she shrieked, "that it was a DRUNKEN FATHER? Need I tell you that you have laid the head of your child in the dust, and broken the heart of the wife' you had sworn to protect and cherish?"Then, looking slowly and shudderingly round the dis'hal apartment, she sank again upon the body of her son. "Oh! take me with you, my beautiful, my best; leave me not to this loneliness of heart, this living death. My boy, my Ed- ward, take your wretched mother with you!" And what were the drunkard's feelings during this scene? Did not his soul smite him? It did, it did. Most keenly did he feel-the pangs of remorse; yet he rushed from the house and en- tered the first dram-shop!"O thou invisible spirit of wine! if thou hast no other name to be known by, let us call thee DEVIL I' THE STREAM OF DEATH. THERE is a stream whose narrow tide The known and unknown worlds divide- o Where all must go; Its waveless waters, dark and deep,- Mid sullen silence downward sweep, With moanless flow. t saw where; at that dreary flood, A smiling infant, prattling, stood, Whose hour had come; Untaught of ill, it near'd the tide, Sank as to cradled rest, and-died, Like going home. Follow'd with languid eye, anon A- youth, diseased, -and pale, and wan; And there, lor ie, . He gazed upon the leaden stream,- And feared to plunge--I heard a scream, And he was gone. And then a form in manhood's strength Came bustling on, till there, at length, He saw life's bound; REFLECT. 39 He shrank, and raised the bitter prayer- Too late!-his shriek of wild despair The waters drown'd. Next stood upon that surgeless shore, A being bowed with many a score Of toilsome years;- Earth-bound and sad he left the bank, Back turned his dimming eye, and sank- Ah, full of fears. How bitter must thy waters be, O Death! How hard a thing, ah me! It is to die!-,- I mused-when to that stream again Another child of mortal man With smiles drew nigh! "'Tis the last pang," he calmly said; "To me, O Death, thou hast no dread; Saviour, I come! Spread but thine arms on yonder shore- I see! ye waters, bear me o'er! There is my home!"-[E. W. Canning. REFLECT. IF tempted by a sinful thought To some unworthy deed, Or in thy heart dark promptings rise, Pause quickly and take heed. Should folly lure thee into sin, Or tempt thy trembling feet, Then think the erring never win The blessings good men meet. Reflect. Whate'er you chance to undertake, -Should it be great or small, Remember, in the cup of life, The sweet is mix'd with gall. page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 THE TWO BOADS. But ere your shoulders to the wheel Resolved you firmly place, Oh, let your heart this knowledge feel, The act is one of grace. Reflect. Of what we do we seldom think, Until it is too late; When from the end we cannot shrink, Or shun our bitter fate. . A careless aet, without a thought, Brings often shame and grief; Our wisdom is not cheaply bought, When it brings no relief. Reflect. -If to thy lips a falsehood rise, Oh erush it in its birth; 'Twas Satan that invented lies To curse this pleasant earth. However small the sin may be, 'Twill spread, if it take root; As from an acorn springs a tree, So sin from sin will shoot.. - Reflect. If at thy elbow Satan stands And tempts thee to a wrong, As tempted he our Jesus once, Then read my simple song: Though he display a world's great wealth, And offer thee the whole; What profits it to gain the world And lose thy living soul? Reflect. A simple word not hard to learn, But one with meaning fraught, In gentleness I'd teach to thee, For wonders it hath wrought. So profit by that little word; -'Twill win thee love and joy, And gain for thee a God's bright smile, And bliss without alloy. Reflect. [ William Earle Binder. PUTTING THE BOTTLE TO OUR NEIGHIBOUR'S LIPS. 41 PUTTING THiE BOTTLE TO OUR NEIGHBOUR'S LIPS. EXTRACT FROM A DISCOURSE ON THE CHRISTIAN LAW OF TEMPERANOE, By REV. T. L. CUYER, OF TRENTON, NEW JERSEY. "It is good neither to eat flesh nor to drink wine, nor any thing whereby thy brother stumbleth.'"-Romans xiv. 21. WE lay down, then, this proposition, that no man has a moral right to do any thing, the influence of which is certainly and in- evitably hurtful to his neigh!our-man. I have a legal right to do many things which, as a man of principle, I ought not to do. I a have a legal right to do many things which would be hurtful to myself-such as the consumption of opium, or even the taking of arsenic. But I have no moral right thus to commit a self- destruction. I have a legal right to do many things which by their direct influence shall work most fatal injury to my fellow- men. But, with my Bible in my hands, I have no moral right to do so. This very text I am discussing, and many kindred ones, forbid it. * * * Now, on the principle of avoiding what is hurtful to others, what moral right have I to sustain those magazines of death and fountain-heads of evil where poisonous drinks' are sold'? What right have I, as a lover of God and man, to petition for them, or to sustain that traffic in any shape or manner? What right have I to aid or abet, in any way, the whole system of drinking, pub- lic or private, at home or abroad? If a glass of wine on my table will entrap some young man, or some one whose inclination is very susceptible to alcoholic stimulant, into dissipation, what right have I to set that trap for his life? What right have I to throw over that practice the sanction of my usage and influence, so that he shall go away and acknowledge me his tempter, and quote me as his authority for sinning? If the contents of that sparkling glass shall make my brother to stumble, he stumbles over me. I am an accomplice in the wrong. If he' goes away from my table, and commits some outrage under the effects of page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42 THE TWO ROADS. that stimulant, I am to a certain degree guilty of that outrage. The blow he struck was mine, the oaths he uttered were to a cer- tain degree my blasphemies. I have a partnership right in them. But for me he would not have uttered them; and by giving him the incentive, I prompted him to them. The man who (in the language of Scripture) ' puts the bottle to his neighbour's lips," is accountable for what comes from those lips under the influence of the exciting draught, and is accountable, too, for what the maddened and bewildered man may do during his temporary insanity. Now, with this view of the subject, is it too much to ask of every true Christian, that he will avoid all tampering with what is so fatal to the temporal and eternal interests of his fellow im- mortals? Can he feel clearly certain that he himself is on th right road to heaven, when he is deliberately sending others on the broad road to perdition? This is a solemn question. Is it too much to ask of every professor of the religion of love, nad every man of morality, that they will totally and entirely abs4tii from all intoxicating drinks, for the sake of others-? For the sake of your children, do it. For the sake of a husband, a bro- ther, a son. For the sake of the young, who catch so readily the evil habits of their seniors. For the sake of poor tempted ones, who will yield easily to temptations--oh! for your brother's sake, your fellow-traveller to God's bar and God's eternity, touch not this bottled demon-this subtle, deadly emissary of the pit, im- prisoned in the shining glass! But, in the next place, if it be wrong for good men to set before others an example of drinking alcoholic drinks, how much more to offer it directly, as a matter of merchandise and traffic! That the sale of alcohol is legalized in our community, I do not deny. I see that, and know it, and depIore it. Under the existing regulations of this commonwealth, the traffic is made legal, and is placed under certain regulations; and for specified sums, men have "license" to dispose of alcoholic drinks in cer- tain quantities, to be drunk as a beverage. They have a license-- a legal permission. But, in spite of the ridicule that has lately been levelled at the doctrine, I submit whether there be not in existence a higher law than that of this commonwealth? I submit PUTTING THE BOTTLE TO OUR NEIGHBOUR'S LIPS. 43 whether the Infinite Jehovah of Hosts be not a mightier Poten- tate than the governor of any state or the council of any city? And in the statute-book of the universe, I read these words: "Wo unto him who putteth the bottle to his neighbour's lips!" This is God's declaration, whatever men may delude each other with; and, finding these words in the statute-book, I call your earnest and solemn attention to them. The full import and powers of a human license to "put the bottle to a neighbour's lips," is greatly misunderstood and over- rated. Will a "license" free a man's conscience from the legiti- mate effects of that which he is doing? Will that make repara- tion to a man for the loss of his money, time, character, health, and soul? Will that make reparation to a family robbed of pro- tection, and to a community robbed of its real wealth-the name and strength of its patriot sons? Will that soothe the widow whose outer badges of mourning are but faint emblems of the darkness that hangs like night upon her broken spirits? Is there any trafficker in drink who means to take his license up to the judgment-bar? If so, I entreat him to look well, and see whose "image and superscription it bears." On this point I need say no more, and invite you to see who it is for whom Paul asks all good men to abstain from tampering with this business of drinking or vending. It is for the sake of those who stumble. For the sake of others, we are to abstain. Oh! those stumblers! those stumblers! I dare not speak of them. It would touch many of us, perhaps all of us, too ten- derly. It would reveal too sad a picture of withered hopes, of blighted expectations, of crushed and demolished prospects for wealth, honour, usefulness, and peace. It would reveal wrecks- wrecks that angels have wept over. It would open tombs where the charitable green turf hides out of sight what many would love to have forgotten! It would recall to me more than one of whom I do not like to think-on the bench, at the bar, in the pulpit, and in the highest councils of the nation. Oh! from what heights men have stumbled! and into what depths have they been precipitated! * * * After deep deliberation and prayer, I have brought this matter before you; and purely as a Christian duty do I commend total .- page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " THE TWO ROADS. abstinence to you. Not as the doctrine of any society or league, do I commend it to you, but as the teachings of the book of God. If any of you withdraw to cavil at it, first see whom it is you are fighting against-me or my Maker. If any of you withdraw to spurn it, then remember that my hands are clean of any ca- lamitous consequences that may follow. If you or yours are ever wounded by this subtle foe, remember that I once showed it to you coiled on the bottom of the glass, and told you that " at the last it would bite like a serpent, and sting like an adder!"At last! AT LAST! but oh! my beloved people; when, when shall that "last" ever end? When will the drunkard's last groan be heard? When will the last pang shoot through his wretched soul? THE VICTIM. "HAND me the bowl, ye jovial band," He said, "'twill rouse my mirth ;" But conscience seized his trembling hand, And--dashed the cup to earth. He looked around, he blushed, he laughed, He sipped the sparkling wave; In it he read-"Who drinks this draught Shall dig a murderer's grave!" He started up, like one from sleep, And trembled for his life; He gazed, and saw-his children weep, He saw his weeping wife. In his deep dream, he had not felt Their agonies and fears; But now he saw them, as they knelt, To plead with prayers and tears. But- the foul fiend her hateful spell Threw o'er his wildered mind; He saw in every hope a hell- He was to reason blind. THERE'S POISON IN THE CUP." 45 :: He grasped the bowl to seek relief; No more his conscience said;. t: - His bosom friend was sunk in grief, His children begged for bread. Through haunts of sorrow and of strife He passed down life's dark tide; He cursed his beggared babes and wife; He cursed his GoD-and died! "THERE'S POISON IN THE' CUP." "ONG years ago, ere Media's throne Had crumbled into dust; Ere Plato lived, and Socrates, And he they called the Just; A Persian youth, of royal mien, To Media's monarch came; For King Astyages had heard. His grandson's noble fame; And he had called him to his-court, That he might nobler be, For he had spent his early youth- Apart from royalty. While at a sumptuous feast they sat, The prince addressed the king- "Grandfather, suffer me, for once, The wine to you to bring." Permission given, without delay The prince bore round the wine, But first to taste the proffered cup, Omitted by design. The monarch praised his youthful grace, Like Ganymede's divine, But much he wondered that the youth Sipped not the sparkling wine. page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] 46 THE TWO ROADS. The prince replied, when asked the cause, i I do not choose to sup The ruddy wine, for much I fear There's poison in the cup. When yesternight I saw your friends Engaged in furious brawl, I thought the bearer of the cup Had surely poisoned all. E'en you forgot that you were king, And they that they were lords; You sang, and he was praised the most Who made the most discord. Therefore, I pray thee, urge me not To taste the ruby wine, For surely poison doth possess The offspring of the vine." "KEEP OFF THE TRACK." IN German story, we learn of a youth who sold his shadow to Satan for a price, and his eyes no more looked upon the reflection of his form in his daily walks, though the sun poured forth its rays in all their splendour. Men shunned him in the streets, as if he breathed forth the plagte with every respiration, and avoided the path he trod, as if the pestilence lurked in his foot- steps. The boys looked upon him with fear, and fled at his approach; and the young maidens wept, as they saw his un- shadowed form pass by. There are many Peter Schmeihls among us-men " bought with a price," by whose side the angel of goodness walks no more. They have traded their shadow to the arch-enemy, for " gold, gold, gold." Let them be shunned, even as was the unfortunate youth-in the story. It is no play of the fancy, to say, with the Scripture, "Their doors are the gates of hell, going down to the chambers of death," and above them should be engraved the words which Dante found upon the portal of Pandemonium--"Whoso enters here leaves hope behind." About them clings a moral leprosy, "KEEP OFF THE TRACK." 4' which no Bethesda can wash clean; a desolating scourge,- to which the plague is as a visitation of mercy. Let tongue and pen send aloud and continually, the note of warning-"Keep off the track!'" "Keep off the track!" O young man! barter not away your precious hopes, your lofty aspirations, your all-conquering and noble will, for the " abomination that maketh desolate." Heed ye the voice of warning, of entreaty, which, ever present in your own soul, bids you hold your hands and set your lips against the contamination of so foul a touch. We pray you, by all that is dear and sacred to your own heart, by your cherished loves, by your ho- liest memories, lay not yourself a sacrifice before the car of this in- satiable demon, more terrible than death, more inexorable than the grave. "Keep off the track!" O ye of middle age, from whom has departed the dew and freshness of youth, before the risen glory of 'life's noontide sun! Let the experience of your years teach the lessons of wisdom. Let not the snares of the despoiler tempt you, though he comes "clothed in the garb of heaven." "An evil soul, producing holy witness, Is like a villain with a smiling cheek; A goodly apple, rotten at the hearth We conjure you, by all the tender relations which you hold, by your love as a husband, by your affection as a father, by all the sacred interests confided to your trust, beware of the temptations held out to lure you to your own destruction. Bethink you of a house made desolate, of a wife worse than widowed, of children without counsel or shield; and resist, with all your soul, this Moloch of destruction. "Keep off the track!"O old man, with steps close drawing to the tomb! Sully not the honour of your gray hairs, by tamppr- ing with a poison no less fatal than-the deadly distillations of the upas trunk, lest the virtues which adorned your prime become clouded in life's fadinghour, and the form which age should make honoured and venerated, become a mockery and a scorn. Oh, heed ye, as you cast your eyes beyond the curtain of the pre- sent, into- that dim and shadowy world to which, with trembling page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 THE TWO ROADS. -step, you are fast hastening, heed ye the awful warning of inspi- ration--"No DRUNKARD shall inherit the kingdom of heaven." Once more, to all, fair youth and blooming maid, strong man- hood and feeble age, be warned!"Keep off the track of the ItUMSFILLT R,!" A VOICE FROM THE WINE-PRESS. 'TWAS for this -they reared the vine, Fostered every leaf and shoot, Loved to see its tendrils twine, And cherished -it from branch to root! 'Twas for this, that from the blast It was screened and taught to run, That its fruit -might ripen fast, O'er the trellis, to the sun. And for this, they rudely tore Every cluster from the stem; 'Twas to crush us, till we pour Out very blood for them! Well, though we are tortured thus, Still our essence shall endure; Vengeance, they shall find, with us May be slow, but will be sure. And the longer we are pent From the air and cheering light, Greater, when they give us vent, For our rest shall be our might. And our spirits, they shall see, -Can assume a thousand shapes; These are words of verity, Uttered by the dying grapes. Many a stately form shall reel, When our power is felt within.; 'lMany a foolish tongue reveal What the recent draught has been; Many a thoughtless, yielding youth. With his promise all in bloom, Go from paths-of peace and truth To an early, shameful tomb. ALCOHOL, A CURSE. 49 We the purse will oft unclasp, All its golden treasure take, And, the husband in our grasp, Leave the wife with heart to break. While his babes are pinched with cold, We will bind him to the bowl, Till his features we behold Glowing like a living coal. We will bid the gownman put To his lip a glass or two, Then, we'll stab him in the foot, Till it oversteps the shoe. And we'll swell the doctor's bill, While he parries us in vain; He maay cure, bat we will kill Till our thousands we have slain. When we've drowned their peace and health, Strength and hopes, within the bowl, More we'll ask than life or wealth- We'll require the very soul! Ye, who from our blood are free, Take the charge we give you now; Taste not, till ye wait and see If the grapes forget their vow.-[Mss Gould. ALCOHOL, A CURSE. As a foe to all the social interests of men, there is no other to be compared with alcoholic drinks-no other that wars so ruth- lessly upon home, and all that sacred circle of interests of which home is the centre. Back of all the visible ravages of intem- perance, and deeper than all theses there lies a field of devasta- tion which has never been fully explored, and can never be more than partially reported. It is the wasted realim of the social affections, the violated sanctuary of domestic peace. From this under-world of suppressed wretchedness, there cotnes up to the ear of human pity many a piercing cry of those who writhe under the slow torments of a desolate heart and dying hope. Yet all this which meets the eye and pains the ear is but the overflow 5 ? page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50, THE TWO ROADS. of misery; this is what inadvertently escapes through chasms violently rent open; and it tells sadly of the sea of anguish that is stifled-for ever in its secret recesses. Within this sphere of social devastation, the curse of drink has a twofold operation-the unseen and the see'n, the process and the result. The first lies in that vast amount of untold and unutterable wretchedness which is carefully hidden, so long as concealment is possible, within the bosom of multitudes of fa- milies which the destroyer has entered, and marked for his own. As yet his victory is incomplete. His victim has not yet shaken off all the restraints of affection, nor burst through the barriers of reserve and shame. He yet cleaves, with a sensitiveness that is very significant, to his shattered remnant of character. And others within that smitten home are still more fondly concealing the terrible change. Theirs is a wretchedness of which the world must not know, for it has in it the stain of shame. - The keenest inflictions are perhaps those which attend the incipient stages of ruin. Perhaps no after pang will ever distress the heart like that which comes with the first conviction that the love of drink has gained the mastery over the beloved one. And from that point onward, through all the unrecorded history of a drunkard's progress, as seen and felt within the circle of those who love him, there is a bitterness of anguish which can be fully con- ceived only by those who have tasted the cup for themselves. To 'those without that circle, there may be little to awake suspicion of the torture that is going on beneath the surface. It is not till the heart is consumed within them, not till despair has grown familiar, and the whole hidden process of depravation has reached its maturity, that the result comes forth to the surface, and shows itself to the eyes of men. It is done in silence and secrecy, almost before we dreamed of it. From this point the work is open, and appalling indeed. Cdn- cealment is no longer sought, for it is felt to be no longer either possible or of any avail. The fire burned long repressed, and slowly eating away every support within; now it has burst through and taken air, and the whole pile is ready to collapse in hopeless conflagration-and why should there be any further at- tempt at concealment?-[J. N. Stone. THE REFORED INEBRIATE 51 THE REFORMED INEBRIATE. AT the close of a bright sunny day in October, the gentle sighing of the wind among the trees had changed to a wilder, deeper tone, peculiar to the season. The moon was fast verging toward mid-heaven, and lighted with her gentle beams the abode of misery. For wherever poverty has laid her withering hand, or oppression her iron grasp, or true affection is spurned by those from whom we expect better things, there she dispenses her mild and cheering light, though cold it may seem to the once warm Y: and- sympathizing hearts we had thought ours for ever. In one of the beautiful valleys of Vermont, in a lonely dwelling fast fall- ing to decay, beside a few burning brands upon a clean hearth- stone, sat a lady, not past the middle age of life, fair and noble, with many a trace of former beauty which sorrow had failed to obliterate. At the other side of the room, reading by the light of a dim taper, was a young and lovely girl, who strove often, but in vain, to repress a starting tear. "Ah," murmured she, "if my father would read this sad tale, methinks he would see the wretchedness of his own family) and never more drink of the in- toxicating cup." But for the lady-she sat long listening to the whispering of autumn winds, and it seemed as though they talked of the past; for in mind she was carried back to the time when, with parents and friends, she sat by her father's fireside and lis- tened to their music. She left that home, the wife of the young, gifted, and accomplished Henry M . The friends who assem- bled on her bridal-day to witness the vow to "love, cherish, and protect," brought with them no sad hearts, for all deemed him worthy to be her chosen Companion. No tears dimned the eyes of the loving ones who gathered round to pay their parting adieu, as the light-hearted girl was handed to the carriage that was to convey her far away to her new home. Years had passed since that day; and as the thoughtful matron reviewed the past, tears, bitter tears, followed each other down her careworn cheeks. That bridal-day was before her. This was its sixteenth anniver- sary. How differently spent from thq, first years of her married life! Then came the anxiety of the -moment when she first learned that her husband loved to linger around the wine-cup. page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] + 52 THE TWO ROADS. Then, the agony of the hour when she knew that it had stolen his affections from his wife and child; that it had marred, and, she feared, for ever destroyed, the beauty of his soul-in short, left no trace of the husband, father, or friend, but .a cruel, selfish, unfeeling wreck of man. This was no sudden change, but slowly and surely had the work progressed. That evening, contrary to their usual custom of sympathizing with each other, the mother and daughter sat apart. The child laid aside her book, seeing that her mother was communing with her own heart. Then, leaning her pale forehead upon her hand, she mused awhile. I will not despair, thought she; brighter days may dawn upon us -my father again be a father to me, and the smile brighten upon the face of my mother, as in the days of my infancy, which I remember as some pleasant vision- which hovered around my cradle, or childish'dreams. The sound of footsteps were heard, and the father and husband entered. No one spoke, for at - nightly returns from his drunken revels, they had learned to be silent. He seated himself by the dying embers, and said nothing. At length the silence was broken by the wife, who kindly asked if he were well? "Yes, dear; I have not felt so well for months." An answer so unexpected brought tears of joy to her eyes; might she dare hope for his reformation?"Come, my neglected wife," said he, "and you, my fatherless Amie, draw near, and sit beside me, while I relate the occurrences of this evening. As I was going to my usual haunts, having scarcely recovered from my last night's revel, I heard some one remark that a reformed drunkard would tell his experience at the school-house. I first laughed at the idea, but the novelty of the affair excited my cu- riosity, and as it was directly in my way, I thought I would step in for a few minutes. I took a seat in a retired part of the house, and, before I was aware, became exceedingly interested in the re. marks of the speaker. As he told the story of his deep degrada- tion, the ruined hopes of her he had promised to love, the blight that seemed creeping over his only child, I could but look to my- self as fully illustrating the truth of what he said. Then, as he related the thrilling story of his own reformation, the thought forced itself upon my mind, Can I once more be a man, and carry such joy to the heart of my wife and child? I immediately re- . -ALL THNGS PERISH SAVE VIRTUE. 53 solved, by the help of God, to try; and no sooner was the invita- tion given to sign the Pledge, -than, fearing lest my good resolu- tion should fail, I was among the first to enroll my name." The father ceased speaking, and I will not attempt to-portray the joy of that evening. Language would fail; it can only be known to those who have suffered and been relieved in like manner. About two years after, I passed the dwelling of the reformed man. Its whole appearance had changed; it was indeed a lovely spot; and among the numerous shrubs and plants by which it was surrounded, the fairest and sweetest flower that bloomed was the beautiful and now happy Amie Merton, as she lightly carolled her evening song in her own pleasant bower. I noticed that she was listened to with delight by two happy beings, whom I recog- nised as the Henry and Julia Merton of former years, ere the withering curse of Intemperance had entered their happy dwell- ing. The pledge which he voluntarily took on that evening has been inviolably kept, and he is again established in his profession as a learned and skilful physician, for Which his intemperate habits had before disqualified him. ALL THNGS PERISH SAVE VIRTUE1. SWEET morn-so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, I The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die. Sweet rose-whose fragrance now I crave To glad my sense and joy mine eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring-so full of shine and showers, It makes the weary spirit sigh To think, with all thy herbs and flowers, That thou must die. Sweet music-e'en the lovely song Which from my harp, in window nigh, Is floating. on the breeze along, E'en thou must die. , I *'* r / I ,v page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 THE TWO ROADS. X And all the bright and glittering train Of stars that stud the deep blue sky, Must they all perish-none remain To glad the eye? And vales, and fields, and rushing streams, And mountains that invade the sky, Are they as baseless as our dreams? And must they die? And all that's beautiful' and fair On Nature's face-love's melody, That makes sweet music of the air,' All-all must die! And man, frail form of senseless clay, Though now his glance is proud and high, Perchance upon this passing day He too may die! But the bright soul!--that, shrined within- The quenchless light in mortal form-- Though dimm'd by misery and sin, Defies the worm. When all the stars shall fade away, And suns in their own blaze expire, And trackless comets cease to stray With wandering fire; The soul shall ever live, nor know The lapse of time, but dwell on high, And share-in endless joy or wo- Eternity.-[ Thomas Power. THE EVIL RESULTS OF RUM-SELLING. Joseph. I understand, Robert, that you have left your uncle's store: what induced you to give up so good a situation? Robert. The plain fact is, I couldn't be a rumseller. Jos. I don't think it matters much what business we are en- gaged in, so it is a money-making one. I would as lief be in -that business as any other. Robt. I doubt it much; for I feel confident, if you had wit- THE EVIL RESULTS- OF RUM-SELLING. 55 nessed the miseries caused by its sale and use as I have, nothing would induce you to follow the business Jos. I always thought that your uncle kept a wholesale store, and did not sell his liquors by the small. Robt. Very trup; but selling liquor by wholesale, as you call it, don't prevent drunkenness. I think it has a tendency to make more drunkards in a country village, than if they were permitted to retail it in the smallest quantity. Jos. I don't see how you make that out. Robt. Nothing more easy. You know that when a man be- comes addicted'to drink, he will have it, regardless of quantity: if he can't get his smaller, he will have his quart; consequently he is never without it in his house, and always having it near him, he is induced oftener to drink than he otherwise would had he to go to the tavern, which in such places, are more or less re- mote from his home. These rum-selling stores make more drunkards than the village taverns; at least, that is my im- pression. Jos. And so it was in consequence of your uncle's selling liquor that you left him? Still, it seems to me that there must have been other causes than the mere selling of that article, to have induced you to give up your place. Robt. Could you only have seen, as I have, the many hopeless wrecks that my uncle and his business was the cause of, you would think it was sufficient to make you desert it; else, I don't know you. This rum-selling is a low, dishonest calling-there is nothing but cheating and plundering'with it, from the moment it is brought into the store in casks, till the last glass is disposed of. Jos. I know the business of retailing liquor is .a common one, i- but thought that wholesaling it was not considered disreputable. ;"' AStill, it is my opinion, Robert, that no uncommon thing induced you to come to town again to live. I wish you would give me your reasons, as my curiosity is much excited upon the subject. i; lRobt. I will, with pleasure; and as my story will be somewhat long, I shall require your patience. My uncle's store was well stocked with the goods that are usually found in such places as he was located in; but sorry am I to say it, there was one article above all the rest, that he set more store by, and which he used , ' *A' page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 THE TWO ROADS. to say, never goes out of fashion: he called it his (great stand- by," as nothing brought in the profits it did-that article was RUM. About a year after I went to live with him, his business was principally in selling liquors, and he -sold a monstrous sight --everybody took more or less of it. He made a great profit, as I thought, but somehow or other he grew. poorer every year. Our rum cost about twenty cents a gallon before it was rectified. Jos. Rectified? What do you mean by that? Robt. Why, uncle used to rectify all his rum by adding about one-third of water to it, together with a quantity of deleterious drugs, (which I am sure must have been poison, as he always told me not to taste them on any account,) to give it "body," as he said, then sold it at the rate of sixpence a glass-a pretty slick profit. There being no place else'in the village where it could be had, and the cheat not being known, nobody grumbled at the price. Jos. That's what I call downright dishonesty. Robt. Did I not just tell you that there was nothing but cheat- ing and robbery with it from its first appearance in casks to the last smaller that was sold? I always thought that it was whole- sale cheating. But uncle got caught once, and well was he made to pay for it afterward. Jos. I am glad to hear it-tell me how he was caught. Robt. One day he got a barrel of rum, and as we were drawing it off into the hogshead, and while pouring in the water, an old toper, who had been lying unperceived in the back part of the store among some rubbish, suddenly popped up his head, and said, "Stop, let's have a smaller before you make it any stronger." Maybe uncle didn't look flat. He had to bribe the fellow to hold his tongue, (for he thought a great deal of his reputation,) and as long as I continued with uncle afterward, the toper got his horns for nothing; very frequently he would bring-to the store three or four of his cronies, and treat them, always saying to uncle, "Charge this to my petiklar account." Jos. It served him just right for being so dishonest. Robt. So Ialways thought, and used to think I wouldn't feel as he did for all the rum in the universe. But this was nothing to what uncle felt from his rum business, for we used to have THE EVIL RESULTS OF RBUM-SELLING. 57 great times there now and then. Two-thirds of the quarrels and lawsuits of the village originated at uncle's store; and many a poor fellow that burned himself up before he died, got his first and last glass there. Jos. I wonder what the temperance men were about that they did not attempt to reform this state of things. Robt. We had neither temperance men nor temperance so- cieties in the village at the time. It makes me shudder when I think of the misery that was wrought in that shop; and I have often felt guilty when passing a miserable castaway, working among the town's -poor, on the public roads, with his bloated face and ragged clothes, and remembered that I handed him his first glass, when he was an industrious and happy young man. Jos. I don't wonder you felt bad when you saw them: it was enough to make any one feel so; and I now see your motive in leaving your uncle's. This rum-selling is a mean business, and no mistake. Robt. There was one circumstance which occurred, of so heart. rending a nature, that I shall never forget it. When I first went to live with uncle, there resided a short distance from the store, a young farmer and his wife, with three or four children; he was sober and industrious, and owned his small farm. He, too, drank his first glass at uncle's store. In less than two years he was a drunken sot,(having drunk up his homestead, his stock, and his furniture, an&e duced his wife and children to want and beggary. Often and often would she come with her ragged children to the store, and implore and beg of uncle not to let her husband have any more rum; but it was like pleading to stone, for her husband still continued to get his drink there.. A few days before hez miserable husband died, she appeared, as she was wont to do; with her destitute offspring, and related the miseries she and hex children were then enduring. Said she to uncle, "Time after time I have begged and implored you not to sell my husband any liquor, but all to no purpose. You have now got all-the home stead, the stock, the furniture-even the last cow is gone, and we are all likely to starve; for I haven't a pint of meal, nor a pe6c of potatoes for my children; and all that's now remaining of oul once comfortable home, is a ragged straw bed and an old rum, page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 THE TWO. ROADS. jug! You have robbed us of it all 7" The last time I saw her was at the store, when she and her children kneeled down before our door, and cursed uncle, calling down the malediction of- heaven upon his head, as the author of all our miseries. It was a dreadful scene to behold. It chills my blood even now to think of it. A short time after this, she lost two of her children, and the others were taken in charge of the town, and she became a poor crazed and wandering wretch, without any fixed abode. From this out, every thing seemed to go wrong with uncle. His two sons took to drinking and gambling, and were continually running him in debt. As a last resort, to drown his cares and troubles, he, too, took to drinking, and his ill-gotten wealth was soon taken away from him; and a great temperance movement about this time taking place in the village, he lost his license. Jos I don't wonder you couldn't stay with him after this. Where is he now? Robt. I had left him before this took place, for I had fre- quently written to my mother, begging her to prevail on father to take me away; and when they found I was determined to leave, father got me a situation in a dry-goods store in an adjoin- ing town, where I remained until I came home. Jos. I thought you came direct from your uncle's? Robt. No; it has been nearly three years since I left him. You asked me where he is now: all that I can tell you is, that he is starving poor, and has to be maintained at the expense of the town. He has been crazy for some time past, and father's trying to get him into the State hospital. Jos. Well was he made to pay for the misery and wretchedness he was the author of! It was the retribution of Heaven-as just as severe. Robt. Now you know,. Joseph, why it was that I left my uncle's employ. Do you blame me for not wishing to aid in the destruction of my fellow-men, by selling them this liquid fire? As money-making a business as it is, I can't be a rumseller. Jos. Blame you! No, indeed: I honour you more than ever for your honest decision; and, notwithstanding what I said about it's not mattering what business we are engaged in, there is nothing that would induce me to be a rumseller either. WISHNG. 59 Robt. Any business before that! And oh, what a blessed thing it would be for our country, if all the boys could be in. duced to refrain from the use of the stuff! And I am almost convinced they might be, were they only made acquainted with the dreadful results arising from its use, as'I have been. Then would each and every one of them exclaim with me, "I will not be a rum-drinker, neither cain I be a rumseller; for I have seen too much of 'the evils -of rum-selling!" WISIIING. OF all amusements of the mind, From logic down to fishing, There isn't one that you can find So very cheap as " wishing!" A very choice diversion, too, If we but rightly use it, And not, as we are apt to do, Pervert it and abuse it. I wish--a common wish, indeed- My purse was something fatter, That I might cheer the child, of need, And not my pride to flatter; That I might make oppression reel, As only gold can make it, And break the tyrant's rod of steel, As only gold can break it! I wish-that Sympathy and Love, And every human passion That has its origin above, Would come, and keep, in fashion; That Scorn, and Jealousy, and Hate, And every base emotion, Were buried fifty fathoms deep Beneath the waves of ocean: I wish-that friends were always true, And motives always pure; -- I wish the good were not so few, I wish the bad were fewer; i page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] I 60 THE TWO ROADS. I wish that parsons ne'er forgot To heed their pious teaching; I wish that practising was not So different from preaching i I wish-that modest worth might be Appraised with truth and candour; I wish that innocence was free From treachery and slander; I wish- that men their vows would mind; That women ne'er were rovers; I wish that wives were always kind, And husbands always lovers! I wish-in fine-that joy and mirth, And every good Ideal, May come, erewhile, throughout the earth, To be the glorious real; Till God shall every creature bless With his supremest blessing, And hope be lost in happiness, And wishing be possessing!-[J. G. Saxe. "QUOR CORRUPTS THE BALLOT-BOX. WITE reference to the corruption of "the ballot-box" -the helmet, shield, and battle-axe of our boasted republic, which, ac- cording to its purity or impurity, must either defend or work the downfall of the nation-it is more especially our task, to notice the fearful evils of Intemperance. As we have intimated, the tool becomes a tool through its fatal influence. Some exceptions to the general rule may indeed be found in the innate depravity of human nature; but I never heard of an instance in my life, where a man of sober habits had been bribed to sell or withhold his vote; nor have I ever heard of petty bribes being offered, until they were steeped in rum; Liquor must first ply men with its debasing power, ere that insult to the moral sense and right reason-a bribe-can be successfully offered. Rum, indeed, can make that insult seem honest dealing. Nay, it is often boasted by those who profess experience, that there are men, who will sell "QUOR CORRUPTS THE BALLOT-BOX. 61 their votes forea glass of liquor on2ly. Poor human nature! Mark Antony's lament over the body of Caesar, "Oh, what a fall was there!" is a totally inadequate description of such a (' falling off" as this. Far better, that a man should meet his death, at the full height and tide of his glory, even from the hands of assassins, than that he should fall from the divine glory of his nature,-to such a woful wreck of humanity as this betokens! What stronger proof can we have of the fatal effects of Intemperance upon the very groundwork and foundation of our political structure! Thus liquor fits the tool, and liquor uses it, in the hands of wicked and designing men. The vendor of the spirit-fire that consumes its countless victims, receives support and patronage from men high in place and power. From them the example comes down to inferior grades of politicians; and we need not ask:' Will that example be followed?" All experience proves that it will. The refuse of the rich man's table finds greedy con- sumers; the very ofal cast from his door is sought after; the shoes which he has thrown off are- worn by other feet: and the flattered politician finds, alas! too many human baboons ready to ape even his vices. The lowest dregs of our species-having been made such through Intemperance, and being kept such by the example of superiors--are, by means of the intoxicating cup, brought to act with a controlling power upon our elections and our laws; for effecting the base measures of men, who are base enough themselves to use so vile an agency. But again-the traffic itself is productive of all the combined evils which are mentioned in these pages. The frequency of bar- rooms, and the easy access to them of all classes of community-- this it is, by which the devil tempts men to their besetting sin. As misery must hive, and have its haunt to feed in, the bar-room supplies it on every hand, and yields the food on which it grows and fattens. Ay even misery must recruit, and visit oft the feast of revelry and wo! As it groans in its agony, how consoling to hear other groans deeper than its own! How sweet to its diseased heart to find another miserable as itself! I say "how sweet,"' because even misery has its sweets. Has the reader, in the course of his observation, never seen the poor inebriate, for- saken and abandoned with ragged and tattered garb, tottering in 6 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] 62 THE T-WO ROADS. the last steps of exhausted nature, lead some fellow-wretch to the bar to drink with him-one of the few to be met with, who would stoop so low; and noted while they drank and pledged mutual sympathy, each in the other's weal, the hysterical joy of the poor cast-off, working in his bloated visage, and speaking in his glaring, and lack-lustre eye, From which the cast-up tear would even start, To mark this "precious union of the heart?" The misery that had begun to feel itself most miserable, finds yet one other heart alike diseased and ulcerous; responding sympathy; appreciating wo; and feeling like its own, the moun- tain weight of anguish that it bears. Happy representative of "universal suffrage!"-the sublime instrument with which " great men" effect "great measures," and make the end so nobly justify the means! One of the peo- ple: the glorious people! The pupil, friend, and philosopher of the bar-room! And-an immortal being! Oh, its philosophy has a depth indeed that leaves but one beyond. A republican government! how beautiful even in its weakness -as evincing by its power to govern such- subjects, a progress in that grand secret, the internal government of the heart: a govern- ment which, in its perfection, would restrain within the limits of moral right the conduct and actions of men, and supersede the necessity of every municipal form! How beautiful in the freedom of its institutions, its civil and religious liberty, its equalizing rights-all tending to the development of moral power among its members-how beautiful, when contrasted with the iron-heeled despotism, the spirit-crushing policy of the monarchies of the old world! Yet, be it remembered, that a republican government is peculiarly a government for a moral people. France-in- all the glory of her enlightenment-leading the van among the nations in the civil arts, yet profane and impious in the sight of Heaven--in attempting as late as 1830, the grand scheme of re- publicanism, plunged into a sea of carnage, and slaughtered sqme of the noblest of her sons, until the streets of her capital ran With human gore; affording to the world, a short lesson written. in blood. that nothing weaker than the strong arm of monarchy, can govern an untaught and immoral people.--[J. N. Stone. MEMORIES OF THE INEBRIATE. 63 MEMORIES OF THE INEBRIATE. OH, for my childhood once again- Oh, for those happy days, The trusting heart and undimmed eyes That loved on all to gaze! Oh, for the hopes which deemed the earth Would be for ever bright- Oh, would the time might come once more When life was all delight! Ah me! how fondly I recall The glad and joyous hours, When happiness hid all life's thorns, And I only saw its flowers! When the very air seemed full of bliss, And every sound I heard Was sweet as some soft lute at night, Or warbling of a bird! Oh, many a heart was with me then As glad, as gay, as mine, And many a cheek to flush with joy And many an eye to shine- Sweet voices that I loved to hear, i s Ah, loved them but too well, For though I love them yet-with them 'Tis but a broken spell! Fair ones, of whom I dreamed by night, And fondly loved by day, Are round me now-but oh, how changed- Since we were children gay! There was a time when I had wept In those sweet days of old At looks so chill-but now-my heart Has grown almost as cold! Oh, there are hours when o'er me creeps aIs A gloomy dream of death, When every voice seems low and sad As the mournful night-wind's breath! When the eyes that sparkled round me once, So happily and free, ;.?' page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] " THE TEWO ROADS. Seem dull and dim, and their mirth is fled Like the leaf from a dying tree! Oh, then it is that my mother's face Comes as the moon at night, To cast the cloud from my darkened soul With its holiness and light! And call up for one brights brief hour Forgetfulness of pain, That the cloud may only settle back More deep and dark again! Time flies-time fies--and very soon The day will come, alas! When earth's few joys and many griefs From me fore'er will pass! Ah me! I do not fear the time Although it seems so nigh-- All I can live for-hope for now- Alas! is but to die I PROHBITION. I . PROHBITION! Prohibition! Let us form a coalition, Strong and mighty as our mountains Thundering as their gushing fountains, Flowing now,- and flowing ever, Till it swells a noble river; For a voice is heard in sadness, Heard in wailing, and in madness, Which shall turn to joy and gladness; Louder still, and louder sounding, O'er our hills, and valleys bounding, From our sisters and our brothers, From our fathers and our mothers. Prohibition, sternly crying! Prohibition, for the dying! Prohibition, for the sighing t See, the foe is from us flying. THE SAMPHRE GATHERER. 65 II. Prohibition! Prohibition! Let us form a coalition, Like our fathers, who, in story, Won immortal fame and glory; When their rights had been invaded, Chained, insulted, and degraded, Up they rose, like clouds in heaven, By the gathering tempest driven, When the gnarled oaks are riven. Hark! the voice is louder sounding, O'er our hills and valleys bounding, From our sisters and our brothers, From our fathers and our mothers, Prohibition, sternly crying! Prohibition, for the dying! Prohibition, for the sighing! See, the foe is from us flying. THE SAMPHRE GATHERER. ON Dover cliffs, where samphire grows, Young Martin Riley plied, Undreading, still his dreadful trade, At dawn and eventide. A- samphire gatherer he was born- A samphire gatherer died. Stout was his form, his heart was warm As hearts should be when young; His cheek was red, his eye was bright, His hair in ringlets hung: With rope and staple, as he trudged, Light-heartedly he sung. At twenty years he took a wife- His heart selected Jane; And yet, though married, would he not From his one vice refrain; And Jane, she cried and raged to find Her fond entreaties vain. 'Tis sad to think what happiness Had Jane's and Martin's been, 6 - page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " THE TWO ROADS. More than his wife, more than his life, Had he not loved that sin. From drink no thought of love or bliss Could Martin Riley win. No thought of love, no thought of earth, No thought of heaven or hell, For brandy's fiery, maddening draught His frightful thirst could quell: Drink was his life-drink was his death; 'Twas just, but horrible! One morn, by threats and fury urged, His Jane so desperate grew, That soon he heard her every word, Though drunk, his ears pierce through. He cursed her! sought the samphire cliff, And, lo! she sought it too. He reach'd it, and his staple stuck Full firmly in the ground; His rope's one end he tied to it- Himself its other bound: He let him down the dizzy cliff, Where samphire might be found. His dreadful trade he, nought afraid, There plied-or tried to ply; When to his ear the voice of Jane Came raging, screamingly: "Now, drunken, devilish Riley, look r Thee in my power have I! "Look round! thee seest no mortal near; All cliff, or sea, or sand I Look down! thee hang'st two hundred feet Above the rocky strand! Look up! behold thy desperate wife- A knife is in her hand! "This rope, that o'er the dread cliff's edge Hangs down, is all-yes, all That saves thy drunken carcass, sot From death's' limb-scattering fall! Look! on this rope this blade I rest, While thus to thee I call: THE SAMPHRE GATHERER.- 67 I loved thee-from our frightful fate How dearly shall be shown; But I would scare thy fiend away, And love theeself alone: Such love as mine for thee, so fond, Wife ne'er for man hath known. "Wilt thee come up to me-to me- To love and me again? Nor wilt thee ever cease to love, As first thee loved'st thy Jane { Nor bring the devil to thy heart, Nor madness to thy brain? "Speak, love; say yes-for God's sake, yes! 'Nay' cuts the rope! and thee In mangled death, with me, beneath It joins. I say, with ME; For down I'll plunge, to find if death Less harsh than thee may be!" "Hold! I will love, dear Jane, but thee; Thee-thee-my injured wife! Let brandy to the devil go: Spare, spare thy Martin's life! Ah, let me up to kiss thee, Jane: Hide, hide that dreadful knife!" * * * Two years had pass'd away-two years Had haply never seen Before such constant lovq as his And doting Jane's had been: The terror of that dreadful day Had quell'd his dreadful sin. For brandy he would sometimes long, But suddenly would stand, Struck with the horror he had felt, High pending o'er the strand; When he had heard her scream, "Look up! A knife is in my hand!" When he two years of sober life ": 7' Successfully had tried, His Jane, whose Martin's love had still Her every wish supplied, I' page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 THE TWO ROADS. From hale, grew ill; then better-worse; Then better still-then died! These were her awful dying words: "Husband, thee knowest thy Jane Hath loved thee since thee cast away Her cursed cause of pain: How thee she loved, and that she loathed, She ne'er may prove again. "But, ah, beware! a father's care Show to our children twain; From devilish brandy, for their sakes, My own, own love, refrain: For them, ,swear to me, as before Thee swore to me for Jane." * * * A year o'er widower'd Riley scarce Had flown, when, lo! it proved That death of virtue follow'd soon Her death who virtue loved; And to this devilish thinking thus His brain the devil moved: "I've known that drink was sweet as love, And love was sweet as drink- Both equal sweet; but having learnt From drink, for love, to shrink, That now drink's turn has fairly come, Once more I 'gin to think." He drank and work'd, and work'd to drink- Gave half his life to quaff Dire brandy down-to gathering The samphire, the other half; And soon, at thought of Jane, her love, And counsel, began to laugh. "Forsake thee, drink, for love!" one morn, With brandy mad, cried he; "If thou dost kill, why so love will, Though not so savagely Drink glads my heart-not cuts my rope: 'Tis kinder, Jane, than thee." He reach'd the cliff, his staple stuck Full firmly in the ground; PIONEERS IN THE GOOD CAUSE. 69 His rope's one end he tied to- it- Himself its other bound: He let him down the dizzy cliff, Where samphire might be found. His dreadful trade there, nought afraid, While plying, thus he said: * "Delightful! drunk, to dangle here, Of no mad Jane afraid! Ho, bless thee, brandy! curse thee, Jane! Where now's thy murderous blade?" A whirr-a shriek-a groan-a dash! Is it cut by mortal hand, That rope? for cut it is. Down, down, Down to the rocky strand, Scatter'd and smash'd, are his limbs strewn, And soak'd and red the sand! Drunkenly blind, his rope he hung ('Tis thus his brethren telD O'er a sharp flint on the cliff's edge; It cut the rope-he fell! Thus perish'd Martin Riley there: * Twas just, but horrible! PIONEERS IN THE GOOD CAUSE. THEY come, a mighty multitude- The earth resounds their tread; They come with martial minstrelsy, And banners proudly spread: While garlands fair as Beauty's hand Round Valour's brow entwined Like wreaths of glorious victory, Are streaming in the wind. What foeman have they conquer'd? What field of battle won? They bear no sword of slaughter, No life-destroying gun; And gay as flowers in forest green, That greet love's sheltering hand, Among those firm-soul'd men are seen 'si-f.. Young boyhood's gladsome band. page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] 710 CTHE TWO ROADS. All seems as summer peaceful, Yet stern hath been the strife; Each man hath borne a hero's part, And striven for more than life: Ay, struggled with that strong, fierce foe, That makes the soul its prey. Shout, for his chain is broken, And Temperance reigns;to-day! How grand was Caesar's triumph, The world beneath his sword! But he who conquers habits vile, And feels his soul restored From sin's dark, leprous bondage Which drunkards all must share- Hath won a glory greater far, A triumph Heaven doth share The warrior's deeds of glory May swell Fame's trumpet voice; But o'er repentant sinners The angel hosts rejoice. Oh, could we now, in Faith's pure trust, Our earth-dull'd senses clear, What guards celestial should we see, What harps of seraphs hear! Then welcome to the victory, A Temperance Guard that come- May Prudence be their guide abroad, And Peace attend them home! Home! home! what hymns of thankfulness From thousand homes ascend! Now woman's love may welcome The husband as the friend. As stars, when storms are over, Seem fill'd with lovelier light; As drooping buds bright blossoms yield, Revived from winter's blight; So childhood's cheek with joy shall bloom, So woman's smile be fair, Within your homes, ye ransom'd men, And solace all your care. Hail, water! precious water! What blessings rich it showers! A VISIT TO A MAD-HOUSE. 71 It decks dry wastes with living green, And sows the hills with flowers; And thus to high or humble hearts It bringeth hope and love. Drink water, cool, sweet water, And all its blessings prove.--[Mrs. . . J. ale. A VISIT TO A MAD-HOUSE. , . * * * * * "THE ways of Providence are inscrutable," said my guide; a blow of peculiar affliction has cut off a life, which, although obscure, was spent in usefulness and piety." A You knew the deceased, then?" said I, replying almost me- chanically to a remark which, amid my own all-absorbing reflec- tions, fell almost unheeded upon my ear. "She was the mother of a young man whose brilliant'talents and high-toned character procured for him an appointment in the navy. The habits acquired in the loose haunts of pleasure were illy adapted to the rigid rules of naval discipline; and, when he returned to his station, he paid a high price for a few months of gayety. He was introduced by a brother officer to a fashionable club in the metropolis, during his furlough. The common inter- course with such associates tended but to corrupt or impede the better feelings of his heart, (there was no skilful hand to call forth its hallowed gushings, and its exquisite chords had ceased to vibrate,) as the foot of the hasty traveller throws mire into those fountains which are dug from the rock, and guided through pure channels by a careful and interested hand. His character had lost its early brightness; the generosity of his nature-his noble frankness-his deep scorn of all that was palpably base, remained the same; but the more delicate shades of moral worth were ob- soured, if not defaced, by the contact of depravity. Hurried by the dangerous excitement of a constitutional ardour, he pursued the career of fashionable folly, and could not recede from the pre- cipice. In the contaminating influence of his companions he lost that nice perception of honour which in boyh 'iad marked his career. His mother pleaded with him to ren'!ee his disso- page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 . THE TWO ROADS. lute ways; but remonstrance avails but little with him who, hav- ing embraced Vice under the alluring name of Pleasure, has learned to regard the code of a stern morality as the mere dictate of a bigoted and superstitious mind. In his own circle he moved like a meteor, pouring around him a flood of wild and brilliant light, while those fearful shadows were gathering over his soul which were to settle in perpetual darkness. The misguided youth was dismissed from a profession which might have conducted him to the highest eminence, and returned to the widowed and indi- gent parent who had leaned upon him for support--to die. Dis- grace had broken the spirit it might not bend. She lost her reason, and now is following him." A flood of tumultuous thoughts came rushing upon my brain like a torrent, and all the hidden depths of my soul were stirred. Again we passed on to another apartment, and gazed upon the wreck of a gambler. The form was outstretched, and the fea- tures fearfully distorted. He was sleeping, but not a quiet slum- ber. His breathing was heavy, and groans seemed bursting from his surcharged heart. Once he had been a model of manly beauty. He ventured his all in a fearful hazard; he left the table a beggar; his last possessions had been mortgaged; his wife, his children were in want in another city. Her watchful eyes were not near to smooth his pillow and weep. over his failings. Sleep on, sleep on; thou wilt awaken no more to the kiss of wedded love! I was wellnigh maddened by what I saw. The career of some had been splendid. They had sheathed themselves, as the sword in its scabbard, in an atmosphere of gayety; their lives had been principled they had destroyed minds whose open-ing promise was fair and sweet as the first smile of love, and had finally dis- seminated the seed of misery, and were now perishing unwept, unhonoured. We crossed a corridor, and there lay the victim of intemperance. He had gone on in regular gradation, quaffing the subtle but too sure poison of the fatal bowl, and was now writhing under the accumulated horrors of mania apoto. A A drop of water, for the love of God!-my brain's on fire- it scorches-it burns," he cried gaspingly. "Oh, oh, see the fiend! He comes-he wants me-he beckons me. Oh, save me save me! He reaches forth his skeleton hands--he clutches me- A VISIT TO A MAD-HOUSE. 78. I cannot breathe-I shall die! Oh God-not yet!-tear him away!--look, look at the flames issuing from his mouth! Oh don't, don't, don't leave me to him-to-to-to burn! Away! I am not yours! I defy your power-I spit upon you! Loose your hold upon me! I did not do the deed-there's no blood upon my hand. Mother, dearlmother, do not curse me thus; it is engraved upon my soul in characters of fire. Give me thy blessing as of old: I killed not Julian; he stabbed himself. There, there he comes again," he almost shrieked; " look at the fearful gash fn his head, and the blood trickling from his gory hair. Tear, tear him away! I am a robber--I am a blighted branch- a cankered flower, poisoning the air in which I breathe, and kill- ing the sweet shrubs which grow around me. I am a villain, a sordid villain!" A dreadful pang here seemed to shoot through his whole frame. An awful and piercing shriek burst from his lips: "Save me!" he cried; "save me! have mercy, mercy!" and he Ilughed as the maniac laughs in the excess of his misery. The flush upon his cheek flickered as that which plays in heaven when the day is dying, and his eye gave forth the lustrous glitter of the polished stone. He looked at me with an expression I shall not readily forget; a shadow of deep anguish shrouded his features; his eyes seemed starting from their sockets and gleam ing with unnatural light; his strong frame shook with fear; he seemed labouring under the effect of terror of the most horrible nature. "There, there," he cried, in a thrilling voice, "see how Julian stares upon me with his sightless orbs-how he points at me with his fleshess hands! Oh, hear his laugh, like the bub- bling of blood! Avaunt! avaunt! oh, stare not upon me with the blue light of those terrible sockets! It sinks into my soul- it burns my heart to ashes. Away, away to the fathomless hell whence you came!-down into the fiery furnace--away! Oh God! oh God! Oh, I would lve-I would live a little longer! Save me, mother! let me not die; 'tis a heavy struggle, but I would master it. Give me air--I faint; give me air, I say- breath--life, ay, life. Throw up the windows; dear mother, it is your son who pleads-who suffocates-who dies. Still, still it baffles me. There, there--raise me," he gasped, and his expres- sions of horror were dreadful.-[Mary E. Macmichael. 'lso .;*'7 page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 THE TWO ROADS. TO SIGN -OR NOT. To sign or not to sign, that's the question; Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The flings and arrows of an outraged conscience, Or to take arms against Intoxication, And then, by signing, end it. To sign, to live- Live free-and, by the act, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand horrid pains The drunkard's heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To drink, to die; To die, perchance, for ever! Oh I how dreadful! For, in that death, what agony may come, When Rum has shuffled off this mortal coil. To sign is to be free: Who, who would bear the gibes and scorn of men, The drunkard's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of poverty and broken hopes; a, The insolence of those that drunkards make, That seize their all, then spurn them from their doors, When he might free himself, and live in peace, Would he but sign the pledge! And who would bear To groan and sweat beneath a life made weary By all the awful ills of drunkenness? We scarcely know,-the fear we may not stand To our resolutions true,-the crushing sense Of degradation that still weighs us down, Doth make us bear the awful ills we have. Yet will I sign, and signing, hope to live Henceforth in freedom and in joyous peace. THE- REYELLERS THERE were sounds of mirth and joyousness Broke forth in the lighted hall, And there was many a merry laugh, And many a merry call; And the glass was freely passed around, And the nectar freely quaffed; And many a heart felt light with glee And the joy of the thrilling draught.' THE REVELTLRRS. 75 A voice arose in that place of mirth, And a glass was flourished high;, "I drink to life,' said a son of earth, "And I do not fear to die. I have no fear-I have no fear- Talk not of the vagrant Death; For he is a grim old gentleman, And he wars but with his breath. "Cheer, comrades, cheer! We drink to life, And we do not fear to die!" Just then a rushing sound was heard, As of spirits sweeping by; And presently the latch flew up, And the door flew open wide; And a stranger strode within the hall, With an air of martial pride. He spoke : "I join in your revelry, Bold sons of the Bacchan rite; And I drink the toast you have drunk before, The pledge of your dauntless knight. Fill high-fill high--we drink to life, And we scorn the reaper, Death; For he is a grim old gentleman, And he wars but with his breath. / "He's a noble soul, that champion knight, And he bears a martial brow; Oh, he'll pass the gates of paradise, To the regions of bliss below!" This was too much for the bacchanal; Fire flashed from his angry eye; A muttered curse, and a vengeful oath- "Intruder, thou shalt die!" ;He struck-and the stranger's guise fell off, And a phantom form stood there- A grinning, and ghastly, and horrible thing, ' With rotten and mildewed hair! And they struggled awhile, till the stranger blew A blast of his withering breath; And the bacchanal fell at the phantom's feet, And his conqueror's name was-DEATH! page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 THE TWO ROADS. THE BEEHVE; OR, LAST OF THE VTTIT,AGE TAVERNS. WRITTEN FOP. "EXCELSIOR TEMPERANCE CIRCLE," FOR THEIR ANNIVER- SARY EXHBITION, MARCH, 1853. PART I. SCENE-A Bar-roonz. LANDLORD and CUSTOMERS, drinking. Landlord. Well, here's to your health, gentlemen, and a pleasant journey to you, as you say you intend to leave by the next stage. It's now at the door, and will start in a few minutes. 1st and 2d Customers. Your health, landlord. [All drink.] 1st Customer. [Addressing himself to O'BRIEN, who is sitting aside.] Excuse me, my friend, for not inviting,you to drink. I had entirely forgotten your presence. O'Brien. Faith, an' ye needn't be afther makin' apologies, for I never dhrinks-barrin' the wather! 2d Customer. Come, now, that's a good one; an Irishman, and never drinks any thing but water! O'Brien. I assure you, gintlemen, though an Irishman, I never dhrinks, for my common dhrink, any thing but the pure crystal! 1st COst. Then you're a temperance man, and a teetotaller, I presume? But it seems strange to me to find a man of your class sitting in a tavern! O'Brien. It's a great misfortune as wells as mortification to me, to be found in a tavern. It's no fault of mine. There be- ing no temperance house in the village, I am compelled, of ne- cessity, to be found waiting here for friends whom I expect by the next stage. 1st and 2d Cust. Good day, gentlemen-the stage is waiting. [Exeunt. A horn is heard from without. Enter PATRICK, in haste, addressing O'BRIEN.] By my noble namesake, the coach THE BEEHVE. " is coming. See! there it is-just for'nent the hill-a mile or so off. O'Brien. Right glad am I to hear the good news, Patrick; and I hope the stage contains all our friends. -Landlord. Come, my honest friends, just take one glass with me, at my expense. It's a raw and cold day, and 'twill do you good; besides, as you expect friends by the coach, it will add warmth to the meeting. O'Brien. No, no; an' thanks to ye; for not a dhrop has Patrick and me tasted since we signed the pledge, an' that's more'n three years agone. That blessed timperance move in the old counthry has been the makin' of -Patrick and me-saying nothing of the fine health we enjoy, the money saved, and the many friends we make wherever we go, in our thravels in this great and blessed American counthry! Landlord [who has been looking out in the rear, coming for- ward, rubbing his hands with glee.] The coach is at the door, fairly groaning under live-stock. It will be a glorious day for the Beehive; and, no doubt, I shall be remunerated suffi- ciently by this arrival to make amends for the last three days' stages, which contained little else than temperance men, on their way to the convention. [Aside, looking out.] Yes! and no mis. take-the axle is broke, and it will be impossible for them to pro- ceed to the next town and procure a new one, till to-morrow. [Rubbing his hands.] Glorious luck to the Beehive! Enter TRAVF LLR S. Landlord [in high spirits.] Good day, gentlemen, good day. I congratulate you on your safe arrival-particularly as I per- ceive you have met with an accident in the breaking of the coach. ' Morris. The accident, though trifling, still might have been of a serious nature, had it not been that our driver is a strict ,i! teetotaler! None but a perfectly sober man could have saved the coach from being dashed to pieces, in the dangerous turn of the road in which it occurred. Landlord. Your nerves must have received quite a shock. A little stimulus, gentlemen, will set all right again. What will : you have? r7" X'y page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 THE TWO ROADS. Smith. Don't trouble yourself, landlord. We are all tem-' perance men. By-and-by we'll have a cup of coffee, and other refreshments. Landlord [rather disheartened.] I see how it is; I shall be ruined, and my family;reduced to beggary.. Nothing but tem- perance, TEMPERANCE, TEMPERANCE! Confound this MAINE "AW-it's extending all over the Union; and if it is not stopped, there will not be found a tavern in the whole country! Then, the Lord only knows what will become, of the poor tavern- keepers! O'Brien [coming forward, and claping the landlord on the shoulder.] By the soul of St. Patrick, ye have jistit the nail on the head, by that saying of ye's! Sorry of a tavern do we want. This is a blessed and glorious counthry for all, particularly for the likes of me and Patrick, and all poor foreigners, who can't get bread at home to eat, an' so come to its happy shores in quest of food and employment, which is denied us in poor, down- trodden Ireland. Faith, an' it is a glorious counthry, and would be a hundred times greater, if all the rum-holes were closed. Then the noble-born American boys, and others, would not be so often arraigned before the bar of justice, for violating- its laws! Rum is always the fomenter-the bottom, the top, the inside, and the outside, if ye plase-of all manner of crime! Morris. My friend, you are quite eloquent in the cause of temperance, and would make one of its best advocates. The land- lord thinks that we shall be compelled to stay over night, in con- sequence of the accident to the coach. This is not the case--as our journey, for the present, is ended. Having a deep interest in the welfare of this village, and understanding that every pub- lic house for the sale of liquor, save the one we are in, has closed its doors against the traffic, we have called a temperance meeting of its inhabitants, at the school-house, to-morrow, to take into consideration the propriety of inducing our worthy landlord of the Beehive to do likewise. Jerry Coldstream. Fact, stranger; it takes us -down-East chap- pies to do the thing nice and slick. You see that before that 'ere Maine law was passed, nearly every town and village was little better than a whiskey-vat--nothing but whiskey drinking, cider If THE BEEHtVE. 79 drinking, and lager-beer drinking, was the order of the day. Why, we couldn't have a husking-frolic, a quilting-match, or tea- drinking, without some enticing drink, made of some one or other of these spirits; and, generally, the most merry meetings ter- minated in a fearful row. - It's a fact, stranger; and our gals be- gan to love a drop, as well as the boys, and many of them could beat us all hollow in sipping the (hotstutf." Well, the tem- perance men did all they could to put a stop to these things-but it was no go. At last, our legislature came down upon the "whiskey-suckers" like "a thousand of brick," and closed all the groggeries, by one of the best laws in the State. Were ye ever down East, stranger? I reckon you wouldn't know the place, now, all is so orderly and quiet there; and our gals now drink nothing but tea and water-it's a better thing to spark over than either cider or spirits. Our gals are not half so crabbed as they used to be. Before the passage of our Maine law, most of them were just like crab-apple cider! It's a fact; and if ye ever journey thither, just ask for Jerry Coldstream-all the gals about them ere parts knows Jerry, for I make love to all of them -that is, since the passage of the Maine law; for, recollect, I told you, before that event they were more like crab-apple cider than gals! and I was afeard of them, 'tarnation if I wasn't! O'Brien. Faith, an' I long to see the Yankee gals. I heard much of them in the old counthry--how good they were in send- ing over to poor Ireland their grain, their money, and clothing, to the starved and naked; an' if ever I travel that way, I'll be doing myself the honour to pay you a visit. But, may I make so bold to ask ye, why are ye here so far from home? Jerry. Being in town, on a visit to my friend, Mr. Morris, I heard of the meeting to be held here to-morrow, and thought I would like to come up, and take a part in the good cause of tem- perance. I am a famous speaker on temperance; and I tell you what, when you hear me speak of things down East, you'll open your eyes. The gals used to say Jerry Coldstream's voice re- minded them of thunder-! I reckon I'se one of them! Landlord. You temperanob men had better practise what you preach-charity. There's not much charity in driving honest page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 THE TWO ROADS. tavern-keepers from their lawful calling, just because you do not wish, or can't drink liquor. "Live, and let live," is my motto. Smith. You mistake, my friend. You cannot but acknowledge that the great mania for rum-drinking entails all the miseries on the community that man is heir to, with but few exceptions. I be- lieves if all the taverns in the land were closed, people would be far happier, and our alms-houses and prisons be made vacant-- nine-tenths of whose inmates are now caused by rum! Morris. You have a fine house, landlord; and the accommoda- tions appear to be excellent. From what I can judge, the village is a prosperous one, and every thing denotes that you might make your inn productive, if you would keep pace with the times. You say your motto is, "Live, and let live," but you do not live up to it; for, if you did, you would use every endeavour- to accommodate the temperance traveller, that daily stops at your house, with such refreshment as he may ask for. Recollect that we live in a land of freedom, where the rights and feelings of all should be respected, no matter in what sphere they move; and I tell you, as a friend, if you would keep from that starvation you so much dread, you had better keep on hand all articles that tem- perance travellers ask for, which would, in the end, be found fully as profitable to you as the liquor you retail to others. Smith. You will excuse me, landlord, for saying that I con- sider you a very irrational man. Nothing will satisfy you, but that those who stop at your house must drink strong liquor. Take a friend's advice, and stop the sale of liquor, and open a temperance house; and, my word for it, you will have a greater income than ever you had in the rum-drinking days that's past. The "Beehive" would be an excellent name for a temperance house, for you know no drones are allowed to come about a hive; whereas, now, your house is the resort of the veriest drones of society-the drunkards! Landlord. Open a temperance house! I see how it is--you wish to beggar me and my family. Confound these temperance men, for destroying honest people's calling! Morris. You forget, landlord, that my friend and self have just been trying to convince you that the contrary would be the case. THE BELIPTVE. 81 O'Brien. Don't it remind you, Patrick, of the rumsellers of Cork? Patrick. Faith, and it does. Morris. What was that, my friend? O'Brien. It's a capital story, your honour, an' with your lave I'll tell it to you. During the great temperance reformation that was making in Ireland, the distillers of Cork made loud and bit- ter complaints of the ruinous state of their business; to which Father Mathew replied, that such men had no right to prosper by the destruction of others. Hle said he was met by a rich dis- tiller, who imploringly asked him how he could plot the ruin of so many good and unoffending persons, whose sole wealth was vested in their distilleries? Father Mathew then told him the following anecdote :--"A very fat old Duck went out early one - morning, in pursuit of worms, and had succeeded in filling her crop full. On her way home, she had the misfortune to meet a Fox, who at once proposed to take her life, to satisfy his hunger. The -old Duck appealed, argued, implored, and remonstrated. Said she to the Fox--' You cannot be so wicked as to take the life of a harmless duck, merely to satisfy hunger.' She exhorted him against so great a sin, and begged him not to stain his soul with innocent blood. The Fox, not being able to stand her hy- pocritical cant, said, ' Out upon you, madam, with all your fine feathers! You are a pretty thing, indeed, to lecture me for taking life to satisfy hunger. Is not your own crop now full of worms You destroy more lives in one day, to satisfy your hunger, than I do in a whole month!'" She was a gone Duck, after that, for the Fox soon finished her! Morris. That suits the rumseller, exactly! It is characteris- tic of them to run down and deride the temperance men, and charge them with attempting to destroy their honest calling; never taking into consideration the misery and ruin they inflict upon thousands of families in our community. Patrick. What ails ye, landlord; you look thoughtful and sad. - Has my friend's story made an impression on you? Landlord. No-yes;-that is-I was thinking of what my wife ... / said the other day. Hn:'i Smith. And pray what was that, if I may make so bold? page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] , 82 THE TWO ROADS. Landlord. Why, in conversing with me about the sin, as she called it, of retailing liquor, she prophesied that in less than, a year, if I did not get into some more honest employment, the whole family would be brought to beggary. And from that day she said she would not attend the bar in my absence-that those who wanted liquid fire must get it elsewhere than from her. Oh dear! what must I do? Smith. And has she kept her promise not to sell in your absence? Landlord. She has religiously kept it ever since; and being often called from home, with no one to 'tend bar, I lose many a fip. Squire Take-a-little is now about the best customer I have got. O'Brien. An' why in the name of common sense don't ye listen to rason? Why do ye kape the spirit sarpent pent up in yer bottles on the shelf yonder? Sure, an' it must be a pleasure to ye to uncork them, that it may get in the insides of yer cus- tomers, to stale away their senses. Faith, an' I'd rather drain, at one pull, the bucket there, fresh from the well, than taste one dhrop of the varmint; for it nearly done for me when I was sick with rheumatic and fever. They gave it me to sweat it out-it came nigh sweating me into the other world. After laving off the liquor, I soon got well, and have been a timperance man ever since. Landlord. I now begin to believe that your advice is given in sincerity; and after consulting with my family, and getting the opinion of the Squire, I'll make up my mind what I shall do. But, indeed, gentlemen, this conversation has made me forget my duty as a hotel-keeper. You no doubt are fatigued, and need re- freshment; so just step into the dining-room, and you shall be immediately served with some warm and wholesome food. Squire Take-a-little and Mr. Crystal, the great temperance man, will be here this evening, and I shall be pleased to have the discussion renewed. [Exeunt the whole except O'BRIEN and PATRICK. O'Brien. By the powers, Patrick, the gintlemen's remarks about rum-selling were illegant. Didn't it remind ye of Pat Maly, and Dick Cousland, and Mike Falland, and many other spalpeens that used to sell us the pison? Many a poor drunken THE BEEHVE. 83 sot has been made in their houses; but retribution soon overtook them, and they themselves are now sots too. Bad luck to 'em! Patrick. Yes they are all now raping the reward of their low business. How thankful, Teddy, ought we to be that we have escaped the snare so often set for us! But, come, or all the sup- per will be ate up. O'Brien [in a hurry.] Be-dad! so it will. Come, Patrick, come! PART II. SCENE.-Dining-room-chairs, table, &c. &c. Enter SMTH, MORRIS, and JERRY COLDSTREAM. / Jerry. I say, friend Morris, you come it jist about as slick as a whistle over the landlord-jist the way I come it over the gals down at home; for when I gets a talkin' to 'em, they can't get in a word edgeways, so they always have to give up. Morris. I think, Jerry, we have made an impression on him; and it will, indeed, be a " glorious day for the Beehive," if, before we retire to our beds to-night, we can prevail on him to abandon his rum-selling, and get him to empty the contents of his bar into the swill-bucket. But you said very little, Jerry, during the conversation. Have you lost your interest in the bause? Jerry. We Yankee chaps are 'cute critters--oftener calculate than talk: once get us a talkin' and all creation can't stop us. I thought I would spare my breath to-night, and reserve it for to-morrow's meeting, when the way Jerry Coldstream's voice will be heard in the cause of temperance, will astound the villagers; and I reckon the way that 'ere speech of mine will be reported in the newspapers will make cousin Keziah and Ketturah Blossom come to loggerheads about which of them shall have me. They are both all-fired fine gals. I often wish I could marry both. That speech of mine is goin' to make a great sensation down at hum! Enter O'BRIEN and PATRICK, slowly and rather cautious. O'Brien. I hope, gintlemen, me and my friend Patrick don't ' intrude? O Morris. Not at all, my worthy fellow: the room is as free for X ,-' page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] 84 THE TWO ROADS. you as it is for us. On the contrary, we shall be rather pleased with your company, as we wish you and your friend to join with us in prevailing on the landlord to give up this ugly rum-selling business. O'Brien [aside to Patrick.] Wasn't that an illegant compli- ment? Faith, an' ye'r honor is too condescending to such as the likes of me friend and me. Morris. Not at all; this is not a country of distinctions: any and every man, no matter of what secular or religious calling he may belong to, who conducts himself honestly and soberly, is sure to be well treated in society. gOBrien. O murther and nouns, but it is a blessed jewel of a counthry, to take us poor foreigners by the hand as ye do. I wish the government would annex poor ould Ireland. Och! by the saints! wouldn't it be illegant? [They seat themselves. Enter Landlord. Landlord. Gentlemen, Squire Take-a-little and Mr. Crystal is without, and wish to know if their company would be agree- able? Morris. Certainly; -we shall be happy to receive them. Landlord retires, and returns with the SQUIRE and Mr. CRYSTAL, and introduces them. Landlord. Gentlemen, Squire Take-a-little and Mr. Crystal, two of the most prominent men of the village. Morris. We no doubt shall be happy with your company, for it may prove a valuable acquisition on the subject of discussion during the evening. Squire. May I ask what the subject is to be? Morris. Temperance; and to convince our landlord that it is wrong to sell liquor. Squire. I have been much spoken to of late on that subject; and my friend Mr. Crystal says I ought, by all means, to lend my aid in bringing about a reformation in the village. I believe he is right, and think seriously that I will leave off drinking. Indeed, I feel ashamed now to be seen coming here in the day- time; besides, the landlord tells me that I am now nearly the only customer he has in the village. I think I might set a better example to our young men. ; THE BEEHVE. 85 Enter JOE TODDY, miserably clad, a little in liquor. Joe. What's that you're saying, Squire? - )on't you want to hear me sing? I'se a 'spectable singer--[hiccough.] Jist give me a smaller, and I'll sing "Old Folks at Home." I'se 'plete singer-[hiccough. ] Mr. Crystal. We don't want to hear you sing, Joe, but wish you to remain quiet, and listen, if you can, to the conversation about the evils of rum-drinking. Joe. Do you say I get tossicated? I only take a little for sto- mach's sake-[hic.] I can't drink col' water-it doesn't agree with my stomach. I s'pose you want to get up a temp'rance siety? You'll not get this child to join, nohow. Mr. Crystal. It pains me to the heart to see you thus, Joe. I often think of the time when you promised to be one of the most talented young men of the village. Your fine manly appearance and address was envied by many a young man, and the aged re- spected you. Look at yourself now-literally covered with rags --a poor despised drunkard! Joe. I sees what you're after: you wish me to jine your temp'rance 'siety. I can't, nor I won't. Squire Take-a-little loves a drop-it don't hurt him. I takes no more than I need. But I ain't goin' to stand: I'll sit down. O'Brien [crossing over to him.] Indade, me friend, it makes me heart ache, too, to see you. Why don't ye lave off dhrink- ing the critter that's killing ye? Patrick and meself was once almost as bad as ye are; but we signed the pledge, and now have fine health, fine clothes, and a fine complexion. Do listen to what the gintleman says, and sign the pledge too. Joe. I'm healthy too, though I've ho fine clothes; still, I've a redder complexion than either of you. You look yallar for want of a little stimulus. I can't sign-I loves a drop, like the Squire there. O'Brien. Looking yallar! You don't see right, me friend: the only part of me that's looking yallar is me pockets; and they, since I became timperance, are full of the yallar boys-[chinking his pockets.] Patrick and meself have both suffered severely from intemperance; for many years we used to fool away our hard- earned money in drinking and dissipation; of course we were page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 THE TWO ROADS. always poor and miserable likes to yerself; but now that we are temperate, we are not only healthy, but laying by a little for a rainy day. Joe [thoughtful.] I once saw the day when I could handle more money than that. Would you believe it, if I told you that I once owned the property on which this tavern stands, together with the adjacent lots for many acres around, I never drank any spirits till I went into the Squire's office: it was there that I took my first glass. Squire. [Aside-Confound the fellow!1 Joe Toddy, I would be obliged, if you would keep your tongue quiet. Sots like you, it is bad enough to see, without having them intrude as you do. Joe. Whew! Squire--you talk like a tossicated man yourself! You know I took my first glass in your office! Mr. Crystal. There is no use, Squire, in railing against the poor fellow. You always thought a little did you good-so did he; it was that little you taught him to take, that has caused his ruin. A heavy sin lies at your door; and how thankful you ought to be to God, that you have been preserved in your respectability, and kept from the drnnkard's fate! Suppose it had been other. wise-Joe the sober man, and you the drunkard Surely, Squire, you ought to refrain from that " little,' and give a help ing hand in endeavouring to reclaim the poor drunken ones of the Village. Joe. Go it, Mr. Crystal!-you're just the boy for the Squire --give it to him--right and left-he learnt me to drink. But I'd like to be 'spectable again. May-be I'd jine your 'siety, if the Squire does. O'Brien. Did I understand ye to say, that ye once owned this tavern? Joe. Yes; and many acres around. O'Brien [scratching his head.] Be the soul of me, I'm afraid I'm making too boldt& How comes it that ye don't own it now? Joe. I drank it all up-the greater part of it went into the landlord's till. But don't talk to me- any more on this subject, it makes me sad-and when I think of it, I wish I were dead! O'Brien. Landlord-ye spalpeen, do you hear that? -What ails ye-look here at some of your journey-work. Nature made :!' THE BBUEIVE: 87 him a man in Gods own image. Does he look like a man now i Look here, I say': see what ye'r respectable calling makes of God's creatures! Out upon ye, ye miserable rumseller! Have ye any conscience? Do ye slape, when ye go to bed? If ye do, it must be with the imps of the lower regions! Morris. My warm-hearted fellow- however the landlord may deserve it, you are rather severe. Moral 'suasion does more good than angry, recriminating words. Smith. I have been a patient listener to what has just been said; and from the single fact that this poor forlorn creature owes his downfall in, part to the Squire here, and the rapacious rumsellers-our landlord, no doubt, is willing to bear his share of the guilt-it is the bounden duty of every philanthropist to lend his hand in ridding society of this her greatest pest. If I am a judge of human nature, I think I see signs of relenting in our landlord's countenance. Landlord. Your conversation, gentlemen, has not been entirely lost on me. Joe accuses me of being one of the causes of his downfall. If I had not sold him liquor, others would. I detest drunkards as well as you do; and I confess rum-drinking is a bad thing. I never let a drunken man stay about my house, but always turn him out of doors. Yes; as soon as he gets drunk, out he goes! I never suffer him to pester round after that! Smith. I dare say you do; and the only mode in which you, or any other rumseller, can know that a man or woman has drunk to excess, is the very fact that such persons are actually drunken. It is ever the case-with the poor victims of intemperance; for, as soon as their money is gone, and they become beastly intoxicated, they are thrust forth into the street--in many cases, to die by the wayside. O'Brien. Patrick, me boy, what ails ye?-ye haven't said a word to-night. Did ye hear how the landlord sarves his cus- tomers. Have ye forgot the Saturday night when we went into Dennis O'Callahan's whiskey-shop, with three pounds betwixt us in our pockets, and where we found ourselves on the next blessed morn of the Sabbath? Patrick. Faith, Teddy, an' I do! We found ourselves in the stocks, the derision of the whole village. The spalpeen of a land- page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 THE TWO ROADS. lord, afther filling us with his pisen, picked our pockets, and turned us into the road-well drunken-when the police took charge of us. I believe it was our last spree, Teddy. And may it prove the last! Morris. Well, landlord, have you come to a decision about quitting the sale of rum? Landlord. I wish to hear what decision the Squire has come to. I think if the Squire consents to unite with you in the tem- perance reform, I will give up the sale of liquor--trusting that you gentlemen will direct me in opening the kind- of house you propose. Mr. Crystal. We'll pledge our honours to stand by you. Squire. I must acknowledge, gentlemen, that you are right; and from this out, I'll cease from taking that little, and will join with you, heart and hand, to get up a temperance society in our village for the adults, and a section for the boys-the future hope of our matchless country! Joe. Why, Squire--you strike me all aback! This is a wonder of wonders!-Whew!-I'd like to be 'spectable again, Squire. Yes! I'll jine, if you'll let me. I will become a man again ' Poor Joe will no longer be called a drunkard! Squire. Yes, Joe; we want your name, too. I have a suit of clothes at home that will fit you, and I will again take you into my office, and do all I can to make you comfortable and happy. O'Brien. Blessings on the gintleman, for that saying of his, and may he ever find a friend in the hour of distress. [(Cominy forward to Joe.] Patrick and I will be your friends, too! Here, take this trifle-we've got plenty: and as we intend locating here in the village, we'll help to sustain you in kaping the pledge. Joe. Thanks, friends, thanks-for that's all I have to give. 0 blessed day! blessed hour!--Joe feels that he shall become a man again! Mr. Crystal. Well, landlord; we wait patiently for your decision. Landlord. My conscience tells me it is wrong to follow my present occupation. I'll pack up my remaining liquor and send it to the next town to be disposed of-then, I'll sell no more. i: THE BEEHVE. 89 Morris. We'll engage to pay you the amount of your liquor; so leave it to our disposal. Landlord. As you like, gentlemen. Jerry Coldstream. Then I reckon that ar' meeting won't come off, will it? An' that famous speech of mine, I reckon, too, won't be printed? I expected to immortalize myself on that occasion. How disappointed my two sweethearts-Cousin Keziah and Ketturah Blossom-will be to hear that I did not make one for they know I can beat all creation atalkin', when I once get the steam up! Molris. We have reserved a very prominent part for you to act to-night. When you return home, you shall be able to say that you emptied the contents of a rumseller's bar, and cast' it into the highway. You, and our Irish friends, may get at it right away, and clear the bar of the poison it contains. O'Brien [jumping up.] Whist! Patrick, do ye hear that! Faith, an' we'll soon get rid of the sarpent! Come, Patrick, don't be so bashful-lend a help, man. [Jerry, O'Brien, and Patrick empty the hottles in a bucket.] O'Brien [coming forward.] What will ye'r honour have us to do with the julep Morris. Throw it into the swill-tub-it's the best place for it. O'Brien. Your honour-pardon me for presuming-forgets that all four-legged beasts loathe the cratur'; an' I'm sure, that if I empty it into the swill, it will be all spoilt-,for deal a drop will the beautiful pigs taste of it. The only animal that uses the spirit devil, is man! an' sure I am ashamed to say it! Morris. You are right, Teddy; empty it into the barnyard. [ The three retire in higyh glee.] Smith. Gentlemen, this is a great temperance triumph-one, I trust, that will never be forgotten by-us. Not only has the house been reclaimed and renovated, but its landlord made a tem- perance man; the worthy Squire Take-a-little's name enrolled on the temperance banner; and the poor, forlorn outcast, Joe Toddy, like the prodigal, seeing the error of his ways, returns again to a happy state in society. Landlord. The night must not end thus. So overjoyed is my wife at the result of this conference, that she insists on all to par- 8* page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 THE TWO ROADS. take of a supper she has provided in commemoration of the event-an event, she says, that ought to be known throughout the Union. O'BRIEN, &c. heard huzzaing from without-they return. O'Brien [in front, with empty bucket above his head.] Well, gentlemen, rve disposed of it-I gave it to the manure-heap; an', by this time, it's like many a poor toper--" well soaken." I am only sorry my term of office has been so short. Now, that my hand's in, I feel as I should like to empty the contents of all the bars in this blessed, great counthry! An' to ye, gintlemen, each and every one of ye, I feel thankful for assigning me a part in this most wonderful reformation, an' shall never cease to re- member 'it as the happiest day of me life; and, on each annual return of it, I will exclaim, "Truly, it was a great day for THE BEEHVE!" JOHN CARY AND HS- GALLON KEG. JOHN CARY was a merry lad, A dashing, headstrong fellow, Whose heart was not so very bad, But that sometimes Jtwas mellow; He learnt to kiss the goblet's brim When yet he was a stripling, And loved good wine-the worse for him- But never dreamed of tippling. It happep'd, though, that John, with others, Kept up the vice of drinking- A vice that all good feeling smothers- Till he would sit with anybody And pour down punch and brandy-toddy, And raw rum even, without winking. John wooed the prettiest girl in all the town, , And, strange as it may'read, he won her: I saw her when, beside himn kneeling down, She took chaste wedlock's vows upon her, And thought that such a vision of angelic beauty Would surely win him to the path of duty. tr? JOHN CARY AND HS GALLON KEG. 91 But John was heedless, as I said before; And when the honeymoon was over, He turn'd him to his cups again, And for his respite drank the more,- And soak'd up liquor like the sand-pits, when The rain comes pouring, after Sol's bright rays Have burn'd and scorch'd them in the summer days. He loved his wife, but loved his liquor better, And linger'd by the bar-room fire, Forsaking home and love, leaving them both a debtor; Preferring drunken sots and drunken rows, To being happy with his lovely spouse,- As pigs will sometimes leave the fragrant clover To wallow in the mire. From genteel guzzling, John descended- As moderate drinkers in the mass l Quite often do--till not a glass } Could he get trusted for, at any hole Of sin where Satan kept his rendezvous, With agents hired to catch the soul, And fit it for the lake that burneth blue:- He lost his money, and his credit too, And then his sinuous way he wended, With every nine-pence he could glean, To where, behind a bright red screen, The devil's puppet pour'd out gin Enough to fill his gallon keg, While Old Nick turn'd, with ghastly grin, And let him down another peg. On his way home, one night, he stagger'd Into a chapel, where a crowd had met To hear a man preach total abstinence:- A funny plight for one like him; and yet He did not try to make departure thence, But sat and gazed with features pale and haggard, In rags and filth, and bottle by his side, While all were giggling as they would have died: "My subject now is fairly placed before ye," Said the speaker; , read this epistle, I implore ye!" The crowd look'd on, and John gazed back As though his senses were returning; page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 THE TWO BOADS, And when the speaker traced the drunkard's track. He listen'd till his soul seem'd burning To know how he might break the galling chain And stand erect and be a man again. "A pledge from all that can intoxicate- This 5will the dying drunkard save!" The speaker cried; and John, with hope elate, Shouted, "I am no more a slave I The pledge! the pledge I oh, let me sign it now! - Bear witness, all, I make a solemn vow-- John Cary is a man once more!" No sooner said than it was done; He pull'd the cork and let it run, The liquor, on the chapel floor. John sign'd the pledge; the keg, he put it by, And kept it on a cupboard shelf, And no one dream'd but it would stay and dry, And fall to pieces of itself. But one day, as he erst had done, He took it from its place, And started in the blazing sun, And moved with rapid pace Adown the street, to find the grocers store, And have it fill'd, as he was wont before. This done, he turn'd his steps for home; he met, It so turn'd out, a drunkard-maker, one- For so the people often said--who run An omnibus from earth to hell, to get A passage for himself; he fill'd the cup For other men, and drank the heel-taps up; And so became a drunkard without pay-- A trick o' the trade, as those who know it say. This man was very rabid when he learn'd That John had sign'd the pledge; and bet a sum He might have kept, that John had only turn'd A temperance man to play a trick; with rum He'd fill his gallon keg and take his pay Within a month of that same hour and day When John had pledged him, soul and body, To drink no cider, wine, or beer, or toddy. John knew his boasting, and resolved he'd meet A Tartar, if he tackled him; - i " JOHSN CARY AND HS GALLON KEG. 93 When in the distance far he saw the man, He moved with tottering step and wavering feet, As if intoxication shackled him: The fellow saw him, and he ran Till they two met;--John aped the drunkard well; The other chuckled in his teeth, and thought, "Now I have caught him-this is -rich to tell!" And in his glee he cried, I'm glad, my boy, you've brought That old keg out again! - hy, John, we've had No sort of fun since you forsook us! Zounds! These temperance knaves are quite too bad To fool a chap like you! they know no bounds In their hot-headed zeal! I'm glad for once They did not lead their convert like a dunce; I'm thinking, when they tackled you, friend John, They did not know what game they lit upon. I told the chaps they made too much ado about it- As for the gallon kej, you could not do without it!" No! no!" said John, I the l-ke-keg and I are good friends still i" And shook his head and stammer'd, as a drunkard will. "Well, well, friend John, don't be too stingy, then, But let us drink together; We've been on many a spree, like honest men, Let's drink to better weather. The temperance men you've had enough of- We're not the tools that they make stuff of!" "Yes, drink, man, drink with right good-will, There's light and comfort in it, still!" And John could scarce refrain from laughing, As guzzle-function rashy seized The gallon-keg, big swallows quaffing, As if he could not catch his breath, Or drank in case of life and death! But quick he dropp'd it, retch'd and sneezed, Emptied his stomach on the soil, Then retch'd again, raved, tore his hair, Cursed, jump'd about, yell'd, tried to swear; While John stood laughing at his pain, And bade him, when he drank again, Be careful, lest he drank LAMP OIL! page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] " THE TWO ROADS. DRINKING WITH THE PEOPLE. WHEN we trace back the history of our Union, and observe the oneness of spirit, the unanimity of sentiment, which at the glorious era of "'76" ran through all parties-nay, as it were, merged all parties into one, whose sole purpose was the -general weal, we must, as philanthropists and lovers of our country, be painfully reminded of the. contrast between that happy period of political union, and the present clashing of party spirit-the cor- ruption of antagonistic factions at the present day. Although no one mind can point out all the complicated causes of this un- happy difference, yet none, we think, can doubt, after a brief sur- vey of the subject, that one of the chiefest of them all has been the liquor traffic. I desire to assume no ground upon which a just man can take issue with me when I say that a great number, if not the ma- jority of candidates for subordinate offices of public trust, are nominated and caucused for in bar-rooms and porter-houses, where the "sober, sensible" portion of the community would blush to be seen. I believe I assume, in this, no untenable ground. Nor are these selections always made from that sober and sensible portion; for candidates are singled out for their sup- posed popularity with the masses, instead of their high stand in the respect of the intelligent community. And that popularity is too often counted upon and measured by one's treating, and "drinking with the people." In the bar-room, character is as- sailed with every species of calumny, or lauded with shouting en- comium, with little or no reference to merit or demerit, according as the individual called in question belongs to " our party" or to the " opposition." No purity of life and conduct is held sacred, if the possessor chances to become a political candidate. So much has this become the case in latter years, that the wise and the good retire from the contest, preferring obscurity and quiet life to short-lived honours and a calumniated name; and justly feeling, that though they love their country, and would serve it, neither Heaven nor conscience calls for such a fearful personal sacrifice. C .... THE BLESSINGS OF TEMPERANCE. 95 The partisan press, likewise, too often exhibits little more than the ravings of maddened and fevered brains. From the very point of the editorial pen, the bar-room too often sends forth its firebrands, burning and consuming in rancorous strife the peace of society--heating men for the work of dethroning reason and deifying passion, and, by instigating and feeding an unnatural excitement in the public mind, setting man at variance with man. Excitement is the great enemy of cool and deliberate action; and we think it may be said with truth, that no one cause contributes so much to produce it as the use of alcohol. Examine the matter with all the candour and just discriminating sense of which we are masters, and we shall find that the strife of our elections, the mob spirit of belligerent factions, the outhreaks of open violence and riot, have been and still are engendered chiefly under the ins fluence of the intoxicating glass. If fierce conflict and violent physical force be required by the wicked designers of "foul play," in the exercise of the elective franchise, the maddening, sense- destroying liquid is poured out, free as water, upon the weak and willing instruments employed, who otherwise could not be made subservient to the bad end proposed; even as the brigand chief fires the tardy energies of his infernal gang with the wine-cup, to impart to them courage and hardihood for deeds of cruelty and daring, and to stifle all returning symptoms of remorse. [J. N. Stone. THE BLESSINGS OF TEMPERANCE. Merit. I congratulate you, friend Jones, on your safe arrival in your native village. It has been three years and upward, I believe, since you left it; and you will see much that will cause you to rejoice. The temperance reformation has effected wonders o in our little community, since your absence. ^ ; "-/ SUGGESTED BY SARGENT'S TEMPERANCE TALE OF THE COOPER AD CURRIER. Mert. I congratulate you, friend Jones, on your safe arrival in :! your native village. It has been three years and upward, I :I believe, since you left it; and you will see much that will cause :l you to rejoice. The temperance reformation has effected wonders ) J inu our little community, since your absence. page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] 96 THE TWO ROADS. Jones. Perhaps so; but I think the temperance people of the present day are going " too fast and too far," and that it is high time for its real friends to " drag'the wheels" of the temperance car. Merit. The temperance people can never go "too fast or too far;" and they are already dragging the wheels of the car which is annually carrying thousands to prosperity and happiness. You have dram-shops in your village, I believe; and, if I recollect rightly, you have a distillery there, too? Jones. Yes, sir; we have four stores where liquor is sold, be- sides two taverns and the distillery. Merit. Pretty good for a population of four or five hundred; and I suppose you have some drunkards, too? Jones. We have our share; and I am fully convinced that one or two of the stores might be dispensed with. Merit. My friend, you occupy a high position among your neighbours, -and your influence, if properly exercised, would do much in reforming this state of things. You admit that you have drunkards in your -village your Bible tells you that "drunkards shall not inherit the kingdom of God;" say, then, can you go " too fast or too far" to save these wretched creatures from everlasting destruction? Pray, tell me, what progress have you made in the temperance cause, in your village? Jones. Not much, sir; we have seen little or no good resulting from the experiment. Merit. Have you made the experiment How many have joined your temperance society? Jones. I must confess, sir, that we have not been able, as yet, to get up a temperance society. We made an attempt, last year, but the people being so much opposed to it, the whole affair fell to the ground. Merit. It is much to be regretted, friend Jones, that this best of causes is permitted to be lost to your community for the want of a few friends to set it.7fairly before the people. I fear the rumselleik among you control the great mass of the villagers, and feel cogdent that if only a half-dozen of good temperance men would set eir minds on reforming the abuses that exist in THE BLESSINGS OF TEMPERANCE., 97 he village, in less) than three months there would be found. a flourishing society in your midst. Jones. Probably we have not given the subject that attention which it is deserving of, else we might have one in operation. Merit. Well, well, friend Jones, since you have not seen the good effects of the temperance movement in your own village, you shall judge of them in mine. Three years ago, the friends of temperance first broke ground in it, and scattered the seed with a liberal hand, and great has been the increase. It is astonishing what a reformation has taken place in so short a time. Many who were then given up as poor, lost drunkards, are now found daily at their business, having good and comfortable homes for their families, and enjoy every comfort. Not a few of them, who at that time were both irreligious and intemperate, have enrolled their names in the church, and now compose some of its most cherished members. Those who formerly struggled to gain the reputation of being the greatest drinkers, are now ambitious to excel in their respective crafts, or in the cultivation of their farms. There are one or two families, in particular, that I shall take occasion to bring to your notice, to-morrow, as we ride through the village, who were among the most drunken and de- praved of the villagers. The head of one of the families is not unknown to you; I allude to George Webb. Jones. I recollect him well; " poor, drunken George," was the name he went by. Is it possible that he has reformed? I have always thought it an impossibility to reform men that were so far gone as George was. Merit. He is not only a reformed drunkard, but is considered one of the most industrious and thriving mechanics that we have. In fact, he is a man of consequence with his townsmen, and I should not be surprised, one of these days, to see him up for the legislature. Jones. This is indeed a wonder! How was this reformation effected? Merit. I perceive he is coming down the lane; we will enter into conversation with him, and get him to tell the story in his own way. I am certain it will please you. George. Good day, gentlemen; I hope you are well. 9 page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 THE TWOt OADS. Merit. Thank you, George. Your looks denote that you are in the best of health. How's the family? George. Never felt better in my life; and all the family can say the same, thank God. f Merit. This is an oild friend, George, that has not been among us for four years. Have you forgotten him? George. The gentleniat's face is familiar to me, but I don't know where to place it. He must therefore excuse me. Jones. Do you recollect Fred Jones, who lived at the end of the lane, near the Lamb tavern? I am the person. George. Recollect Fred Jones? That I do-many a good bit of advice have you thrown away upon me. [Shake hands.] I am glad to see you in the village once more, if only to witness the great work the temperance men have effected, since your absence. Merit. I was just telling my friend of the great change that had taken place in your habits. It has interested him so much) that he wishes to heiar from your own lips the manner in which the reformation was brought about. Youi will oblige me, George, by so doing, particularly as Mi. Jones i's somewhat doubtful of the good that a few staunch temperance ien can effect, in a com- manity given up to drunkenness. George. I will with pleasure, and hope the recital will not be lost to friend Jones; but that he may see much in it that will cause him to change his opinions in regard to the power of the temperance movement. Three years ago, as you well knoiw, I was sunk as deep in wretchedness and sin as it was possible for man to sink, and all through rum,;. My wife and children were reduced to want and beggary, and all tiat my comfortable home contained had been sold to buy liquor. About this time a tem- perancoe movebment tdok -plac in thie village, and my Wife took every opportunity to speak to me-that is, whenever I was sober, which was rarely-of our wretched miode of living, and plead and plead with me to forsake my wicked course of life. It was then that I began to look aboiit, and to witness the sad effects of my rum-drinking-destitute indeed was my miserable home, for it contained little more than the bare walls. My business' had almost left me, and star;ation wats staring us in the face. I ::,:; THE BLESSINGS OF TEMPERANCE. 99 thought of leaving the village, and hearing that my business was good in New Orleans, I consulted my wife about going there. She said yes; but didn't see why we could not live here as we used to do. I told her we might live here on bread and water. She replied that she would willingly do so, if I would only give up drinking, for it was that which had been the cause of all our miseries; and said that they could not be lessened by a change of residence, but by a change of habit, which could as well .be made here as elsewhere. Hier remarks were not lost upon me. There was an honest old Quaker in the neighbourhood, named Boynton, who seemed to take a great interest in my wife's welfare, (he had been a very intimate friend of her deceased father,) and advised her to persuade me to go and hear the temperance lectures that were then being given in the village. J had nothing to say against the lecturer, only that I thought he knew very little of the toper's habits, to .think that they could throw them off as easily as a pair of old shoes. I knew better, as I thought, for I had tried. I've promised my wife a hundred times when I went out that I would not drink, but always came home drunk. About this time, my landlord threatened to turn us out of the house for rent, and my wife prevailed on me to visit friend Boynton to ask his counsel. I went to see him, and made my appearance in the morning, before I had taken my dram. His' kind treatment relieved me of my awkward feelings. "Ah, friend George," said he, "I am glad to see thee;" and then inquired about the wife and children. "And pray, George," said the old man, "what would'st thee have me to do?' I made inown to him my desti- tute condition, and detailed to him the wretchedness I had brought Upon my family. I told him that it was my wife that had in- duced me to come and see him, though I didn't see how it could help me. "Thee acted wisely, George," said he, "and I have often grieved for thee and thine, and have hoped that thee would see the consequences of thy bad habits." He recommended me to sign the piedge. '0Oh, sir," said I, "I cannot do that, for T never should be able to keep clear of temptation." "Verily," said the Quaker, "thy case is an interesting one, and I think better of thee, than if thee had vain confidence in thyself and thy powers of resistance. I cannot advise thee until I have con- page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] 100 THE TWO ROADS. sidered the matter more fully. To-morrow is the Sabbath, will thee call and see me on the evening following?" I promised that I would. As I was rising to depart, the old gentleman said, "Friend George, will thee oblige me in one thing?" "Very gladly, sir, if it is in my power," said I. "It is that thou wilt forbear from tasting any intoxicating liquor till I see thee on Mon- day evening, as I wish thee to be in a suitable frame of mind to receive advice." I gave him my word and honour that I would not taste a drop. Accordingly on Monday evening I made him a second visit. "I am right glad to see thee," said he, "and hast thou kept thy promise?" I replied that I had not tasted a drop. "I thought so," said he, "thee lookest better than I have seen thee for a long time." He then inquired if I felt any the worse for my abstinence. I told him I did not, but felt better and happier. He then apologized for not being ready to give me the counsel I asked, owing to his being so much engaged in business connected with the conference, which was to take pla, e on the following Wednesday; but that on the next evening, Thursday, he would endeavour to be prepared for me. The promise that I would not drink any intoxicating liquors, until I had seen him, was again exacted from me. In the interim, I began to feel the want of occupation; and, having foreclosed my- self from seeking it at the grog-shop, I endeavoured to find it elsewhere. My wife has frequently said, that she shall never forget that week, or how she felt, when she sent one of the chil- dren over to the tavern to call me to dinner, and was told that I had been sitting at my work ever since breakfast. Well, gentle- men, when Thursday evening came, I went once more to see the old gentleman. "Thee lookest so well, friend George," said he, "that I need not ask thee if thou hast kept thy promise." ,(I have kept it, sir," said I. "And is not thy home pleasanter, and thy wife happier?"I replied in the affirmative, and then asked him, if he had made up his mind as to the course it was best for me to pursue? He again apologized, and told me he should certainly be ready by the following Monday. I had again to promise him that I would not drink till, I saw him. On leaving him, he gave me a fine quarter of pork for my wife. The next morning, as I was sitting at my work, it suddenly occurred to me, that I had THE BLESSINGS OF. TEMPERANCE. 101 already reformed without knowing it, and marvelled at my stu- pidity in not seeing the old gentleman's drift before. I had not supposed it possible to abstain for twelve hours, and yet I had already tried the experiment successfully for nine days; and when I marked the increased happiness of my poor wife, and the light- ness of my own spirits, I resolved within myself that it should be more than a nine days'.wonder. From that outI have been a temperance man. Tie next day,. being the, Sabbath, : attended c: hurch with my wife; it had' been several years since I was inside of one. I did not go to, see the old gentlema n the next morning; he came of his own accord in. the. afternoon, and found me hard at work. "Well, friend George' said he, three did'st not keep thy appointment, but I hope .thee hast kept thy word." Yes, :' sir," said I, I have kept my. promise, and I trust, by God's help, to keep it to the end. For if I can keep it- ten days, I think I Ji can keep it ten years; and this is, the substance, I suppose, of the counsel you would, have given me, though at the time I did not understand you." "Yea, verily,. friend George," said he, "I ca do no more for thee than thou hast done for thyself." He then entered into conversation with me about my business and im- mediate necessities, and not only kindly assisted me, but soon spread the news of my reformation, and in a short time I had as much business as I could turn my hands to. This, friend Jones, is a simple history of my reformation, for which I shall never cease to thank God. Merit. Well, Mr. Jones, what do you think of the temperance cause, now? Is it worthy of the countenance of the Christian and philanthropist? Jones. I confess that I have been remiss in my duties to my fellow-men; and I now promise ypqu, should I be spared to reach home again, that I will not only set about immediately, but will use all my influence to establish a temperance society in our village-hoping that the same good results may attend it that has been accomplished here. But, tell me, George, what has become of your brother-in-law that you were always fighting and quarrelling with. I recollect that he was a hard case-worse, I used to think, than you were. -If my memory serves me right, :*':, 9*2 . * .11 ; '- page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 102 THE TWO ROADS. his wife drank nearly as hard as he did. But I cannot expect to hear of a reformation in that quarter. Merit. The reformation in that family is truly astonishing; and I always considered it one of the greatest triumphs the temperance men achieved in our village : for it was a family wholly given up to drunkenness. George. I should be pleased, gentlemen, if you would accompany me to my home; as on our way, we can stop at my brother's house, where you will find one of the most interesting families that the village contains, surrounded with every comfort; and I will also point out to you the neat and comfortable dwellings of many others, who were formerly slaves to strong drink, and equally lost to society as I was; but whose prayers now are daily offered up for the prosperity of the temperance cause. Merit. What say you, friend Jones; shall we accompany George? Jones. With pleasure; you have interested me so much in the great temperance reformation effected in your village, that I am desirous of beholding with my own eyes more of its fruits. FILL UP THE GLASS. FILL up the cup, the bowl, the glass, With wine and spirits high, And we will drink, while round they pass, To--Vice and Misery! Push quickly round the draught again, And drink the goblet low: And drink in revelry's swelling strain, To-Reason's overthrow! Fill, fill again-fill higher still! The glass more warmly press; Fill up and drink, and drink and fill, To-Human beastliness! Push round! push round, in quickest time-- The lowest drop be spent In one loud round to Guilt and Crime} And-Crime's just punishment! THE FORSAKEN WIFE. 103 Fillillll again!-fill to the brim, To-Loss of honest fame! ' Quaff--deeper quaff, while now we drink Our wives' and children's shame! Push round'! and round! with loudest cheers -: -Of mirth and revelry: We drink to-Woman's sighs and tears, And children's poverty! Fill up the glass--fill yet more high! Thus soon ne'er let us part- Stop not at woman's tear and sigh, Give-Beauty's broken heart! Once more! while power shall yet remain, E'en with its latest breath, Drink! to ourselves-Disease and Pain, And Infamy and Death! THE FORSAKEN WIFE. THE summer sun hath set amid The clouds of radiant gold; The husbandman hath ceased his toil, The sheep are in the fold. The dew of heaven's falling fast- The verdant grass is damp; So softly sighs the summer wind, It waves not yonder lamp. That lamp illumes a lovely form, A lovely woman's face; Hath not the iron hand of grief Left there some vivid trace? 1 See, tears are in her large dark eyes- Now sparkle down her cheek; They have no tongue, but oh how plain Of sorrow do they speak! Why weeps she thus, so lone and sad? Is she not still a wife? But where is he who swore to love And cherish her through life? page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 THE TWO ROADS. They have not met nor interchanged A word for many a day: Where is he-where? -Go seek him 'Midst the profligate and gay. And will she linger thus through life, And mix not in the throng- Nor strive to tell the busy world Of every slight and wrong? No!-for within, her breast is still A love that fain would feel, Since others cannot make. amends, His faults she should conceal. Oh! droop not, then, most lovely one; Perchance the howur is nigh When tears shall all give way to smiles- The laugh succeed the sigh. He may come back an altered man, When youthful folly's. sped: His failings are not faults of heart, But errors of the head. THE TRAVELLERS. "THERE'S ten o'clock, waiter!" "Yes, sir." "Send Boots with a pair of slippers, will ye? and tell cham- bermaid I wish to go to bed.' "Yes, sir." "Now, Boots," (when that respectable and, obliging func- tionary made his appearance,)" will you call me at. half-past six in the morning, and let my-horse be ready by that hour, as I want to be at'York by breakfast-time. And, stop: just go and tell Mr. B., my companion, I want him a minute." Away went Boots, and presently the door of the traveller's room opened, and the noise of revelry and laughter issued from it. Presently out came Mr. B., and actually invited me to go and have a glass.- "Come, come," said he, "your teetotalling's all a lam--it , A=l,8tw, THE TRAVVLL,tvRS. 105 won't do; there's nothing like a cheerful glass, after all: we've had such fun! Come, I'll stand treat." "We'll talk about that in the morning: I want to know if you will be up at half-past six, to accompany me?" "Half-past six-ay, by five, if you like. Boots, ye rascal, call this gentleman and me by five o'clock, will ye, my good fel- low? Come, we have just another bottle to drink: give master teetotal the bag to-night. It's capital stuff, and you'll sleep like a rock after it." "No! I don't drink?' said I. I wished my companion good-night, and quietly ascending to my apartment, I was not long in depositing myself right snugly within the curtains. Gradually the noise became fainter and less distinct, outward things grew dim and silent, and within ten minutes, without either the spur of brandy or the stimulus of wine, I was far within the cosy land of Nod, and a willing and obedient subject of King Morpheus. Gentle reader, good-night. Rap, rap, rap. "Please, sir, it's past six, and all is ready." "Bless me! is that Boots? Why, it is only a little bit since I went to bed--it can't be." Rap, rap,'rap. "Please, sir"--- "Very well, Boots, I'm coming." And off went Boots to rap up my friend. He might as well have knocked at a tombstone; however, he persevered: rap, rap, rap went Boots, and at length succeeded in getting a singular sound between a grunt, a yawn, and a growl, from no less a per- sonage than my valuable friend of last night. After a while, I came to the assistance of Boots, and the " allied forces" battered away at the door. Presently, after sundry indescribable non- descript sounds, we were asked, in a surly, sleepy tone, "What on earth d'ye want?-is the house on fire? because, if-it- is"'--- a loud snore. "Hammer away, Boots," said I. "I must have an answer of some sort." Boots was obedient: we rapped until Mr. B. again roused him- self, and angrily reiterated his former question. "I Want to know," I shouted, " when you'll be ready to go?" page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] S 14 THE TWOQ ROADS. "Oh ay, it's you; why, it's too soon-goto bed again--I be- lieve it's a cold morning--maybe it's wets pooh! o to bed-. I shall." "I must go." "I mustn't go," he answered, and turned on his lazy pillow. So I left him to snooze on, ad console himself; for t judged. with .toleable correctness, that he would full soon ae to, th' hirsty mineries of the debauchee's morning hours. THE WARNING. BoY, with fair unfurrowed cheek, Thou, whose foot, ere long, must seek Manhood's untried path to tread, Shrink thou from the bowl with dread: By thy hopes, so proud and pure, Let -it not thy spirit lure! Safer were it, thou should'st brave Midnight storms on ocean wave, Than to yield thee but one hour, Captive to the wine-king's power. O'er the water's wide domain Sunshine comes, with morn, again; But the drunkard has no day, Hope, for him, emits no ray! Turn thou then, with hate and dread From the wine-cup, bright and red! Husband! by each tender tie That around thy heart doth lie, By thy love for her, who shares, Uncomplaining, all thy cares; By that fairy band, whose mirth Bringeth gladness to thy hearth, When the red wine sparkles clear, Turn thou then, with loathing fear! By each one that bears thy name, Wear thou not the robe of shame, Whose accursed folds must cling Darkly round each fair young thing, SOULS, NOT STATIONS. Shrouding them in gloom and blight, Turning their young life to night: Husband ! father! turn with dread, When the wine clip gleameth red! Mortil I if thIy footsteps riom Where the crested goblets foam, And thou, in thy weakness, think Thou may'At safely date to drink, Then, by all thy friends and Min, By thy throbbing heart within, By thy blood-bought, deathless soul, Turn thou from the treach'rous bowl!' Nobler far are they who toil Bondmen, on their native soil, Negro, in his fetters bound, Base-born serfs on Russian ground, Than the willing slaves of wine, Wretched vassals of the vine. Freeman! dost thou bondage dread? Look not on the wine-cup red! SOULS, NOT STATIONS. WHO shall judge a man from manner, Who shall know him by his dress? Paupers may be fit for" princes, Princes fit for something less. Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket, May be, clothe the golden ore Of the deepest thoughts and feelings- Satin vests could do no more. There are springs of crystal nectar Ever welling out of stone; There are purple buds and golden; . Hidden, crushed, and overgrown. God, who counts by souls, not dresses, Loves and prospers you and me, While he values thrones the highest But as pebbles in the sea. page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 THE TWO ROADS. Man, upraised above his fellows, Oft forgets his fellows then- Masters-rulers-lords-remember That your meanest kinds are men! Men by labour, men by feeling, Men by thought and men by fame, Claiming equal right to sunshine In a man's ennobled name. There are foam embroider'd oceans, There are little weed-clad rills, There are feeble, inch-high saplings, There are cedars on the hills; But God, who counts by souls, not stations, Loves and prospers you and me, For to him all vain distinctions Are as pebbles in the sea. Toiling hands alone are builders Of a nation's wealth and fame, Titled laziness is pensioned, Fed and fatten'd on the same; By the sweat of others' foreheads, Living only to rejoice, While the poor man's outraged freedom Vainly lifteth up its voice. But truth and justice are eternal, Born with loveliness and light, And sunsets wrong shall never prosper, While there is a sunny right; And God, whose world-heard voice is singing Boundless love to you and me, Will sink oppression, with its titles, As the pebbles in the sea. THE WOLF; OR, THE HORRORS OF INTEMPERANCE. INTEMPERANCE is a theme so pregnant with evil results, that almost gny person possessed of ordinary abilities, who has made it his study, might write volume upon volume, and still have ,abundant material at hand for the composition of others. The THE WOLF. 109 misery, crime, and wretchedness it has been the cause of for ages past, are incalculable; and such will ever be the case, until the traffic in intoxicating drinks shall cease to exist. But this should not dishearten the friends of the temperance cause; for if they should not be permitted to see the dawning of this happy era upon our land, still they have the pleasing assurance that thousands are annually saved from the drunkard's path, who would otherwise be irretrievably lost, were it not for their laud- able exertions. They have much to cheer them-much to urge them onward in this beneficent work. It is not my intention to dwell at length on the subject of in- temperance; but I will merely detail a few incidents that I have been made acquainted with, of so thrilling a nature, that they can never be erased from my memory; sincerely hoping that the bare recital of them may not be without some profit, at least to a portion of my readers. Intemperance may justly be compared to the most ravenous and bloodthirsty of brutes. I shall, therefore, in speaking of it, term it the Wolf; for, like intemperance, when was the wolf ever known to spare either man, woman, or child within its in- satiate reach? You will now go with me to a home where happiness and con- tentment dwelt-where the return of the parent was always re- ceived with joy and delight by his offspring, and the affectionate salute of the mother. This happiness had existed for years. Suddenly the Wolf crossed the threshold of this happy dwelling, and all happiness within was. destroyed. That father whom they all idolized, nay, worshipped, was soon shunned by his children, who fled at his approach; and the mother, who always greeted him with smiles of welcome-alas! how changed her manner now! Though young in years, she seemed oppressed with the weight and cares of ages; and, instead of receiving him with smiles, as she was wont to do, his entrance to his home invariably drew forth from her bosom the deep-toned sigh that told her heart was breaking. But what caused this change--this great change-in that household? The Wolf, as I said before, had entered its doors, and joy, comfort, and peace had fled. The father had partaken 10 page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] "O THE TWO ROADS. of the intoxicating cup, and soon became so attached to it, that all his former comforts became subservient to it. His happy home was exchanged for the dram-shop and tavern-his wife and children for the degraded wretches that throng these hells-the Book of Life, that points us the way of everlasting life, for cards and the dice-box. In a word, he had exchanged all the joys and comforts of this life, and, we fear, the life to come, for ruin, misery, degradation, and wretchedness. He was a drunkard. The Wolf had done its work. But who is this, with slow and palsied tread, comes tottering down the street? Though apparently well-stricken in years, he should be only in the bloom of manhood; for he has scarce seen five-and-twenty summers. But who is he? Listen: I will tell you. He was an only son, whose parents doated on him, and to whom they had looked forward for protection and support in their declining years. He had occupied a prominent and lucrative situation, and was considered an ornament to the society in which he moved. All admired, loved, and respected him. But he thought that liquor was necessary to convivial meetings, and con- tracted the habit of drinking: you see the result. But his old and doating parents-what became of them? methinks I hear you ask. Seek yon churchyard: just at the entrance is a newly- made grave-they both rest in peace. Heart-broken they died, blessing their poor lost boy, and calling upon Heaven for retribu- tion upon the wicked rumsellers who had blasted all their earthly hopes, and brought them prematurely to the grave. Time has elapsed; but this miserable young man continued in his career of dissipation. But, see: what is that now approach- ing? 'Tis a funeral cortege! They wend their way to the churchyard we have just been speaking of. Let us go in. The corpse is lowered in a grave beside the newly-made one at the entrance. All three now slumber in peace. But how different their closing scene of life!-the two former calling upon God for mercy and forgiveness for themselves and poor lost child; the latter a raving maniac, cursing the authors of his ruin-the rum- sellers! How many thousand similar scenes transpire in our country during the course of a single year! The Wolf had done its work! THE WOLF. " The church bells began again to toll their doleful notes, and the mourners to walk through the streets, and the sexton to ply his mattock and spade; for the Wolf of destruction had again been forth. They are bringing the body of a poor heart-broken mother to its final resting-place on earth. I will relate her sad history. She was the cherished daughter of affectionate parents, the idol of their home, which was made happy by her presence and smiles. She early,contracted marriage with a young man who bade fair to become an ornament to society at large; for besides wealth, he was possessed of talents that fitted him for almost any station in our country. The new home she had : made was, for many years, a happy one; her husband was kind and attentive, and they were blessed with an interesting family of children, which added to the happiness of that home. t Oh, that this happiness had continued! But sad is the sequel. ? He began to drink a little, occasionally to visit taverns, and finally to neglect his business and home; and soon was found elsewhere : than in the dram-shop. He had become a confirmed drunkard! There was a family of small children to provide for; and as the father, who had now become lost to all feeling for his offspring, had ceased to supply their wants, it devolved upon the mother to provide the daily bread for herself and children. For a long time was this miserable family kept alive by her exertions; and the : midnight lamp was frequently replenished-she still toiling on! Had he been kind to her, perhaps she would have borne all with- out repining; but it was otherwise, for rum had made him a brute, a fiend. Frequently would he exact of her, by curses and blows, her scanty earnings, which was to provide bread for her- self4nd children, to spend among his drunken companions. Sickness overtook her, and the children, dressed in rags, were ! sent forth to beg, for who would give employment to the drunk- ard's children? But her sufferings were soon to come to a close. - One cold winter's night, in the midst of a storm of snow and sleet, the miserable drunkard came reeling into his home. The sick mother had just crawled out of her bed to get a little warmth, which was denied her by the scanty supply of bedclothes, and seated herself, amid her half-famished and freezing children, be- g side a few smouldering embers at the fireplace. With a curse page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2 THE TWO ROADS. and blow the children were driven away. He then demanded food, but was told that there was not a morsel in the house, (the children had not been able to go forth that inclement 4ay to beg.) He then began to upbraid her for not working; and, rudely seizing her by the arms, thrust her forth amid the howling storm, and shut the door. She had barely strength to crawl to a neighbour's house, who took her in. The next morning, the poor, wretched drunkard was found dead on the floor of his hovel; delirium tremens was supposed to have been his end. The help- less children were taken to the poor-house, and a few days after- ward the heart-broken mother ceased to exist. The Wolf had done its work! The bells were again set in motion, and sent forth their doleful sounds, and the churchyards were being filled with the victims of Intemperance. "Whose bodies are they bringing?" said the Grave. They are the bodies of a murderer and his victim; they were bosom friends, but wine and strong drink snapped the bonds of friendship. Boys together, they had grown up, inseparable companions, to manhood's state. Indeed, they were more like brothers than friends. One night they had attended a convivial meeting, where the liquid fire was freely used. They quarrelled over their cups about a mere trifle, and insults were given on either side. A challenge ensued, which was accepted and termi- nated on the spot; one fell by the hand of the other, who, the next day, when his reason was restored, stung with remorse, put an end to his existence. They are now laying them in the same grave. The Wolf had made doubly sure, and done its work! But see! Here comes the poor-house hearse, containing the boxed-up body of some miserable pauper. That pauper was once a beautiful and accomplished young lady! She had been mistress over one of the most flourishing schools in the country. As a teacher of youth she was deemed unsurpassed. In personal beauty she had few equals; and her society was as much courted as her friendship was valued. It was the fashion of the time, on paying a friendly visit, to hand round with the cake a glass of wine or cordial. Of course, she was frequently brought in con- tact with man's great destroyer, and soon learned to partake of it freely. One day she had exceeded the line of propriety, and was ]-? / THE WOLF. 113 1M observed to stagger as she entered her school-room. Then the i fashionable world, that had taught her to drink, lifted up false and hypocritical eyes, and affected to pity and to wonder, and -, withdrew their patronage from her, and she was soon left without a scholar. Despised and forsaken, she wandered from her native 1 village---whither she went, few cared or inquired. She wended :? her way to one of our principal cities; and from-the fashionable moderate drinker, she had become a common drunkard-then the diseased and dying pauper! Even the fairest and best of God's works are not exempt from this insatiate fiend, the Wolf, who had again done its work. My heart sickens and revolts at the scenes just brought to your notice. They are not tales of fiction, but reality. Nay, they are scenes of every-day occurrence; and no doubt the reader can call to mind similar if not more revolting ones, that have come under his notice, even in this goodly city we live in. Such is Intemper- ' ance-the Wolf-the destroyer! It is the cause of nearly all the misery that has occurred from the creation of the world. I will now leave this sad subject, and, before concluding, briefly revert to a more cheering one. Who is she that with graceful steps and lively air trips over yonder plain? Her cheeks bear the blush of the rose; joy ! sparkles from her eyes, cheerfulness springs from her heart, and she sings as she walks, for her whole soul is filled with happiness. Her name is HEALTH: she is the daughter of EXERCISE and TEMPERANCE, whose sons inhabit those dwellings where peace and contentment dwell. They are brave, active, and lively, and partake of all the virtues of their fair sister. Vigour stringeth their nerves, strength dwelleth in their limbs, and labour is their ? delight all the day long. Their pleasures are moderate-there- fore they endure; their sleep is short, but sound and undisturbed. Their blood is pure, their minds serene, and the physician scarce finds his way to their dwellings. But does the enchantress, In- temperance, never attempt to enter their midst? Yes; but they know, if they hearken unto the siren's voice, they would be de- ceived and betrayed; for the joy which she promiseth changeth i to madness, and her enjoyments lead to disease and death. They therefore shun the tempter, who findeth no favour from o10 I . I. * page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] "4 THE TWO ROADS. them. ABSTINENCE is the firm friend upon whom they rely-- whose shield protects them from the demons of Intemperance- Alcohol and his satellites. How great is the contrast which presents itself in these pic- tures of real life just brought to your notice! Oh, that my feeble pen could persuade such of you as are addicted to drinking, however moderately, to abstain in future from the cup that is sure to lead to destruction! Who knows, when he first begins to drink, where he will stop? Temperance is your firm friend, and will never lead you into disgrace. Intemperance is man's most deadly foe, and is sure to lead her votaries into shame, poverty, crime, wretchedness, and, not unfrequently, to an ignominious death-scattering your families to the four winds of heaven, and entailing ruin and misery all over the land. Oh, listen to the warning, and take heed ere its too late! Beware the WOLF! THE THREE CRIMES. AN EASTERN TALE. HAMET ABDALLAV was an inhabitant of a grotto on one of the slopes of Mount Olympus. When he stood at the entrance of his humble dwelling, he could embrace with one glance all the territory originally possessed by Osman, the founder of the Ottoman em- pire; and, as he five times a day offered up his prayers to Allah, he invoked blessings upon the head of Solyman the Magnificent, the reigning sultan, in whose time he lived. Hamet Abdallah was one morning roving amid the groves and woods which extended up the mountain, far above his grotto, when an evil Genie stood before him, and assured him that he was to be left to commit one of the three most heinous crimes of which mortals could be guilty, and he might choose between them. He would either, to humble the pride of his heart, be drunken on wine, or murder his venerable father, or curse the name of the Deity he worshipped. Then Hamet was very sorrowful, and he endeavoured to melt the heart of the evil Genie; but all his prayers and entreaties WI- THE THREE CRIMES. 115 were unavailing. He accordingly began to reason within him- self. "If," said he, "I assassinate my father, no contrition can wipe away my crime, and, moreover, the law will over- take me with its vengeance. If I curse the name of the great Allah, I may sigh in vain for future happiness in the gardens of Paradise. But if I become inebriate with wine, I can expiate that fault by severe mortification, penitence, and renewed prayer." Then, turning his countenance upward toward the Genie, he said, O O fountain of all evil! I have made my choice, since thou art determined upon tis injury." "Name the object of that choice," said the Genie. "I will get drunken with wine, as the least of the crimes which you propose," answered the dervise. "Be it so," cried the Genie; "this evening, after the hour of prayer, thou wilt find a jar of Cyprus wine upon thy table, when thy father has retired to rest in his own cell." The day passed rapidly away; and in the evening, Hamet and his sire knelt down as usual at the door of the grotto, with their faces toward the south, to raise their voices in prayer. When their vespers were concluded, the old man embraced his son ten- I derly, and retired to the inner part of the grotto. As soon as Hamet knew that his father slept, he lighted a lamp; and, as the Genie had told him, he saw a large measure of wine standing upon the table. The unhappy dervise raised it to his lips, and drank deeply of the intoxicating draught. A glow of fire seemed to electrify his frame, and he laughed as he set the vessel down upon the table. Again he drank, and he felt reckless and care- less of the consequences. He drank a third time; and, when he had emptied the measure, he .ran out to the do ,r of the grotto, and threw it down the slope of the mountain; then, as he heard it bounding along, he laughed with indescribable mirth. As he turned to enter the grotto, he saw his father standing behind him. Son," said the old man, " the noise of revelry awoke me from my slumbers, and I rise to find my well-beloved Hamet drunken with wine. Alas! is this merely one of many nights' orgies and have I now awakened to the dread truth of thine impiety for the first time? Alas! thou hast cast ashes upon the gray head of thy father "y I. page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 THE TWO ROADS. Hamet could not brook this accusation, and the implied suspi- cion that he was accustomed to indulge in wine while his father slept. He felt suddenly indignant at the language of his sire, and cried, Return to your couch, old dotard! Thou knowest not what thou sayest!"And, as he uttered these words, he pushed his father violently into the grotto. The old man re- sisted, and again remonstrated with Hamet. The brain of the son was confused with liquor, and a sudden dread of exposure to the world entered his mind. With the rage of a demon, he rushed upon his hoary-headed sire, and dashed him fuiously against the stone walls of the grotto. The old man fell with his temple against a sharp flint; one groan emanated fromn his bosom, and his spirit fled for ever! Suddenly conscious of the horrid crime of which he had been guilty, Hamet tore his hair, beat his breast, and raved like a maniac. And, in the midst of his ravings, he lifted up his voice against the majesty of heaven, and cursed the Deity whom he had so long and fervently worshipped! At that instant a terrible din echoed round about-the thunder rolled-the trees shook with an earthquake-and, amid the roar of the conflicting elements, were heard shouts of infernal laughter. All hell seemed to rejoice at the fall of the good man, whom no other vice had ever tempted away from the paths of virtue, until drunkenness presented itself. The rage of the storm ingreased- the trees were torn up by their roots-and fragments of the rocky parts of Olympus rolled down the hill with the fury of an Alpine avalanche. The wretched Hamet, whom the war of nature re- called to his senses, crouched up in one corner of the grotto, and deplored his hard fate in bitter, bitter sorrow. But the storm broke above his head-the walls of his frail dwelling crumbled around him-the roof gave way--and he was horribly mangled in the ruins. Amid the tortures of mind and body,-did he sur- render up his breath; and, as his lips quivered in death, the ter- rible and well-known voice of the Genie fell upon his ears, crying, You chose that which you deemed to be the lightest crime; but, through it, Jou committed the other two!" HOW MUCH THERE IS THAT'S BEAUTIFUL! 117 HOW MUCH THERE IS THAT'S BEAUTIFUL! How much there is that's beautiful In this fair world of ours! The verdure of the early spring, The sweetly blooming flowers, The brook that dances in the light, The birds that carol free, Are objects beautiful and bright, That everywhere we see. There's beauty in the early morn, When all is hush'd and still; And at the lovely sunset hour 'Tis spread o'er vale and hill: It lives within the gorgeous clouds That float along the sky; And oh, how purely beautiful Our evening canopy! It dwells in quiet stillness where The glassy waters glide, And wakes to awful grandeur 'neath The cataract's foaming tide: 'Tis throned in dark, stern majesty Where the tall mountain towers; Oh, there is beauty everywhere In this bright world of ours. The fairy spell that childhood wears, Its artlessness and truth- The light that lives within the eye And in the smile of youth- The impress on the manly brow, Wrought with a shade of care, That tells of high and noble thought- How beautiful they are! And life-how much is shed around To bless and cheer us here, When energy and strength are found Its lesser ills to bear! Although a cloud may sometimes rise, A shadow sometimes rest, Upon our earthly pathway, still 'Tis beautiful and blest.-[Sophia W. Lloyd. page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 THa TWO ROADS. IF I WERE A VOICE. IF I were a voice, a persuasive voice, That could travel the wide world through, I would fly on the beams of the morning light, And speak to men with a gentle might, And tell them to be true. I would fly, I would fly, over land and sea, Wherever a human heart might be, Telling a tale or singthg a song In praise of the right-in blame of the wrong. If I were a voice, a consoling voice, I'd fly on the wings of air; The homes of sorrow and guilt I'd seek, And calm and peaceful words rd speak, To save them from despair. I would fly, I would fly o'er the crowded town, And drop, like the happy sun-light, down Into the hearts of drinking men, And teach them to look up again. If I were a voice, a convincing voice, I'd travel with the wind, And whenever I saw the nations torn By warfare, jealousy, spite, or scorn, Or hatred of their kind, I would fly, I would fly, on the thunder-crash, And into their blinded bosoms flash; And, all their evil thoughts subdued, I'd teach them Christian brotherhood. THE APPLES OF SODOM. THE .heir of a noble house grew up to manhood. His person was lofty, and his step commanding and proud. He had been nurtured in halls of learning, and all that wealth could lend to intellect was his.. He dwelt in a stately mansion, and many waited for his smile. In hisample library were gathered the wisdom of ancient sages, and the varied knowledge of modern times. Tomes, en- -[flc THE APPLES OF SODOM. 119 lit, riched by the skill of the engraver, and gay in rich and gold, strewed his tables. There he sometimes lingered till the lamps grew pale, and the fire in his burnished grate faded. But, as he sat in his deep chair of velvet,' ith his feet upon an embroidered ottoman, he sometimes dozed over the open page, for a wine-cup was beside him there. Once he read, from a classic book, of the apples of Sodom; but deep sleep came upon him, and, falling, he lay upon the rich carpet. His servants bore him to his couch; and when his head sank in the deep, down pillow, he murmured something like "apples of Sodom." Afterward, when he slept long among the books, or his foot failed in the hall, and they laid him in his bed, as one without strength, they said to each other, "Our master hath eaten the apples of Sodom." But beyond this they spake not, for they loved the heir of that honourable house, where they had so long been fed. A fair young creature was seen, in the lofty rooms of that princely abode. At her word, the marble vases glowed with fresh flowers, and guests, robed in rich apparel, gathered round the costly board. At her word, the steeds moved gracefully in the proud chariot; for she bore over that household the authority of wife. Yet was there something at her heart that gnawed like a secret worm. Of this she spake not. But the green leaves of hope withered, and the garlands of joy. She lay upon a silken couch; perfumes breathed around her. The light of the silver lamp was shaded by the heavy folds of rich curtains; and the steps gliding around her, upon the thick and radiant carpet, gave no sound. Then the wail of a weak infant was heard; and the soul of the young mother departed. The master of the mansion wept; but with his tears were drops of wine. The holy fruits of sorrow he gathered not; for in his hand were the apples of Sodom. Yet the little feet of the child at his side made music in his heart; and he saw with pride that the rich curls round the pure forehead ere like his own. The boy grew in strength and in beauty. His heart reached out slight tendrils for something to love, and took hold both of the good and the evil. Ere the eyes of the mind were fully opened, the quick passions had put forth broad, dark leaves, to page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 THE TWO ROADS, drink up the sunbeams. When he erred, and deserved reproof, or when he did well, and needed encouragement, there was no father-save a bloated form in the ,wine-trance. He became a youth, and flattery spake to him soft things. At his nod, ser- vants went and came, and when his splendid equipage rolled along the pavement, the gazing crowd said that he was happy. But they knew not that for the undisciplined spirit there is no happiness. Years rolled on; and in the house of strangers-whence issued tild shrieks, and exultings without cause, and the loud laugh of Ahe maniac-was the son of the drunkard! Bolts and bars re- strained him, and the glory of his clustering locks was shorn. de raved wildly, calling his servants to his aid, and uttering maledictions because they came not. At intervals he was quiet, and wrote upon the walls of his cell incoherent thoughts; and amid broken and blotted lines might be traced out-"Apples of Sodom." The father sat in his lonely halls. He scarcely mourned for his lost son. An equal madness was his, and a greater sin-for it was voluntary. The habit which now like a tyrant ruled him, had been his own choice. He had himself forged the chains that were drawing him to the lowest hell. He sat in his lonely halls. Friends had forsaken him; for-he had shown kindness to none. The white hairs of age were upon him; yet he had not become wise. Wealth was still his; but he enjoyed it not. Neither gave he to the poor; for a depraved appetite had eaten up his sympathies. The weakness of age came upon him; he was a driveller, and full of disease. His old servants were dead, and the new mocked him, and stole his substance. His dim eyes discovered not their thefts; but he trusted them not, and dwelt with them as among enemies. None pitied him, or said, "Poor old man!"-for his vice had made him an abhorrence. Memory fled away; so that, the names of his wife or child woke no image in his soul. Yet he forgot not the wine-cup. There it stood, ever near him, and he drowned in it the last light of life. He died; and the bloated corpse scarce retained the form of man. They bore him to his tomb, with the pomp of mourning-with steeds slowly pacing, - i SPEAK TO THAT YOUTH. 121 and nodding their sable plumes;. for he was the heir of a noble house. Yet, in that long procession, none remembered aught that he had done for the comfort of the sorrowful, or to cause his name to be gratefully remembered among men. They laid down the dead in the tomb with his fathers; and methought from their coffins issued a hollow voice--"Strength was thine, and manly beauty-wealth and learning, and love- and the joys of paternity, and all that the world covets. Yet hast thou come unto us with the burial of a beast, for whom none weepeth. Yea, thou didst choose to pare the apples of Sodom and feed on their ashes all the days of thy life; and thou hast found bitterness at the latter end!"-[Mrs. Sigourney. SPEAK TO THAT YOUTH. SPEAK to that youth; thy timely warning May save him many years of pain; Though he appears all counsel scorning, One gentle word may him restrain. Check that young man-but do it mildly, Nor pass him by with cold neglect; While now he seems to rush on wildly, Thy voice may make himself respect. Speak kindly, sister, he's thy brother; Throw round love's fetters wfien he'd roam; Thy voice, thy smile, so like none other, May win the wayward to his home. Frown not, but smile, where'er you meet him For sorrow's cloud may dim his day; Sweet words of kindness, when you greet him, Will cheer him on life's gloomy way. Speak to that youth, with prospects blighted, And soul debased by hoarded store;; Thou, parent, art the cause he's slighted- And should'st thou turn him from thy door? " page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] 122 THE TWO ROADS. Stop that young man, thy friendship proffer; Let confidence his feet restrain; Should he, in haste, reject thy offer, Forsake him not-but try again. Speak to that boy, ere sloth has given Its giant power to chain his soul, And idleness her car has driven Beyond the power of man's control. Teach him respect for good behaviour; Show him that vice engenders strife; And, most of all, make the world's Saviour A pattern for his future life. While here, keep trying-never falter; Do good in every way you can; For, if you cannot wholly alter, You may improve the state of man.-[R. Johnson. THE HATE OF THE BOWL. Go, feel what I have felt- Go, bear what I have borne- Sink 'neath the blows a father dealt, And the cold world's proud scorn: Then suffer on from year to year- Thy sole relief the scorching tear. Go, kneel as I have knelt, Implore, beseech, and pray- Strive the besotted heart to melt, The downward course to stay- Be dashed with bitter curse aside, Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied. Go, weep as I have wept, O'er a loved father's fall-- See every promised blessing swept- Youth's sweetness turned to gall. Life's fading flowers strewed all the way, That brought me up to woman's day. S"!I GROWTH OF INTEMPERANCE. 123 Go, see what I have seen, Behold the strong man bowed, With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood, And cold and livid brow. Go, catch his withering glance, and see There mirrored, his soul's misery. Go to thy mother's side, And her crushed bosom cheer, Thine own deep anguish hide, Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear; Mark her worn frame and withered brow, The grayv that streaks her dark hair now, With fading frame and trembling limb; And trace the ruin back to him Whose plighted faith in early youth, Promised eternal love and truth, But who, forsworn, hath yielded up That promise to the cursed cup And led her down, through love and light, And all that, made her prospects bright; And chained her there, mid want and strife, That lowly thing, a drunkard's wife; And stamped on childhood's brow so mild, That with'ring blight, the drunkard's child. Go, hear and see, and feel and know, All that my soul hath felt and known; Then look upon the wine-cup's glow; See if its beauties can atone- Think if its flavour you will try 1 When all proclaim, 'tis drink and die GROWTH OF INTEMPERANCE. DID you ever watch the growth of intemperance in a young man, and see the progressive formation of a drunkard? I have sometimes in the country, sometimes in the tomn. First, there is an occasional drinking without excess; then, occasional excess without drunkenness; then occasional drunkenness, but attended with shame, sorrow, resolutions to reform-with prayers page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 THE TWO ROADS. and tears, and vows, and many a manly effort. But the tempta- tion comes again, and he again falls; nay, it comes continually. It is connected with feasting and merriment, with good com- panionship. It offers to enhance every faculty for the moment- the poor man not knowing that it consumes the faculties, and the man exploits himself. Next, the occasions of drunkenness be- come more and more, the shame and sorrow less and less; the resolutions to amend are less frequently made, less seriously at- tended. Then the man begins to feel a little alien to the society of pure and upright men; their presence is a reproach; he doesn't like to look in his mother's eye, or take his sister's arm in his, or walk with sober, decent men. He attaches himself more and more to men whose course is like his own. They have unity of desire, unity of habit, and together they travel the path which turns off from the common road, at a small angle at first, but bends more and more, until at last, at right angles with hu- man welfare, it leads down swift to destruction. THE MORAL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE. THE sufferings of animal nature occasioned by intemperance, are not to be compared with the moral agonies which convulse the soul. It is an immortal being who sins and suffers; and, as his earthly house dissolves, he is approaching the judgment-seat, in anticipation of a miserable eternity. He feels his captivity, and in anguish of spirit clanks his chain and cries for help. Con- science thunders, remorse goads, and, as the gulf opens before him, he recoils, and trembles, and weeps, and prays, and resolves, and promises, and reforms, and " seeks it yet again;" again re- solves, and weeps, and prays, and " seeks it yet again!"Wretched man! he has placed himself in the hands of a giant, who never pities, and never relaxes his iron grasp. He may struggle, but he is in chains. He may cry for release, but it comes not; and "' Lost! lost!" may be inscribed upon the doorposts of his dwell. ing. In the mean time, these paroxysms of his dying mora. nature aecline, and a fearful apathy, the harbinger of spiritual death, comes on. His resolution fails, and his mental energy .JI THERE'S DEATH IN THE POT. 125 : Whi" and his vigorous enterprise; and nervous irritation and depression ensue. The social affections lose their fulness and tenderness, and conscience loses its power, and the heart its sensibility, until all that was once lovely and of good report retires, and leaves the wretch abandoned to the appetites of a ruined animal In this de- plorable condition, reputation expires,business falters and becomes perplexed, and temptations to drink multiply, as inclination to do so increases, and the power of resistance declines. And now the vortex roars, and the struggling victim buffets the fiery wave with feebler stroke, and waning supplication, until despair flashes upon his soul; and, with an outcry that pierces the heavens, he ceases to strive, and disappears.--[Bee7e1r. 4 "THERE'S DEATH IN THE POT." HARK! hark! the alarum has sped, Dire pestilence stalks in the breeze, Its pathway is strewed o'er with millions of dead- It heeds neither mountain nor seas.. The Cossack and Turk to the ground it has brought, To the Jew and the Gentile " there's death in the pot." From Asia's dark morass it springs, Upraised by the mandate of heaven: In vain to arrest it are edicts of kings, The command to "destroy" has been given- Its victims are marked. To the vile, to the sot, Then haste with the tidings, there's death in the pot." Full oft have they sung of the bowl, As a soothing oblivion to sorrow; A Full oft have they sung that the soul A feast from the wine-cup may borrow; 'Tis the voice of a syren-'tis false--heed it not! She sings to,destroy thee--" there's death in the pot." Intemperance! dread tyrant! too long : ig Thy reign has prevailed o'er the earth; Thy vassals, the children of song, Have owed thee the source of their mirth. i]- 1 i1 page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] *126 THE TWO ROADS. Thy throne is now falling, thy song is forgot, Thy worshippers tremble-"there's death in the pot." Who now tarries long at the wine-- Who looks on the cup when 'tis red-- To-day may be found at thy shrine; To-morrow may lie with the dead. 'Tis decreed-though the victim of rum heeds it not, Now die or reform-" there is death in the pot!" THE REASON WHY. I SAW a little girl With half-uncovered form, And wondered why she wandered thus, Amid the winter storm; They said her mother drank of that Which took her sense away, And so she let her children go Hungry and cold, all day. I saw them lead a man To prison, for his crime, Where solitude, and punishment, And toil divide the time; And, as they forced him through its gate, Unwillingly along, They told me 'twas Intemperance That made him do the wrong. I saw a woman weep, As if her heart would break; They said her husband drank too much Of what he should not take. I saw an unfrequented mound, Where weeds and brambles wave; They said no tears had fallen there-- It was a drunkard's grave. They said these were not all The risk th' intemperate run; / For there was danger lest the soul Be evermore undone. THE POLITICIAN. 127 Since water, then, is pure and sweet, And beautiful to see, And since it cannot do us harm It is the drink for me.--[Jrs. Sigourney. THE POLITICIAN. Mr. Jones. Good morning, Brush-glad to see you. Been out of town, I suppose-haven't seen you for an age. Brush. You 'spose wrong-haven't been no such thing. Ise been 'tending to my suffering country. Jones. Suffering country! That's all fol-de-rol. Only clap- trap sayings of politicians about election times. One would sup- pose, by your downcast looks, that you have not been on the lucky side, this time. Brush. No-I'se a most unfortunate politician; always among the used up. Yet I don't know how it happens, for I change parties almost every 'lectiori. Last campaign, I was certain we should win, but was disappointed. I then changed sides. I thought there could be no mistake this time-out the party I acted with this 'lection, changed to 'tother side. Oh! se an unfortunate feller in politics! / Jones. You seem so, indeed. Why don't you let plitics alone, and attend to your business? I am sure it would be much better for yourself and family. But, tell me how did you get your face so awfully disfigured? Brush. I got it in the service of my country, on 'lection day. Do you 'spose I can staid by and hear my party abused? Not I. So I flogged the feller, and got his receipt in return. Jones. Ha! ha! He has certainly given proof of his ability to write a legible hand! Brush. I don't want you to be poking your fun at me. I feel too disconsolate and downhearted. Oh! my poor country, what will become of you now? Jones. Cheer up, Brush. I believe you have as much chance of getting an office now, as you would have had had your party been the winners. From your present appearance, you seem page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 THE TWO ROADS. not only to have served, but, indeed, to have suffered much, in the cause of your country. Brush. Served my country! You may well say that! For haven't I, for these five years past, like a patriot, been 'tending meetings, huzzaing my daylights out, and getting blue as blazes; haven't I broken windows, helped the boys to steal boxes and barrels to make bonfires, carried lanterns, cocks, and coons, in torchght processions, got licked fifteen or twenty times, carried I don't know how many black eyes and broken noses, for the good of the commonwealth and the purity of legal rights- and for what? Why, all for nix! I'se never been rewarded for my distinguished services, while all the fat offices are got by them 'are fellars what stays at home, except on 'lection days. That's not right, I'll be swan,if it is. Men that's served their country as I have done, should have some office! Jones. Don't you think, Brush, that I have as deep an interest in the welfare of my country as you have? I never miss voting- for I sincerely believe it is the duty of every good citizen to vote. And yet you never see me neglecting my business, family, and other matters, to attend political gatherings. Brush. But you're no politicianer-that makes the difference. Jones. And yet the interests I have at stake in my country's welfare are as great as yours. I fear, Brush, your patriotism consists only in the thirst for office. Take a friend's advice, leave off going to taverns and grog-shops, and attend more to your home interests, and all will soon be well. Brush. I'se got no home-my wife turned me out of the house and locked me in, and then threw a basin of water on me Oh! I'se a poor miserable critter! Jones. Got no home I and wife locked you in! I don't under- stand you, Brush. Brush. Yes! locked me in the street! Just feel my clothes, how soaked they are! Jones. I perceived, Brush, you were pretty well soaked, before you told me. Brush. Oh! I don't mean as you mean; you see I'm in trouble enough, without your hurting my feelings. That last 'lection will be the death of me. Had I only voted in November as I did !THE POLITICIAN. 129 i in October, and not turned my coat, I should not have been so disconsolate-now. Oh! my poor, suffering country! Jones. What made you change sides, after your pirty had been so successful? Brush. Why, them 'ere lying newspapers kept up sucha 'tarnal figuring, showing as plain as your nose in your face, that we couldn't, no how, elect our man, and that all the States in the Union were going to vote the other ticket, that I determined to serve my country, and vote that ticket, too. But, when the 'lection was over, and the returns came in, I found there was but ONE party, all my party gone to t'other side! Oh! I'se an un- fortunate politicianer! Jones. You over-zealous politicians are always sure to be disap- pointed. Take my advice, as I said before, and quit visiting the political groggeries: turn your attention again to business, and all will be right with you again. Brush. I don't want any reward for my services! I only want to be took good care of, and have nothing to do. Being taken good care of was the main thing. Republics is ungrateful, I'm swegged if they ain't! I love my country, and I wanted an office; I didn't care what, so it was fat and easy. I wanted to take care of my country; and I wanted my country to take care of me. Head work is the trade I'm for. Talking in the bar- room, oyster-cellar, or anywhere. Hcan talk all day, only stop- ping for meals and to wet my whistle. -But parties are all alike. I've tried ALL of 'em-none of them gave me any thing; and now, I've a great mind to knock off, and 'tend to business. Repub- lics is ungrateful, I'll be swan if they ain't! Jones. There is some sense in that remark of yours of "knock- ing off," Brush;-a man with such a good trade as you have, that gives it proper attention, is better, far better off, than most persons who hold office under either Corporation, State, or General Government; for you well know that in these times of political changes, every three or four years they are liable to be removed. Brush. But then a feller has to work. I don't- like work, any more. Jones. Before you mixed in with politicians, and became an office-seeker, you were in the road to wealth-your family had a I page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 THE TWO ROADS. comfortable home, and all things wen. well with you. What is your condition now? At that time you were sober and in- dustrious. Now, your business and family are neglected, and the greater portion of your time is spent in groggeries and at political gatherings, and I greatly fear you will, if you persist in these practices, become, ere long, a confirmed drunkard,- and end your- days either in the prison or alms-house. Brush. I was thinking about my former mode of living when you met me, and had almost come to the determination to reform and endeavour to repair some of my losses. I assure you, Mr. Jones, it is low tide with me now! Jones. Never too late to do good, Brush; and believe me, the country will jog on quite as well without your interference as with it. Besides, I sincerely believe that the individual just elected to direct the helm of public affairs, will take quite as good care of all our interests as any of his predecessors. Brush. Well, I dare say all is right, so I'll try to be content. I'll go to work to-morrow-stop going to taverns, groggeries and oyster-cellars-shun all my old dissipated companions-and then try to believe that republics is not ungrateful! Jones. Some of the old republics may have been ungrateful-- but I never knew -of our own great and glorious one to be un- grateful to any that have served her with true patriotism: it is only a bar-room saying of disappointed office-seekers. Brush. That's true. I've done the same thing, and often have said my country is ungrateful-and on reflection, if I wanted any proof that it is only a bar-room saying, and not true, I have it in the elevation of the many distinguished patriots to high offices- the gifts of the people. Jones. You now speak in a rational manner, Brush, and I have great hopes of your reformation. Now, the best thing you can do, will be to become a member of the Sons of Temperance. You will never regret it. Suppose you make up your mind, and let me propose you to my division, as it would be gratifying to me to see you again occupy a respectable place in society. I must leave you now, and let me prevail on you to go home and reflect deeply on what I have just said. ! BEKIlN. 13 Brush. I'se got no home--Ise locked tn--rse nowhere to go -my wife scolds so-that's the reason I go to taverns. Jones. I'm sure she don't scold when you go home sober! Brush. No; only when I gets corned. But I don't think I should regret becoming a temperance man; I will think favoura- bly of it, and give you an answer in a day or two. Still, I don't like to go home-my wife said I shouldn't come home any more. Jones. I'll make that all right, my good fellow. I'll go home with you, and after what Mrs. Brush shall hear from me, I will forfeit an X that all will be made well again, and that she will be better pleased with you than she has been for many a day. Brush [in ecstasy.] Will you!--what a kind soul--just what I always took you for. Oh! I feel so happy--and Mrs. Brush will be happy--and all the children will be happy. You may propose me to your division. I've done with taverns, groggeries, oyster-cellars, political meetings, barbecues, and torch-light pro- cessions; and let other disappointed politicians keep up the doleful cry of their suffering country ," and that republics is ungrate- ful --Huzza!-Brush will be himself again! BE KIND. BE kind to the young-in thy youth's merry day Thou too hast -been thoughtless and vain Oh! plant not a thorn in the flower-strewn way, That may never be trodden again. Enough yet of thorn in the pathway of life, If they travel it long, they will find, But dim not bright youth with the shadow of strife; Be kind to the youthful--be kind. Be kind to the aged--not long at thy side Hath the travel-worn pilgrim to stay; The frail thread of life will be shortly untied He is passing-soon passing away. Oh!- let him not deem that when summoned from earth, He will leave but cold feelings behind Give him still a warm nook of thy heart and thy hearth; Be kind to the aged-be kind. page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 32 TIEe T WO ROADS. Be kind to the simple-although the full light Of genius to thee may be given, Yet look, not with scorn -in the pride of thy might ' On a brother less favoured by heaven. He is not to be blamed if the God-given ray Hath but faintly illumined his mind, Thine own may be quenched by a cloud on the way; Be kind to the simple--be kind. Be kind to the erring-full many a heart Unkindness hath driven astray, But the breath of reproach may but sharpen the smart, That first sent it out of the way. Ye would not insult with a gibe or a sneer The maimed, or the halt, or the blind, But the ills of the spirit are far more severe; Be kind to thy fellow-be kind. THE LIQUOR TRAFFIC DEBASING. THE debasing tendency of the liquor traffic is proved by facts within the knowledge of every man of ordinary sense and observa- tion. If he do not see it directly, the conviction must reach his mind as these facts are laid before him. Intemperance makes man the creature of inclination. We will now show to what this free rein of inclination will guide its victim. INDOLENCE iS one of its earliest fruits. A man in his sober senses, is generally happy in employment; and the argument of family wants, respectability in life, and store for old age, will ordinarily keep him industriously employed. A drunken man, on the contrary, is always rich enough without labour; and feels the same self-satisfaction, and the same aspirations, with the swine when settled into the mire. As for wife and children-his brutish and senseless habit has steeled his heart to them. What induce. ment has he to labour? His moral sense becomes likewise blunted; and no restraint is left to oppose that innate love of ease, which thus fostered, reigns supreme in his heart. INSIDIOUS VICES come next in the catalogue. The quaint old saying, "An idle head is the devil's workshop," is full of truth THE LIQUOR TRAFFIC. 133 Inclination is a powerful, as well as fickle master. Its impulses come like lightning flashes; and are obeyed with a readiness that knows neither quiet nor rest. The common porter-house is usually supplied with cards, dice, dominoes; one or all. Gambling finds there its foster-mother-its nourishing spirit. Ribald jests, curses and blasphemy, ridicule of female virtue, and of all that is holy and beautiful of earth, are mingled with the coarse wranglings of its inmates. RECKLESS MORALS are necessarily thus engendered. Heart- lessness and brutality of feeling, and sentiments of unprincipled selfishness, become the swaying motives to action. Out of this dark school of morals may you trace those desperadoes, whose startling crimes and atrocities-violating every principle, human or divine-curdle the blood by the bare recital. VICE, itself, in its worst features, is almost always the accom- paniment of intemperance; the latter forming first its induce- ment, and next its nourishment. Without it, the heart would return from remorse to repentance; and thence to a better life. But, to stifle remorse, the cup is drained lower and lower, until the high character of a man is lost in the vicious insensibility of the drunkard. The hideous deformity of vice seldom finds a nature so innately depraved as to remain its votary, without drowning its remorseful promptings in the wine-cup. Wherever we find its rank weeds growing, we find also the accursed foun- tain of the bar sending forth the stream that nourishes them to life, and fitting a soul in the human heart where the "evil one" may plant and reap his harvest. Go forth into the haunts where brigands skulk from justice, and where murderers hide fromthe light of day, and you will certainly find alcohol there, helping the devil to look forth with those bloated features, and to use those human eyes to glare with. Go where the harlot keeps her lowest den, and still the same weapon is used to slay her vic- tims with, and thrust them down to the charnel-house. That it is that excites those peals of unnatural laughter, like the laugh- ter of a fiend; and that it is that keeps that wretched heart from bursting.-[J. N. Stone. 12 page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 THE TWO ROADS. BLIGHTED PROSPECTS. BEHOLD her haggard features now, And then compare with other days; That brow thus mark'd by grief and care, With one that's lit by hope's sheen ray; No longer now the joyous smile Of mirth and happiness doth play Around those finely chisell'd lips, But misery lingereth there for aye. Those golden locks are silver'd o'er, And pallid is the brow of youth; Misery, death and black despair Have hence assumed the place of truth; The infant cradled in her arms, The little ones around her knee, Each tells the tale of endless wo, And speaks a father's infamy. Where sleeps he now with whom she launch'd Upon life's fierce, tempestuous wave? Go ask them, where? they'll whisper you, Within the wretched drunkard's grave! The hopes of other days have gone, And clouded is the moral sky Where love and truth resplendent shone, Like stars which brightly beam on high. The cot beside yon gurgling stream, Where lave the waters on the shore; And gently bend the tall, proud trees, Before the vine-secluded door; Where flowers spring and brightly bloom, And incense-ladened winds sigh low- Was once her home, ere sorrow came And stamp'd its image on her brow. [R. G. Stapls. ITHE LUNATIC. SOME time since, with a friend, I visited a lunatic asylum lo cated in a neighbouring State. It was my first visit to such i , jj ATHE LUNATIC. 135 place, and my heart saddened at the sight of so many of my fel- low-creatures bereft of that most precious gift, reason. How many blighted hearts and crushed hopes, thought I, are shut up in these walls! How many spirits, born to rule, have been forced to make this prison-house their home, and are led about like beasts, deprived of every thing that can make life de- sirable! My heart sickened at the thought, and for some time I could not proceed. While in this mood, my attention was ar- rested by the sight of an old gray-haired gentleman, who came out of one of the cells, and seated himself near me. His face was pale and sad, but bore strong marks of intellect. His white hair was thrown back, and left bare a high forehead, wrinkled by age and care, and the light of intelligence which gleamed from his eyes convinced me that he was not now, if he had been, an insane person. "Who is that old gentleman?"I ventured to ask of the keeper, who passed near me at the moment. "His name is E--," was his reply. "Is he at this time an inmate of the asylum?"I asked. Yes, he has been for forty years. For six months past, how- ever, he has been perfectly sane, and the physicians have ex- pressed their willingness that he should leave the institution when he chooses. He goes out frequently, but returns afterda few hours. If you like, I will introduce yourself and friend to him. You will find him very intelligent and communicative." We thanked him for his kindness, and were soon in conversa- tion with the old gentleman, who we found, as the keeper had said, very intelligent. After conversing for a short time on com- mon topics, I expressed a desire to hear something of his former life. A shade of melancholy came over his countenance as he replied--. "It is a painful narrative, and one which I would never re- peat, but for the hope that it may lead those who hear it to avoid what has been my ruin. "I am the son of a rich merchant, who resided in the city of New York, and who was engaged in a lucrative business. Like all rich men, he had many friends and acquaintances, who were constantly visiting at his house, and eating his dinners. In those page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 THE TWO ROADS. days it was an unusual thing to see a dinner-table without wine, and as my father moved in the fashionable circles, it was always found on his table. There were no Sons of Temperance then, and very few temperance men. Nearly every gentleman took his wine or brandy,o r r dreamed of giving it up because his neigh- * obours around him were killing themselves and beggaring their families by it. "As I before remarked, my father's table was never set with- out the wine, and very often brandy. He drank it, and his friend drank it, and as I never was refused when I asked for it, I was soon enabled to take my glass with the best of them. One of my father's visitors, an old gentleman, who never drankj ven- tured one day to speak to him about the example he was set- ting me. "'You do very wrong,' said he, 'to drink before your son, much more to allow him to drink.' "' My dear friend,' replied my father, I have been all my life taking my glass of wine, and I am no drunkard; why cannot my son do the same way without injury?' "It was in vain that the old gentleman reminded him that al men were not created alike-that some could pursue with im punity a course which would-prove ruinous to others: he was me by that stereotyped reply, 'There is no reason to believe that al men could not be moderate drinkers.' "This thing went on until my father's death, which happene( when I was about twenty. His, fortune was not so large as ha( been supposed, but was sufficient to support my mother and my self in good style. I had been for some time previous to m: father's death studying law with one of the best lawyers in th city. After my grief had in some measure subsided, I recom menced my study with renewed ardour, knowing, as I did, tha my present fortune would not allow me to live in idleness. F0 a year I was very studious, and progressed rapidly. After undei going the necessary examination, I was admitted to the bar, an commenced the practice of the law in partnership with an old an well-established ,barristei, an old friend of my father's, wl kindly consented to give me his instruction and influence, and i a few years his entire practice. ;i THE LUNATIC. 137 "I was now comfortably settled, and my prospects for the fu- ture were bright. Unfortunately for me, I contracted a friend- ship for one or two young men, whose characters were none of the best. They were in the habit of giving supper in their rooms at night, and I was invariably included in the number oi guests. Instead of spending my evenings at home with mvy mother, as I had been in the habit of doing, most of them were spent at these suppers, or carousals, as I may justly term them for the wine flowed freely at each one of them, and scarcely an evening passed without my seeing some of my companions intoxi- cated. At first this shocked me, but it was soon worn off, and before many evenings, I found myself incapable of returning home unassisted, so deep had been my potations. "On the morning succeeding my first fauxpas, so great was my shame, I determined never more to taste wine, and to avoid all my former companions who were'leading me astray. But be- fore the day had passed, one or two of them had called upon and extorted from me a promise to meet them at a social party that night, at which they promised me no one should become in- toxicated. I conquered my better feelings and went. For some time I refused to drink, and at last drank very cautiously. Un- fortunately I was perfectly sober when I gained my room on that evening; I say unfortunately, for I believe if I had become in- toxicated that night, I should have avoided these young men and their suppers ever afterward. As it was, I felt confident that I could go as I chose, and no harm would accrue. Fatal error! In a very short time I scarcely ever went home sober, and I pre- ferred these suppers to any thing else. "Things could not go on this way long without attracting at- tention. My business was neglected, for I was scarcely able to attend to any thing on the next day after one of my sprees. I scarcely ever spent an evening at home, and my mother soon dis- covered, by my bloated and haggard countenance, that all was notright. In a short time my business was so much neglected that my partner ventured to speak to me about it. He gave me a long and serious lecture on the folly of the course I was pur. suing, and advised me as a friend to give it up. I promised to so, and for a week I avoided my drinking companions, and page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] 188 THE TWO ROADS. applied myself closely to business. I also spent my evenings at home with my mother. This I saw had a great effect on her feel- ings, and she became once more happy in the hope that her son had abandoned his ways. I felt rejoiced that my amendment had produced this change in her, for though she had never spoken to me about my conduct, her silent grief had been a loud lecture. "Her hopes, however, were doomed to perish soon. I met, about a week after my talk with my partner, one of my old com- panions, who begged me to meet one or two friends at his room that evening. For a while I refused, but on his promising not to ask me to drink, I consented. Fool that I was to think that I could withstand the temptation of being so near it! I went and, as might have been expected, became intoxicated. All mJ good resolutions were forgotten, and I soon became as bad, yea worse than ever, for there is no standing still in the dram-drink ing life. My business became more and more neglected, and in stead of confining my drinking to night, I was frequently intoxi cated during the day. My mother began to decline in health and was literally grieving herself to death. My good old friend who really loved me as a son, begged and entreated me to desis from such a ruinous course of conduct. I promised amendment but violated my promises as fast as I made them. At length my partner became wearied out, and proposed a dir S solution of partnership. He gave me a great deal of good a( 4, vice at parting, and told me that whenever I became steady 1 was willing to renew the partnership. I left my old friend ai my business, and spent months almost in a state of continual i toxication. My thirst for ardent spirits had been so extraord nary, that before I had been drinking two years, I was drunkard! "I had been sober for several days a few months afteri n withdrawal from business, when one evening my mother i quested me to attend a party with her at the house of a frien I consented, to please her, for I had no disposition to go ir society During the evening I was introduced to a young lad for whom I formed an instant and powerful attachment. S i was a beautiful creature; and as talented as beautiful. I sh Ij Inot attempt to describe her, for I should never be able to do 1 l I lTHE LUNATIC. 139 justice. At the time of my introduction she was about nineteen years of age, and I have never seen a more perfect being than was 'Ella S--. Before I left the party, I was convinced that she preferred me to any of the young men around her. This pleased me, and I went home in a happier frame of mind than I had possessed for many months. "I thought over my former life, and determined to become worthy of this beautiful creature, who I felt had been sent as an angel to lead me back into the path of virtue. I resolved to drink no more. I felt that there was yet hope for me, if I would only throw off the shackles of vice that were holding me so firmly in their grasp, and I was determined to do it. "From this time I dated an entire reformation. I forsook all my wild companions, and again applied myself closely to busi- ness. Instead of the bloated and disagreeable drunkard, I again became the agreeable and polished gentleman, and in a few months the affianced husband of Ella S-. Oh, how happy was this portion of my life, compared with what it had been a short time before! Then I was shunned by the respectable and. moral portion of the community, and was compelled to associate with low and degraded characters; now my company was courted by the first men of the city. I was again engaged in the practice of my profession, and the affianced husband of the finest woman in New York city. Had I not cause to rejoice, that I had strangled the serpent that had once enclosed me in his deadly folds? "I became the husband of Ella, and one of the happiest of men. I avoided all light and trifling company, and spent my whole time, except what my business required, with my wife. We lived in the house with my mother, who had again become happy and contented. My old friend and former partner, whose name, I forgot to mention, was Mr. P---, had again taken me into his office, and I was fast rising in my profession. "Wretch that I was to introduce misery and degradation into my happy family!' .But so it was. I one evening met at a po- litical meeting with one or two of my old associates. We had become comparative strangers,: and they pressed me to take a glass of wine with -them in honour of 'auld" acquaintance' page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O THE TWO ROADS. Feeling considerable confidence in myself, I consented to take one glass! I tasted it, and instantly my thirst for it returned. That night I was carried home intoxicated. "I will not attempt a description of my wife's grief at seeing me in this situation, and of my mother's feelings it would be useless to speak. You may imagine them, at thus seeing all their bright hopes for the future so cruelly- and suddenly destroyed; for my mother knew too well that this was only a beginning of my same old life. From this time I date my downfall. I became a con- firmed inebriate. My mother's grief and my wife's entreaties sometimes induced me to pause for a short time, and I would promise to avoid the tempter: but in a few days I would forget all my promises, and plunge with renewed desperation into the vortex that was bearing me on to ruin. "'It is needless to consume your time with a recital of my actions after this time. As I remarked in the beginning of my narration, there is no standing still in the drunkard's life, and I soon became worse than I had ever been. My unkind treat- ment drove my mother from my house to that of a friend who had known her in her earlier and happy days. To my wife. I was, when under the influence of liquor, particularly unkind, and her life soon became miserable in the extreme; yet she never murmured, but on the contrary did every thing in her power to win me back to a sober life, by her gentle and loving ways. Oh! when I think of her patient endurance of all the wrongs I heaped upon her, it almost drives me mad now. Sometimes I I can see her in imagination, as she sought to appear/ happy in company, when her pale cheek and wasted formt showed plainly that her heart was breaking. It mattered not how disagreeable I became, she was the same gentle, uncomplaining creature, and her only desire seemed to be to render me, the man who had made her life a burden, happy. Oh i my young friends, at times when these things occur to my mind, and I think how happy I might have been, but for the destroyer, I am sorry that my rea- son has been restored, and I wish'to be mad again." Here the old gentleman's feelings overcame him, and he burst into tears. He paused for a few moments, and then continued- "This is weak in me, yet I cannot restrain my feelings at all !: THE LUNATIC. 141 times, and I feel, better after giving way to them, if but for a moment. But I must hasten this mournful history to a close. I was not long in losing the position I had gained in society by my good conduct. My business was entirely neglected, and as I paid no attention whatever to my affairs, my property was reduced to a very small amount, and I was forced to give up my house and furniture, and remove into a much smaller habitation in an obscure part of the city. Change of place, however, had no effect on my raging desire for drink, and in a short time the remnant of my once respectable property was in the hands of the grog-sellers. Fortunately, my mother's property had not de--- creased any, except wh&t was necessary to support her in her humble style of living, and she purchased a very pretty cottage eight or ten miles from the city, into which she had moved some time before my entire ruin. Hopingthat I would reform if taken from my bad associations and removed from temptations, she in- vited us to take up our residence with her. As[I had nothing to support me, I readily consented, anid bade adieu to the city that had been to me the scene of ruin and disgrace. "When we were settled in our new house, Ella appeared hbap- pier than I had seen her for a long time, and I saw that she hoped for better days. For some time I had abstained from drink, and had reflected upon my past conduct. I saw that it was fast breaking the hearts of my wife and mother, the only beings on earth who cared for me, and I resolved to avoid all temptations for the future. This resolution I might have kept but for an unfortunate circumstance. H went one day to shoot some game, of which there were large quantities in the woods around. It was a warm day, and after walking for several hours, I became very much fatigued, and sought some place to rest for a short time. Unfortunately, the first house that attracted my attention was one of those sinks of iniquity with which our land is cursed-a country grog-shop. I entered, and seated myself before I was aware of the use made of the house. I instantly saw my danger, and should have left immediately, but for the owner, who politely offered me a glass of water, and pressed me to keep my seat until I became rested. I took the water, and reseated myself, determining not to touch any kind of liquor page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] "2 THE TWO ROADS. Idiot that I was, to suppose that I could sit near the poison I so dearly loved, and not be harmedl I found the owner of the establishment very talkative, and an hour slipped off very plea- santly. I rose to go, but my new acquaintance determined that I should not get off so easily, and very politely offered me a glass of wine. I hesitated for a moment. 'Shall I take it?' I asked of myself. Thiere is danger,' whispered conscience. 'You can take one glass,' said the devil within me; 'you have strength enough to resist altogether when you wish, and you will not be injured by one glass.' This last argument suited my own views, and I took the wine. I had never been able to stop at one glass at any time: how then could I expect to do so when my appetite for it had been whetted by abstinence? I did not stop, and in two hours was a drunken man. I reeled home to my horror-stricken wife and mother, who saw plainly that now all hope was gone. "I shall not stop to tell you of my drunken and besotted life from this period. I spent most of my time at this grog-shop, and went home often late at night to maltreat and abuse my uncom- plaining and faithful wife. If .there ever was a perfect being on earth, my wife was one. How she endured my conduct without murmuring I never could see, and it only served to increase my anger. When sober, I did all I could to deserve her forgiveness for my drunken misdeeds, and felt that she deserved a far better fate; but when intoxicated, I took her patient endurance for stubbornness, and it irritated me more than her anger would have done. "My conduct toward my mother, when intoxicated, was as dis- graceful and inhuman as it was toward my wife. I accused her of being the cause of my ruin, of training me up to drink, and made all sorts of unreasonable charges against her, which almost broke her heart. "I am now about to relate the most horrible act in the wretched drama of my life. I went home one night at a late hour, and found that my wife had retired to rest. My mother had a day or two before gone on a visit to a friend, and my wife was alone, except our child, a little girl of two years of age. I had ordered Ella not to retire until I returned at night; but our little girl had been sick for a day or two, and she had lost }' [ . THE LUNATIC. 143 much sleep, and was no doubt wearied with staying up so late; at any rate, she was -asleep when I went into the house. Our room was in the second story, but she had left a lighted candle in the lower room, and I took it and attempted to stagger up the stairs. After making two or three unsuccessful attempts, I suc- ceeded in reaching the top, and entered our room. Finding Ella asleep, I became enraged, and turning on my heel, I went out of the room,- swearing that I would not stay where my orders were disobeyed. At the foot of the stairs I dropped the candle, but was too drunk to stop to pick it up. It was a bright night, and I wandered on, I knew not and cared not whither, until, over- come by intoxication and fatigue, I sank down by the roadside, and fell into a deep sleep--such a sleep as intoxication produces. When I awoke, the sun was shining quite brightly, and I arose completely sobered by long sleep. As soon as I could collect my scattered senses, I thought over the events of the preceding even- ing, and regretted that I had acted so hastily and foolishy. A feeling of shame and penitence succeeded these thoughts, and I started for my house with a determination to amend my course of life: as the sequel will'show, it was too late I "The house was completely surrounded by trees, and could not be seen until you approached very near it. As I walked slowly toward it, I was happier than I had been for months, for- I felt strong in my good resolutions for the future. At length I turned an angle, expecting to see my habitation; but, heavens I what a sight met my gaze! Instead of the beautiful cottage I had left there on the preceding night, I saw a heap of smoulder- ing ashes! For a moment I stood motionless. Then the hor- rible truth flashed upon me, that my house had been consumed, and in it my wife and child. A few whitened bones in the midst of the heap revealed this last horrid truth too plainly to leave any room or doubt, and I stood there a murderer of my own wife and child; for I remembered too well that I had dropped from my hand a candle on the previous evening, and it was easy to imagine the rest. "It is useless to prolong this narrative with an account of my feelings as I stood by that heap of ruins, where all my hopes for the future had perished. As soon as I was able, I turned and l page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] "4 THE TWO ROADS. fled. I paid no attention to the road I was following, for I care not where it led. I only wished to leave as far behind me f possible the scene of this last terrible act of my life. How lor I wandered I know not. I only recollect stumbling over son object, and falling to the ground. After that time I kne nothing, until about six months ago my reason was restore' My keepers tell me I was brought to this place a raving mar man, and for years had to be confined closely to prevent me fro committing suicide. - I have been several times since my recovery out in tl world. I have visited my native city, but every thing is so mu( changed, that I recognise nothing. All my friends are dead, have forgotten me; mother survived the death of my wife and n loss of reason but a short time, and I find I am alone in t] world. I shall not live long; death has no terrors; I ha nothing to bind me to earth; I have made my peace with n Maker, and am ready to depart whenever he shall call r hence. "The little time I spend on earth I shall spend in this plac as I am wholly unacquainted out of it. Think over the mour ful history, my young friends, and shun the wine-cup as yi Fi would a deadly reptile, for 'at last it biteth :like a serpent, a] stingeth like an adder.' If I have succeeded in making an i] pression for good on your minds, by relating my history, I sh; feel satisfied, though it has been, and ever is a painful task." Here the old gentleman concluded, and as it was late in t afternoon, we thanked him for his kindness, and took our lean deeply affected by his mournful story.-[Aleck. OI.: INTEMPERANCE. iIj2 Go, thou of the excursive mind, And trace the hapless poor! Go! heal the wounds that fate unkind Inflicts so deep and sure: i II -. INTEMPERANCE. 145 And why doth want these victims claim? Why raves the stricken soul? The faltering lip and sigh proclaim It was the fatal bowl!" 'View yonder female, wan with wo, She scans her little store; The smile of joy once lit that brow, That smile illumes no more: Proud wealth and splendour once were hers, And all was peace within; But ruin spread its baleful lures, It was the draught of sin. That orphan!-ah, how poorly clad! Its look-how lone and drear! Its pittance gone, 'twas all it had, 'Tis hunger brings the tear: Wouldst thou its cause of Ihisery trace And whence that pallid mien? Go, view its home--there, 'rayed in vice, Is cursed intemperance seen. See yonder train-the sable plume Bespeaks the tale of wo; 'Tis one cut down in early bloom, For whom these sorrows flow: His was the generous bosom's swell, The heart to kindness free; Alas, how changed! these pageants tell Intemperance! 'twas by thee i Go, brave the tempest while the deep Divides with horrid yawn; Go, plunge from Andes' frowning steep, And meet thy fate with scorn; Do this-but, heedless youth, beware The pangs that rack the soul; Do this-but oh, in time forbear, And spurn the fatal bowl! 13 ( . ' page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] If 146 TEE TWO ROADS. TIlE TWO IROADS. BEWARE THE WINE-CUP. SPARKLING through the flowery vales The crystal streams are flowing, Their dewy pearls and diamonds bright Amid the daisies throwing. I'd rather sip the shining dew Upon the wild flowers'beaming, Than blushing wine from golden cup, With gems and rubies gleaming. A few bright things are clust'ring round The board where wine is flowing; Amid the tears that follow there, Some festive joys are glowing: And so the shroud of sleeping day, With twinkling stars is gleaming; And on the mound o'er corpses raised, The flowers of June are blooming. Wine may glow like woman's blush, Or dawnlit roses weeping; But in the bowl that beams so bright, A poison'd reptile's sleeping! Ah! wine may cheer the sinking heart, But, mingling with its gladness, Like serpents 'mid the scented flowers, Are frenzy, death, and madness! 'Tis woman's tears begem the cup, With wine's warm flushing lighted; And though they shine, they seem to tell Of love and hope long blighted: When on the sparkling goblet's brim The wine is warmly flushing, It seems the blood of broken hearts Within that cup was blushing. Drink from the cup that knows no blush, For hearts it ne'er is wounding; 'Tis filld with nectar from the rills That mid the flowers are bounding. With that pure tide your goblets fill, Till with the nectar streaming, Each flashing, sparkling, flowing cup, An urn of light is beaming! AN EVENING AT HOME. "7 AN EVENING AT HOME. Charles. How shall we pass away the evening, William? It is so cold and stormy without, that it would not be prudent for us to go to the section to-night. William. I scarcely know how, unless it will be by telling stories or anecdotes. I think it would be time profitably spent. Chas. I was much amused a few evenings ago, with the recital of three or four anecdotes I heard from a temperance lecturer. They made such an impression on me that I think I could give them to you almost in the same language. Win. Suppose you try; for surely there is nothing more in- structive or beneficial than temperance tales and incidents. Chas. The first anecdote he related was a rather humorous one, and to this effect :-In a beautifl town in Cohnecticut, lives a good-natured fellow they call Jake, who is the village grave-digger, and a genuine old toper. He had frequently been asked to sign the pledge, but always refused. One day he went to dig a grave, but had applied the bottle so freely that by the time he had finished, he was more than "halfgone." He looked at the grave, and it struck him that it was too small. He had lost his rule, and there was no time for him to go home for another. It would be very awkward if the funeral should arrive, and the grave not be large enough. A thought struck him, that as the dead man was smaller than himself, if there was room for him to lie in it, it would answer; so in the grave he got. "It will be a close fit," muttered he, stretching himself out; then attempted to get up, but could not. He dug his hands into the earth and tried to pull himself up, instead of which he pulled the earth down; and the more he scrambled and kicked to free himself from his situation, the faster the dirt rolled down upon him, until he was fairly buried alive. The fright had sobdred him, and he began to bellow lustily- "Help! help!-help me out, or I'll be buried alive!" A temperance man (a Washingtonian) passing the graveyard, heard the noise, and entered; and there he saw poor Jake, almost covered with dirt and stones. "Why, what on earth's the matter?" asked the Washingtonian page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] "8 THE TWO ROADS. "Oh, sir," cried Jake, "oh, get me out, and Ill sign the pledge! I will-indeed I will." The man, with some difficulty, got him out of the grave, and Jake stood safely on terra firma again. The Washingtonian presented the pledge, saying that he would hold him to his bargain. "Hand it to me-I'll sign it," was the quick reply. "But first you must promise me you will not tell the people what made me do so." "Well, I promise," says the other; "that is, I will not do so - without your permission."i Jake signed the pledge; but the story was too good to remain unknown. Having soon found out the benefit of the cold-water system, Jake was induced to tell the cause of his becoming a teetotaler; and he was the means of reforming a good many in the village, who were like him. : Wnm. A very grave story indeed! But I don't like these hasty resolves. Men are apt, sometimes, to repent of what they have done, and go back to their cups again. Temperance is too serious a thing to be made light of. I have always heard it said that the best temperance men are those who had maturely Examined every thing connected with it, before they signed the pledge. Those acting from the impulse of the moment are not always to be relied t on. However, I hope Jake will stick to the pledge. Your being so much at home, Charles, in relating anecdotes, I would be obliged for another. . Chas. The anecdote of the "Bad Lump" seemed to give much satisfaction. I'll relate it as near as I can :-A temperance man, Ef meeting a poor, wretched creature, who was divested of nearly all -:: his clothing, and in a wretched state of health, the consequence of excessive drinking, induced him, amid the discouragements of the tavern-keeper, at whose house he had found him, to sign the temperance pledge for one year. The landlord prophesied that he would not keep the pledge a year; or, that if he did, he would never renew it. As the year was coming to a close, the old sailor, for that was his profession, called upon the man and signed again for ninety-nine years, with the privilege of a life- lease afterward! When the day arrived upon which his first r * :S -- X AN EVENING AT HOME. 149 pledge had expired, he roguishy went to visit his old friend, the tavern-keeper. "There he comes!" said the rumseller. "He will have a great spree now, to pay for his long abstinence." When the sailor arrived at the tavern, he complained of a bad feeling at the stomach, and of various evils, among which was a bad lump on one side, which had been growing for a number of months. "Ah!" said the landlord, " did I not tell you it would kill you to break off drinking so suddenly? I wonder you have lived so long as you have. Come, what. will you drink?" and suiting the action to the word, placed the bottle before him. "But," said Jack, "I have signed the pledge again for ninety- nine years, with the privilege of a life-lease after it!" "What a fool!" said the landlord; " if you go on as you have done, you will not live another year." "Do you really think so, landlord?" "Certainly. Come, what will you take?" "Oh no, landlord; I have signed the pledge again. And then this terrible lump on my side. I do not believe that drinking will make it any better." "It is all because you have left off drinking," said the land- lord. "You will have a bigger lump than that on the other side before long, if you continue another year as the last." "Do you think I will? Well, then, so be it. I'll not violate my pledge; for look here, landlord, (pulling out a large and well- filled purse of dollars,) that is my lump which has been growing for so many months; it contains a hundred dollars, and, as you say, all in conse , my signing the pledge! You land- lubber! had I n* you would have had it safely stowed away in your loo?as you have just said that if I con- tinue on the pre I did the last I would have a bigger lump on the other side, I'll take your advice, and stick to my pledge!" Win. That's a capital story, Charles, and I wish that all our sailors would do likewise. No class of persons earn their money harder, or spend it more freely. Being a noble and generous set of people, they are always liable to be imposed upon and robbed page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 150 THE TWO ROADS. by the landsharks, a name which the temperate portion of them apply to the rumsellers; and a very appropriate oxe it is, I think. t But a better day is dawning for these sons of the dcean. Many thousands of them have, within a few years past, enrolled them- selves under the temperance banner; and no doubt not a few of them, like the tar you have just been speaking of, are afflicted with the same complaint, "a big lump" on the side. It reminds me of an anecdote I read the other day. Ill relate it:-As a Washingtonian was one day passing through the street, he was thus hailed by an old rum companion: "I say, Tom, they tell me you've become a teetotaler." "Yes," was the reply, and I am proud of it, and wish you would become one too. I have been a drunkard, a loafer, and almost every thing else that's bad for the last three years, and thank God it has made me a man again!" His old companion hardly knew what to say to this, but at length added, in a jocular manner-- "Well, Tom, they say you teetotalers have a sign to know each other by; won't you tell an old crony what it is?" "Certainly; we have a most excellent sign," added Tom, (pull- ing out a handful of half-dollars, and shaking them in the face of his former companion,) " this is the teetotaler's sign!" This proved such a knock-down argument that the other said he would become a teetotaler too; he liked their " sign!" Chas. A very convincing argument in favour of teetotalism. It is ever the case with reformed inebriates; by strictly adhering to their pledge, they find that money will accumulate in their pockets in spite of them. There was one incident which the lecturer related, that seemed to make a deep impressi y S ihearers. It was about a young man who had dissipat tate away, and reduced himself to beggary and want igll tell you,:- Some time ago, said he, while travelling sitained in a hotel for an hour or two in one of the villages of our State, in conse- quence of a heavy rain-storm. While sitting by the fire warming myself myattention was attracted to an individual, who came in, and, walking up to the bar, called for something to drink. "Have you any money?" was asked. "No," said he. AN EVENING AT HOME. 151 "Then you can have nothing here." The poor fellow turned from the bar, and walked to the dooi. There was something about him that won my sympathy, and I arose from my seat and followed him. He was standing upon the porch, bathed in tears. "Friend," said I, "you seem to be greatly grieved that you cannot obtain liquor; surely you are better without it." "It is not that, sir, itis not that that grieves me; it is the re- membrance of other days." Then, pointing to a fine farm that lay across the road, he said- "Do you see that farm? It was once mine-it now belongs to the keeper of this tavern; I have lost, and he has gained it, by my intemperance. But that is not all. I had a wife who loved me dearer than her own life! My intemperance killed her -she lies in yonder churchyard; and sometimes when I feel as I now do, I go there and weep. But what avail my tears I they will not bring her back: she is gone-gone for ever! And now, sir, as you have just seen, when I am almost dying for liquor, this man, who has robbed me of my lands, and assisted me to kill my wife, refuses to let me have it, because I have no money!" Wm. Alas! wretched man; would that you were the only one! But there are thousands even like you in our own country, who, a few years ago, were enjoying all that wealth could bestow; but now, with shattered constitutions and lost reputation, are miserable outcasts, and driven from the doors of the very men who csaed, : their ruin! It is a terrible thing to reflect upon; and I pray, Charles, that it may never be our lot, or of any nected with us, to become drunkards! i K- Chas. By remaining firm and true to the principl ; : order, like the two noble boys I read of in a temperan" . i:: . there will be little or no danger of our becoming drunkards. Wm. Who were they? Chas. I will tell you:-A farmer, going to the mill, met two i boys at play in the road. "Will you do me a favour, boys," said he, "for I am in some- what of a hurry?" "Yes, sir," said they; "what do you want?" "I want you to go to the store for me." i ;, page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 THE TWO ROADS I "Well, sir, we will go." "Here, then, take this jug, and tell the storekeeper to put half a gallon ofiasitkey in it for me." "We do not like to do that." "Why not?" said he. "We belong to the temperance society." tOh, I don't want you to drink any." . "But we promised not to touch it, too." "Well, you need not touch it; only carry the jug" " "Carrying it will be touching it." "I will give you a sixpence if you do." I "No, sir, we cannot." "'ll give you a shilling." "No, sir, we can't do it. . I'll give you this half-dollar." "Can't do it, sir, on any account." "Well, then, just take the jug and set it by the fence until I return."' "No, sir; we have promised, and we will have nothing to do with the jug." The farmer, unable to prevail on them to do his errand, was compelled to drive to the mill, then return, and get the whiskey himself. Wm. The boys are entitled to great credit for their firmness; should be sorry to hear of any temperance boy acting to the iave a couple more anecdotes, William, which I should relate. "The Best Safety-Valve," is the title of the now relate. It speaks volumes for the temperance h e steamboat Fame, plying on ourWestern waters, had no place to entertain the "blue ruin;" she was termed the tem- perance boat. Captain Gordon, her commander, related the fol- lowing as having occurred on board his boat:-A gentleman I called on him in the cabin one day, and informed him that him- self and about twenty in his company were anxious to go on in i his boat. "But," says he, I can't do it, neither can my company; for I have been below, examining your machinery, and I find you have 'l AN EVENING AT HOME. 153 not 'Evans's patent safety-valve' attached to your engine: there. i fore we cannot go with you." Captain Gordon remarked to the gentleman that he should be happy to have their company. "Come below," said the captain, "and I will show you the best safety-valve in the world." They walked down together, and stepping up to his sturdy engineer, and clapping him upon the shoulder-"There," said the captain, "is my safety-valve-the t best safety-valve in all creation-a man who drinks nothing but pure, cold water ." "You are right," said the gentleman; "I want no better safety- valve than that. We will come on board, sir." Wim. Steamers that carry pure cold-water engineers, have, ceat- tainly, the best safety-valves in the world. It is a great pity they were not in general adoption; for then we should not hear of so many explosions, and have to lament the loss of so many lives annually on our waters. I have one to tell about a teetotaler, that is almost as good :--A drunkard assailed a teetotaler in the street, but he could only say, ' There goes a teetotaler!"The gentleman waited until a crowd- had collected, and then, turning on the drunkard, said-- Three years ago, he had a sum of eight hundred pounds, now he cannot produce a penny. I know ha cannot: I defy him to do it; for if he had a penny, -he would be in a tavern. There stands a drunkard, and here stands a teeto- taler with a purse full of money, honestly earned and carefully kept. There stands a drunkard!-Three years ago, he had a watch, a coat, shoes, and decent clothes: now, he has nothing but rags upon his back, his watch is gone, and his shoes afford free passage to the water. There stands a drunkard, and here stands a teetotaler! with a good hat, good shoes, and a good watch, all paid for. Yes, there stands a drunkard, and here stands a teeto- taler! And now, my friends, which has the bert of it?" The bystanders testified their approval of the teetotaler by loud shouts, while the crest-fallen drunkard slunk away, for fear of further castigation. Chas. How often, William, do we hear the temperance people derided by the worshippers of old King Alcohol. The term tee- totaler, they think, is the greatest stigma they can apply to them. ,'!. 1'" page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] 154 THE TWO ROADS.- Greatly are they mistaken. Temperance men consider it a proud appellation; and well they may, for the difference between a teetotaler and a drunkard is as great as between a freeman and a slave! Wit. I read an anecdote the other day, Charles, which is not unlike your "Bad Lump" that you have just told me, and I have not the least doubt that you would like to hear it. It is termed the "White Bill :" ' I "Come in," said a big rumseller to a reformed drunkard, "and take a glass." "No, I cannot come in and drink," said the reformed man. 1'I have got a white bill, and the doctor says I must not drink a drop, or it will prove very injurious to me." "A white bill! a white bill!" said the landlord; "what is that? where is it? is it on your hip, or arm, or leg, or where? Pshaw! take a glass of wine with me; it will do you good, you may depend it will." "No no!" said the reformer; "I cannot drink any kind of liquor. The doctor says if I drink, the bill will get to running, and it will run my life away. I cannot touch a drop of it." "Why, this is very singular-strange, indeed. I should like very much to see this white bill that you make so much of. Let i me see it." With that the reformer hauled out of his pocket as much silver as he could hold in his hand, saying-- "This is my white bill; and the doctor says, as sure as I drink, it will get to running." The disappointed rumseller found that he had got hold of the : wrong customer, and was glad to let him pass. Chas. How truly, William, are the characters of these rum- venders portrayed by the eagerness they always evince in endea- vouring to entrap in their snares again the reformed men whose honest earnings they formerly got in their possession in exchange for their liquid destruction. Win. Such will ever be the case, while the liquor traffic and license system are permitted among us. What a blessed thing it would be for the community could they be both done away with 4i AN EVENING AT HOME. 155 What a vast amount of crime and pauperism would then be prevented! - Chas. The "Friends in need are friends indeed," is too good to be left untold, William, and I will conclude my story-telling by a recital of it. It will give you some idea of the great opposition the earlier friends of temperance were called upon to encounter :-In the early stage of the temperance reformation, a farmer, residing near "the Gap" of the Blue Mountains, who-had been for many years an intemperate man, was induced to sign the total-abstinence pledge, and in a very short time afterward united himself with the church. The rumseller and his dependants were sorely dis- mayed at this extraordinary change, as they termed it, and set their wits to work to lure him back. The time of harvesting having arrived, and the farmer having many acres of wheat to be cut, the rumites assembled with their cradles in their hands, and i demanded their accustomed allowance of rum. "Not a drop shall be given," firmly replied the farmer. "We will not cut your wheat without it." "Then it shall rot in the field." The faithful followers of alcohol now returned to their respective homes, and left the farmer to his fate. His wheat had begun to "fall in the stubble," yet he placed his reliance on God, and corm- mending himself to Him, he retired to rest. Early in the morn- ing he was awakened from his slumber by a shout which seemed to speak the very soul of joy. He looked out and beheld a large number of men with cradles in their hands, the foremost bearing a broad banner, with the words "TOTAL ABSTINENCE" inscribed i on its ample folds. "What can all this mean?" said the farmer, gazing with asto- nishment upon a scene which seemed rather the work of magic than of reality. "Isn't there a teetotaler somewhere about these parts who has a field of grain to be cut?" inquired one of the crowd. "Yes," replied the farmer, "I am he." "Well, we've come to cut it," was the response. The farmer hurried down to greet his kind-hearted visitors, who, having heard of his circumstances, had travelled many miles to give him a helping hand. He pointed to the field, the banner 1 ; page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 THE TWO ROADS. was erected in its midst, the men worked like good teetotalers i' always work, and in a few hours the farmer's crop was saved! It is needless to add that the entertainment they sat down to after their work was done, was such a one as temperance men only know how to enjoy. Wm. The hand of God certainly directed the movement. With HM on their side, what have temperance men to fear? I know that the temperance men have much to encounter; still, I never [ thought that the opposition of the rumites could be carried to N such an extent as this! Chas. Surely, William, they do worse things than this daily; in this instance they wished the farmer to lose his crop only, the loss of which he might have repaired in another season. Not so with the many people who have to mourn the loss of kindred and children, that early fill the drunkard's grave! Their loss is irre- parable! But it is time to put an end to our conversation; it is! growing late, and we had better retire to rest. FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. FAITH and Hope went hand in hand To the portals of the better land; And, boldly knocking, sought to gain ! An entrance to its vast domain. "Who's there?" a voice within did cry; i "My sister Faith," said Hope, "and I." Again the voice within did say, Where is your younger sister, pry? That other loving sister, she Whom ye on earth called Charity?" Then Faith outspoke, and thus did say- ( Our sister tarried by the way; A beggar-woman sought our alms With tearful eyes and outstretched palms, And Charity, our gentle sister, Just stayed a moment to assist her; Another, wounded unto death, She knelt beside, to catch his breath, FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 157 If, haply, she might bear to heaven An earnest of his sins forgiven; And now I pray that ye may ope The portal-gates to Faith and Hope." But still the Voice within did cry, ' Where is your sister Charity?" Awhile, dejected and distressed, The sisters sat them down to rest; "It was not well," then Faith did say, "To leave our sister by the way. For if some evil her befall, We cannot enter heaven at all." Then hand in hand together went, To find sweet Charity intent. They found her weeping by the side Of him who had so lately died; "I know his sins are all forgiven- His last, last words were God and Heaven" She said, then rising from the ground, She gazed o'er all the space around, Until she joyfully espied Her sisters standing by her side: Together then, and hand in hand, Again they sought the spirit-land. While yet afar off, they descried The gates of heaven open wide; What mean those strains that greet the ear? What words are those that now they hear? The beggar and the one that died Are standing by the Crucified; And now, as Charity draws nigh, They sing in chorus loud and high; While angel voices, far and near, Re-echo through the heavenly sphere; Welcome to thy home on high, Meek and lowly Charity; Welcome to the Father's kiss; Welcome to an angels bliss; Welcome, blessed Trinity-- Faith, and Hope, and Charity." And now the portal-gates are passed, And God and Heaven are won at last H-[Ricard Coe. " page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 wTHE TWO ROADS. ALCOHOL DET RONES REASON. As we trace the page of history, we find that alcohol has been the tool of passion to dethrone reason and debase morals; not : only among humbler individuals and communities, but with kings and conquerors. Human nature, when brought to the test, has ever exhibited some redeeming traits; and despots have found it impossible to conduct their unjust wars, and to lead men in mortal combat to the shedding of human blood, until reason had been drowned in the bowl. A divine instinct shuddered at the thought, i and liquor became one of the necessary rations of the soldier. Scarcely was the powder for the musket deemed more essential than this powder for the destroyer. Wherever the exertion of senseless brute force wasrequired, the potion was administered. ! As the executioner raises the axe, to sever from its trunk the fair head of some human victim, and catches from his speaking eyes the mute appeal of anguish, and sees the divine nature beaming [" forth in every feature, he starts back with an instinctive terror, and cries out, "Give me brandy, or I cannot do the deed!" Give I him brandy for what? To make him courageous? No! His A sovereign bids him to it, and unless he obey, his own head may C pay the forfeiture. Give him brandy, then, for what? We!j answer, to make him a brute i To blot out the little trace of [ heaven from his heart, and leave him, like his bloody axe, the i tool of tyrants. To take away that high moral courage, that would have led him sooner to suffer martyrdom himself; and to t leave him a coward, indeed, of the vilest grade. Thus, through every age, alcohol has performed the same de- [ moralizing and debasing work; of lowering the standard of moral feeling, and weakening the s;rength of moral power; impelling men to deeds which their rulers bade, but which the instinct of the soul forbade; and chiefly from superior to inferior, through the influence of the high and courted; and through the power of bad example, inciting the indulgence of that exhilarating flow of feeling, which makes man the creature of inclination: instead of leaving him to that salutary and sober mood of reflection and medi- tation which would strengthen him in moral power and good works. ALCOHOL DETHRONES REASON. 159 As a general consequence, it must be admitted by all-who either from experience or obsrvation know any thing of the sub- ject-that intemperance is, in sober truth, the gratification of an animal nature. As such, it isindulged by the high and the low, the rich and the poor-forgetful that they have a higher andua nobler destiny at stake. The main issue, then, presented for considera- tion of what we desire to call, and perhaps may call, the present age of sober reason and reflection,' is the body against the soul. Whatever minor issues may spring out of it, this, briefly and com- prehensively stated, is the main issue. For facts and experience attest that intemperance blinds the mind, keeps it from all over- sight of its spiritual concerns, and enlists all its powers in de- vising and seeking the gratification of the passions and the senses. The low and degrading habit of intemperance has blighted the prospects and ruined the character of many a promising young man, and is the centre of all vice and wickedness, from whence flows the poisonous fluid of destruction into which they reel from the path of virtue and respectability down into the pit of degrada. tion. Nothing transpires- among the intemperate but what is censured by morality; their -whole walk and conversation is in blaspheming ad dishonouring God, as well as heaping disgrace upon themselves and kindred. Look but for a single moment, at a young man in this pitiable condition, sacrificing his daily earn- ings for spirituous drinks, consequently depriving his body of decent clothing, unfit to be seen in a civilized community--his reason destroyed by its intoxicating effects-insulting every one he comes in contact with, until, finally, he is cast within the walls of a prison, where he drags out-th remaining hours of drunken- ness, and when reason is restored, finds himself a criminal under the laws of morality as well as the ihws of the land. Liquor not only affects the body of man, but, while it is silently preying upon his vitals and causing 'destruction in every part of it, is, at the same time operating upon, and having its deadly effect on the mind also. A man in an intoxicated state, is guilty of the actions of a maniac; and all his movements correspond with those of an insane being. It is in this way, when the stimu- lating power of alcohol enters the mind, and predominates to any xtent, that reason is destroyed, and he becomes an object of pity ,! page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 THE TWO ROADS. or scorn. The effect that liquor has upon the mind is a subject which requires deep meditation. No one is able to conceive g the damage which is sustained by it in our own beloved land. Thousands of young men possessed of strong and powerful in-^ tellectual faculties, who might have been an honour to their coun- try, and stood first in the ranks of fame, owing to the love of p strong drink, and the excessive use thereof, have had their reason and intellectual faculties destroyed, and died the inmates of a prison or almshouse. !: It is liquor that causes a man to rob, and steal; murder his fellow-beings; and, in many cases, it has caused him to take the 1 life of his wife and helpless children. In nine cases out of ten, L as the criminal calendars of our courts will testify) the cases is brought before them have their origin in rum! All its effects 1 are of the most sinful of any habit with which we are acquainted. Let the drunkard indulge himself but for a few hours, and you have an inflated fiend ready to perpetrate almost any act. Give him free access to the reins of his passions, and with the spur of excitement, he will ride his poor, weak, lacerated, hobby-horse carcass roughshod, through all sin, wickedness, and licentious- ness, either to the scaffold, where he must yield up vitality between heaven and earth, or to the confines of a penitentiary, !! to receive punishment according to the deed which he has com- ; mitted; though some continue to ride on past scaffold and peni- tentiary, until they plunge headlong in their drunken career, ii through death, down to eternal perdition! AWAY FROM THE REVEL. AWAY from the revel! the night-star is up; .: Away, come away, there is strife in the cup! There is shouting of song, there is wine in the bowl; But listen and drink, they will madden thy soul! The foam of the goblet is sparkling and bright, i Rising like gems in the torches' red light; But the glance of thine eye, if it lingers there, Will change its mild beam for the maniac's glare! - boa.,' I CHASTEN WHOM I LOVE. 161 The pearl-studded chalice, displaying in pride, May challenge thy lip to the purple draught's tide; But the pearl of the dew-drop, the voice of the breeze Are dearer, and calmer, more blessed than these. Oh! come, it is twilight; the night-star is up; Its ray is more bright than the silver-brimm'd cup; The boat gently dances, the snowy sail fills, We'll glide o'er the waters, or rove on the hills. We'll kneel on the mountains, beneath the dark pine; Our hearts' prayer the incense, and nature the shrine; Back on the festal we'll look from the wave, As the eye of the free on the chains of the slave! Oh! come, it is twilight; the moon is awake; The breath of the vesper-chime rides o'er the lake; There is peace all around us, and health in the breeze, And what can be dearer, more blessed than these! I CHASTEN lWHOM I LOVE. WHY were we made to smile and weep, Like April's fickle skies? Why were we made like autumn's blasts, To moan our bitter sighs? We weep, and yet we are not sad! We smile, yet are not gay! The pendulum.'tween smiles and tears, We while our lives away. We love, in childhood's happy hours, To chase some phantom joy; We but pursue some vain desire, Some worthless, gaudy toy. In after life, with ceaseless toil, We strive for gold and fame, Yet die, uncared for and unknown- No sculptor carves our name. We sit within the halls of state, Or mount the monarch's throne; Our names are lauded to the skies, Yet earth is not our home. "* " * j page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 THE TWO ROADS. We soon must leave the joys of earth To wither, droop, and die, Our grandeur, titles, wealth, and power Must in .the cold grave lie. Why-were we made to smile and weep, : Like April's fickle skies? I Why were we made like autumn's blasts, To moan our bitter sighs? Upon my listening ear there falls A whisper from above, "Be silent, mortal, nor repine, I chasten whom I love." THE FEARFUL FUNERAL. IT was on the morning of a cold, chilly day in the month of April that I was thus interrupted in my studies by one of the children: "Pa, there is a queer-looking man in the parlour, who wants to see you." On entering the room my eye lit upon a man who was queer-looking indeed, because his dress, face, and whole appearance proclaimed him a drunkard. He rose on my enter- ing the room, and with that constrained and awkward politeness, amounting to obsequiousness, which the half-intoxicated often assume, he thus addressed me: "I come, sir, to ask you to attend a funeral this afternoon." "Who," said I, "is dead?" "A friend of mine," he replied, "by the name of S- , and as he has no particular friends here, I thought I would come and ask you." "Where did he live?"I again asked. ' aWhy," said he, " he lived in no place in particular, except at the grocery of Mr. H " This Mr. 1-- was the keeper ! of a groggery of the very lowest character, where blacks and whites freely mingled. in their revels, and which had often been presented as a nuisance. I again asked, "Of what disease did he die?" "Why," said he, dropping his countenance, and lowering his O : Ei THE FEARFUL FUNERAL. 163 voice almost to a whisper, '[ hardly know; but, between you and I, he was a pretty hard drinker." After a few more inquiries, to which I received answers in keeping with those given above, I dismissed him, promising to attend the funeral at five o'clock. At the hour appointed I went to the house of death. There were ten or twelve men present, and, with two exceptions, they were all drunkards. I went up to the coarse pine coffin, and gazed upon a corpse not pale and haggard, but bloated, and almost as black as the raven's wing. There were two brothers present, both inebriates, and as unfeeling as if the body of a beast lay dead before them. From the undertaker I gained the following narrative as to the deceased:- He was the son of respectable, but irreligious parents, who, instead of spending the Sabbath in the house of God, either spent it in idleness, or in doing "their own work." When desecrated, the Sabbath is usually a day of fearful temptation. Sabbath sins make deep impressions on the soul. While yet young, he became a Sabbath vagrant-joined profane companions-acquired the habit of drinking; and so rapidly grew the love of drink into a ruling passion, that at mature years he was a confirmed drunkard. His parents died, and the portion of property that fell to his lot was squandered. "And for years," said my informant, "he has been drunk every day." "But how," I asked, "did he get the money to pay for the liquor?" "He has been employed," he replied, "by Mr. H-- to shoot squirrels in the woods, and to catch water-rats in the marshes; and for the skins of these he has been paid in whiskey. Nobody would see him starve; and he usually slept in a garret over the groggery. Yesterday he was taken sick, very sick, in the grocery. Mr. H , instead of giving him a bed, turned him out of the house. He was then in a dying state; and, at a short distance from the house, fell in the street. He was taken into a negro hut, and laid on the floor, where he died in less than an hour. The negroes were very ignorant and superstitious, and were afraid to have the corpse in their house. It was carried to a barn. This poor but pious family, hearing the circumstances, took the W s s, page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 TEE TWO ROADS. corpse to their house, and have made these preparations for its burial." I read a portion of the Scriptures, and for a few moments dis- coursed to them on the effects of sin-I dwelt on the hardening and fearful effects of intemperance. But there was no feeling. I I prayed with them; but there was no reverence. They all gazed with a vacant stare, as if their minds had evaporated, and as if the fiery liquid had burned out their consciences. They were obviously past feeling. The coflin was closed and placed in the e hearse. We proceeded with slow and solemn pace to the house appointed for all the living; and a feeling of shame came over me as I passed along the street, to be followed by half a dozen pair of inveterate topers. The coffin was placed upon the bier, and was carried by four drunkards, who were actually reeling under their load, to a se- eluded spot in the graveyard, where, without a tear being shed, without a sigh being uttered, it was covered up under the cold clod of the valley; and the two brothers went back to the house of death, the grog-shop, to drink and to die a similar death, and to go early down to the same ignoble grave. The others, after - lingering for a few moments, as if arrested by the thought that the grave would soon be their house, followed. I stood for a short A time over the grave after all had retired, pondering the deeply impressive scenes through which I had so rapidly passed. "And is this," said I to myself, "the grave of the drunkard?" And : the prayer, almost unconsciously, rose from my heart to heaven, "O God, save my children's children to their latest generation from making such a contribution as this to the congregation of the dead!"-[Rev. Nicholas Murray, D. D. DEAR FATHER, DRINK NO MORE., DEAR father, drink no more, I pray, It makes you look so sad; Come home, and drink no more, I say, 'Twill make dear mother glad. AN EXCITING SCENE. 165 Dear father! think how sick you've been, What aches and pains you know! Oh, drink no more, and then you'll find A home where'er you go. Dear father! think of mother's tears, How oft and sad they flow! Oh, drink no more, then will her grief No longer rack her so. Dear father! think what would become Of me, were you to die; Without a father, friend, or home, Beneath the chilly sky! Dear father! do not turn away, Nor think from me to roam; Oh, drink no more by night or day-- Now come-let us go home. Dear father! drink no more, I pray, It makes you look so sad; Come home, and drink no more, I say, 'Twill make that home so glad! Thus spake in tenderness the child: The drunkard's heart was moved; He sign'd the pledge he wept! he smiled! And kiss'd the boy he loved. AN EXCITING SCENE. I GIVE the following facts as related to me by a credible witness. A great experience meeting was held one evening in -- church, where the speakers were, as usual, to be reformed, drunkards. An estimable woman, whom I will call Alice, was induced to attend. When the meeting was somewhat advanced, a late member of Congress arose with apparent sadness and hesitation. "Though I had consented, at your earnest solicitations, to address this assembly to-night," he said, "yet I have felt so great a reluctance in doing'so, that it has been with the utmost difficulty I could drag myself forward. As to relating my experience, that I do not think I can venture upon. The past I dare not recall. I could wish that ten years of my life were blotted out." He page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] 166, THE TWO ROADS. paused a moment much affected, and then added in a firmer voice, "Something must be said of my own case, or I shall fail to make the impression on your minds that I wish to produce. i: "Your speaker once stood among the members of the bar. !- Nay, more than that, he occupied a seat in Congress for two con- ? gressional periods. And more than that," he continued, his voice sinking into a tone expressive of deep emotion, "he once had a : tenderly loved wife and two sweet children. : But all these honours, all these blessings have departed from him. He was unworthy to retain them: his constituents threw him off because he had debased himself and disgraced them. And r more than all, she who had loved him devotedly, the mother of his two babes, was forced to abandon him, and seek an asylum in her father's house. And why? "Could I become so changed in a few short years? What power was there so to debase me that my fellow-beings spurned, and even the beloved wife of my bosom turned away heart-stricken from-me? Alas, my friends, it was a mad indulgence in intoxi- eating drinks. But for this, I were an honourable and useful repre- sentative in the hall of legislation, and blessed with a home, and with wife and children. "But I have not told you all. After my wife separated from me I sank rapidly. A state of sobriety brought too many troubled thoughts; I drank more deeply, and was rarely, if ever, free from the bewildering effects of partial intoxication. At last, I became so abandoned that my wife, urged by her friends no doubt, filed an application for a divorce, and as cause could be readily shown why it should be granted, a separation was legally declared; and to complete my disgrace, at the congressional canvass I was left off the ticket as unfit to represent the district. "When I heard of this new movement, the great temperance cause, I at first sneered, then wondered, listened at last, and finally threw myself upon the great wave that was rolling onward, : in hope of being carried by it far out of the reach of danger. I did not hope with a vain hope. It did for me what I could have desired. It set me once more upon my feet, once more made a man of me. "A year of sobriety, earnest devotion to my profession, and \ AN EXC1TINO SCENE. 167 fervent prayer to Him who alone gives strength in every good resolution, has restored to me much that I have lost; but not all, not the richest treasure that I have proved myself unworthy to retain; not my wife and children. Between myself and these the law has laid its stern and impassable interdictions. I have no longer a wife, no longer children, though my heart goes toward these dearly beloved ones with the tenderest yearnings. Pictures of our earliest days of wedded love are ever lingering in my imagi- nations. I dream of the sweet fireside circle; I see ever before i me the placid face of my Alice, as her eyes looked into my own with intelligent confidence; the music of her voice is ever sound- i ing in my ears." Here the speaker's emotion overcame him; his utterance became i choked, and he stood silent, with bowed head and trembling limbs. :J The dense mass of people were hushed into an oppressive stillness that was broken here and there by half-stifled sobs. At this moment there was a movement in the crowd. A single female figure, before whom every one seemed instinctively to give way, wjs seen passing up the aisle. This was not seen by the speake4 until she had come nearly in front of the platform on i which he stood. Then the movement caught his ear, and his l eyes that instant fell upon Alice, who, by the kindness of those near her, was conducted to his side. The whole audience, thrilled with the scene, were upon their feet and bending forward, wheni the speaker extended his arms, and Alice threw herself upon his bosom. , ' An aged minister then came forward, and gently separated them. "No, no!" said the reformed congressman; "you cannot take W her away from me!" "Heaven forbid that I should," replied the minister; " but by your confession she is not your wife." i "No, she is not," returned the speaker mournfully. i "But, is ready to take her vows again," modestly said Alice, in a low tone, smiling through her tears. "Before that large assembly, all standing, and with few dry eyes, the marriage ceremony was again performed, that gave the speaker and Alice to each other. As the minister, an aged man with thin white locks, completed the marriage rite, he laid his page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 THE TWO ROADS. hands upon the heads of the two he had joined in holy bonds, and lifting up his streaming eyes, he said, in a solemn voice, "What i God has joined together, let not rum put asunder." "Amen!" was cried by the whole assembly, as with a single voice. \ ,q BE THOU READY. BE thou ready, fellow-mortal, t In thy pilgrimage of life, Ever ready to uphold thee In the toil and in the strife; . Let no hope, however pleasant, Lure thy footsteps from the right; ', Nor the sunshine leave thee straying In the sudden gloom of night. Beithou ready when thy brother Bows in dark affliction's shade; Be thou ready when thy sister Needs thy kindness and thy aid; Let thine arm sustain and cheer them; They have claims upon us all, ? And thy deeds, like morning sunlight, On their weary hearts shall fall. Be thou ready when'the erring ; List to sin's enchanting straipn, Ready with kind words to woo them Back to virtue's path again. Be thou ready, in thy weakness, [ To do good to friend and foe,'* As thy Father sheddeth freely Light on all that dwell below. Be thou ready for the morrow, i" When delight shall please no more; ' When the rose and lily fadeth, And the charm of song is o'er; When the voices of thy kindred Faintly move thy dying ear, Be thou ready for thy journey, To some higher, brighter sphere.-[S. McNrutt. THE DRINKER'S SONG. 169 THE DRINKER'S SONG. WITH features bloated and pale- 1 With breathings heavy and long, The toper sat over his flagon of ale, And sung this desperate song:-i Quaff-Quaff-Quaff--- In misery, madness, and wo;i Mid frenzied roar, and treacherous laugh,1 And my reason's fading glow. Drink-Drink-Drink- - From "dewy eve" till midnight hour; , And Drink-Drink-Drink-- i Beneath the demon's power, Whose sad and dreary reign Is in palace so dim and low, 1 Where pleasure leads on to sorrow and pain, And is fraught with many a wo i Drink-Drink-Drink- -- Till the head begins to reel-- Drink-Drink-Drink- Till the heart now ceases to feel:l Thought and feeling are gone-- And the soul, the gem which so brightly shone, i Is lost in the steaming cup. l Drink-Drink-Drink-- - Till the moonlight wanes away-- Drink-Drink-Drink-- Till appears the morning gray. 4 Pot, and tumbler, and pipe-- Pipe, and tumbler, and pot- Till over the benches I fall asleep, And dream of my hapless lot. Home-Home-Home - There is no home for me; I never am happy unless I roam Afar from my own roof-tree. For, oh! my wife's sad smile Strikes through my soul like a dart, So free from guile, it glows awhile,. Yet sorrow is in her heart. 15 i4. page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] 170 THE TWO ROADS. And now my lonely child, His features I never see, For his looks, so meek and mild, Speak deepest anguish to me. They tell me of better days, Of gladness, and joyful hours, Well spent in wisdop's happy ways, In bright and sunny bowers. I grow untimely old- My cheek, it is thin and wan- My heart more lifeless grows, and cold, I scarcely feel like a man. For bound to a tyrant's car, A weak and a helpless slave, Beneath a dark and malignant star, I sink to an early grave. What would I give to be free-- To feel as I felt in youth- To gaze again on the blooming lea- And worship the God of Truth? Yet Drink-Drink-Drink-- I may not break the spell- Drink-Drink-Drink- That makes my breast a hell. To the dreary grave I go, My being and nature curst, There is no drink in the shades below To quench ne'er-ending thirst. My face is bloated without, My mind is darkened within, Black thoughts encompass my mind about, Of grief, and wo, and sin. With features haggard and pale- With breathings heavy and long, A toper sat o'er his muggin of ale, Telling to youth a warning tale, And sang this desperate song:- Quaff-Quaff-Quaff In misery, madness, and wo, Mid frenzied roar, and treacherous laugh, And his reason's fading glow.--[G. Hood. THE FOOL S PENCE. 171 THE FOOL'S PENCE. IN the year 183-, in a handsomely furnished parlour, which opened out 'of that noted London gin-shop called the "Punch Bowl," sat its mistress, the gaudily dressed Mrs. Crowder, con- versing with an obsequious neighbour. "Why, Mrs. Crowder, I really must say you have things in the first style. What elegant papering! what noble chairs'! what a pair of fire-screens! all so bright and fresh! Then, the elegant stone-copings to your windows, and those beautiful French win- dow-frames! And you have been sending your daughter to the genteelest boarding-school; your shop is the best furnished, and your cellars are the best filled in all this part of Lunnun. Where can you find the needful for all these grand things? Dear Mrs. Crowder, how do you manage?" Mrs. Crowder simpered, and cast a look of smiling contempt through the half-open door, into the shop, filled with droughty customers. "The fool's pence!-'tis the fool's pence does it for us," she said. And her voice rose, more shrill and loud than usual, with the triumph she felt. Her words reached the cars of one customer-George Manly, the carpenter, who stood near the counter. Turning his eyes upon those around him, he saw pale, sunken cheeks, inflamed eyes, and ragged garments. He then turned upon the stately apartment; he looked through the door into the parlour, and saw looking-glasses, pictures, gilding, fine furniture, a rich carpet, and Miss Lucy in a silk gown, at her piano; and he thought to himself, how strange it is! how curious that all this wretchedness on my left hand should be made to turn into all this rich finery on my right. "Well, sir, and what's for you?" said a shrill voice, which had made the fool's pence ring in his ears. "A glass of gin, ma'am, is what I was waiting for; but I think I've paid the last fool's pence that I shall put down on this counter for many a long day." Manly hastened home. His wife and his two little girls were seated at work. They were thin and pale, really, for want of food. The room iooked very cheerless, and their fire was so page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 172 THE TWO ROADS. small as hardly to be felt; yet the dullest observer would have been struck by the neatness that reigned. It was a joyful surprise to them, his returning so early that night, and returning sober; and in good humour. "Your eyes are weak to-night, wife," said George, "or else you have been crying. I'm afraid you work too much by candle- light." His wife smiled, and said, "Working does not hurt my eyes;" and she beckoned to her little boy, who was standing apart, in a corner, evidently as a culprit. "Why, John, what's this I see?" said his father. "Come and tell me what you have been doing." John was a plain-spoken boy, and had a straightforward way. He came up to his father, looked full in his face, and said- "The baker came for his money, to-night, and would not leave the loaves without it; but, though he was cross and rough, he said mother was not to blame, and that he was sure you had been drinking away all the money; and when he was gone, mother cried over her work, but she did not say any thing. I did not know she was crying till I saw tears dropping on her hands; and then I said bad words; and mother put me in the corner." "Tell me what your bad words were, John," said his father; "not swearing, I hope." "No," said John, colouring; "I said you were a bad man-I said, bad father!" "And they were bad words, I am sure," said his mother; "but you are forgiven, so now bring me some coal from the box." George looked at the face of his wife; and as he met the tender gaze of her eyes, now turned to him, he felt the tears rise in his own. He rose up, and putting money into her hands, he said- "There are my week's wages. Come, come, hold out both hands, for you have not got all yet. Lay it out for the best, as you always do. I hope this will be a beginning of better doings on my part, and happier days on yours." George told his wife, after the children were gone to bed, that when he saw what the pence of the poor could do toward keeping up a fine house, and dressing out the landlord's wife and daugh- I THEI FOL S1 PENCE. 1A ters, and when he thougiht of his own hard-working, uncomplain- ing Susan, and his children in want, and almost in rags, while he was sitting drinking, night after night, destroying his health, he was so struck with sorrow-and shame, that he seemed to come to himself at last. He determined, from that hour, never again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips. More than a year afterward, one Sunday afternoon, as Mrs. Crowder, of the Punch Bowl, was walking with her daughters to the tea-gardens, they were overtaken by a violent shower of rain, and had become at least half drenched, when they entered a com- fortable-looking house, distinguished by its comforts and tidiness from all others near it. Its good-natured mistress and her two girls did all they could to dry and wipe away the rain-drops and mud-splashes from the ladies' fine silk gowns, all draggled and soiled, and to repair as far as possible every mischief done to their dresses and persons. When all had been done that could be done, and as Miss Lucy said, " they began to look themselves again," Mrs. Crowder, who was lolling in a huge arm-chair, and amusing herself by a stare at every one and every thing in the room, suddenly started for- ward, and addressing herself to the master of the house, whose Bible and whose face had caught her eye, said, "Why, my good man, we are old friends; I know your face, I'm certain; still there is some change in you, though I can't exactly see what it is." "I used to be in ragged clothes, and out of health," said George Manly, smiling. "I now thank God I am comfortably clad, and in excellent health." "But how is it," said Mrs. Crowder, that we never catch a sight of you now?" "Madam," said he, "I am sure I wish you well; nay, I have reason to thank you; for words of yours first opened my eyes to my own foolish and wicked course. My wife and children were half naked and half starved, only this time last year. Look at them, if you please, now. For sweet, contented looks, and de- cent clothes, I'll match them with any man's wife and children. And now, madam, I tell you, as you told a friend of yours one day last year,-'tis the fool's pence that have done all thisfor us. page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 THE TWO ROADS. The fool's pence!-I ought rather to say, the pence earned by honest industry, and spent so that we can ask the blessing of God upon the pence." Mrs. Crowder never recovered the customer she had lost. A MOTHER'S TEAR. A MOTHER'S tear! I saw it gush; It trembled in her mild blue eye, As in the hour of midnight hush She bowed in prayer to the Most High. Her quivering lip, her heaving breast, Revealed a mother sore distressed; In broken accents, soft and mild, She prayed-"O God, reclaim my child!" I stood amazed this sight to see; I was that child-and just returned From midnight revels. Yes, for me That tear, that prayer! could they be spurned? Oft had I turned an adder's ear To faithful chidings; but that tear! That pleading prayer! that mother's wail! They broke my heart: ah! these prevail. Moons waxed and waned-that mother smiled, A heavenly joy her brow o'erspread; She fondly leaned upon her child, As through life's rugged path they sped; And when that form with age bent low, And when that eye had lost its glow, - When death, to close the scene, drew near, 4 Oh, then I prized a mother's tear. I had a vision once-oped wide i The gates of heaven appeared: Hgazed, But entered not-I stood beside The shining portals; all amazed I viewed the wondrous scene, Without a vail to intervene; Thence, too, I saw this world of ours, Its depth of wo-its godlike powers. I; TIIE INEBRIATE. 17.5 1 saw an outcast son, loathsome As crime could make him; jyet he sighed; His eye grew moist; he seemed as one Resolved to rise, who yet was tied With thongs of brass. He broke away! Stood up as man, the light of day Gave joy once more. Temptations came, He fell-he rose, he fought the flame. As oft he fell he rose again; He would not give the struggle o'er: At last I saw him firm remain, And hell and rum pursued no more. "The clay fell off, and as he passed, Redeemed from sin, those gates at last Sweet voices asked, "How came you here?" Then came response,-- A mother's tear i" [D. S. Whitney. . THE INEBRIATE. I KNEW him well, when friendship, fortune, fame, Lent all their bright enchantment to his name; When art, perfecting nature's wondrous plan, Formed him the beau ideal of a man. His dark eye glowed with intellectual fire, His full heart thrilled with high and pure desire; Rev'rence for virtue moved his glowing tongue, And strange enchantment on his accents hang. A soul ingenuous, constant, firm, yet mild, Proved him of every nobleness the child'; The weak and erring would in him confide, For he was lenient even when he'd chide. True to the guidance of celestial light, His feet instinctive wooed the path of right; And acts of charity and words of love Their blessed attendance gave, where'er he'd move Thus to each high, ennobling impulse true, His open hand no respite ever knew; page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 THE TWO ROADS. He spurned no brother-man, though low his state, it But strove to counsel, cheer, and elevate. s He raised his voice in temperance's honoured cause s And from all hearts flowed murmurs of applause; t His heaven-born thoughts fell like the early dew- it His bright example proved them just and true. h * * * But oh, how changed!-by a seductive spell, V This noble, just, devoted spirit fell! b Tempted, he yielded in a fatal hour, And felt the stern Destroyer's withering power. n As when a star, by fierce combustion riven, t Spurns its bright pathway in its native heaven, 1 A moment gleams with new, increasing light, i Then ends its course in dark, portentous night,- So loved Lysander, once in virtue strong, Smiled at the tempting syren's soothing song, Sank, unresisting, 'neath the Lethean wave, And found a premature, inglorious grave! W. B. Flagg. 4 1 '=^N ,8-- - ' S d d PITY FOR THE POOR INEBRIATE. i CARES, we repeat, are the lot of mortals-growing out of the changes, relations, and duties of life; and the only way to de- stroy the former, is to take away the sense of the latter; and true it is, that nothing so speedily removes all sense of what we t owe to God and man, as liquor. A right understanding of what - our duties are, and the first active impulse to perform them, com- pose our cares; and one after another cares are ended, as duties are performed. New ones, indeed arise, as new duties spring up. But if life be pursued with a divinely wise system and order, a quiet routine is established. Each act finds its proper time and ' place. Care sits light upon the heart; and the proper pursuit of our very duties affords the highest and most pleasurable enjoy- ment. The intellect is left free and unfettered. We think with- out pain, and need no argument to ;silenee thought. Mind gathers I PITY FOR THE POOR INEBRIATE. 17 7 its stores-elevates, refines; the heart enriches its garden of sweets, filled with ever-blooming roses; the body catches, from sympathy and affinity, an invigorated and healthy action; and the whole man ascends Godward; until, when death approaches, it is but to give perfect freedom to the mounting spirit, already high on its 'way toward heaven. But, pity for the poor inebriate! Care was once but a light weight upon his heart. Unhappily, he did not seek to remove it, by detaching the little atoms of which it was composed; he tried not to feel it, by making a hard place on that heart, which would not take its impression. The infinite attribute of memory re- tained the first care, and life still added more. Yet he left it all lying there-growing too in bulk-and continued to make the little spot within his bosom harder and broader where it lay. From day to day, the burden grew in weight and size, and pressed upon that heart, and would, not leave; and as he felt its still increasing weight, returning now and then with all its power, he hastened still to give more callous coating to the place, that it might become wholly insensible to chafing and to smart. Poor, blinded man!-mere epithme of thousands like himself! Care seemed an avalanche at last, a mountain load that weighed him down. And as he sank, ' O God!" he cried, "my burden now is more than I can bear!" But, pressing down and fastened to his soul-yea, fastened with his own hand-it sunk him lower, and lower still, amid the depths of deep perdition. O thou accursed bowl! Thou hast fires like those which pour from the volcano's mouth upon the smiling plain, scorching the plants and flowers which beautify the earth, until they mix with other ashes there; but which, had they been wooed by gentle winds, and gushing showers, and warm sunlight, would have spread their native' beauty round, and breathed their fra- grance to the throne of God! Such are thy fires, thou teeming bowl, as, from the crater of the "pit," they pour, all burning, into the garden of the heart, where God designed to make the seed of angels grow; burying, amid the ashes of the %oul, the heavenly germs, till man, the noble, beautiful of earth, is lost- for ever lost! In his descent, the drunkard, once a hopeful man- page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] 1-( d THE TWO ROADS. Falls headlong from that tow'ring mountain height, Where angel wings were training their young might To make the grand ascension of the skies- Down to that deep of starless, rayless night, Where flaming darkness mocks the reign of light, And Death lives ever, while Hope ever dies. As the sinking mariner beholds af h the beacon light that beckoned him from death, and soug o save him from his coral grave, so the dying inebriate looks his last longing look at the light of Truth. For a moment, a vague sense of what he was, and might have been, returns; and then, with the deep accents of thickening despair, he cries--" O Heaven! I might have called thee mine! But the grave yawns; the beacon light grows dim; and now I only feel that I am LOST!-lost EVERMORE!" [J. N. Stone. TEMPERANCE AMONG YOUTH. MANY are the beautiful things which poets have said of chil- dren, but these things have in them more of sober reality than mere poetic imagining. They call them flowers! Yes, and if cultivated, they will bloom for ever; but if neglected, no de- serted garden shall send forth a more deadly influence. Play- things they seem! Oh, did you look upon them with the eye of Him who made them, and, like Him, could trace the results of how we treat them, who is there who would not tremble, in view of that awful responsibility under which the relation which we bear to them has laid us? Fix your eyes upon the inmates of your nurseries; mark the numerous juvenile disturbers of the public peace who crowd the streets and lanes of your city-the happiest portion of God's creation on earth, because blessed with the dawnings of intelligence, imbittered by no remorse for the past, and overshadowed by no dark anticipations of the future. Mark them, I say. The very sports in which they engage, the feelings, of which they are brimful, the very echoes which the old earth sends back to their merry peals, are prophetic voices, which all may interpret. There is, I am persuaded, a connection TEMPERANCE AMONG YOUTH i ^ more intimate than most suppose, between the days of our child- hood and the doings of our riper years. The figures on youl electric telegraph, when put in operation, do not speak more dis- tinctly fifty miles off, than do the influencespwhich are brought to bear upon the infant mind produce their corresponding effects fifty years hence. Would you even now look on the future war- rior, then mark the bullying boy on the playground. Would you see the future money-grasping merchant: there he is, in that little fellow who can stand the chances of pitch and toss longer than any of his associates. Is it the blood-stained murderer you would see in his boyhood, then look out for that one who delights in pinning spiders to the floor, and who has more gratification in seeing flies crawling along without their wings, than buzzing about in all the enjoyment of a happy existence; and would you see the future tippler, the man who will be oftener at the bar- room table than at his fireside hearth, then mark the boy who even now relishes the sugared little drops from his father's tum- bler. Parents may regard these things with an indulgent eye, and think that time will develop more pleasing features; but, depend upon it, they are the indications of future character. The character of the man is being formed in the mind of the boy. It is no infidel doctrine, after all, that we are to a great extent the creatures of circumstances. Our characters do take the impress of the moral influences under which the are formed. Children are just what you make them; and, oh! what a world this is you have made for their reception! They come into a world where shedding human blood is called "glory"-and hence the bullying, boasting spirit of which we speak; they come-into a world where distinction is associated with the possession of wealth-and hence that early hoarding of marbles and buttons; they come into a world where kindliness is associated with per- nicious customs-and hence, too, they must drink and smoke, and ape their evil and corrupt teachers. All that we ask is, that you leave the little ones as God has made them; and the entire race of them he sends into the world teetotalers. It is a striking and beautiful fact, that the mind of childhood is free from those prejudices which mislead those of larger growth; and such is my confidence in children that I could confidently submit to a jury page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] 180 THE TWO ROADS. of juveniles, from every tribe under heaven, any of the great questions that agitate the political world at the present day. Then, who would not risk the great cause of temperance in their hands? Set before them the pleasures of drinking, the gain of the traffic, and its profits to the revenue,-and over against these, its desolate homes, and broken hearts, and ruined souls; and from minds uninfluenced by appetite or prejudice, there will come the unanimous response-- Touch not, handle not, taste not." The chief hope of the ultimate triumph of the tem- perance cause, is in the young. When they bury their fathers, let them bury with them their vices, and leave to their unborn posterity only that which is pure, and lovely, and exalted. A LOT OF BREAKS. BREAK up the haunts of vice and crime, Break rocks with Dupont's powder; Break up housekeeping, if you don't Know how to make a chowder. Break off bad habits, and break out Into a fit of laughter; But if you break the temperance pledge, You'll rue it ever after. Break not your promise or your pate, Affection's ties ne'er sever; Break not the Sabbath or your neck, In any case whatever. Break no gas-lamps or wholesome laws, No crockery or china; But break all vessels which contain The stiff that gets men shiny. Break not a link in friendship's chain Break not your nose by falling; Break not the broomstick o'er the heads Of brats to stop their bawling. Break not a window-pane or sash, No shoestring or suspenders; But break away from tippling-shops, And shun all toddy venders. A LESSON IN ITSELF SUBLIME. 181 Break up a piece of ground to plant, When all the ice and snow's off: Then put an old rum bottle in Your field to keep the crows off. Break flax, break yearling steers and colts, To make them kind and handy; But never break the temperance pledge, By drinking gin or brandy.-[I. Southwick. A LESSON IN ITSELF SUBLIME. A LESSON in itself sublime, A lesson worth enshrining, Is this-' I take no heed of time, Save when the sun is shining." These motto-words a dial bore, And wisdom never teaches To human hearts a better lore Than this short sentence teaches. As life is sometimes bright and fair, And sometimes dark and lonely, Let us forget its pain and care, And note its bright hours only. There is no grove on earth's broad chart But has some bird to cheer it; So hope sings on in every heart, Although we may not hear it. And if to-day the heavy wing Of sorrow is oppressing, Perhaps to-morrow's sun will bring The weary heart a blessing. For life is sometimes bright and fair, And sometimes dark and lonely; Then let's forget its toil and care, And note its bright hours only. We bid the joyous moments haste, And then forget their glitter- We take the cup of life, and taste No portion but the bitter; 16 . page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] 182 -THE TWO ROADS. But we should teach our hearts to deem Its sweetest drops the strongest; And pleasant hours should ever seem To linger round us longest. As life is sometimes bright and fair, And sometimes dark and lonely Let us forget its toil and care, And note its bright hours only. The darkest shadows of the night Are just before the morning; Then let us wait the coming light, All boding phantoms scorning; And while we're passing on the tide Of Time's fast-ebbing river, Let's pluck the blossoms by its side, And bless the gracious Giver. As life is sometimes bright and fair, And sometimes dark and lonely, :. We should forget its pain and care, if :^ And note its bright hours only. GOING A FISHNG. Paul. Good morning, Chauncey. COauncey. Good morning, Paul; I am glad to see you, for I was just thinking of going on a fishing excursion, and, being pos- sessed with every thing that was requisite, was looking about for company; so conme along-we shall have a glorious time of it: I have a bottle of first-rate black-strap in my basket. Paul. As to fishing, I like that very well; but I know of something better that I was thinking of doing to-day. Chauncey. What's that, pray? I am sure I know of nothing better, except a husking frolic, or such like amusement, where we have plenty of brandy sling or black-strap. Paul. Having never attended a husking frolic, and having no acquaintance with the drinks you have just named, except from hearing, I never wish to come in contact with them; for I know GOING A FISHNG. 183 too much of their evil effects ever to wih to become better acquainted. ' -Chauncey. Oh! you don't know what's good. I guess you was brought up by your grandmother or an old maiden aunt, and was never out in company much, or else you would not be so ignorant of black-strap and husking frolics, D Paul. I beg your pardon, my young buck: I have the good fortune to have a pious mother, who has taught me to love my books, and to shun all sorts of frolics and dissipation. But tell me, what is it you call black-strap? Chauncey. Oh, it is the best stuff in the world! It's made of rum and molasses. It not only tastes good, but it makes one feel good. I am not very big, nor, as you may suppose, very strong; but after taking two or three soaks at Black Betty, as father calls it, I feel as rich as a king, and as strong as Samson, and think I. could whip any thing that comes in my way. I am never afraid f to go any place alone, night or day, if I have a little of the heart- cheerer along with me. But still I like company, and if you will; come along with me, you shall be well provided for, as I have plenty of good dinner in my basket. Paul. I am obliged to you, but must decline, for two reasons: the first is, I don't drink liquor; and second, I am going to the : temperance celebration. But you spoke of Samson: do you I think his strength was owing to strong drink? e Chauncey. Well, I don't know much about him; but I think I heard father say he was a great giant, and the strongest man i that ever lived, and that he dared out a whole army of Jews to fight him, and cowed them all. I dare say he was none of your milk and water fellows-nor cold water fellows neither. Paul. You are rather mistaken about Samson. He was no giant: he was a strong man, it is true; but his mother had an especial command from an angel to abstain from wine and strong' drink, and it is more than probable she taught her son the same wholesome doctrine. Chauncey. Well, I must confess I don't know much about Scripture. But, say, don't you belong to the Cold Water j Society? ,i' Paul. That being a fair question, deserves a fair answer. 1 i Ii "ms ti' page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] 184 THE TWO ROADS. do; and glory in it, though, perhaps, you may think it is no credit to me. Chauncey. Cold water is well enough in its place. I have not the least objection to it; for I must confess I have a particular desire for it after partaking pretty freely of stimulants, especially in the morning. Oh yes! cold water is a good thing: I can drink it, fish in it, and swim in it. But this binding on'e's self to drink nothing but cold water, steady on, is not what it is cracked up to be; for, as father says, "Too much of a good thing is good for nothing." Paul. Allow me to correct you a little. By joining the tem- perance society, we do not bind ourselves to drink too much cold water: we only agree to abstain from the use of poison. But you agree that cold water is a good thing: can you tell me of any good that liquor ever did? Chauncey. Yes; I have heard of its being given to persons who had been drowned, and restoring them to life: I think that a great deal of good. Paul. It's very possible it has done some good in that way; but I think it has been the means of drowning a great many more than it has saved. Chauncey. I know of other good uses for it: it is a first-rate thing to make dogs watch well, besides making them fat. 'Paul. Indeed! Well, that is the last use of it I've heard of. How's that? Chauncey. I'll tell you. We have a dog at home that was rather sleepy and lazy. Living near the woods, our chickens and ducks were frequently carried off by the wild varmints, because Touser Would rather sleep than watch. Father, thinking that whiskey was such a good thing to make folks lively, thought it might be good for dogs too, and tried a little on the dog. It acted admirably; and every night after he had his drink poured down his throat, he would set up a tremendous howling and bark- ing, enough to scare all the wild varmints in the neighbourhood, which he continues occasionally until morning. But, I tell you what, he drinks an enormous quantity of your favourite fluid all the next day, and gets as fat as butter. Paul. Now, T have learned of two things that liquor is good GOING A FISHNG. 185 for: one is, to give to persons after they are drowned; and the other, to make dogs howl and grow fat. But, I tell you what, Chauncey, I'm afraid your dog will turn out an old bloat. Chauncey. They say it is a capital thing for horses too. Paul. Possible! Another new discovery. Please explain. Chauncey. One of our neighbours is a horse-jockey, and has made a good deal of money by giving it to his horses. He gets an old horse that is past service, for a little more than the price of his hide, feeds him on bran and chop-stuff till he appears pretty well fattened, then pours about a pint of whiskey down his throaty and rides him off as quick as possible to the horse- market; by the time he gets there, the old horse is in such good spirits, that the unknowing ones would take him to be a lean colt. He rides him up and down, and makes him frisk about, till at last he attracts the attention of some inexperienced person, who purchases him at a pretty dear rate. I happened to meet one of. those old colts one day, with the purchaser walking behind him, trying to whip him along. He said he had the horse over night, and had rode him only a mile; but it seemed such hard work for Dobbin to get along, that he thought himself better able to walk than the horse was to carry him. I told him he wasn't up to snuff-to dose his horse well with whiskey, as the jockey did, and he would go brisk enough, Paul. It may be, Chauncey, that liquor is good, in certain cases, for dogs and horses; but as I do not wish to descend to a level with the brute creation, I'll have nothing to do with it. Chauncey. That's a pretty broad insinuation; still, I don't think a little liquor will hurt anybody: father takes his horns- . so do I; so here's to your health. [Drinks.] Paul. He that drinks to another's health, drinks away his own. I suppose your father don't wish you to join the tem- perance boys' society? Chauncey, HE? no: he says temperance societies will do well enough for women and weak-minded men, who have not resolu- tion enough to govern themselves; he thinks it real silly for men of any grit to sign away their rights. Paul. I would like to know who you would call men of grit. Such men, I suppose, as Alexander the Great, who, after con- 16-*- , , A! page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] 186 THE TWO ROADS. quering nearly all the world, killed himself by drunkenness! As to signing away rights, I don't think any one has a right to kill himself by alcohol, any more than to cut his throat; there- fore, for one to pledge himself that he will not kill himself by drink, is not signing away any right. Chauncey. Father says these societies have made themselves ridiculous by taking in so many boys; he thinks that men alone should compose temperance societies. Paul. Your father was once considered very rich: is he so now? Chauncey. I believe not; but I heard my mother say, the other day that he would be the richest man in our village, if it had not been that he was cheated out of considerable property. Paul. In what manner was he cheated? Chauncey. Mother says father was brought up in pretty fashionable society, and always loved company, and it being the custom to drink brandy and wine much more than it is at pre- sent, and father being what is called a " wholesouled fellow," never was behindhand in treating. He always had plenty of friends, and would occasionally take a frolic. On one of these occasions, one of his friends managed to cheat him out of a considerable part of his property, in what way I can't tell. Paul. Well, Chauncey, suppose your father had joined the temperance society when he was a boy, and stuck to the pledge, do you think he would have lost his property? Besides, don't you think that your family wouldhave been more respectable and happy. Just think a little seriously on this subject, and throw away your bottle of liquid fire, then go with me and sign the pledge, and I'll guarantee that you will never regret it. Chauncey. You are a deep fellow, Paul; and I must confess I never thought of the change in my father's circumstances in that light. It may be that rum hasbeen the cause of it all. That must be the reason why mother hates to see drinking men come home with father. I tell you what I'll do: I'll go straight home, and i ask mother to tell me all the particulars, and if I find that liquor had any hand in making so great a change in my father's circum- stances, I'll smash this Black Betty into a thousand pieces, and then make a promise never again to drink another drop. Then, perhaps, you will not refuse to go with me on a fishing party? IP TIEE WATER SPIRIT. 187 Paul. No, Chauncey; for then I should consider you a cold water boy, and always feel safe with you on the water, which would not be the case were Black Betty one of the company. Chauncey. Come along with me to mother-it won't take long for her to tell me. Perhaps you may have the pleasure of I seeing "Betty" lying about in spots, after "old mother earth" has drank up the contents. Paul. Willingly, Chauncey; and I sincerely wish that "mo. ther earth" was doomed, this day, to drink every drop in the world! THE WATER SPIRIT. SPIRIT, sweet spirit, "of mountain and shadow, Blessing of summer, and joy of the May, Singing in sunlight, and singing in shadow, Soft is thy lay, Floating with zephyr and sunshine away. Water, bright water, I joyously greet thee; Thou in the gladness of earth hast a part; Whether in sunlight or shadow I meet thee, Welcome thou art-- Bringing a blessing and joy to my heart. In the dark city, methinks thou dost borrow Beauty, like stars that are clearest by night; Bringing to the children of toil and of sorrow, Dreams of delight-- Hours when the fountains of childhood were bright. Whether thou flowest by cottage or palace, Welcome alike to the peasant and king; Quaff'd from the old oaken bucket or chalice, Or from the spring, Still thine own boon of delight dost thou bring. Water, bright water, with beauty and gladness Smile in the sunshine, and bid us be gay; Not like the Circean cup, with madness Stealing away, Binding the soul in its ruinous sway. page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 THE TWO ROADS. No! thou art holy, the type of that river- River of Life, in our Father's own land-- Where we shall quaff its bright water for ever, Led by His hand, When in his holiest presence we stand.--[Mrs. E. Barber. A MOTHER'S LOVE. WHO is there that does not acknowledge and bow in reverence to a mother's love? What is it that causes the eye to fill? that refuses utterance to speech, and overwhelms with utter loneliness in the midst of life? Deny it not, truant heart-it is the sacred- ness of a mother's love; felt through long years it may be, yet always pure, ever sacred, blessing and refreshing! Gentle mother! tenderest, truest, best of friends! constant in love, in weal or wo-in infirmity or health, in honour or shame, through evil and good report-thy affection knows no change, nor the shadow of turning! Blessings on thee! Earliest memories link together and throw holiness on thy name. Such were the reflections suggested by an incident in the great drama of life. A poor victim of intemperance was staggering homeward-no, he knew not whither-when he fell heavily to the earth. Stunned and bruised by the fall, hel lay for a moment insensible; but assistance soon restored him to consciousness and a sense of degradation. "I thank you, gentlemen," said he, falteringly, "it was a hard fall, but I am better now-I have had many such. It is nothing when you get used to it," and he half laughed as he prepared to start again on his way. "What a pity," remarked a spectator, " that you should thus debase your manhood by selfish indulgence in strong drink." "You're a temperance lecturer, I suspect," sneered the ine- briate. "No, friend," replied the gentleman, "I am not a temperance lecturer-at least, not one professedly. But I neglect no oppor- tunity to speak a word in favour of that honest cause." "You're a preacher, then, may be?" "No." A MOTHER'S LOVE. 189 "Well, whatever you are, I want none of your advice." "I merely meant it for your good," mildly answered the gen- tleman. "Are you married?" "No." "You have sisters and brothers?"P "Yes; but they do not know me now." "Have you a father?" "No; he died long since." "A mother?" There was a deep silence. "You do not answer. Have you a mother?" The silence was broken by the sobs of the wretched man. "O God! O God!" he exclaimed, "she, too, is dead! I broke her heart many years ago by my misconduct. My poor mother! My poor, poor mother! So good, so kind, so gentle and forgiving!" and he smote his breast in the bitterness of his anguish. Unhappy man-oh, how unhappy at that moment! Through all the vicissitudes of life, a mother's love had followed him-en- treating, urging, and imploring him to forsake evil, and cling only to that which is right. In vain had she striven; he had gone on blindly, perversely, recklessly, till now he was broken down in health, fortune, and reputation, an outcast from society, disowned by his own flesh qnd blood! Yet in the midst of this accumula- tion of wretchedness, there came reproachfully, though full of love, across the weary waste of years, a mother's voice, sweet and sad, and the heart bowed in grief to its mute appeal. Honour to woman! Without her smiles the world would lose its brightness-society's charm would exist no longer-Chris- ; tianity would languish without her aid and approval. "In whose I principles," said the dying daughter of Ethan Allen to her skep- tical father, "In whose principles shall I die-yours, or those of my Christian mother?" The stern old hero of Ticonderoga brushed a tear from his eye as he turned away, and with the same I rough voice which summoned the British to surrender, now tre- mulous with deep emotion, said--"In your mother's, child,-in your mother's!" Sacred to the heart is the memory of a mother's love ;/ [T. Fitzgerald. :i; page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 THE TWO ROAIDS. DRINK THE MADDENING BOWL NO MORE. DRINK I will, for drink I may, Late at night, or early day; Brandy, cider, ale, or gin, i Drink I may, 'tis not a sin, : For they are God's creatures good-- Needful as our daily food! Drink I will, for drink I can, Yet remain a sober man; Others may, but I cannot Ever be a drunken sot! Prudently I take my cup When I breakfast, dine, or sup. Drink I may, I can, I will, Precious liquor from the still; For it drives dull care away, Turns the darksome night to day- Makes me noble, rich, and kind; Wakes my senses, fires my mind. Drink I will, for drink I must; Money gone, rll drink on trust; Credit gone, I'll pawn my coat- Freeze my back to warm my throat. Stop I cannot, 'tis too late; Drink I must, or death's my fate. "Drink, poor fellow, drink no more, Hope has opened wide a door," Cries the pledged cold-water man- "Surely if you will, you can Leave your cups, and happy be: Sign the pledge, and shout 'I'm free!" "Drink again I never will!" Cries the victim of the still; "Stop I can, the pledge I'll sign: Farewell brandy, cider, wine; Blind I was, but now I see- Pledged I am, and now I'm free!" "Drink the madd'ning bowl no more!" Let it sound from shore to shore; SPEAK FOR TIE RIGHT. 191 Sons and daughters, old and young, Let it swell from every tongue; Washingtonians we will be, Bound by that which makes us free! Let us drink the water-cup When we breakfast, dine, or sup; ; When at marriage feast we meet; When long-absent friends we greet: Friendship's token let it be- Healthful, pleasant, pure and free! [Rev. A. Walton. I t 1t. SPEAR FOR THE RIGHT, i BI'TTEi one, single and alone-- By truth and right made strong- Than a faithless band of a thousand men, Contending for the wrong. Better a little village, where Ten righteous poor are found, Than mighty Sodoms, rich with gold, i By Sin and Falsehood bound. Better a State, whose sons , With tyrants will not band, Whose toil-worn hands are clean from blood, Than a broad, conquering land. Better a Church of two or three, Gathered in Jesus' name, In whom the fire of love to man Burns with a? deathless flame; Who, like the good Samaritan, I Ne'er pass the sufferer by, Nor leave those wounded among thieves Amid their foes to die; i Who call the scorned and trampled slave A MAT, a brother man, And speak for Justice and for Right, In spite of human ban- ii ; Ij page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 192 THE TWO ROADS. Better a Church of two or three, Thus to Christ's spirit true, Than a multitude who call Him Lord, And yet God's will ne'er do. Then, brother, fear thou not to stand All single and alone, For the cause of truth and righteousness- To wealth and fame unknown. \ For angels, by the world unseen, Shall come to strengthen thee, And the Spirit of almighty truth Thy Comforter shall be. Better, then, single and alone, By truth and right made strong, Than with a flattering world to stand, Contending for the wrong. And to thy soul these words of Christ A mighty host shall be To aid thy toils-- I'm not alone! My Father is with me."-[J. Richardson. WHAT WILL YOU HAVE? AFTER a day's work of calculation and copying, I was under the necessity of waiting an hour in the tap-room of a tavern, to secure the services of a mail-guard, who was to carry a parcel for my employers. Amid the smoke, the spitting, and the clatter of a crowd of inn-haunters, I could not but find some subjects for reflection. The presiding genius of the bar was a bloated, whiskered young man, whom I had long known as the abandoned son of a deceased friend. I sighed, and was silent. Ever and anon, as one after another, or squads of two or three, approached his shrine to receive and empty their glasses, and deposit their sixpences, I heard the short, peremptory formula of the Bacchanal minister-"What will you have? Brandy? gin? punch? What will you have?" And the victims severally made their bids for a smaller, a cocktail, A sling, or a julep, as the case might be. The constant repetition WHAT WILL YOU HAVE? 193 of the "form in that case made and provided," set me upon a drowsy meditation on the pregnant question, What willyou have . "Methinks I can answer the question," said I to myself, as I cast a glance around the murky apartment. And first to the young shoemaker, who, with a pair of newly-finished boots, is asking for "grog." What will you have? You will soon have an empty pocket. There is a trembling, ragged man, with livid spots under the eyes. He is a machine-maker, and has lodgings in the house. What will you have? Ah! the bar-keeper knows without an answer; he takes gin and water. Poor man! I also know what you will have. Already you have been twice at death's door, and gin will not drive off that chill. You will have typhusfever. The glasses are washed out, not cleansed, in the slop-tub under the bar shelf. Now a fresh bevy comes up, cigar in hand. Gen- tlemen, what will you have? I supply the answer for myself. The baker there will have an apoplexy or a sudden fall in his shop. That tailor in green glasses will have consumption. And I fear that the three idlers in their train will have the next epidemic that shall sweep off our refuse drunkards. Sorry, indeed, am I to see in this place Mr. Scantling, the cooper. Not to speak of himself, I have reason to believe that both his grown sons are beginning to drink. He looks about him suspiciously. Now he has plucked up courage. He takes whiskey. You will have a pair of drunken sons. That young fellow in the green frock-coat and coloured neck- cloth is a musician, a man of reading, and the husband of a lovely Englishwoman. He takes his glass with the air of a Greek drinking hemlock. You will have a heart-broken wife. What! is that lad of fifteen going to the bar? He is; and he tosses off his Cognac with an air. You will have an early death. The old man that totters out of the door has doubtless come hither to drown his grief. His last son has died in prison, from the effects of a brawl in the theatre. Wretched old man! You will have the halter of a suicide. I must take the rest in mass, for it is Saturday night, and the throng increases. The bar-keeper has an assistant, in the person of a pale, sorrowful girl. Two voices now reiterate the challenge 17 , , page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 THE TWO ROADS. -What will you have? Misguided friends! I am greatly afraid you willall have a death-bed without hope. My man has arrived. As I walked home across the common, I thought thus :-And what will he have, who day after day and i year after year doles out the devil's bounty to his recruits; and L receives his sixpences, as it were, over the coffins of his victims? You, hardened tempter! (if memory live hereafter,) will have the recollection of your triumphs, and the vision of their eternalre- sults. You will have a terrible judgment, and an eternity of such retribution as befits your life.-[Rev. J. W. Alexander, D D. THE STAND-POINT. : FROM thy heart's still chambers, gazing On the mad, vain world without, Longing heavenward to raise it- Art thou still perplexed with doubt? Seekest thou a standing-place, ! Whence to raise thy fallen race? Stay thee, brother; seek no further; Stand and labour where thou art; Know there is no stand-point firmer Than a true man's steadfast heart! ; Strengthened by all power above Is thy spirit's human love. I Humble brother, cease repining i That thou canst not banish wrong; Up! it is in thee to crush it: Earth hath nought to make thee strong, Like the hidden cords that bind Thee with the lowest of thy kind! Where the world's great heart is beating Wouldst thou wield a power divine? Wouldst thou that its mighty throbbings Swell in unison with thine? Through the world's wide veins be poured The love within thy bosom stored! THE TEMPERANCE FATHER'S RETURN HOME. 195 Ask no might divine, supernal; Strive as only mortal can; Bethink thee WHO from heaven descended To be one with dying man; So might the Monarch of the skies Be touched with our infirmities. Be thy zeal then meek, unscornful; Stand not from thy kind apart; Find the vantage-ground thou seekest, In an erring people's heart! There, brave brother, do thy best: With our FA'rnTH leave the rest.-[ Greylocc. THE TEMPERANCE FATHER'S RETURN HOME. THE clock is on the stroke of six, The father's work is done; Sweep up the hearth, and mend the fire, And put the kettle on! The wild night-wind is blowing cold, 'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold! He's crossing o'er the wold apace, He's stronger than the storm; He does not feel the cold, not he, His heart it is so warm. For father's heart is stout and true As ever human bosom knew! He makes all toil, all hardship light: Would all men were the same, So ready to be pleased, so kind, So very slow to blame! Folks need not be unkind, austere, For love hath readier will than fear! Nay, do not close the shutters, child, For far along the lane The little window looks, and he Can see it shining plain; I've heard him say he loves to mark The cheerful fire-light through the dark. page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] 196 THE TWO ROADS. And we'll do all that father likes! His wishes are so few: Would they were more! That every hour Some wish of his I knew! I I'm sure it makes a happy day, When I can please him any way! ! I know he's coming, by this sign- That baby's almost wild; See how he laughs, and crows, and stares, Heaven bless the merry child! He's father's self in face and limb, And father's heart is strong in him! Hark! hark! I hear his footsteps now- He's through the garden gate: Run, little-Bess, and ope the door, And do not let him wait! Shout, baby, shout! and clap thy hands, For father on the threshold stands!-[Mary Howitt. THE OLD MAN'S STORY. I, SHALL never forget the commencement of the temperance re- formation. I was a child, at the time, of some ten years of age. Our home had every comfort, and my parents idolized me, their 4 child. Wine was often on the table, and both my father and mother frequently gave it to me in the bottom of my morning glass. One Sunday, at church, a startling announcement was made to our people. I knew nothing of its purport, but there was much whispering among the men. The pastor said, on the next evening there would be a meeting, and an address upon the evils of intem- perance in the use of alcoholic drinks. He expressed himself ignorant of the object of the meeting, and could not say what course it would be best to pursue in the matter. The subject of the meeting came up at our table after the ser- I vice, and I questioned my father about it with all the curious eager- ness of a child. The whispers, and words which had been dropped in my hearing, clothed the whole affair with a great mystery to {:i THE OLD MAN'S STORY. 197 me, and I was all eagerness to learn the strange thing. My father merely said it was some scheme to unite church and state. The night came, and groups of people gathered on the tavern steps, and I heard the jests and the laugh, and saw drunken men come reeling out of the bar-room.-JLurged my father to let me go, but he at first refused. Finally, thinking that it would be an innocent gratification of my curiosity, he put on his hat and we passed across the green to the church. I remember well how the people appeared as they came in, seeming to wonder what kind of an exhibition was to come off. In the corner was the tavern-keeper, and around him a number of friends. For an hour the people of the place continued to come in, until there was a fair houseful. All were curiously watching at the door, wondering what would appear next. The pastor stole in, and took a seat behind a pillar under the gallery, as if doubtful of the propriety of being in church at all. Two men finally came in, and went to the altar and took their seats. All eyes were fixed upon them, and a general stillness per- vaded throughout the room. The men were unlike in appearance, one being short, thick-set in his build; the other, tall and well-formed. The younger had the manner and dress of a clergyman, a full, round face, and a quiet, good-natured look, as he leisurely looked around over the audience. But my childish interest was all in the old man. His broad, deep chest and unusual height looked giant-like as he strode slowly up the aisle. His hair was white, his brow deeply seamed with furrows, and around his handsome mouth lines of calm and touching sadness. His eye was black and restless, and kindled as the tavern-keeper uttered a low jest aloud. His lips were com- pressed, and a crimson flush went and came over his pale cheek. One arm was off above the elbow, and there was a wide scar over his right eye. The younger finally arose and stated the object of the meeting, and asked if there was a clergyman present to open it with prayer. Our pastor kept his seat, and the speaker himself made a short prayer, and then made a short address, at the conclusion calling upon any one present to make remarks. The pastor arose under 17m page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] 198 THE TWO ROADS. the gallery, and attacked the positions of the speaker, using the arguments which I have often heard since, and concluded by de- nouncing those engaged in the new movement as meddlesome fanatics, who wished to breakup the time-honoured usages of good society, and injure the business of respectable men. At the con- clusion of his remarks, the tavern-keeper and his friends got up a cheer, and the current of feeling was evidently against the stran- gers and their plan. While the pastor was speaking, the old, man had fixed his dark eye upon him, and leaned forward as if to catch every word. As the pastor took his seat, the old man rose, his tall form towering in its symmetry, and his chest swelling as he inhaled his breath through his dilated nostrils. To me, at that time, there was something awe-inspiring and grand in the appearance of the old man, as he stood with his full eye upon the audience, his teeth shut hard, and a silence like that of death throughout the church. He bent his gaze upon the tavern-keeper, and that peculiar eye lingered and kindled for half a moment. The scar grew red upon his forehead, and beneath the heavy eyebrows his eyes glittered and glowed like a serpent's. The tavern-keeper quailed before that searching glance, and I felt a relief when the old man withdrew his gaze. For a moment he seemed lost in thought, and then, in a low, tremulous tone, com- menced. There was a depth in that voice, a thrilling pathos and sweetness which riveted every heart in the house before the first period had been rounded. My father's attention had become fixed on the eye of the speaker with an interest which I had never before seen him exhibit. I can but briefly remember the sub- stance of what the old man said, though the scene is as vivid before me as any that I ever witnessed:- "My friends! I am a stranger in your village, and I trust I may call you friends. A new star has arisen, and there is hope in the dark night which hangs like a pall of gloom over our country." With a thrilling depth of voice, the speaker locked his hands together, and continued-"Oh, God! thou who lookest with compassion upon the most erring of earth's children, I thank thee that a brazen serpent has been lifted, upon which the THE OLD MAN'S STORY. 199 drunkard can look and be healed; that a beacon has burst out upon the darkness that surrounds him, which shall guide back to honour and heaven the bruised and weary wanderer." It is strange what power there is in some voices. The speaker's voice was low and measured, but a tear trembled in every tone and, before I knew why, a tear dropped upon my hand, followed by others like rain-drops. The old man brushed one from his own eyes, and continued:- "Men and Christians! You have just heard that I am a va- grant fanatic. I am not. As God knows my own sad heart, I came here to do good. Hear me, and be just. "I am an old man, standing alone at the end of life's journey. There is a deep sorrow in my heart and tears in my eyes. I have journeyed over a dark, beaconless ocean, and life's hopes have been wrecked. I am without friends, home, or kindred on earth, and look with longing to the rest of the night of death. Without friends, kindred, or home! It was not once so!" No one could withstand the touching pathos of the old man. I noticed a tear trembling on the lid of my father's eye, and I no more felt ashamed of my own. "No, my friends, it was not so once. Away over the dark waves which have wrecked my hopes, there is the blessed light of happiness and home. I reach again convulsively for the shrines of household idols that once were mine, now mine no more." The old man seemed looking away through fancy upon some bright vision, his lips apart and his fingers extended. I involun- tarily turned in the direction where it was pointed, dreading to see some shadow invoked by its magic movement. "I once had a mother. With her old heart crushed with sor- rows, she went down to her grave. I once had a wife, a fair, angel-hearted creature as ever smiled in an earthly home. Her eyes were as mild as a summer sky, and her heart as faithful and .true as ever guarded and cherished a husband's love. Her blue eye grew dim as the floods of sorrow washed away its brightness, and the living heart I wrung until every fibre was broken. I once had a noble, a brave and beautiful boy, but he was driven out from the ruins of his home, and my old heart yearns to know page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200' THE TWO ROADS. if he yet lives. I once had a babe, a sweet, tender blossom, but these hands destroyed it, and it liveth with one who loveth chil- dren. "Do not be startled, friends-I am not a murderer, in the common acceptation of the term. Yet there is light in my evening sky, A spirit-mother rejoices over the return of her prodigal son. The wife smiles upon him who again turns back to virtue and honour. The child-angel visits me at nightfall, and I feel the tiny palm upon my feverish cheek. My brave boy, if he yet lives, would forgive the sorrowing old man for treatment which drove him into the world, and the blow that maimed him for life. God forgive me for the ruin I have brought upon me and mine." He again wiped a tear from his eye. My father watched him with a strange intensity, and a countenance unusually pale and excited by some strong emotion. "I was once a fanatic, and madly followed the malign light which led me to ruin. I was a fanatic when I sacrificed my wife, children, happiness, and home, to the accursed demon of the bowl. I once adored the gentle being whom I injured so deeply. "I was a drunkard. From respectability and affluence, I plunged into degradation and poverty. I dragged my family down with me. For years I saw her pale cheek, and her step grew weary. I left her alone, amid the wreck of her home idols, and rioted at the tavern. She never complained, yet she and the children went hungry for bread. "One New-year's night, I returned late to the hut where charity had given us roof. She was yet up, and shivering over the coals. I demanded food, but she burst into tears, and told me there was none. I fiercely ordered her to get some. She turned her eyes sadly upon me, the tears falling fast over her pale cheek. At this moment the child in its cradle awoke, and sent up a famished wail, startling the despairing mother like a ser- pent's sting. ' We have no food, James-have had none for several days. I have nothing for the babe. My once kind husband, must we starve? "That sad, pleading face and those streaming eyes, and the THE OLD MAN'S STORY. 201 feeble wail of the child, maddened me, and Hyes, I struck her a fierce blow in the face, and she fell forward upon the hearth. The furies of hell boiled in my bosom, and with deeper intensity as I felt I had committed a wrong. I had never struck Mary before, but now some terrible impulse bore me bn, and I stooped down as well as I could in my drunken state, and clenched both hands in her hair. "'God of mercy, James!' exclaimed my wife, as she looked up in my fiendish countenance, you will not kill us-you will not harm Willie,' and she sprang to the cradle and grasped him in her embrace. I caught her again by the hair, and dragged her to the door, and as I lifted the latch, the wind burst in with a cloud of snow. With a yell of a fiend, I still dragged her on, and hurled her out into the darkness and storm. With a wild ha! ha! I closed the door and turned the button; her pleading moans mingled with the wail of the blast and the sharp cry of her babe. But my work was not yet complete. "I-turned on the little bed where lay my older son, snatched him from his slumbers, and, against his half-awakened struggles, opened the door and thrust him out. In the agony of fear, he called me by a name I was no longer fit to bear, and locked his fingers in my side-pocket. I could not wrench that frenzied grasp away; and, with the coolness of a devil, as I was, shut the door upon the arm, and with my knife severed it at the wrist." The speaker ceased a moment, and buried his face in his hands, as if to shut out some fearful dream; and his chest heaved like a storm-swept sea. My father had arisen from his seat, and was leaning forward, his countenance bloodless, and the large drops standing out upon his brow. Chills crept back to my young heart, and I wished I was at home. The old man looked up, and I never have since beheld such mortal agony pictured upon a human face as there was on his. "It was morning when I awoke, and the storm had ceased. I first secured a drink of water, and then looked in the accustomed place for Mary. As I missed her, for the first time a shadowy scene of some horrible nightmare began to dawn upon my wan- dering mind. I thought I had had a fearful dream, but involun- tarily opened the outside door with a shuddering dread As the page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] 202 THE TWO ROADS. door opened, the snow burst in, followed by the fall of something across the threshhold, scattering the snow, and striking the floor with a sharp, bad sound. My blood shot like redhot arrows through my veins, and I rubbed my eyes to shut out the sight. It was-O God! how horrible! it was my own injured Mary and her babe, frozen to ice! The ever true mother had bowed her. self over the child to shield it, and wrapped all her clothing around it, leaving her own person stark and bare to the storm. She had placed her hair over the face of the child, and the sleet had frozen it to the white cheek. The frost was white in its half- opened eyes and upon its tiny fingers. I know not what became of my brave boy." Again the old man bowed his head and wept, and all that were in the house wept with him. My father sobbed like a child. In tones of low and heart-broken pathos the old man concluded. "I was arrested, and for long months I raved in delirium. I awoke, was sentenced to prison for ten years; but no tortures could have been like those I endured within my own bosom. O God, noI I am not a fanatic. I wish to injure no one. But while I live, let me strive to warn others not to enter the path which has been so dark and fearful a one to me. I would see my wife and children beyond this vale of tears." The old man sat down, but a spell as deep and strong as that wrought by some wizard's breath, rested upon the audience. Hearts could have been heard in their beating, and tears to fall. The old man then asked the people to sign the pledge. My father leaped from his seat, and snatched at it eagerly. I had followed him, and as he hesitated a moment with the pen in the ink, a tear fell from the old man's eye on the paper. Sign it, sign it, young man. Angels would sign it. I would write my name there ten thousand times in blood, if it would bring back my loved and lost ones." My father wrote "MORTIMER HUDSON." The old man looked, wiped his tearful eyes, and looked again, his countenance al- ternately flushed with a red and deathke paleness. "It is-no, it cannot be-yet how strange!" muttered the old man. "Pardon me, sir, but that was the name of my brave boy.' A M OTlrt; TO HER SON. 203 My father trembled, and held up his left arm, from which the hand had been severed. They looked for a moment in each other's eyes, but reeled and gasped-- "My own injured boy!" "My father!" They fell upon each other's necks, until it seemed that their souls would grow and mingle into one. There was weeping in that church, and I turned bewildered upon the streaming faces around me. "Let me thank God for the great blessing which has gladdened my guilt-burdened soul," exclaimed the old man, and kneeled down, pouring out his heart in one of the most melting prayers I ever heard. The spell was then broken, and all eagerly signed the pledge, slowly going to their homes, as if loth to leave the spot. The old man is dead, but the lesson he taught his grandchild on the knee, as his evening sun went down without a cloud, will never be forgotten. His fanaticism has lost none of its fire in my manhood's heart. A MOTHER TO HER SON. For ever shun the festive board, Where fascinating wines are poured, Where buoyant mirth and jocund gladness Has often been transformed to madness. Yes,-intellects of noblest mould By dissipation's spell controlled, Like stars that have their lustre lost Or wild flowers blighted by the frost, Have been despised-avoided-scorned, In circles they might have adorned; Because by wine's delusive power, They were misled in youth's gay hour. A mind eclipsed by fell disease, Or crushed by Fate's unknown decrees, page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] 204 THE TWO ROADS. We deeply pity and deplore, And fain would Reason's light restore: But self-made maniacs seem far worse; Theirs are the deadly doom and curse Which self-inflicted wrongs impart, To craze the brain, and scathe the heart; And if our pity too they claim, While sunk in hideous depths of shame, The course of folly well we know, That prostrate thus has laid them low, Was chosen while the mind was free From freaks of dread insanity. Then shun the vine-cup; revelries In banquet-halls the young may please; But ah! such scenes a blight impart, To cloud the brain and rend the heart- To crush the brightest hopes of youth, And quench the light of moral truth. ENDURANCE. 'Tis bitter to endure the wrong Which evil hands and tongues commit, The bold encroachments of the strong, The shafts of calumny and wit, The scornful bearing of the proud, The sneers and laughter of the crowd. And harder still it is to bear The censure of the good and wise, Who, ignorant of what you are, Or blinded by the slanderer's lies, Look coldly on, or pass you by, In silence, with averted eye. But, when the friends in whom your trust Was steadfast as the mountain rock, Fly, and are scattered like the dust, Before Misfortune's whirlwind shock; Nor love remains to cheer your fall, This is more terrible than all. / NO POOR-HOUSE FOR ME. 205 But, even this and these-ay, more, Can be endured, and hope survive; The noble spirit still may soar, Although the body fails to thrive; Disease and want may wear the frame- Thank God! the soul is still the same. Hold up your head, then, man of grief, Nor longer to the tempest bend, For soon or late must come relief; The coldest, darkest night will end; Hope in the true heart never dies! Trust on-the day-star yet shall rise. Conscious of purity and worth, You may with calm assurance wait The tardy recompense of earth; And e'en should justice come too late To soothe the spirit's homeward flight, Still Heaven, at last, the wrong shall right. [R. Jossdlyn. "NO POOR-HOUSE FOR ME." SUGGESTED BY ARTHUR'S PICTORIAL TEMPERANCE TALE OF THE ABOVE TITLE. PART I. Charles. Good day, Edwin; I'm pleased to see you. I have, just been thinking of Tom Edwards. I saw him to-day, selling papers id the street. My heart ached for the little fellow. The clothes he had on were in rags, and any thing but sufficient to protect him from the inclement weather. Edwin. And yet it is said that newsboys make considerable money by their occupation. I should think, if he did not make an improper use of his earnings, he might be able to clothe him- self comfortably. Charles. His low employment has naturally led him into dis- solute company; and no doubt he spends his earnings in dissipa- I 18 page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] 206 THE TWO ROADS. tion. It is a terrible thing to think of the havoc that rum has made in that boy's family, in a couple of short years; during which time his father died, and his mother became a homeless, drunken sot; and Tom, unable to get employment, on account of his beggarly appearance, as a last resort, turned newsboy. Edwin. I understood that after he took up that occupation, he rented a room for his mother, and, with a little industry on her part, with Tom's earnings, might have lived comfortably--but it was no home for Tom; she did nothing but drink, and idle her time away, and was continually accusing her boy with retaining a portion of his earnings, before he ever thought of such a thing. He was soon compelled, to procure food, to do that which his mother had wrongfully accused him of. Things went on in this way for about half a year; when, so utterly worthless had she become, that she was turned out of doors for non-payment of rent. About a month ago, she was picked up in the street, and sent to the poor-house, as a vagrant. Since then, Tom has no home. Charles. The boy has some good parts about him. You recol- lect, when he went to school with us, that he was very apt, and always showed a high and independent spirit. Could we not de-, vise some plan, Edwin, to rouse his sleeping energies, and make him reflect on the profligate course of life he is leading? Who knows but that we may succeed in reforming him, and finally prevail on him to learn some useful trade? Edwin. I like your suggestion, Charles. Tom must now be past fourteen years of age. But who do you think would take such a ragged and destitute boy as an apprentice? Charles. Father wants a boy. I have been speaking to him already about Tom. He is somewhat afraid, and thinks he should not have much confidence in him, on account of his drinking pro- pensities, and the low and dissolute companions he is daily seen in company with. However, he has promised me that he will think favourably of it, if I will sound Tom, and see if any of his former good qualities remain. I wish you to assist me, Ed- win. It may be that the language I shall use will offend him. I can't help it if it does, for it would give me great joy to be the r? NO POOR-HOUSE FOR ME. 207 humble instrument in saving him from ruin. What say you, Ed- win; can I rely on your support? (!' Edwin. I should ever consider it a proud day in my life, could such a thing be brought about, and will do all I can to assist you in the good work. But what do you propose doing? Charles. That :rnist be left to circumstances. See, there he is now, coming out of the groggery on the other side of the street. He is on his daily rounds with his papers. He's coming this way. Enter ToM, ragged and dirty, papers under his arm} crying a Ledgee-- Herald." Edwin. Hallo, Tom! which way? Charles. To the penitentiary or poor-house. Tom [turns and looks steadily at him, then says,] I never ex- pected to hear you talk so. Edwin. Give me a Ledger. Tom [sells one, then turns on his heel and retires, thoughtfully repeatingj] "To the penitentiary or poor-house." Edwin. You have hurt his feelings, Charles. Charles. I perceive I have. I am sorry for it. See, he's coming back. Re-enter TOM, walking slowly and thoughtfully up to Charles. Tom. What made you say that I was in the way to the poor- house? Was it because you have heard the boys deride me about my poor mother being there? Charles. Drunkards generally get there, in the end, if they are lucky enough to escape the penitentiary or gallows. Tom. Drunkards! I'm no drunkard. Charles. How long do you think it will be before you are one) Tom? Tom. A hundred years. Charles. If I mistake not, before three years pass over your head you'll be a sot, young as you are. Tom. You think so. Charles. I know so; that is, if you keep on in your present course. - Tom. What course? i Charles. Drinking and loafing about, as you now do. Why r i page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] 208 THE TWO ROADS. not go, as a decent boy should, and learn a trade? Idleness and bad company will ruin you. And when a man, like a drunken, worthless drone, you will be thrown into the poor-house to die, and buried in a pauper's grave, or your body handed over to the' doctors to be cut up. A smart lad like you, Tom, should have a spirit above that. Tom. And I have, I hope [rather proudly.] Besides, I am not idle, for I earn my living by selling papers. What else can I do? Nobody will have such a looking chap as me about them. Charles. I'm glad you have still some spirit left. But, are you really in earnest? Tom. Indeed I am. No POOR-HOUSE FOR ME! I reckon I'm a little above that. Charles. You are? Tom. I hope so. Charles. Then the quicker you mend your ways the better. Father wants a good, industrious boy, to learn the book-binding business. But I'd be 'most afraid to mention you to him. Tom. Why? Charles. I don't believe, after the life you have led, that you would be of much good to yourself or any one else. Tom. Let him try me. Charles. If I recommend you, will you give up entirely your present bad associates? Tom. Yes, and be glad of it. Charles. And quit drinking? Tom. Yes; and will promise never to drink another drop again. Charles. And join the temperance boys? Tom. Willingly and cheerfully. -I always liked the temperance boys, they are so orderly and sedate. Charles.. You seem very ready to promise; but can I trust you? Tom. Only try me. You will never regret it; for I lead a wretched life. It is a long time since I have experienced the comforts of a home. If, as you say, I am on the way to the poor-house or penitentiary, it is time I had changed my course. NO POOR-HOUSE FOR ME. 209 Charles. What think you, Edwin; can we trust him? Some- thing seems to tell me that he is sincere. Edwin. As for me, I have not the least doubt of his sincerity; atnd were it to my father's he was to go, I should not hesitate a moment in taking him there. Tom has experienced hardship, misery, and disgrace long enough; and I don't wonder he is now so anxious to see better days. Tom. Thank you kindly, Edwin, for your good opinion of poor Tom. I will always endeavour to merit your kindness. Charles. Well, come along. I'll take you to father. I have talked to him about you before, and think I shall prevail on him to employ you. It will be a good home for you, Tom. I have long wished you had one. Tom. I shall ever remember you with gratitude, Charles. Charles. Come, Edwin, go along with us. Edwin. With pleasure. PART II. THE GREAT REFORMATION.-TOMBS FUTURE PROSPECTS. Edwin. Good evening, Charles; glad to see you. Charles. Why, Edwin, you are indeed a stranger. Where ,i: have you been, this age? i Edwin. Spending a few months with my uncle, in the coun- try, and only returned to-day. How have you been? How's your father, mother, and sister-and how does Tom get along? Is he true to his promise? Charles. Bless me, Edwin, what a string of questions! To answer all these queries, it will be necessary for me to take up one at a time. In the first place, I am and have been well, thank you. Secondly, father, mother, and sister, never were in better ,ds health. And last, though not least, our friend Tom comes on bravely-has made astonishing progress in-his business, and bids fair, before long, to excel many of the workmen in the bindery. Father says he is almost worth his weight in gold. As to his promise, I believe it would be easier to remove a rock than him -he is firm, steadfast, immovable. to - 18* ^ page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 THE TWO ROADS. Edwin. I am rejoiced to hear it. Has he joined any of the sections yet? Charles. Yes; he is now the W. A. of our section, and no boy is more truly or better liked than Tom. Why, there is nothing going on in the section, but Tom has something to do with it. Edwin. His being W. A. of our large section in so short a time, is certainly a sufficient proof of his popularity among the boys. I should love dearly to see him,-has he got home yet? Charles. Yes; he's at supper-he came in rather late this evening--they are very busy at the bindery. He will be here shortly. In the mean time I have more good news for you. At the time you went away, you recollect, the poor-house was the home of Tom's mother. It is not so now, for she is comfortably situated in a neatly furnished room in a respectable neighbour- hood; and, what will be still more gratifying to your ear, is sober and industrious, and, with a little assistance from Tom, makes quite a decent living by sewing-is a pious and consistent woman, and respected by all who know her. And all this was brought about by Tom's exertions. Edwin. What a revolution! It is as wonderful as gratifying. And all Tom's doings! How in the name of sense did he effect it? Charles. I'll tell you. When father took Tom to learn him the business, he proved so apt and handy, that before many weeks had elapsed, he was able to make a trifle for himself in over- money. Father did every thing to encourage him, particularly when he found that his object was to get a home for his mother. At the end of about three months, he could make from one to two dollars a week for himself. About this time, he became acquainted with a couple of ladies that occasionally visited our house, members of the Martha Washington Society. To them he made known his mother's wretched case, and prevailed on them to visit her, which they did frequently; their pleadings, together with Tom's, had the desired effect-she signed the pledge, and became a member of the society. She was then placed in the comfortable home she now enjoys, which was furnished by mother and a few other ladies, and is as firm and fixed in her temperance principles as Tom. All the spare even- ings Tom has, are either spent at his mother's, or the section NO POOR-HOUSE FOR ME. 2" room. I frequently accompany him there. She appears to be a sensible woman, as well as a happy one. Only I think, she praises us temperance boys more than we deserve. But, see, here comes Tom himself. Enter TOM, neatly dressed. Tom. Come, Charles, are you ready? It is time we were -off. Charles. There stands an old friend of yours, Tom. Have you forgot him? Tom [recognising him.] Forgot him!--May this hand drop off when /-forget such friends as you both have been. [Goes up to Edwin and extends his hand.] Why, Edwin, my boy, how are you? This is, indeed, a pleasure I little expected to-night. Edwin. Right down glad to see you, Tom. I have been talk- ing here with Charles, about you, this half-hour. Tom [laughing. I hope you have been saying nothing, bad about me, Charles? Charles. That would be rather a difficult thing, Tom. Tom. If you don't take care, you'll make me vain--then I shall be good for nothing Edwin. Not much fear of that, Tom. But, where are you two chaps bound to-night? Tom. On a cruise, Edwin-we will first set sail for mother's- merely drop in to see how she is-then, for the section room. Our section intends having an exhibition, soon--the boys are to rehearse some of their pieces to-night. You'll go along of course? Edwin. Yes-but, first tell me, Tom, how do you like your new mode of life. Do you ever contrast it with the old one? Of course, you know I do not mean to offend. Tom. Mean to offend! Oh no, I am certain of that; for am I not realizing all that you and Charles said I would enjoy if I turned from my dissipated companions? I never cease to thank God for having placed such friends in my way; for, had he not, perhaps even now I should be on my way "to the poor-house or penitentiary." You ask me if I ever contrast my old mode of life with my present one? I do, indeed; and that daily, and pray for strength to resist: the evil tempter, for I was "like a brand plucked from the burnin,!" Worlds could not tempt me to go back to my old ways. page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 THE TWO ROADS. Edwin. We'll drop the subject; for I perceive it makes you look sad. Still, my joy at seeing this great change in you is unspeakable. I suppose, Charles, our friend Tom is to have a distinguished post assigned him at the exhibition? Charles. Yes; as usual. He is to lead off in an address on the evils of rum-drinking, besides taking part in three or four dialogues, and as many temperance songs. For my part, I don't see what the cold-water boys would do without Tom. Tom. There now, James, you're poking fun at me again. Be- sides, I find you have been telling tales out of school. ' Don't mind him, Edwin-he has a great failing at times-that of talk- ing too much. Edwin. You must excuse him this time, Tom; it is my fault. I was anxious to hear all about you that I could, and regret that he has told me so little. Tom. Never mind-more to-morrow. Come, boys, it is getting late. You go along, Edwin, of course? Edwin. Yes; as I said before, I am extremely anxious to see your mother. Tom. Before we start, I'll just tell you that you must steel yourself against vanity. Mother has a great failing of over- praising us temperance boys. Edwin. So Charles has just told me. Tom. Do you hear that, Charles? At your old tricks again! Charles. You know it is one of my failings, Tom. A FREEDOM GIFT. "SWEET one-and-twenty," envied time To youthful hearts, is yours, my boy, And life is verged to manhood's prime, The season rife with hope and joy, When the young soul elastic springs High on anticipation's wings. Your mother, who, as link to link Was added to life's brittle chain, Who strove to guard you from the brink Of vice and folly, now would fain A FREEDOM GIFT. 213 A word of kindly counsel blend With the best wishes of a FRIEND. Search this cold-hearted world around And all its best affections prove, And see if aught on earth is found Endearing as a mother's love; Attendant still, o'er land and wave, It hovers even o'er the grave. You now commence the important part, i To be the master of yourself, Ii. And tread--oh, choose meek wisdom's chart- !I The road to honour, fame, and wealth; Your right is now to do and plan Alone, and to be call'd a man. Be generous-not that impulse wild, Which throws with reckless hand away The earnings for which labour toil'd, v On fools and follies of the day; Your fellow-creatures' sufferings soothe, And strive their rugged path to smooth. I Be cheerful-not the boisterous shout, Which low-bred people oft employ qr? To ring on all occasions out At trifling things, to express their joy; A mind serene, contentment calm} Are, to the soul and body, balm. Be prudent-think not to begin To walk erect, before you creep; But step by step the ascent win To Mammon's shrine-the hill is steep; His golden godship never sheds 'i Favours on idle, careless heads. r: Be TEMPERATE--let no 'suasive word - "Lay flattering unction to your soul,' To tempt you to the tippling board, Or taste the proffer'd wassail bowl; Oh, "touch not," 'tis the adder's sting, At last 'twill want and misery bring. Be courteous-bland amenity Will like civility secure; , page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 THE TWO ROADS. Trust none of whose integrity And honour you are not full sure. Happy is he who has ONE FRIEND, On whom he safely may depend. My son, this feeble hand which writes Will soon be mingled with the mould; And the full heart which now indites, Warm'd with a mother's love, be cold; But heed this unpretending lay, And may God bless you, now and aye. THE RUM MANIAC. C SAY, doctor, may I not have rum, To quench this burning thirst within? Here on this cursed bed I lie, And cannot get one drop of gin. I ask not health, nor even life- Life! what a curse it's been to me! I'd rather sink in deepest hell, Than drink again its misery. "But, doctor, may I not have rum? One drop alone is all I crave. Grant this smaall boon-I ask no more- Then I'll defy-yes, e'en the grave; Then, without fear, I'll fold mine arms, And bid the monster strike his dart, To haste me from this world of wo, And claim his own-this ruined heart. "A thousand curses on his head Who gave me first the poison'd bowl, Who taught me first this bane to drink,- Drink-death and ruin to my soul. My soul! oh cruel, horrid thought! Full well I know thy certain fate; With what instinctive horror shrinks The spirit from that awful state! "Lost-lost-I know, for ever lost! To me no ray of hope can come: THE RUM MANIAC. 215 My fate is sealed;-my doom is-- But give me rum: I will have rum. But, doctor, don't you see him there? In that dark corner low he sits; See! how he sports his fiery tongue, And at-me burning brimstone spits! "Go, chase him out. Look! here he comes- Now on my bed he wants to stay; He shan't be there. O God! O God! Away, I say I away! away! Quick! chain me fast, and tie me down: There now-he clasps me in his arms: Down---down the window-close it tight: Say, don't you hear my wild alarms? "Say, don't you see this demon fierce? Does no one hear? will no one come? Oh, save me-save me-I will give- But rum! I must have-will have rum! Ah! now he's gone; once more I'm free; He-the boasting knave and liar-- He said that he would take me off Down to-But there? my bed's on fire. "Fire! water! help! come haste-I'll die; Come, take me from this burning bed: The smoke-I'm choking-cannot cry; There now-it's catching at my head! But see! again the demon's come; Look! there he peeps through yonder crack; Mark how his beaming eyeballs flash! How fierce he grins! what brought him back? "There stands his burning coach of fire; He smiles, and beckons me to come; What are those words he's written there? 'In hell, we never want for rum!' One loud, one piercing shriek was heard; One yell rang out upon the air; One sound, and one alone, came forth- As died the victim in despair.-[Joseph Allison. f ?. page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 THE TWO ROADS. THE PRAISE OF DRUNKENNESS. As there are thousands of individuals in our country, warm adherents of the Alcoholic King, who sneer at and deride the friends of temperance, for their praiseworthy efforts in reforming their fellow-men from the low vice of drinking; and, believing that some of them may by accident pick up this book, we have thought'proper to give place to the following article, written by a student of the Princeton Theological Seminary, for their own es- pecial benefit-thus giving them authority still to cling to their favourite beverages-notwithstanding all that may be said to the contrary, by those whom they style "temperance fanatics." What I am about to trouble you with is, a few reflections on deep drinking and drunkenness, the utility of which I mean to point out-a subject that the present depravity of our age ren- ders peculiarly interesting. Any man who is in the least degree conversant in public life must be sensible of this. It is no un- charitable calculation to suppose, that one-half of the human race have in a great measure deserted the cause of Bacchus; have shamefully turned their backs on the sparkling glass and flowing bowl, and gone, in common with the beasts of the field, to quench their thirst at the purling spring or bubbling fountain; or if at any time they are prevailed upon to taste the nectarous juice, it is done in such a sparing and timid manner, as does dishonour to the profession of drinking. If we look back into the early ages of the world, we will find Noah more than middling-well fuddled with the produce of his new vineyard; but as we never hear of his repeating it the second time, and seeing that all his actions are far from bespeaking him a subject of Bacchus, we cannot recommend him for an example. Any man may stumble upon a good action, but it is perseverance alone that merits applause. Encouraged by wine, ancient Lot laid the foundation of two great and populous nations-Moab and the children of Ammon. And I doubt not, but many honourable and useful families of more recent times, owe their origin to the nocturnal excursions of some adventurous and intriguing bacchanal. Alexander the Great had natural ferocity enough to deal death and destruction through the world, among those he called his enemies; but to wine alone he THE PRAISE OF DRUNKENNESS. 217 was indebted for that generous ardour which enabled him to stab and murder his most faithful and affectionate friends. To wine at last he surrendered his pretended immortality, which was nothing more than a particular kind of drunkenness. But we need not search the pages of antiquity for examples to recommend this water of life. The many advantages arising from a full stomach and rocking head, will be evident enough to any who will but make the experiment. The ineffable raptures of the drunkard are either expressed by wry faces, winking eyes, or loud and inarticulate roars. What inward strength of mind and great- ness of soul must he suck from his bottle, when he can wallow in the mire, or perhaps in something fouler, without the least dis- composure; can sweetly kiss his mother earth, embrace the filth of the dunghill, or bathe in the loathsome dregs of a common- sewer-shall I say without repining---ay, even with complacency and delight! How often do we see him, from some internal heart- felt joy, extending his jaws and bursting into thundering laughter, without any of those exterior causes which generally provoke the sober fool to mirth! But this is not all: drunkenness will also effectually purge away the fqplish sympathy which a person would otherwise feel for human nature in distress; so that if a man find it necessary for the good order of his house, that his wife should be kicked out of doors-or, for the support of his funds, that his neighbour's throat should be cut, and his money transferred into his own pocket, a plentiful draught of good West Indian will enable him to perform either the one or the other, with as much bravery and unrelenting fury as if he had been bred among the infernals. And after all this, how little need he regard law, justice, or the worst consequences that can possibly ensue? A plentiful potion of the same liquor which enabled him to commit this action, will also embolden him to encounter the punishment to which it may expose him. And if it should even cost him his life, death is an evil we have all to combat; and perhaps few of us will make our exit like him with pomp and parade. For your encouragement, ye heroes of the bottle, attend to the issue of this fortunate man; for he shall be able to predict the very day and manner of his death. At his last hour he shall be punctually waited upon by the officers of State, and a numerous 19 .? page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] 218 THE TWO ROADS. train of a low order. While others are walking on foot, he shall be borne in a vehicle with a particular badge of honour about his neck; and lastly, he shall swing away his life in airy circles, with- out a groan or a sigh, raised from earth above the gaping and admiring, not to say envying world. Horace, the great master of lyric poetry among the Latins, has discovered the high value he set upon drunkenness in words to this effect: "What is beyond the power of drunkenness? It dis- covers the most important secrets, thrusts the coward into battle, and removes the burden of anxiety from the mind." But we are all as sensible as Horace was, what extraordinary effect it pro- duces in most of these cases. How often do we see the drunkard so full of bravery, that he will nobly rush into the most immi- nent danger without the least necessity? I have known a man, who, when drunk, would strip himself as naked as Adam in his innocence, and run headlong into thickets of briers and thbrns, to the great admiration of every beholder. What more need I say to recommend it? How amiable does this set of men always appear! View them in the streets, and you will find them attended by a numerous train of shouting applauders. View them in their houses, and you will find them busied, instructing their children in the useful science of singing lascivious songs; but if words should be wanting, the voice is still kept up, 4d their melodious notes may fitly be compared to the enchanting voice of the crow or jackdaw, those masters of harmony among the feathered tribe. Now, in view of all these facts, who will say there are no advantages in drunkenness? Give me the cheerful glass-let who will drink the tasteless and insipid water. DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD. His form was fair, his cheek was health; His word a bond, his purse was wealth; With wheat his field was cover'd o'er, Plenty sat smiling at his door. His wife the fount of ceaseless joy; How laugh'd his daughter, play'd his boy! DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD. 219 His library, though large, was read, Till half its contents deck'd his head. At morn 'twas health, wealth, pure delight, 'Twas health, wealth, peace, and bliss at night; I wish'd not to disturb his bliss- 'Tis gone! but all the fault was his. The social glass I saw him seize, The more with festive wit to please; Daily increase his love of cheer- Ah! little thought he I was near! Gradual indulgence on him stole, Frequent became the midnight bowl. I in that bowl the headache placed, Which, with the juice, his lips embraced. Shame next I mingled with the draught; Indignantly he drank and laughed. In the bowl's bottom bankruptcy I placed-he drank with tears and glee, Remorse did I into it pour; He only sought the bowl the more. I mingled next joint-torturing pain; Little. the less did he refrain. The dropsy in the cup I mix'd; Still to his mouth the cup was fix'd. My emissaries thus in vain I sent the mad wretch to restrain. On the bowl's bottom then myself I threw; the most abhorrent elf Of all that mortals hate or dread; And thus in horrid whispers said- "Successless ministers Ive sent, Thy hastening ruin to prevent; Their lessons naught-then here am I; Think not my threatenings to defy; Swallow this! this, thy last 'twill be, For with it thou must swallow me!" Haggard his eyes, upright his hair, Remorse his lips, his cheeks despair; : With shaking hands the bowl he clasp'd. My meatless limbs his carcass grasp'd, page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] 220 THE TWO ROADS. And bore it to the churchyard-where Thousands, ere I would call, repair. Death speaks-ah, reader, dost thou hear? Hast thou no lurking cause to fear? Has not o'er thee the sparkling bowl Constant, commanding, sly control? Betimes reflect-betimes beware-- Though ruddy, healthful now, and fair, Before slow reason lose the sway, Reform-postponed another day, Too soon may mix with common clay. WHAT IS NOBLE? WHAT is noble? to inherit Wealth, estate, and proud degree?- There must be some, other merit Higher yet than these for me!- Something greater far must enter Into life's majestic span; Fitted to create and centre True nobility in man! What is noble? 'tis the finer Portion of our Mind and Heart; Link'd to something still diviner Than mere language can impart; Ever prompting-ever seeing Some improvement yet to plan; To uplift our fellow-being- And, like man, to feel for Man! What is noble? is the sabre Nobler than the humble spade? There's a dignity in labour Truer than e'er pomp array'd! He who seeks the Mind's improvement Aids the world-in aiding Mind!- Every great commanding movement Serves not one-but all mankind. O'er the Forge's heat and ashes- O'er the Engine'sViron head- INDEPENDENCE DAY. 221 Where the rapid shuttle flashes, And the spindle whirls its thread, There is Labour lowly tending Each requirement of the hour; There is genius still extending Science-and its world of power! Mid the dust, and speed, and clamour, Of the loom-shed and the mill; Midst the clink of wheel and hammer Great results are growing still! Though, too oft, by Fashion's creatures, Work and workers may be blamed; Commerce need not hide its features! Industry is not ashamed! What is noble? That which places Truth in its enfranchised will! Leaving steps-like angel traces- That mankind may follow still! E'en though Scorn's malignant glances Prove him poorest of his clan He's the Noble-who advances Freedom, and the Cause of Man!-[ C. Swain. INDEPENDENCE DAY. Henry. I was surprised, William, to hear that you had joined the cold-water boys. William. I don't see why you should be surprised: if I had done any bad act, there might have been some cause. Hen. You have abted too hasty in the matter, William, and certainly forgot your engagement with the club on the coming Fourth of July, else you would not have joined. Wm. I have not forgot my engagement, for I intend to keep it. Besides, what has the club to do with my joining the section? ien. It has much to do with it. You know our club always have their punch and champagne on the Fourth: it would be a dull day without it. 19.: page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] 222 THE TWO ROADS. Wm. A dull Fourth without punch and champagne! Why, how you talk! There is no use for the club having liquor with them, for it is always the cause of quarrels and dissensions on such occasions. The day is too sacred a one to be defiled by drunkenness. Hen. Oh! we need not get drunk, William: we can just drink enough to raise our spirits a little, you know. Wm. Raise your spirits! Fie on you, Henry, to think that American boys must drink rum to raise their spirits on a Fourth of July! The very thought of the day, and the great men that perilled their lives and fortunes for the liberties we now enjoy, is sufficient to raise my spirits to the highest pitch, on the return of each anniversary of liberty's birthday. Hen. I don't think there is much harm in drinking a little punch or champagne occasionally. Wm. I think there is a great deal of harm; for we do not know what this punch or champagne drinking may lead to. They are both very enticing and deceptive drinks, that soon steal away the senses, and often lead to the commission of things that are bitterly regretted afterward. Hen. But you know we can be careful of ourselves, and not drink enough to get intoxicated-just enough to make us lively and patriotic. Wm. Lively and patriotic! And so you think patriotism con- sists in rum drinking? I defy you, Henry, to point out a single page on our country's history where it states that the immortal signers of the Declaration of Independence had to resort to the rum-bottle to raise their patriotism. No, no: true patriotism consists in a fervent love of country, and in doing that which is just and honourable, regardless of consequences, for the good of the corimon weal. I'll pledge my life on it that the great men assembled in council on the 4th of July, 1776, did not need liquor to raise their patriotism. Hen. I do not suppose they did; still, I do not see that there can be much harm in drinking a little punch or champagne at a Fourth of July dinner. Win. I see you are just like the old topers, being so unwilling to give up your cups. It is certainly humiliating to think that INDEPENDENCE DAY. 223 the descendants of the patriots of the Revolution cannot celebrate the birthday of our liberties without the use of intoxicating drinks. I wonder what some of them would say, could they again visit our earth, and be present at some of the festivals on that day, and witness the many degrading scenes of drunkenness that take place, and that, too, among the more respectable por- tion of our citizens! I tell you what, Henry, if 'the men won't set the boys an example of sobriety, it is high time that the boys set them one. No rum on a Fourth of July for me! Ilen. Dear me, how warm you are getting on the subject! You talk as if it was something dreadful to drink a little liquor. I am sure it never hurt me. Wm. There is nothing more dreadful; for is not liquor the cause of nearly all the misery that is entailed on mankind? Look at the poor loathsome wretch that is staggering, or perhaps lying in the street: what caused it? Rum! Look at the heart- broken wife and famishing children: what wrought this great change in their circumstances?-for she once had a cheerful and comfortable home, the husband and parent was sober and respect- able, but now he is a miserable and despised wretch-what, I say, was the cause of this great change? Rum! Look at the poor frenzied-looking wretch that is arraigned before the bar of justice, his crime murder: what caused him to do it? Rum! Look into the numerous cells of the prison, each of which con- tains some unhappy being: ask what brought them there? and in nine cases out of ten the answer will be-Rum Then visit the poor-house, and witness the hundreds of poor and miserable objects that fill it: put the same question, and your answer will be-Rum was the principal cause! Dreadful thing to drink rum, Henry! What is more dreadful? en. But these are only the old rummies you are speaking about; I would not be one for the world. Mm. And yet each and every one of these persons were once children like us, with prospects as fair: perhaps they took their first glass at a Fourth of July celebration, and that glass was of punch or champagne; and it is more than likely that from that period they date their progress in drunkenness. Hen. Your remarks are enough to frighten one, William. If j page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] 224 THE TWO ROADS. I thought for a moment I ever should become a drunkard, I never would taste a drop of liquor again. Wm. Then you don't wish to become a drunkard? Hen. What a question, William! To be sure not; you know I dislike drunken people. Wnm. Why, then, wish to put yourself in the way of drunken- ness? The only way to avoid evil is to keep from it. Hen. But how can our club celebrate the Fourth without punch, champaigne, and similar drinks? Win. Much better than with them. Besides, you would not wish the great majority of the boys to furnish liquor for you and a few others? Hen. They will all drink it but you. Win. Mistaken again, Henry. I have seen nearly all of the boys, and they said it would be best not to take liquor with them this year, as it was the cause of much dissension and quarrelling last Fourth of July among the club. Do you think I would have given my consent to be one of the party if that were not the case? Hen. On reflection, William, I think it would be better to do without it too. It might be that hereafter, as you have just said, we should have cause to date that day as the commencement of a career of drunkenness. And, what is more, I promise you that I will not drink again any thing that can intoxicate. Still, Wil- liam, I cannot help thinking that a Fourth of July dinner will be a dry affair without a little punch or champagne. Wm. Still harping on your punch and champagne, like some old toper. I'll wager you a dollar, Henry, that you will think differently on the fifth, and be fully convinced that the tem- perance boys' mode of celebrating the great day is the proper one. THE STRANGER. A POOR, wayfaring man of grief Hath often crossed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief, That I could never answer, Nay. THE STRANGER. 225 I had not power to ask his name, Whither he went, or whence he came; Yet there was something in his eye That won my love, I knew not why. Once, when my scanty meal was spread, He entered; not a word he spake; Just perishing for want of bread, I gave him all; he bless'd it, brake And ate, but gave me part again. Mine was an angel's portion then; And while I fed with eager haste, The crust was manna to my taste. I spied him where a fountain burst Clear from the rock; his strength was gone; The heedless water mocked his thirst; He heard it, saw it hurrying on. I ran and raised the sufferer up; Thrice from the stream he drained my cup; Dipped, and returned it running o'er; I drank, and never thirsted more. 'Twas night: the floods were out; it blew A wintry hurricane aloof; I heard his voice abroad and flew To bid him welcome to my roof. I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest; Laid him on my own couch to rest; Then made the earth my bed, and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed. Stripped, wounded, beaten nigh to death, I found him by the highway side; I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, Revived his spirit, and supplied Wine, oil, refreshment; he was healed. I had, myself, a wound concealed; But, from that hour, forgot the smart, And peace bound up my broken heart. In prison I saw him next, condemned rI To meet a traitor's doom at morn; The tide of lying tongues I stemmed, And honoured him mid shame and scorn. F,. ;. page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] 226 THE TWO ROADS. My friendship's inmost zeal to try, He asked if I for him would die? The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried, "I will!1 Then, in a moment, to my view The stranger started from disguise; The tokens in his hands I knew; MY SAVIOUR stood before my eyes! He spake, and my poor name he named: "Of me thou hast not been ashamed; These deeds shall thy memorial be; Fear not; thou didst it unto Me." KEEP UP A GOOD HEART. KEEP up a good heart! and look forth to the morrow, Don't turn to the past, it may serve to depress; The ills of to-day, for the future will borrow A summer of gladness to strengthen and bless. Be firm as the rock that in ocean is planted, Be brave as the pilot who faces the storm; Go forth, with the step of a hero undaunted, Keep home for thy compass, and life beating warm. Keep up a good heart! it is useless repining, See glimpses of light on the track of life yet; Be hoping and striving, not always divining A pathway to sorrow, with thorns ill beset. 'Tis better to watch for the rainbow that shineth In beauty beyond where the winds are at rest; Each cloud hath a fragment of silver that lineth, To temper misfortune, and maketh us blest. Keep up a good heart! never sluggardly wasting The rich gems of thought and of feeling away; Go forward to duty, press on, and be tasting The produce of action-no longer delay. 'Tis true, we must travel o'er many a mountain, And pant with the life-load of wearisome care; Yet deep in the valley there gushes a fountain; Its waters are living-ho! never despair. SOLEMN WARNINGS. 227 Keep up a good heart! 'tis the best way to lighten The yoke of existence, whatever the lot; Ere daybreak 'tis darkest, the morning will brighten, Fear not, for all there's a sunshiny spot, Hold fast the assurance, and firmly relying, Fear not, thou wilt reap the reward of the just - There's peace and there's pleasure-a comfort undying, Who, true to their conscience, make Heaven their trust. SOLEMN WARNINGS. STRAIGHT is the way from the grog-shop to the gallows. So many an awful decision of courts declare to us. In pronouncing sentence of death upon two young men for murder, Judge Edmunds said to the one- "It is our duty to pronounce upon you the sentence of death. In doing so, we cannot be unmindful of the cause of the ruin which has overwhelmed you: your habits of intemperance have done it all. For some ten years you have continually indulged in this miserable habit: it has driven from you your wife, who, there is much reason to believe, was taught by your example also to become intemperate. It caused the bloody death of your child in its infancy-it has made you a vagabond on the face of the earth, without a home and without a friend. "It has made you to be the frequent inmate of the peniten- tiary, and it has imbrued your hands in the blood of a fellow- creature, and now places you before us to receive from us the ignominious, sentence of death on the gallows. "All this you owe to the habit of intemperance, in which you have abundantly and perseveringly indulged. "Whatever may be the result of your conviction in this case, you are admonished by the awful condition in which you stand-- by the destruction which you have thus brought upon yourself, and upon every one connected with you-to repent of the cr'ne which is past, and to strive for a better and happier future." To the other he said- "Like the case of the wretched man who has just been sen- tenced in your presence, you owe your crime to your habits of intemperance. It Seems that you were once a respectable man, page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 THE TWO ROADS. but by such habits you have fallen from that condition, until you are arraigned at the bar of justice, to receive sentence of the highest penalty known to our laws. ," The circumstances which attend your crime forbid you to entertain any hope that your sentence will be mitigated. With- out provocation, and in the merest wantonness, you stabbed your victim to the heart, so that he immediately died, and that by means of a deadly weapon, with which you went constantly armed, and which you had often threatened to use before. You have thus made yourself an example of disorder and bloodshed, and the peace of society demands that you be made an example of the fearful consequences which must flow from such conduct." In pronouncing death upon another young man for arson, the judge said- "The history of this case shows that you have attained to a maturity in vice beyond your years, and your precocity in crime, and your coolness in its commission, can only be accounted for upon the supposition that your history for that evening previous to the fire is but an epitome of the history of your life; that you have been in the habit of going, night after night, from one billiard saloon to another, and from billiard-table to bowling- alley, partaking of the dissipations of each, until all moral sensi- bility and every right feeling had ceased to exist, conscience had been seared, and every base passion had been stimulated and excited to the utmost. "These places are the nurseries of crime-the very gates of perdition; and from among those who habitually resort to them, our State prisons are filled, and the gallows claims its victims. By them your ruin for this world has been accomplished, and sorrow and anguish unspeakable have been brought upon your family and friends. There are hundreds of others, the youth of our land, who are not yet lost, but who are treading in your foot- steps-rapidly travelling that downward road, the end of which you'have so soon reached-who should be warned by your fate, and stop now while yet they may. May they learn that neither happiness nor safety consists with a life of idleness and dissipation, and the way of the transgressor is hard, and that as they value their lives and their liberty, their interest for time and eternity, or the peace and happiness of their friends, they should resist the first temptation to dissipation and to crime!" The same judge, in sentencing a young man for cruelly mur- SOLEMN WARNINGS. 229 dering his wife, made use of the following language, which is well worthy of the serious attention of every youth:- "Upon this solemn occasion, it may not be unattended with good to advert to the cause which has reduced you to this de- plorable condition. This, by your own confession, was RUM. Within the last nine years, I have had eleven men arraigned be- fore me on indictments for murdering their wives, ten of which were drunkards. What stronger proof could be afforded of the deplorable consequences of intemperance? "These victims were urged on by it from one degree of de- pravity to another, till they were not only induced to imbue their hands in the blood of their fellow-beings, but to sacrifice the partners of their bosoms-those whom they rested under the strongest obligations to love, cherish, and protect. Instead of encircling them in their warmest affections, they deprived them of life, and they now lie mouldering in their graves. "'From my own experience, and the best information I have obtained, I am satisfied that three-fourths of the crimes com- mitted are consequent on intemperance. Drunkards crowd our penitentiaries, and our almshouses are filled with them, or with those who are brought to want by the intemperance of their natural protectors. In spite of the admonitions of wise and good men, victims of intemperance daily swell the throng, and the tide of misery consequent on it moves on, and will continue to move on, as long as like causes continue to produce like effects. "Were it a possible thing to portray the misery consequent upon the use of ardent spirits, from the first anxious look and suppressed sigh of parents and wives, through all the sickness, poverty, and crime attendant upon it-from the first disregard of the kind admonitions of friends, till the hands of the victims reek with the blood of their friends or partners of their bosoms- society would look with horror upon the scene. The counsel of the wise would not then be disregarded, nor the tears of nearest and dearest relations be shed in vain. Every young man would come to a fixed determination never to taste the accursed cup, and every old man would, to his example, add his influence to eradicate the blighting evil-an. evil which has swept one race of human beings from the land on which we live, and which at one time threatened to demoralize another." There are hundreds of cases of murder occurring yearly in our land, caused by the same agency, RUM, as the courts of justice bear record to; and nearly every sentence of a murderer is 20 page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] 230 THE TWO ROADS. couched in similar language. How amazing, then, that while the criminal courts are pronouncing such decisions, our laws should be filling our cities and towns with the places where our young men are thus made drunkards, and excited to the commission of the most horrid crimes! Yet so it is. Will it always be so? For the sake of humanity, we trust not. BRIGHT WATER FOR ME. OH, water for me-bright water for me! And wine for the tremulous debauchee! It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain, It maketh the faint one strong again; Its comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea; All freshness, like infant purity. Oh water, bright water, for me, for me! Give wine, give wine to the debauchee! Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim! Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim: For my hand is steady, my eye is true, For I, like the flowers, drink nought but dew. Oh! water, bright water's a mine of wealth, And the ores it yieldeth are vigour and health. So water, pure water, for me, for me! And wine for the tremulous debauchee! Fill again to the brim-again to the brim! For water strengthens life and limb ;- To the days of the aged it addeth length, To the might of the strong it addeth strength; It freshens the heart, it brightens the sight- 'Tis like quaffing a goblet of morning light. So water, I'll drink nQught but thee, Thou parent of health and energy! When o'er the hills, like a gladsome bride, Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride, And leading a band of laughing hours, Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers; SPURN NOT THE GUILTY. 231 Oh! cheerily then my voice is heard, Mingling with that of the soaring bird Who fingeth abroad his matins loud, As he freshens his wing on the cold gray cloud. But when evening has quitted his sheltering yew, Drowsily flying, and weaving anew, Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea, How gently, O Sleep, fall thy poppies on me! For I drink water, pure, cold, and bright, And my dreams are of heaven the livelong night. So hurrah for thee, water, hurrah, hurrah! Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star, Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah! SPURN NOT THE GUILTY. SCORN not the man whose spirit feels The curse of guilt upon it rest! Upon whose brain the hideous seals Of crime and infamy are prest: Spurn not the lost one-nor in speech More cold and withering than despair, Of stern, relentless vengeance preach- For he thy lesson will not bear! But if a soul thou wouldst redeem, And lead a lost one back to God, Wouldst thou a guardian angel seem To one who long in guilt hath trod- Go kindly to him-take his hand, With gentle words, within thine own, And by his side a brother stand Till thou the demon sin dethrone. ij oHe is a man, and he will yield Like snows beneath the torrid ray, And his strong heart, though fiercely steeled, Before the breath of love give way. He had a mother once, and felt A mother's kiss upon his cheek, And at her knee at evening knelt, The prayer of innocence to speak. page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 THE TWO ROADS. A mother!-aye! and who shall say, Though sunk, debased, he now may be, That spirit may not wake to-day Which filled him at his mother's knee? No guilt so utter e'er became, But mid it we some good might find, And virtue, through the deepest shame, Still feebly lights the darkest mind. Scorn not the drunkard, then, but plead With him in kindest, gentlest mood, And back the lost one thou mayst lead To God, humanity, and good! Thou art thyself but man, and thou Art weak, perchance to fall as he! Then mercy to the fallen show, That mercy may be shown to thee! [Mrs. C. M. Sawyer. THE MOURNING FATHER. IN a beautiful valley in Virginia might have been seen, a few years ago, one of the most interesting and happy families which ever graced the Old Dominion. Mr. L. had inherited from his father a beautiful plantation, on which he and a large circle of brothers and sisters had been well trained under the good old dis-, cipline which at that time reigned there. Being the oldest son, he came into possession of the homestead, married a lady of great wealth and beauty, and seemed for a time to be in possession of an earthly paradise. His first-born was a son of great promise, and his father looked upon him with pride, as destined to main- tain, for future years, the family dignity. But, alas! the de- stroyer was there. Every day, at the dinner-table, Master Frank must drink his glass of wine, and occasionally, when strangers were present, an extra one or so; and so gracefully did he do the honours of the hour that he became the subject of general commendation. At the age of fifteen he was sent to the uni- versity, but he left it with the drunkard's appetite. His mother, previously to his leaving home, had noticed with anxiety his growing fondness for his glass, his peevishness and irritability THE MOURNING FATHER. 233 when it was not readily furnished, and his unnatural gayety and rudeness when he had drunk freely. She mentioned her fears to her husband, who laughed at the thought of the boy ever becom- ing a drunkard--said he was a noble, frank-hearted fellow, and would one day be the glory of his house. At the expiration of a year he returned home from the university ;but-oh, how changed ' While absent, he had fallen into a circle of gay and dissipated companions, who did little but drink; his constitution, feeble at the best, was failing before his midnight carousals and daily per- plexities, and he was pale and wan, and showed marks of early fading, if not of premature death. His fond father attributed his altered appearance to hard study; and the family physician, fond himself of the glass, prescribed the best of wine and brandy for his recovery. By this means his already ravenous appetite was fed, though he rose by his recreation to some degree of rigour and spirit. In a few weeks he returned to the university, where after a drunken frolic, he struck one of the faculty, and was sent home in disgrace. The family considered themselves grossly in- sulted, and took sides with the boy. Study was abandoned. Horses and fishing, gunning and wine parties were the order of the day; but it was too much for the lad, and his constitution soon gave way. One drunken fit followed another. Often did he fall, from his midnight carousals, upon his father's floor, whence he was carried by the servants to his room. The hollow cheek the glassy eye, the hectic cough, .the feeble limbs, soon told that he was destined for the grave; and before he reached his nine- teenth year he was no more. He was buried in the family yard, and his father had erected a handsome tomb to his memory-but that father's heart was broken. His beloved boy had died a drunkard! Day after day would ho go to the grave, and there stand and think of his Francis. Tears would course down his cheeks as he thought of him in his lovely childhood-of what he might have been, had he been properly trained, and of the end to which he had come by the intoxicating cup. 1"O cruel grave!" he would say, "to swallow up all my hope. O my son! my son! would God I had died for thee, mv francis, my son!?' And now, dear youth, think of the heart-broken father among 2 O -? page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] -234 THE TWO ROADS. the tombs; which of you would be willing that it should be your father, and that on your tombstone it should be written--"He died a drunkard?"Remember, it may be so, if you drink of the intoxicating cup. There is no security for you unless you spurn it from your lips, and come to the unwavering, firm determination that never, never will you bring a father's gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. THE BIRD'S SONG. I ASKED a sweet Robin one morning in May, Who sang in the apple-tree, over the way, What 'twas she was singing so sweetly about, For I'd tried a long time, but could not find out:-- "Why, I'm sure," she replied, " you cannot guess wrong, Don't you know I'm singing a temperance song? "Tee-to-tal! oh that's the first word of my lay, And then, don't you see how I rattle away; 'Tis because I've just dipp'd my beak in the spring, And brushed the face of the fair lake with my wing; Cold water! cold water! yes that is my song, And I love to keep singing it all the day long. "And now, my sweet miss, won't you give me a crumb For the -dear little nestlings waiting at home? And one thing beside: since my story you've heard, I hope you'll remember the lay of the bird; And never forget, while you list to my song, All the birds to the cold-water army belong." CRIME-ENGENDERING CITIES. THE time was when the excitement of the city's bustle, stir, and variety were as necessary to us as the tippler's glass is to him, and we were uneasy, restless when chance took us into the quiet country. We used to think with Dr. Johnson, that the only pleasure connected with going to the country was the pleasure of coming back again to town. But our feelings have changed CRIME-ENGENDERING CITIES. 235 wonderfully. We think of the great city as of a vast moral cru- cible, in which character is tried and destinies are determined- where, while the few prosper, the many fail-where to the tens who find success and happiness, thousands are wrecked and stranded for ever. Instead of gazing on the palaces of luxurious wealth, and thinking of the gayety and show within, we are oftener drawn to contemplate the cheerless cellars and garrets in which the poor the unfortunate, the debased, struggle to keep soul and body together a little longer. We think of the thousands of children who are compelled by hunger to become beggars, or misled by want and the vicious example of degraded parents to become thieves and plunderers. And as we see them issue forth from their dens to beg or steal, we ask in anguish of spirit , Who is the corrupter and slayer of these poor reatures?" How is it possible that from such circumstances as theirs any thing should come forth but a pestiferous harvest of misery and guilt? It is a terrible thing when a large proportion of the children of any community are compelled to be vicious and wicked -when no means but unlawful and debasing ones exist for procuring the necessaries of life--when they must steal or starve. It is terrible when the criminals of society can turn upon us and say, "You made us what we are. We were the offspring of vicious parents. You left us in their hands to drink in with our mother's milk the belief that it was not duly not wrong, but meritorious, to live by cunning, falsehood, and theft. No mother ever prayed for us. No father ever warned! us against vice and crime. Father and m other both corrupted us byprecept and example. No friendly influence interposed to save us from the polluting sway of our unfortunate circumstances in childhood. And here we are at your criminal bar charged with rioting and drunkenness, with burglary, with counterfeiting, with murder. The stream of early influences carried us here. It was not our choice, but our destiny, to become the pests of society. Oh why, foreseeing this, did you not interpose to save us ?"Such might be the language of thou sands ; and what can we say but plead guilty, and hang ou r h eads for v ery shame. In our great cities there is much that is generous, good, and page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 THEf TWO ROADS. noble. Many a deed of mercy is entered upon the recording angel's book. But, alas! how utterly have we failed to reach the masses of the poor, the depraved, who crowd the byways of our metropolis, and constantly increase their numbers and' sink lower in the scale of morality! And fail we must, notwithstanding the zeal of the Christian and philanthropist to ameliorate the condition of the degraded masses, while our very laws license men to make drunkards, who, in turn, are the fathers and mothers of the evils we deplore. CRUSH NOT THE FALLEN. CRUSH not the fallen! be thy hand Stretched forth to aid them-not to smite; Love's smouldering coals, by kindness fanned, Will soon make rusted virtues bright; And generous deeds may yet reclaim The erring from the depths of shame. Perchance, when first their course begun, Dame Fortune showered her gifts benign, And bright hopes in the future hung Their rainbow hues o'er each design; While Care, with hasty hand, afar Was scattering seeds their peace to mar. Crush not the fallen! bitterly i They may oft sigh; they may oft weep; Over an ill-starred destiny Shed hopeless tears when others sleep; Their joys, hopes, bruised affections, all Now shrouded 'neath one dismal pall. Crush not the fallen! the proud sneer, Angry rebuke, or harsh command, Will only the more deeply sear A hardened breast; while manners bland And accents mild oft moist the eye, And utterance choke beyond reply. Crush not the fallen! from thy breast Expel Compassion's numerous foes; THE TEMPERANCE REFORM. 237 Sweet Pity conmes, an angel guest, With balm to soothe life's poignant woes- Sent down, through feeling souls, to bless The sorrowing, the comfortless.--[Eleanor Rowe. THE TEMPERANCE REFORM. Charles. It is truly gratifying, William to witness the great exertions-now making by the friends of temperance in our com- munity. William. Yes, Charles; but the success they meet with is not such as the cause is deserving of. Chas. Still there is something doing; and you must recollect that the work is a mighty one, and not to be accomplished in a day. The most zealous in the cause would think themselves amply repaid for their labours, could they even look forward to the next generation for a consummation of their wishes. Wmn. I am well aware that the undertaking is a great one, and know that the temperance men have not only the opposition of the drunken mob and moderate drinkers to contend with, but also those panderers of iniquity, the rumsellers, who feast and glut themselves upon the hard earnings of the inebriate, whom they unjustly rob while professing to be his friends, when in reality they are his greatest enemies. Chas. Notwithstanding this great opposition, I see much to cheer them on in their beneficent work of redeeming their fel- low-men, and placing them in a respectable position of society again. IyWm. Oh that the thousands of drunkards, in their sober mo- ments, could be brought seriously to reflect on their situation and of the way in which they are hastening! But, reckless of themselves and those lthat follow after them, they are rushing headlong down a precipice over which the finger of Heaven has inscribed, "Eternal death !" Chas. Alas! that man should become so lost as to desert parents, kindred, and home, and place themselves below the ?O page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] 238 THE TWO ROADS. brute creation, by the use of this liquid fire, which converts them into fiends and murderers! Wm. Such men are murderers: they murder themselves and all who are influenced by their example. Chas. And yet they are truly to be pitied, though there are many persons who think them undeserving of it. Wm. I hope such persons are but few. We should never tire in our efforts to save these poor wrecks of humanity. . Occa- sionally one is snatched as a brand from the burning, and our rejoicings on such occasions should be like the rejoicings over the returned prodigal. Chas. Very true, William; and it is cheering to know that the evils of intemperance have come at last to arrest, to a great extent, the attention of a large portion of the community; and I rejoice to think that these exertions for its suppression will not be relaxed, till the very name of drunkard shall become a strange and unknown sound. John. That's a fact, Charley; and the temperance boys will have a hand in that work. The temperance men say that it will remain for us to fight the great fight with old Alchy. When we get at him, he may expect no quarters. Wm. No, no, John; no quarters to the old sinner: his crimes being numberless, it would be frivolous in him to expect it. Chas. I am afraid you are too sanguine, boys, however de- voutly I wish for its final success. Much, very much remains to be accomplished before this bright period will dawn upon our land. John. Cheer up, Charley; never despair! Look at the im- mense army of cold water boys throughout our Union, who are daily increasing. Why, we are becoming so numerous, that our name will soon be Legion! Wm. There cannot be any doubt, Charley, that our order is destined to accomplish much in the temperance cause, and it is not to be expected that the land will ever be free from the traffic in liquor; still, there is little doubt that the state of society can be brought back to primitive days. John. As for my part, I don't .doubt it in the least; and I think if Charley looked at the right side, he would think so too THE TEMPERANCE REFORM. 239 But he looks only at our city and county, where the morals of thousands of boys of our age are certainly in a most depraved condition, which might be easily cured, if the men who are sworn to fulfil the laws had the heart to do it. This state of society is another of the effects of rum. It has even affected the most sacred rights of our fathers-" the balot-1box." Those whoseduty it is to better this condition of things are afraid lest, by so doing, they might lose the votes of the parents of the very chil- dren who are daily going to ruin. Chas. I must confess, John, that it is this state of things at home which often causes doubts to rise in my mind of the ulti- mate success of the temperance cause. I am entirely ignorant of the progress of the temperance order in other cities. John. I should be very sorry to take our city, as at present, for a criterion; still, I don't despair of seeing, at no distant day, many of these bojys reclaimed. If our boys would throw a little more zeal and energy into the good work, we might soon double our numbers, and be the means of saving many who are in the broad road to ruin. CLas. Notwithstanding my fears, John, I would not have you to think that I entirely despair of the cause forotI do not: I only wish that more could be effected than is at present. Win. Patience, Charley, patience: all will be right one of these days. You forget that you admitted just now that the temperance men have much to cheer them in their good work. Chas. I know I did; but still I wish more was doing. John. There is a vast deal bore doing throughout the Union than was ever dreamt of in a day. I tell you I was just wish- ing, boys, before I met you, that this old King Alcohol was real flesh and blood, and at the head of his army of superannuated and miserable rummies, with all the distillers and vendors of "blue ruin" as his field and staff, how I should like to be com- mander-in-chief of the cold water boys of our country, and that a real battle was to be fought! Whew! there wouldn't be a battle on record--not even excepting Orleans or Buena Vista-that could compare with it; for each of us would prove himself a David in the fight! There would be an end to old Alchy and his followers after that!--mind, I tell you. page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] 240 THE TWO ROADS. Cias. You are a droll fellow, John; but rather more elated, I think, than the occasion warrants. Supposing the old fellow, finding himself hardly pressed, and likely to get the worst of the fight, should be able to intrench himself in a strong position, behind his rum-forts and fortifications, what would you then do with your army of cold water boys? John. What would we do then? Do as many of our fathers and kindred once did-give him a second edition of "CHA- PULTEPEC!" He and his army couldn't stand that! No keep- ing us out of his strongholds! Chas. I see there is no getting over you, John, you are of such a combustible nature-fire and tow, with a sprinkle of gunpowder! John. Cold water is my principal ingredient, for I expect to effect more good with that article than with either of those you have just named; and I tell you what, Charley, I want other proofs than mere words to convince me that the cause is not progressing. What say you, William? Wm. I am satisfied that it is progressing, and that thousands are not only offering up their prayers, but using every effort for the prosperity of the Temperance Reform. SOWING AND REAPING. "Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." WHO are sowing? who are sowing? These young children now at play; And the scattered seeds are growing Night by night, and day by day! Some with fruitful grain are shooting; Some will only weeds produce, Which, alas, will need uprooting, Ere the soil be fit for use! Who are sowing? Those just leaving Childhood and its sports behind. Hearts with golden visions heaving, Are they sowing to the wind? THE WIDOW'S SON. 241 If they toil, on Christ relying, If his glory be their aim, They may hope, with joy undying, They shall reap immortal fame. Who are sowing? Those expending Manhood's years for objects vain; Earth beyond, no thought extending, What shall be their future gain? Who are sowing? Those still clinging To the dregs of life misspent- Tares around their footsteps springing, Earnest of their doom present. Who are sowing? who are sowing? Children, manhood, youth, and age, And the scattered seeds are growing, Putting forth at every stage; All along life's pathway springing, Bearing fruit, or flower, or weed On the air their odour flinging, Either for our bane or need. Soon will dawn the day of reaping- Soon the gathering-time will come When each seed, its promise keeping, All shall bear their harvest home. THE WIDOWS SON. SHE had but one-a blue-eyed boy,- And well she loved the gentle child; He was her pride-her hope and joy- His voice the weary hours beguiled; Those tones, to her more music bore Than notes of far-famed minstrelsy, And brighter than eve's sparkling gems, The love-light in his beauteous eye. Often at solemn watch of night, When darkness gathered o'er the earth, They bowed in attitude of prayer Together at the cottage hearth; 21 page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] 242 THE TWO ROADS. Or when the moonlight softly lay, Like fairy sheen, on folded flowers, The mother and her blue-eyed boy Sought out the garden's silent bowers, And on the evening air was heard Sweet hymns of gratitude and praise, Or plaintive melodies of yore- The treasured songs of other days. * * * Years fled-the boy to manhood grew, And now the mother claimed his care; He smoothed for her the path of age, And scattered love's sweet blossoms there. And she, now bowed with weight of years, The widowed and forsaken one- had none on earth for whom to live, Save this, her only darling son. But oh! the subtile tempter came With winning look and syren tone; Too soon the joys of love were dead- Too soon the mother's hope were flown! * * * Alas! the wine-cup's fatal power Bereft the heart of all its joy; And oft in midnight solitude She mourned the absence of her boy; And day by day she sat alone With folded hands and tearful eye And watched his coming-but in vain- Then laid in sorrow down to die! She calmly sleeps to wake no more, And cypress branches o'er her wave; Her blue-eyed boy is by her side- The tenant of a drunkard's grave! [Mrs. E. C. Loomis. TEMPERANCE MEETING IN A BAR-ROOM. THOMAS LE RoY was a mechanic, who, by industry and economy, had saved enough to buy himself a neat little cottage, with ground for a garden, and pasturage for a cow. Early in the mornings, -j TEMPERANCE MEETING IN A BAR-ROOM. 243 before he went to his work, he gave an hour or two during the summer months to improving and beautifying his little home- stead. All his fences were in perfect order; the shrubbery nicely trimmed, and the vines trained-in the neatest manner. Every one said that the grounds around his cottage were better kept than any in the neighbourhood. When remarks of this kind came to the ears of Le Roy, which was frequently the case, he felt highly gratified, and was stimulated to increased efforts. But the mechanic, with all his industry and thrift, had one fault, and that a very bad one, for it was a fault that increased by indulgence. He would take his glass occasionally, and would visit at least two or three times a week the village tavern, to meet a few acquaintances and talk over the news. This habit troubled his wife, who had in her own family seen and felt the evil effects of intemperance, and shrank with an instinctive fear from even the shadow of the monster. Once or twice she had hinted at the character of her feelings, but the effect produced on the nind of her husband was surprise and displeasure. He felt in no danger and was hurt that his wife could ever dream of such a thing as his falling into habits of intemperance. At first, Le Roy's visits to the tavern were rarely oftener than once a week, and then he never drank more than a single glass. He went more for the pleasant company he found there. But in process of time, two evenings in the week saw the mechanic at the tavern; and it generally took two glasses of\ an evening to satisfy his increasing desire for liquor. Three evenings and three glasses were the next progressive steps, and so on, until he no longer felt contented a single evening in the week. The tavern-keeper, whose name was Stephen Miller, had com- menced his liquor-selling business some ten years before, and was then about the poorest man in the village. He was poor, because he was too lazy to work steadily at his trade, which was that of a house-carpenter. At first he opened in a miserable little shanty of a place, with a few jugs of liquor, and some bad groceries to tempt people to his shop.. He didn't seem to do a great deal, but somehow or other, at the end of the year he was able to buy the furniture of one of the taverns in the village, which was sold at the death of the owner, and assume the responsibility of a public. page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 THE TWO ROADS. house for the entertainment of travellers. People wondered. They could not understand it. How a man who never seemed to have more than fifty dollars worth of things in his shop, could save up three or four hundred dollars in a year-passed their simple comprehension. None but he knew how many glasses and pints were sold in a day, nor how much profit was made on every dram. Two years after this the tavern stand was sold. Miller was the purchaser, and paid down a thousand dollars of the purchase- money! It was a mystery to every one how a man who had before been so thriftless, should now be getting along so fast. A couple of years more, and Miller bought a farm in the neigh- bourhood, that one of his best customers, who had fallen into in- temperate habits, had neglected, and who, in the end, found him- self obliged to sell out. Some people began to open their eyes after this. It was plain enough that Jones had lost his property through drunkenness; though all did not see so plainly that in becoming its owner, Miller did not render back to the community in which he lived any equivalent use. Not long after this, the house and acre lot of another good customer went into the hands of the sheriff, and Miller was the purchaser. "What was Steve Miller looking about here for this afternoon?" asked Mrs. Le Roy of her husband, one evening when he came home to supper. "I'm sure I don't know," replied the mechanic. "Looking about here?" "Yes, he came along with another man, and stood looking at the house, and talked for some time; and then they both went round and looked over the fence into the garden. I was ashamed to have them do so, for every thing is neglected to what it used to be." Le Roy made some indifferent answer, merely to satisfy his wife, who seemed worried by the incident. But the fact men- tioned produced an unpleasant impression on his mind. "I wonder what business he has spying about my place," said he to himself, "I don't owe him any thing." The satisfaction with which he uttered the last part of the sentence was rather diminished by the recollection that his bill at TEMPERANCE MEETING IN A BAR-ROOM. 245 the store had been suffered to run up until it amounted to over sixty dollars, and that he owed the shoemaker nearly twenty more. Debts like these had never before been permitted to accumulate. After supper he was led by his inclination, as usual, to the bar-room of Miller, which was always well filled with pleasant companions. His wife saw him depart with troubled feelings. She was, alas! too well aware that he had entered the downward road, and that his steps were on the way to ruin. Just off from the bar-room of Miller's tavern was a little par- lour, and Le Roy not feeling very social on that particular even- ing, took his glass of liquor and newspaper, and sat apart from the rest of the company at a table close to the door of this par-' lour, which stood ajar. He became directly aware that the land- lord was in the next room conversing with some one in an under- tone, and as he heard his own name mentioned, he felt excused for listening attentively to all that was said. "Things don't look as tidy around him as they used to," remarked the person who was talking with Miller. "Not by any means. I was told this was the case, and walked over to-day to see for myself. Evidently he is running down fast. I asked Phillips about him a little while ago, and he told me that his bill at the store was sixty dollars. In former times he never owed a cent." "He'll go to the dogs before long." "I presume so. Well, I shall keep my eye on that little place of his. I always had a fancy for it, and would like to get it at a bargain when it goes off, as it will have to before a great while." "You buy a good deal of property?" "Yes." "What did you pay for Shriver's place?" "Nine hundred dollars." "No more!" "No, Shriver refused once to my certain knowledge, sixteen hundred for it." "He let it run down shamefully." "Oh yes," replied the tavern-keeper. "He became a mere sot, and neglected every thing. I wouldn't trust him now for a three-cent glass of whiskey. Iis place was sold, of course and 1 21* page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 THE TWO ROADS. bought it at a bargain. I wouldn't take this hour an advance of four hundred dollars on the purchase. It's always best to buy property that has been suffered by a drunken fellow to run down for a few years. It gets to look a great deal worse than it really is, and you're sure to buy a bargain." "No doubt, you'll have Le Roy's place in the end, under this system." "To a moral certainty. In about two years he will have to sell; and see if I am not the man who buys. I want that place for my daughter Jane. As soon as I get it, I will pull down the little kitchen and build a dining-room fifteen feet square, where It stands. Half of the garden I will put in a green lawn; and make an orchard of the pasture-ground. You'll hardly know the place in a year after I'm the owner," Le Roy waited to hear no more. Rising up quickly he left the bar-room without speaking to any one, and started homeward. "Have my place!" he muttered to himself as he hurried along, clenching his fist and setting his teeth firmly as he spoke. "Have my place! We will see!" On reaching his home, and entering suddenly, Le Roy found his wife sitting by her little work-table, with her face bent down and buried in her hands. She looked up quickly at the sound of his footsteps, and he saw that tears were on her cheeks. "Why, Anna! what's the matter?" he inquired. "Oh, nothing," she replied, evasively, trying to smile. Le Roy looked at her for some moments earnestly, and as he did so, the truth flashed over his mind. She too saw as clearly as the tavern-keeper that he was on the road to ruin! "Anna,"-Le Roy spoke seriously, yet with earnestness, and a tone of affection and confidence-"Anna, I have found out why Steve Miller was spying about here to-day." a' Why?" He wants the place for his daughter Jane." Mrs. Le Roy looked bewildered. "He thinks that in about two years, I will run it down so that he will be able to get it for about half its value. He was looking to see how much progress I had made in the road to ruin, and thinks the prospect for his getting the place in about two years TEMPERANCE MEETING IN A BAR-ROOM. 247 very fair. lIe will tear down the kitchen and build a handsome dining-room in its place, and so improve the grounds that it would hardly be known as the same spot in a year. But, Anna, he'll fi* d himself Bfatah,,! r^.ltu " year. But) Anna, he'll find himself mistaken! I've got my eyes open. Not while I am living shall Steve Miller own this property 1" Tears of thankfulness -gushed from the eyes of Mrs. Le Roy, as she said-. "Oh, what a mountain you have taken from my heart!" On the next day, Le Roy related to every acquaintance he met the conversation he had heard while in Miller's bar-room; and these told the story to others, so that, before evening, it was all over the village. "Let's go there in a crowd to-night," suggested one, "and organize a temperance society in the bar-room." The suggestion struck the fancy of all who heard it. That night the bar-room of the tavern-keeper was filled to overflowing. Miller was at first delighted, though a little surprised that no one called for liquor, and at the air of business that sat upon every countenance. "I move that Le Roy take the chair,- said one. The mechanic was handed to the post of hohour, when he related minutely the occurrences and conversation of the day previous; and then said that the object of the meeting was to organize a temperance society, afid thus prevent the tavern keeper from getting all their propert. "I can assure the gentleman," said he, in closing, "cthat his daughter Jane will never live in my place while I have breath in my body." "My hand to that!" was echoed by a dozen voices around the The society was regularly formed, the pledge signed by every individual present, and a vote of thanks to the landlord passed for the use of his bar-room. Five minutes afterward, he occupied it alone. Stephen Miller's affairs were never afterward as prosperous as "they had been. But, fewer estates run down in the village--. fewer families are reduced to beggary. t page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 248 THE TWO ROADS. SUMMER'S BACCHANAL. FILL the cup from some secretest fountain, Under granite ledges, deep and low, Where the crystal vintage of the mountain Runs in foam from dazzling fields of snow! Some lost stream, that in a woodland hollow Coils, to sleep its weariness away, Hid from prying stars, that fain would follow, In the emerald glooms of hemlock spray. Fill, dear friend, a goblet cool and sparkling As the sunlight of October morns- Not for us the crimson wave, that darkling Stains the lips of olden drinking-horns I We will quaff, beneath the noontide glowing, Draughts of nectar, sweet as faery dew: Couch'd on ferny banks, where light airs blowing, Shake the leaves between us and the blue. We will pledge, in breathless, long libation, All we have been, or have sworn to be- Fame, and Joy, and Love's dear adoration- Summer's lusty bacchanals are we Fill again, and let our goblets, clashing, Stir the feathery ripples on the brim: Let the light, within their bosoms flashing, Leap like youth to every idle limb Round the white roots of the fragrant lily ' And the mossy hazels, purple-stain'd, Once the music of these waters chilly Gave return for all the sweetness drain'd. How that rare, delicious, woodland flavour Mock'd my palate in the fever hours, When I pined for springs of coolest savour, As the burning Earth for thunder-showers! In the wave, that through my madden'd dreaming FIow'd to cheat me, fill the cups again! THE GOLDEN BOWL BROKEN. 249 Drink dear friend, to Life which is not seeming-- Fresh as this to Manhood's heart and brain! Fill, fill high! and while our goblets, ringing, Shine with vintage of the mountain snow, Youth's bright Fountain, clear and blithely springing, Brims our souls to endless overflow! [J: Bayard Ta lor. THE GOLDEN BOWL BROKEN. 'TWAS midnight, and he sat alone- The husband of the dead: That day the dark dust had been thrown Upon her buried head; Her orphan'd children round him slept, But in their sleep would moan: Then fell the first tear he had wept- He felt he was alone. The world was full of life and light, But, ah, no more for him! His little world, once warm and bright, It now was cold and dim; Where was her sweet and kindly face? Where was her cordial tone? He gazed around his dwelling-place, And felt he was alone. The lovely wife-maternal care-- The self-denying zeal- The smile of hope that chased despair, And promised future weal; The clean, bright hearth-nice table spread- The charm o'er all things thrown- The sweetness in whate'er she said- All gone: he was alone! He look'd into his cold, wild heart, All sad and unresign'd;j He ask'd how he had done his part To one so true--so kind? page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 250 & THE TWO ROADS. Each error past he tried to track- If torture would atone- Would give his life to bring her back- In vain : he was alone! He slept at last, and then he dream'd, (Perchance her spirit woke,) A soft light o'er his pillow gleam'd- A voice in music spoke: "Forgot, forgiven all neglect, Thy love recall'd alone; The babes I love, oh love, protect! I still am all thine own." THE AUGER-HOLE IN THE CHMNEY. I SEE in the Portland papers, that some chaps in that city has formed a temperance society, called the "Telegraphic Spike So- ciety." They drove a spike, into a stump, and agreed that the first one who gits drunk is to pull it out with his teeth, or to pay a forfeit of ten dollars. That Spike Club puts me in mind of anrauger-hole I seed once in Georgia. I was travellin up the' Cherokee country, on sum business, and I stopped to stay all night at the house of a farmer that lived close by the road. The family was composed of a man, his wife, and a son about twenty, and two beautiful, black-eyed daughters, about sixteen and eighteen years old. They were very plain people, and lived in a hewed log-house; but every thing about 'em was neat and clean, and the place looked like they were get- ting along right smart. After supper was over-and I shall never forget the nice fried sassages and good coffee and cream they gin me--Mr. Bryars, for that was the old man's name, ax'd me if I wouldn't jine him in a little chat by the fire, and a pipe, before gwine to bed. Of course, I had no objection, specially as I seed the gals was gittin out their nittin-work, and was gwine to be of the party. We tuck our split-bottom chairs and drew up to the bright, blazin, lightwood fire-it was hog-killen time, and monstrous cold for the season-and fell to talkin about the price of cotton and THE AUGER-IOLE IN THI CHMNEY. 251 the craps, and the news, and sich, and smoked our long cane. handle pipes, while the old woman and the gals listened to us and went on with their work. Bimeby I noticed, right in the middle of the big hewed log over the fireplaces one of the biggest sorts of auger-holes. The mantel-piece above was fixed off with ornaments, and the very wall itself looked like it had been scowered and sanded that very day, it was so whiteand clean. The big, dark auger-hole, looked so monstrous ugly, whar every thing was so nice and tasty, and I couldn't help but wonder what upon yearth they had left it thar for, right in the middle of the chimney-piece, whar everybody could see it. I spose I looked at it pretty hard, for bimeby I seed Miss Fanny, the oldest gal, sort o' smile at her sister, and then they kind o' held down their heads, and stole the mischievousest glances at one another I ever seed. Thinks I, what upon yearth's that auger-hole for? and I looked at it sideways while I talked to Mr. Bryars, and tried to keep one eye on the gals, to see what they was up to. "I see," ses Mrs. Bryars, - that you're wonderin what that ugly big auger-hole is doing up thar in my chimney-piece." ' Well, that's a fact," ses I. "I couldn't think what it pould be thar for, if it ain't for the gals to hang up their stockins on, Both the gals blushed dredful, and Mr. Bryars took a good} "No, it ain't for that," ses he. "It's a fact, it's in a mon. strous conspicuous place, and spiles the looks of the fireplace, and bothers the gals terribly. But, sir, that's one of the great- est auger-holes that was ever bored." Thinks I, what in thunder's in that auger-hole more'n any other? and I got up, and looked at it close. The way the gals did laugh! It was a two-inch auger-hole, and about three inches deep. "I don't see any thing but a common auger-hole," ses Iput. ting my finger into it. "Well. sir," said Mr. Bryars, "that auger-hole is worth a fortin to m e; and I don't believe all the money in Georgia could page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] 252 THE TWO BOADS. buy it from this family. Could it, old woman?" ses he, chuckin his old wife under the chin, who had laid her nittin in her lap, and was lookin at the auger-hole, with a smile on her face that ; made her look almost as handsome as her daughters. "No," ses she; " that ugly hole has been a blessin to us, in- deed;" and I thought I seed a tear standing in her eye, and her voice sort o' trembled. By this time, my curiosity was up to a terrible pitch, to know what was the mystery about the auger-hole. "What's about it," ses I, "that makes it worth mor'n any other auger-hole?" i Well, I'll tell you," ses Mr. Bryars, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and handing it to his youngest daughter to put away. "That auger-hole has been the salvation of this family. It's now fifteen years since I settled on this place. I cum here from Burke county, whar I was owner of one of the best cotton plan- tations in the State, and as likely a set o' niggers as was to be found anywhar. In old Burke, when I was a young man, every- body used to keep spirits in their houses; and it was a common thing to treat one's friends with a good glass of toddy, whenever they cum to see us, and give the family bitters all around in the morning. I needn't hardly tell you that I soon got a likinfor drink, and that drink soon got the better of me, and that the end of it was, I was a ruined man before my oldest daughter thar was five years of age. I was sold out by the sheriff. I got a kind of an idee in my head that the world didn't use me right, and that there was no use in my trying to get along, no how; so the only satisfaction I had was to drink like a beast. I was a mise- rable devil then, and used to make every one miserable about me. . Mrs. Bryars put her hand to her face, to hide a tear that was rollin down her cheeks, and the- gals stopped their nittin and sot thar, and looked in the fire, without sayin a word. 4"My wife had a little cummin to her from her father's estate, and her friends made out to save enough from my debts to move us up here, and buy this little place; and I promised to do better when I got out of my old hants. Our beginnin here was a mon- strous poor one; but wife's spirit wasn't broke yet, and my boy THE AUGER-HOLE IN THE CHIINEY. 253 was gettin big enough to help me a little; so we went to work to build up a new home in the woods, in good earnest. We went on a while very well; till one day I went to town to the electon, and thar I got drunk, and didn't cum home for three days, till they all thought I was murdered, and sent my little boy to try to find me. When I cum home, I felt monstrous bad; I had broke all my promises, and I couldn't bear to look my poor wife in the face.' But she forgive me, and I promised agin. This time I made out to go to town twice and cum home sober; but the third time I got drunk, and got into a fight, which like to cost me my life. Well, after my wife nursed me up again, I thought I would never touch another drap of infernal spirits, and I didn't for about three months. One day I went to town with my horse and wagon, to sell a load of fodder. I sold the fodder and got the money, and the man I sold it to sed I must take a glass with him on the bargain. Well, I hung out for a while, but he stuck to me so hard that bimeby I give in, and we tuck two or three drinks. The next thing that I knowed of myself, I waked up in a shuck-pen about a mile from town, on my way home. Wagon, and horses, and all my money, was gone, and even my shoes was missin. Some of the Murrelites, that used to be about here, no doubt, cum across me so drunk that I didn't know whar nor who I was, and just cleaned me out of every thing I had, and put me in the shuck-pen, to keep the hogs from eatin me. "When my wife and boy come and found me in that shuck- pen, if I'd had a weapon about me, I do believe I'd tuck my own life on the spot. But they got me home and put me to bed, whar I laid about a week, wantin to die worse'n I wanted to get well before. But Sally she stuck by me, and nursed me, till I was able to git up agin. I know'd it was no use for me to promise any more to her, and she never ax'd me to do it. That made me feel monstrous bad, and I tried to think what I could do to make her have confidence in me agin. One night while .I was sick the thought struck me. The next mornin I got up and went out to the shop, and got the biggest auger I had, and cum into the house, and without sayin a word, I walked up to the fire- place and commenced borin that hole"- "That auger-hole?" ses I. 22 k- page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] 254 THE TWO ROADS. "Yes, sir; that very identical auger-hole. While I was borin away, Sally cum in the room. Seein what I was at, she raised up er hands-' Name o' sense, James!' ses she, 'have you lost your senses?' I bored away, while she stood and looked at me, without sayin a word. 'Thar!' ses I, pullin out the auger when I was done, (when that hole grows up, then I'll take another glass of spirits.' Sally seed into my idee at once, and puttin her arms around my neck, cried like a child. I cried a little, too, and maybe I kissed Sally a time or two. But that's mor'n ten years ago, and the auger-hole ain't growed up yet." "And you"- Haint tetched a drop of liquor from that day to this." "Well," ses I, A if all auger-holes could have the same good effect, it's a pity but one could be bored over every hearth-stone in the country." "It's an ugly ornament, sir, but it's a faithful monitor." uI suppose you haint lost no more horses and wagons sense?" "No; fortune has smiled on us from that day. If we ain't rich, we're as well off as our neighbours with the same chance; and now, instead of being miserable and degraded, we are a happy and contented family." "You may well call it the greatest auger-hole that was ever bored." "With us, it's cum to be a sort of household deity. It's always thar, like a never-sleepin eye, to watch over our actions, reminding us of the Past, and warnin us of the Future!" Sense my night with my Cherokee friend, there's been lots of good done for the temperance cause by Father Mathew, and the Washingtonians, and the Sons of Temperance; but I don't believe, among 'em all, thar was a better temperance man than James Bryars, or that there ever, was a pledge better stuck to than he stuck to his-AUGER-HOLE. THE PLEDBE. 255 THE PLEDGE. THOU sparkling bowl! thou sparkling bowl t Though lips of bards thy brim may press, And eyes of beauty o'er thee roll, And song and dance thy power confess, I will not touch thee; for there clings A scorpion to thy side, that stings! Thou crystal glass! like Eden's trees, Thy melted ruby tempts the eye; And, as from that, there comes from thee The voice, "Thou shalt not surely die!" I dare not lift thy liquid gem- A snake is twisted round thy stem! Thou liquid fire! like that which glowed For Paul upon Melita's shore, Thou'st been upon my guest bestowed; But thou shalt warm my house no more, For, whereso'er thy radiance falls, Forth from thy heart a viper crawls. What, though of gold the goblet be, Embossed with branches of the vine, Beneath whose burnished leaves we see Such clusters as poured out the wine- Among those leaves an adder hangs! I fear him-for I've felt his fangs. The Hebrew., who the desert trod And felt the fiery serpent's bite, Looked up to that ordained of God, And found that life was in the sight. So the woRM-bitten's fiery veins Cool, when he drinks what God ordains. Ye gracious clouds! ye deep, cold wells! Ye gems from mossy rocks that drip! Springs from the earth's mysterious cells Gush o er your granite basin's lip! To you I look; your largess give, And I will drink of you and live.--[Rev. J. Pierpont. page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] 256 TIE- TWO ROADS. THE FESTIVE CUP. TAKE, take away the festive cup- Nor tempt me with the winning glass- For plainly, o'er its mirror brim, Dark forms of vice, like spectres, pass; Each flowing bowl, each sparkling drop, Is pregnant with unnumbered ills- Awakened memory oft unfolds Past scenes, at which the bosom thrills. Take, take away the festive cup- No more its potent spell I feel- 'Twill tear each germ of virtue up, And o'er the heart, like shadows, steal; For, though 'tis wreathed in rosy smiles, And seeming pleasures on it ride, There's misery, wo, and wretchedness Commingling with its purple tide! Take, take away the festive cup- It chills my soul with horrid fears! 'Tis filled with wo-with wretchedness- With widows' and with orphans' tears! Oh may I, with supernal aid, Be guarded from its magic powers; Then will the heart beat light and free And gladsome as in boyhood's hours. THE TWO PICTURES. I SAW a picture of surpassing beauty-such as gladdened my soul; and while I gazed upon it I thought of the angels. It was a living picture, and suci there were all around me. The modest queen of night, in her mild loveliness, and the burn- ing stars, like everlasting eyes beneath the blue dome of the hea- vens, were pictures as ancient as the creation, yet as new, fresh, and sparkling as when a mighty voice said, "Let there be light!" There was the picture of a giant forest, its tree-tops luminous with the soft beams of heaven; a river, broad and smooth; bright TIE TWO PICTURES. 257 fields; a quiet valley; a hoary and lone mountain; and, to com- plete the landscape, to throw over the mind a tender and holy interest, to soften the worldly heart, and hallow the soul that longeth for heaven, a little graveyard, with many a rude white headstone and rounded pillow of earth, slept below the slight eminence on which I stood. But the picture more glorious than any of these was just before me. The spray-like clusters of a loaded vine quite embowered a lovely little cottage, with pure white walls and thatched roof. The quivering leaves of a rose-bush, as the summer air breathed upon them, danced like a glad child to the measure of music, and bending, crept into the open window, filling the lowly room with its fragrance. There, by the open door, and in sight of the blooming garden that bounded the cottage on each side, a most beautiful woman sat. But few summers had passed over her brow, and the light of youth still flashed in her eye. A babe, with white ringlets and snowy skin, nestled in her arms, and its little plump face was upturned to the sky, as if in infant adora- tion of the great Giver. A boy of four, with a broad, thoughtful brow, was drinking in earnestly some tale of truth, or perhaps some Scripture story, which his mother's low voice poured upon his ear. A happy-looking young man-the father, a bold and intelligent yeoman-sat just outside the door, leaning back against the cottage. His head was turned to the graceful group, and with parted lips and a delighted smile he listened as eagerly as the boy. Presently the story was finished; and slowly the mother arose, lifted the little one, and bade the boy follow her. I saw them press their dimpled arms around the father's neck for a good-night embrace; nor did the mother escape without a kiss from the father and husband. Then they entered a little room at the side and very soon were arrayed in their snowy night-dresses. Then, most holy sight! the young mother knelt down beside her babes, and, joining their dimpled hands, turned her face upward, and earnestly commended them to the Father's protection. I saw her lips move, and her earnest eyes upraised, and my own filled with tears, while my heart leaped with a joy too deep for utterance. I turned, as they were carefully laid in their wee beds, and 22:- page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 THE TWO ROADS. with my soul filled with the sweet sight, I sauntered down the hill. "Murder! murder!" shrieked a shrill, unearthly voice. Alarmed, distracted, I turned and stood spell-bound, as if rooted to the firm earth. A moment, and the flying figure of a man rushed by me, sprang with mad leaps wildly onward, and, tossing his arms frantically, plunged into the river. A group of men hurried along, drawn, by the fierce, agonizing cry of death and violence. I pointed to the river, and strove to speak of the appalling scene. They re- garded me not, and I passed on with them. A crowd had gathered around a wretched hovel. I smelled the fumes of brandy and burning rags. I heard the groans of agony that fell thick and fast upon the balmy air. "A man has drowned himself in the river," I screamed out; "I saw him plunge in!" Half the crowd now hurried from the door, and, for a moment, my eye gazed on one of the most appalling sights I ever beheld. A young woman lay upon the floor, covered with blood, and dying. A babe, which one of the neighbours had snatched -up, was be- smeared, hands and face, with the clotted gore. A haggard- looking boy was sobbing and weeping as if his heart would break. The hovel was a mass of filth, and broken furniture strewed the floor, while here and there a burning ember lay among the rubbish. Oh, it was a sight horrible enough to congeal the very blood with terror. I cannot think of it, even now, without a shudder. The following day the body of the drunkard was found in the river, and the poor woman was laid beneath a few shovelfuls of earth. They were both young-both the victims of intemperance. In a fit of delirium tremens, the guilty wretch had committed murder and suicide'! Once he would have given his life for her. tOh, why the fearful, blasting change? Reader! judge thou. Drunkard! judge thou. [Mrs. . W:. Denison. THE WINE-CUP. 259 THE WINE-CUP. DAsHr down the sparkling cup! its gleam Like the pale corpse-light o'er the tomb, Is but a false, deceitful beam To lure thee onward to thy doom. The sparkling gleam will fade away, And round thy lost, bewildered feet, Mid darkness, terror, and dismay, The ghastly shapes of death will meet. Dash down the cup! a poison sleeps In every drop thy lips would drain, To make thy life-blood seethe and leap, A fiery flood, through every vein- A fiery flood that will efface, By slow degrees, thyagodlike mind, Till, mid its' ashes, not a trace Of reason shall be left behind. Dash down the cup! a serpent starts Beneath the flowers which crown its brim Whose deadly fangs will strike thy heart And make thy flashing eye grow dim: Before whose hot and maddening breath-- More fatal than the simoon blast- Thy manhood, in unhonoured death, Will sink a worthless wreck at last. Dash down the cup! thy father stands And pleads in accents deep and low; Thine anguished mother clasps her hands With quivering lips and wordless wo. They who have borne thee on their breast, And shielded thee through many a year- Oh, wouldst thou make their bosoms blest, Their life a joy?-their pleading hear. Dash down the cup! thy young wife kneels; Her eyes, whose drops have often gushed. Are turned, with mute and soft appeal, Upon thy babe, in slumber hushed. Didst thou not woo her in thy youth With many a fond and solemn vow? UOh, turn again, and all her truth And love shall be rewarded now. page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 THE TWO ROADS . Dash down the cup! and on thy brow, Though darkened o'er with many a stain, Thy manhood's light, so feeble now, Shall bright and steady burn again. Thy strength shall, like the fabled bird, From its own ashes upward spring; And fountains in thy breast be stirred, Whose waters living joys shall bring. [Mrs. C. M[[. Sawyer. TOM TOPERLY; OR, THE IMPRISONED. TOM TOPERLY was the veriest sot in all the town. He had been a great many things besides a toper; but he 'had always been a toper,-that is, as long as he had been at all, or, at least, since he was teni years of age, which period, at the date of our biography, was distant about fifteen of the earth's revolutions around its orbit. Tom had derived his patronymic from an ancestry which pro- bably, at some ancient era, had won the 'significant appellation for exploits in the line that had made him famous. Tom had been leniently " passed through" all the temperance orders and societies that had sprung up in his neighbourhood, and he had come out as much of a sot as he went in; and more so, if allowance was not made 'for lapse of time. Tom had always been a bachelor-perhaps because he had never been sober long enough to seek out a wife; and perchance because he was so much of a locomotive demijohn, that no woman could have been found foolish enough to " link her'fate to his." Tom had: arrived at an era in his " eventful life" when he was too shiftless to work even for gin, his favourite beverage, and there began to be talk that the poor-house would have to shelter him, when one night he miraculously disappeared. He was so well known about town, that everybody missed him, and there was a general inquiry as to his mysterious fate, but no tidings came. TOM TOPERLY. 261 It was on the fifth day after his elopement, when Tom - turned up" on the steps of a tavern, about ten miles removed from the town of his nativity. He was penniless, and the landlord had turned him out of doors. He was as sober as ever he had been in his life. A man in a rough farmer's coat saw him, and, tap- ping him on the shoulder, said-- "What are you doing here, my man?" "Waitin' for some fellow to ask me to drink. May-be you're the chap," was Tom's answer. The rough-looking man smiled, and replied-- You look as if you had taken drink enough in your life." 'CI'm orful dry. Haven't had a drop to-day, 'pon honour," resumed Tom, with awoful face as he smacked his lips and drew his dirty coat-cuff across his mouth. "If I will find you as much as you can drink, will you go with me?" inquired the gentleman. "Yes, and stay with you," answered Tom, "till the stock is out, springing with some show of agility to his feet. Get into my wagon, then," said the gentleman. "With pleasure, sir," said Tom, as he clambered into the far- mer's wagon before the tavern. Tom was driven five miles into the country, and was set down in a farm-yard abounding with fowls and cattle. "This is our homer" said his new friend. Tom thought it a queer place for him to get " as much as he could drink," but did not venture a remark. The gentleman led the way to a handsome stone house, gave Tom a seat in the porch, and ordered a boy to bring a pail of water. It was cool and limpid. "Help yourself," said the gentleman. "It is good, and you will stay with me a good while before you drink the spring dry." - Tom thought his friend very facetious. He chuckled a little, and ventured to say, "But the licker?" "What liquor?" returned the gentleman, as if he was asto- nished. " There is none about my premises." "But yo u told me } if I went with you, I should have all I could drink." page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 262 THE TWO ROADS. "So you shall- the spring never gets dry, and the dairy is large." "I'm not used. to it." "'I know that, well," returned the farmer; " but I mean you shall be. "Come, we'll not dispute now; supper is ready." Tom was not unwilling to eat a good supper, and as night was coming on, and he wanted a place to lay his head, he didn't dare to scold about the trick that had been played upon him. When he was .ready to go to bed, the gentleman conducted him to a neat room, and bidding him good-night, locked the door. In the morning, Tom found himself a prisoner. "This is a man-trap, surej" he cried furiously) and kicked against the door. "What is all this noise?" said a voice on the outside. "I want to come out," cried Tom. d You are my prisoner," said the farmer, for it was he who had answered Tom's summons. A"I can keep you here as long as I please; but if you will promise not to go off of the farm for three months, you shall be well fed and cared for. I only want your word for security." "I'll do it," cried Tom, eagerly arguing to himself that if only his word was taken, the bonds that held him would not be very powerful, although at the same time he felt a degree of pride to think the farmer manifested so much confidence in his integrity. He naturally thought the whole affair a queer one. In a day or two, Tom saw that the farmer's only object was to do him a good service, by taking from him his love for gin. The good-nature to which appeals had been made by the farmer would not allow him to be ungrateful, and for six months Tom worked on the farm a sober man. Then the farmer trusted him to go to the nearest town. He came back at the appointed time, sober. He had learned to work, and was useful. At the end of twelve months from the night of his imprison- ment, the farmer said to him- "I am going to take a ride to-day, Thomas. You will go with me." At the town where the farmer met Tom, he conducted him to a shop and had him " rigged out" in a handsome suit of clothes, TOM TOPERLY. 263 and then paid him, in addition, fair wages for all the work he had performed. Tom's amazement atthis proceeding we would not attempt to describe, but it did not abate in the least whhn6the farmer said- "Now you will go, with me to the town where you were known as a sot. I shall call you Mr. Brown." "Why, sir?" inquired Tom, his eyes full of tears. "You will see, when we get there ; but you must be a stranger to everybody," returned the farmer. "Any thing you say, sir," replied Tom, more deeply amazed than he had yet been. Arrived at the village, Mr. Brown was introduced to the prin- ipal citizens. The farmer was generally known and much re- spected. Mr. Brown was well dressed and made a fine appear. ance. He was invited with the farmer to dine with the magistrate. a man before whom he had often been arraigned as a drunken vagrant. Had he been suddenly transported to the Moon, to Venus, or to Mars, he had not been more decidedly astonished. He knew nearly everybody--why did nobody know him? Because Mr. Brown was no more like Tom Toperly than a well-dressed temperate man is anywhere like a ragged, bloated street drunkard,. At dinner, looking at the magistrate, said the farmer- "I believe it is about a year since a poor drunken wretch, well named Tom Toperly, disappeared from the village. Has there ever been any tidings of him?" - "Not a word," said the magistrate. "It is strange; Tomwas a good fellow, but he would do nothing but drink gin. When he could he begged it and he would never work, only to get money to buy it." During this speech, Mr. Brown's face passed through a multi- tude of singular expressions. The farmer, watching him, replied to the magistrate- everHe was at my house after he left here, as fond of drink as ever.:' " "I'll warrant it,"' returned the magistrate. "I've no doubt he died like a beast, in some ditch." Mr. Brown could endure it no longer. Jumping up, and, to i t page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 264 THE TWO ROADS. the consternation of the magistrate, nearly throwing the table over, he cried-- "No, he didn't! Here he is! I'm Tom Toperly! Don't "Mr. Brown' me any more. You kicked and cuffed me about this town, and was goin' to send me to the workhouse, and called me nothing but ( drunken Tom ;' but this farmer made me think I was something of a man; and now I ain't ragged and dirty and bloated, but I've got good clothes to wear and money in my pocket, and know how to earn. more,-and you have taken me for a gentleman." "Glad of it, Tom! glad of it, Tom! We're having temperance meetings, and you shall give us a speech--tell 'em your story, Tom. You are a gentleman, and you shall stay in my house as long as you're in town," exclaimed the magistrate, shaking him by the hand till his shoulder ached. "a Make a man think he is somebody, if you have to lock him up to do it; that's the way to reform him, say I," cried Tom. "The farmer's confidence in my simple word, that nobody would trust, made a man of me." Tom told his story to all his old "chums," got a number of them to follow his example, went back home with the farmer, in due course of time became his son-in-law, and died-leaving a number of children, who, though they inherited the unpromising name of Toperly, have ever been soberly.-[ W. T. Coggshall. HONEST AND HAPPY. THERE'S much in the world that is doubtful, There's much we shall ne'er understand- Why Virtue should live in a poor-house, And Vice on the fat of the land. For those who are fretful and peevish, This duty remains to fulfil: But try to be honest and happy, And let the world do as it will. The poor wretch who walks upon crutches May often be envied, far more HONEST AND HAPPY. 265 Than he who in splendid apparel Can shut on the beggar his door; He cares not for claret and sherry; Of venison he has not his fill; Yet dares to be honest and happy, And lets the world do as it will. He boasteth no lordly possessions, No livery at table to wait; He maketh no hollow professions, To cheat his friend, sooner or late; He ruins no hard-working tradesman, Who gets but a curse for his bill; But tries to be honest and happy, And lets the world do as it will. He joins not the bowl or the wassail, He seeks not the gambler or sot; Contentment and health are the blessings That daily recur to his lot; And while, in the midst of his children, Good precepts he strives to instil, He shows that he's honest and happy, And lets the world do as it will. Oh, who then would grumble at fortune, Though sorrow and toiling betide? The man that with wealth is a villain, Might be virtuous, were it denied. Too much may overburden and sink you, Too little oft keep you from ill; Then try to be honest and happy, And let the world do as it will. The manwho With plenty is honest, Hath little to ask for his name; But he who, though humble, is upright, Shall live iti the annals of Fame: The vicious m;ay mock at his mem'ry, But ages will think on him still; Then strive to be honest and happy, And let the world do as it will.-[ G. L. Banks. l ' 23 .. page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] 266 THE TWO ROADS. it WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY." WE have faith in old proverbs, full surely, For Wisdom has traced what they tell, And Truth may be drawn up as purely From them, as it may from " a well." Let us question the thinkers and doers, And hear what they honestly say, And you'll find they believe, like bold wooers, In "Where there's a will there's a way." The hills have been high for man's mounting, The woods have been dense for his axe, The stars have been thick for his counting, The sands have been wide for his tracks, The sea has been deep for his diving, The poles have been broad for his sway; But bravely he's proved, in his striving, That "Where there's a will there's a way." Have ye vices that ask a destroyer? Or passions that need a control? Let Reason become your employer, And your body be ruled by your soul. Fight on, though ye bleed in the trial- Resist with all strength that ye may; Ye may conquer Sin's host by denial, For "Where there's a will there's a way." Have ye Poverty's pinching to cope with? Does Suffering weigh down your might? Only call up a spirit to cope with, And dawn may come out of the night. Oh, much may be done by defying The ghosts of Despair and Dismay, And much may be gained by relying On "Where there's a will there's a way." Should ye see afar off that worth winning, Set out on the journey with trust; And ne'er heed if your path at beginning ) Should be among brambles and dust. Though it is but by footsteps ye do it, And hardships may hinder and stay, Keep a heart, and be sure you'll get through it, For "Where there's a will there's a way." [Eliza Cook. THE TEMPERANCE EXHBITION. 267 THE TEMPERANCE EXHBITION. William. When did you see Allan last, Charley? Charles. Last night, at the temperance celebration. I did not see you there, as I expected. Wmn. No; I was detained at home with the headache. All the family went: they came home delighted with the singing, recitations, dialogues, and addresses by the temperance boys. It was a great disappointment to me, I assure you. Chas. I believe you; I would not have missed being there for something handsome. The hall was crowded, and every thing went off first-rate; the people couldn't help being pleased. Wm. But, Allan!--how did you manage to get him to go to a temperance gathering? Chas. Why, on my way there I met him, and having a spare ticket, I prevailed on him to accept it. Of course you know it was no easy matter: he would rather have gone to thetheatre, whither he was bound; but I made him the promise, that if he became dissatisfied with the exhibition, I would give him the price of two tickets. The bait took. All I wished was to get him inside the hall: that being done, I knew all was safe. Wm. How was he pleased? COlas. Delighted! I met him this morning on my way to school. He did nothing but talk about it: didn't wonder now that people were so favourably disposed to the order-always thought before that they were dry and sleepy places to go to- liked it as well as the theatre or circus. He praised some of the boys very much-thought that when they grew up to be men they would be able to make speeches with anybody-some would make first-rate congressmen-better than some we have now, ' - i. because they would drink no rum-and when he grew to be a man, he would vote for them. Wmn. Ha! ha! you have fairly caught the bird, Charley. ChIas. Yes; and mean to hold on to him until I get him nestled among his true friends, the temperance boys. He has many fine parts about him, and I think, with a little perse verance, we shall succeed in gaining him from his dissolute com panions, and finally enrolling his name in our glorious order. page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] 268 THE TWO ROADS. Wm. Why did you not try him, then? The opportunity was a fine one, he being then so favourably disposed. "Strike while the iron's hot" is my motto. Chas. You can hardly think for a moment, William, that I would let so favourable an opportunity pass without doing my best to bring about a reformation in Allan? Besides, it is best not to be too hasty. He has been a long time associated with a set of dissolute companions, and a few hours' reflection will only have a tendency to strengthen the new resolves that are now kindling in his bosom. I have no fear of him. He has promised to be here to-night, and we can both converse with him on the subject. See! here he comes: he appears to be in deep thought; let us retire a little-he don't see us. Allan. I could quit drinking; yes, I know I could. A rum- seller!-no;- I hate them. Rumsellers are all alike-all a pack of rascals; so I've heard temperance people say. I couldn't be a rumseller nohow. I believe all that's said of them is true: why shouldn't I know, that's seen so much of them? They'll take the last cent from a poor fellow, in exchange for their liquid destruction, though his wife and children were starving for bread. Some of them will do more than that: they'll take the coat off his back-yes, and his shirt too. I believe some of them are not too good to strip a man entirely; I don't doubt but it is often done. They are an arrant set of rascals, that's a fact. Old Beelzebub will get them one of these days. But then, again, what's the use of joining a temperance society? I can stop with- out joining. Squire Smith says there's no use in joining; but Squire Smith isn't anybody-great, proud, cross; his John, that , drinks, says so'too: he'll get the farm; but Iwouldn't be John Smith, that I wouldn't-just like one of our oxen. I'll quit drinking, and go out West-I'll clear the land---I'll-'rll--yes! he's just like our oxen. I wouldn't be John Smith-always cursing, swearing, and drinking; HE don't know any thing! But why should we be temperate? Temperance men say, to make us useful: help others, I suppose they mean. I don't wonder religious people take such an interest in temperance: they ought to know. The Bible says a drunkard can never enter f heaven. I wonder what good people think about. I can quit, THE' TEMPERANCE EXHBITION. 269 and if I can, I ought to, may-be-at any rate, mother thinks so; but I don't care for that; yet I should always do as my mother says. I can-yes, I can; and why shouldn't I? I can beat all the boys at ball; yes I'll show them what I can do: I'll go at it like William Dean. To think of Bill Dean being a tem- perance boy, who is so. afraid of the water that he never swam a rod in his life!-I'll show them! I wonder where 'he was last night didn't think he could stay away from such an exhibition; he must have been sick; yes, he was sick-Charley said so; no matter, IT show them that I can be temperate too! Besides--- WILLIAM and CHARLES come forward. Wm. Glad to hear you say so, Allan; best news I have heard for a long time. Chas. It is, indeed; and did I not know that Allan was sin- cere, I would feel inclined to disbelieve what I have just heard from his lips. Wm. I had long given you up, Allan, and despaired of ever seeing you turn your back against your dissipated companions. But, tell me, was it Charley or the temperance exhibition last night, that is entitled to the credit of this great reform on your part? . ' Chas. I should think it was neither the one nor the other, William. Allan's own good sense and judgment is entitled to all the credit that may be due in the matter. Allan. No, no, Charley: I think it falls to your share; for if you had not prevailed on me to go to the temperance exhibition, I should still have remained ignorant of your beautiful order, for such I now consider it. I was delighted with all I saw and heard. And when two boys, with no better abilities than my- self, stood up before that large assemblage of ladies and gentle- men, and delivered their addresses, and went through the dia- logues and other parts assigned them, I thought it was time for me to leave off wallowing in the mire and to soar a little higher in the world than I had heretofore done; and so I resolved, there and then-from that out-to shun all my own companions of the Killers and Bouncers, and stay at home at night, and try to im- prove myself by reading useful books. Now, Charley, don't you think there is some credit due you? 23.. page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 THE TWO ROADS. Chas. If you will have it so, I'll not oppose. But, Allan, I think your resolve would be much improved by your becoming a member of our order, and not entirely shun your old playmates; who knows, but that with a little perseverance, you might gain some of them over to the good cause also. Allan. That's just what I intend to do. I expect you will propose me'to your section; and when I am a member, I shall leave nothing undone until I get all; or the greater part of them, to join too. Win. I believe you will succeed, Allan; and if every boy who is now a member of the order would exert himself a little more in the cause, before our next parade, we- should number at least five thousand good and true temperance boys. What a sight that would be! Five thousand temperance boys in procession! It makes my blood dance to think of it! Chas. It is a great pity that our boys do not take a deeper in- terest in the order than they do. However, I don't despair of our having five thousand, and even more, before a great while; for every parade and exhibition is sure to add numbers of new members to our ranks. Allan. And when those people who are ignorant of the true spirit of your order become enlightened on the subject, and made acquainted with the good that you te stined to accomplish, they will do all they can to swell your numbers, and encourage you in the good work. Wim. Well said, Allan: you already speak like a veteran in the cause. I tell you what, Charley, we must be up and doing, or he will leave us far behind in the good work. Chas. Better all act together, and do as much good as we can; but above all, let us not forget to keep in lively remembrance the "Temperance Exhibition," that wrought such a change in our friend Allan's opinions. THE DRUNKARD, 271 WIFE AND HOME. "ET rakes extol a roving life, Of freedom prate, and all that' Of noisy brats, a scolding wife, And doctors' bills, and all that. Though fools may rail, and jest, and scoff, A wife's the thing for all that; The time, they'll find, is not far off When so they'll think, for all that. 'Tis true, when youth and fortune smile, And health is firm, and all that; When wine, and song, and dance beguile, Variety, and all that; When every place, where'er you roam, Has jolly friends, and all that; You want for neither wife, nor home Nor sympathy, nor all that. But age comes on, with stealthy pace, And sober thoughts, and all that; Trouble will show her frowning face- Sickness, and pain, and all that. The feast, the bowl, will lose their powers And revelry, and all that; Then shall we need, to cheer the hours, A wife, and home, and all that. Oh!" when misfortune clouds the brow," Disease, and death, and all that; Then" woman, then, an angel thou," To soothe, and cheer, and all that. Thy gentle cares beguile our pains, Our sleepless nights, and all that; Thy voice the sinking soul sustains, With hope, and trust, and all that. THE DRUNKARD. THE clock had toll'd the midnight hour--and yet He came not.--There was one with sleepless eyes And anxious heart, that watch'd each stirring sound, And as it died away, did wipe the tear , .t^ ^^^^^ I; z^^ r^^ page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272 THE TWO ROADS. Of disappointment from her faded cheek. And then a sigh burst forth-so sorrowful That the yotung child whose little head reclined Still on its mother's knee, did start and ask, What pain'd her bosom so: "Has father come?" With tender accents she replied-and drew That child yet closer to her throbbing breast, And still'd again its restlessness in sleep. Then came the-heart's dark midnight-when 'tis left Without one cheering ray--in loneliness 'To weep o'er joys gone by. No eye was there To mark the grief that swell'd her bosom--none To mingle tears of sympathy with hers- None with a pitying look to soothe her wo. In solitary anguish there she wept, She wept o'er earlier visions-faded all- O'er broken promises of happier years; O'er hope's fair bud-blasted in embryo. Thus hours did pass; and in each hour she felt Whole years of common grief and wretchedness. At length he came. Who came?-Is this the man That led her up to Hymen's sacred shrine? That promised there in tenderness to soothe And cherish her-even till his latest breath? Is this the man that vow'd before his God To " love her faithfully?" nor cause one pang Intentional to wound that gentle breast? Most sacred vow! Detested, perjured wretch! Why has not justice with almighty arm, Crushed thee for ever? Ah! she loves thee still! That tender bosom, though the spark seem'd dormant, Retains e'en yet the flame of happier love. 'Tis there unquenchable-she prays for thee. T Yes, oft her fervent, warmest prayers ascend. u' Spare-spare him Father--let not wrath destroy." And thou ART spared-but yet thou art unmoved. She looks on thee-her loved and dearest one And oh! what anguish fills her soul to think Thou art a drunkard; thou the only one On whom she placed her young affections, When many pleasing dreams of future joy Glided before her vision-and with thee She thought, too, life would glide as smoothly. THE RUMSELLERS' CHAMPION. 273 She looks upon thy altered brow-and form-- Oh I who can tell the pang of agony That pierces then her bosom?--who can tell A wife's--a mother's anguish--as she thinks Of past delights and present misery? Once she was happy; but with luring smiles And solemn words} and deep deceptive vows, Thou gain'dst her love. Alas! behold her now, That pallid cheek, those burning tears, and ask Where is the guilty cause! Thy conscience speaks- "Thou art the man." Oh! 'tis the basest theft, The foulest murder, thus to steal away A young confiding heart-and when it looks To thee for tenderness, and leans on thee For succour-then to pierce its very core With worse than venomed steel-a husband's frown, A husband's cold neglect and cruelty. THE RUMSELLERS' CIIAMPION. IT isn't always safe to trust in a bad cause, no matter how good the champion may be thought. This, a few individuals en- gaged in the " traffic," discovered in the town of Norris, to their mortification and discomfiture. It happened that certain warm friends of the temperance move- ment in Norris were challenged to a public discussion of the ab- stinence question by a clique of liquor-sellers, who felt strong in their own cause, and confident that they could put the meddle- some opponents of dram-selling to the blush. A challenge having been given on one side, and accepted on the other, a night was chosen for the encounter, and in the course of time the party met. As some newspaper notoriety had been given to the affair, there was a strong turn-out on the occasion, tee session- room of the church, where the meeting was held, being packed The meeting being duly organized by the appointment of a chairman to maintain order, the discussion was opened on the side of the temperance men, in a manner that showed them to page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 - THE TWO ROADS. possess a good portion of spirit and ability to sustain their side of the question. For some minutes after the first speaker sat down, there was a silent pause of expectation. ' We shall now be glad to hear something on the other side," said the chairman. "The ques- tion is fairly open, and we trust all will be free to speak their real sentiments." At a particular part of the room a knot of tavern-keepers were gathered, and toward them all eyes were directed. But they had more skill in handling the muddler than in using arguments in a public assembly, notwithstanding they had boldly challenged discussion. There was a stir among them, but no one took the floor, Another temperance man spoke. While he was up, one of the tavern-keepers left the room, and ere the speech was finished, returned with a man named Clark, a conductor on the railroad which had its terminus at the town. This Clark had once been a respectable man, in tolerably good circumstances, but had com- pletely run himself down with drink, and it was now a rare thing for him to draw a sober breath. The train had just come in, and he was about stepping into a bar-room near the dep6t, when he was met by the tavern-keeper just mentioned, who, without let- ting him stop to get a drink, brought him off to the meeting to argue their side of the question for them-Clark being a man of some ability. When the knot of traffickers saw Clark come in, they rubbed their hands with delight. They had now a cham- pion, with whom they could rest their cause safely, and they looked for fun. For some twenty minutes after Clark came in, the speaker who had last taken the floor continued his argument. As he sat down, all eyes turned to that part of the room where the opposi- tion was congregated. "Now, give 'em thunder," said the man who brought in Clark, speaking in so loud a whisper that he was heard all around. "Yes, yes! Give it to 'em, Clark! You're the boy! Walk into them like a thousand of brick!" was urged all around the poor inebriate, who, thus spurred on, slowly arose from his seat. THE RUMSmRTE RS' CHAMPION. 275 As soon as Clark was seen to take the floor, many who knew his habits and cha acter, and felt disgusted with the men who had brought him fo rward on the occasion, cried, "Turn him out! turn him out!"- hie the tavern-keepers loudly responded, "No, no! Let hi go on! ile shall speak." In the midst of t e excitement the chairman arose, and after getting silence, said that Mr. C. was in order, and had a perfect right to be heard. few murmurs of disapprobation were heard and then, to the un unded delight of the tavern-keepers, Clark began his speech. "Mr. President," said he deliberately, "I am now thirty years old, and I am sorry to say, no great credit to myself or friends." So unexpected a beginning hushed every thing into silence; and somehow or othe-, the light on the faces of those for whom he had stepped forward as a champion grew fainter. "At twenty-three," continued Clark, "my father set me up in business, and for three or four years I got on prosperously but soon after I opened my store, the land-sharks came around me, and in the end I went down, they getting pretty much every thing I had." "Clark! Clark! what do you mean?-what are you driving at?" eagerly whispered, at this point, three or four of the friends who had gathered round. : : "Keep quiet! Just wait a while, and you'll see what I am driving at. I'll show you something." The tavern-keepers leaned back in their seats, but seemed uneasy. "Well," continued Clark, "after I had run myself clear down, my friends, thinking that I might have grown wiser by experience took hold of me again; and in order to make my re. formation complete, picked me out a wife, and induced me to marry. Poor Mary!--she's had a hard time of it." His words slightly faltered, but he went on again steadily. "Well, I started in life once more with fair prospects, and would have done bravely; but the land-sharks came around me again, and in a few years I was down again lower than ever." "This won't do, Clark! My dear fellow, are you crazy? Take another track." And suchke earnest expostulations were ! ."i page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] 276 THE TWO ROADS. whispered all around the champion. Coolly turning, as he paused in his speech, he said in an under tone, "Never do you mind, boys 1! Just lie low for a while, and I'll show you fun. rve not come to the point yet. "Well," he resumed again, addressing the audience, "I stayed down now for a long time, good for nothing in the world but to drink rum and to help on the land-sharks. They were clever fellows all-when I had a few dimes in my pocket, but turned upon me the cold shoulder when my pockets were empty. At last my friends took me up again, and - made a last effort for me. They got me the situation of conductor on the railroad, on the condition that I would quit drinking. Determined to be a re- formed man, I started on the road, and got along very well for a time. But the land-sharks never let me alone-no, not for a day. They are famous, as you all know, for gathering in the neighbourhood of railroad depots. Well enough did they know the condition on which I was employed; but it didn't matter. Daily, at either end of the line, did they seek for me, and at last, Mr. President, they caught me again. I tried hard to keep out of their way, but it did not do any good: they were too much for me. Well, to make a long story short: since then they've had their own way with me. More than half my salary goes into their hands, while my poor wife and children are daily sufferers. I should have lost my place long ago, were it not for a friend among the directors I but his patience is wellnigh worn out, and I now hold my situation only through the forbearance and long- suffering of the men whose interests I neglect, and whose road I disgrace. I'm pretty near the end of my rope. My friends here, the land-sharks, caught me a little sober this evening, and brought-me up as a champion of their cause. I wanted a drink first, but they wouldn't let me wait for that, and this accounts for the fact that I am not half so drunk as usual. I'm doing the best I can for them, and I hope they are well pleased with the argument on their side. As I have just said, I'm pretty near the end of my rope, and I rather think I'd better stop before it comes up tight, aud I'm thrown flat on my face again. So, Mr. Pre- sident, if it's agreeable to yourself and the company, I will sign the pledge." WASTE NOT A MOMENT. 2" Saying this, Clark stepped into the aisle, and walked firmly up to the stand, amid a shout of delighted approval from the audience. Before, however, the champion of the rumsellers had time to affix his name to the pledge, the men who had trusted to him as their advocate had slunk in confusion from the house. [T. S. Arthur. WASTE NOT A MOMENT. THERE is no time, in any clime, That should be unemployed; An active mind will ever find There's nothing dull and void. All things that live, some charms will give, If sought without delay; From year to year, I seem to hear' This truthful voice of Wisdom say- Waste not a moment! The singing birds, in simple words, An ever-truthful lesson tell, That indolence, by no pretence, Can fill our earthly mission well. Go, watch them work, they never lurk In indolence about; Throughout the day, you'll find that they, While the light of day is out, Waste not a moment: If you at ease, your mind would please, Let not the time be wasted; But take a book, and through it look, And, when its sweets you've tasted, Peruse it well, and on it dwell, And find some truthful lay To feed your mind, and then you'll find The voice of Holy Truth will say, Waste not a moment! Heed not mankind, who are so blind To look but at the covers Like maidens fair, who only care For th' appearance of their lovers; 24 page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] 278 THE TWO ROADS. But search for truth, aspiring youth, "'Tis always worth your finding ;" My plain advice is small in price- You'll find it 'neath the binding-- Waste not a moment! In every hour we have the power To do some little good; If we a neighbour help to' labour, 'Tis only what we should; For we were sent with this intent, Upon this fertile land; Man and brother, help one another, For 'tis thy God's command, Waste not a moment!-[Charles Lester. ONWARD. TEMPERANCE BOYS, let this be your motto. You have a great work to do, and if you wish that temperance may grow and pros- per, you must be active in endeavouring to increase your num- bers. It should also be your motto in any situation in which you may be placed. If you are going to school, you should always strive to be at the head of the class. If you are learn- ing a trade, your aim should be to excel your companions, and to be the best workman. Whatever your daily occupation may be, you should employ your leisure hours in reading useful books, -such as will improve the mind. The world is before you. In a short space of time you will arrive at years of maturity, when you will have to think and act for yourself. It is doubly important, then, that this period should be employed in improvement; for if you get a fair start in life, the probability is that you will succeed. If you do not push forward, you will get behind the age. Everybody is moving ONWARD. The whole world is in motion, and surely you will not stand- still when this is the case. Your ainn should be to preserve unsullied, and in all their purity, the principles of temperance, and to extend its influence. No one can tell the influence you will exercise, in the course of a few ONWARD. 279 years. And it is the young people now, to whom will be left the honour of a complete victory over intemperance; for there are too many confirmed drunkards and moderate drinkers, now-a- days, to suppose that it can be supprcssed'at present. But-with the rising generation there is every prospect of success. You have already thousands of our most promising youth en- rolled under the banner of the cold water boys, the fathers of many of whom occupy prominent situations in society, and who boldly stand forth the champions of temperance; thus en- couraging their sons in the beneficent work. The great and good WASHNGTON, were he now alive, would, no doubt, be at the head of the temperance movement. , It has been:said, by some of the opponents of our cause, that he was not identified with the temperance movement. True, he was not, for he lived in a time when such a movement was not considered necessary--still, his principles were always in its favour. There is an anecdote related of him, (and no doubt there are many more such,) that at one of the levees given by him, when president, a young gen- tleman who had called to pay his respects to the chief magis- trate, refused to drink to his health in a glass of wine. All the company present considered this a mark of disrespect; but Washington, on questioning him as to his refusal to drink, was informed by the young man that he had long since Solemnly promised that he never would taste another drop of any liquid that could intoxicate. The general, taking him by the hand, said, he honouredhim now the more, for his self-deinial,-and added, would that many more of the young men of our country had pledged themselves similarly. Our glorious country was not, in Washington's time, enslaved by intemperance, as it now is; and could the ashes of the venerable father of his country be reanimated, and ha come forth again, he would see no less occasion to urge the descendants of the men of the Revolution to a second, though no less important conflict. Who doubts what the action of Washington would be, in such an event? Did he release the struggling colonists from the tyranny of George the Third, that they might become the victims of the internal foe, Intemperance? Better far to have spared those noble lives who poured out their blood on their coun- page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] 280 THE TWO ROADS. try's altar, to achieve its independence, if at last their descendants are to die victims to King Alcohol. Washington, if now alive, would be at the head of the tem- perance army, and be the standard-bearer of the host! Who, then, we ask, would refuse to be a soldier? But, though this cannot be, his principles are his very presence; and they urge to duty all who revere his honoured name. Then, ON to the battle-oNwAR ! YOU ASK, HOW I LIVE? "VING friendly, feeling friendly, Acting fairly to all men, Seeking to-do that to others They may do to us again. Hating no man, scorning no man, Wronging none by word or deed; But forbearing, soothing, serving, Thus I live-and this my creed. Harsh condemning, fierce contemning, Is of little Christian use; One soft word of kindly peace Is worth a torrent of abuse. Calling things bad, calling men bad, Adds but darkness to their night; If thou wouldst improve thy brother, Let thy goodness be his light. I have felt and known how bitter Human coldness makes the world, Ev'ry bosom round me frozen, Not an eye with pity pearled; Still, my heart with kindness teeming, Glad when other hearts are glad, And my eyes a tear-drop finding At the sight of others sad. Ah! be kind-life hath no secret For our happiness, like this; Kindly hearts are seldom sad ones, Blessing ever bringeth bliss; KING ALCOHOL AND THE COLD WATER BOYS. 281 Lend a helping hand to others, Smile though all the world should frown, Man is man, we all are brothers, Black or white, or red or brown. Man is man, through all gradations, Little recks it where he stands, God's-image is impressed upon him, Scattered over many lands; Man is man by form and feature, Man by vice and virtue too; Man is all one common nature Speaks and binds us brothers true.-[J. Robbins. KING ALCOHOL AND THE COLD WATER BOYS. Thomas. Sam, I wish you would tell me the meaning of all this fuss that's making about the Cold Water Boys. Samuel. Ah, Tom! I see you are behind the times; else you would not ask such a question. However, I'll excuse you, con- sidering that you are fresh from the country. Thos. But I heard about you in the country, too; and just as I was coming away they were talking about forming a company in our village. Sam. I am glad to hear it, Tom; and wish there was one or more companies; as you call them, organized in every town, vil- lage, and city throughout the Union. Thos. That would make a tremendous army-enough to over- run all Mexico.* But what dependence can be placed upon boys? A regiment of good Mexican lancers would scare the whole of them; then what a scampering there would be! It is enough for the men to go to fight-let the boys stay at home, and go to school, or learn trades. Sam. You are greener than I thought you were, Tom; and I am sorry you have such a poor opinion of the American boys, as to think they would be so easily frightened, much less run from the enemies of their country. For my part, if I were a man and a soldier, I'd rather command an army of a couple of thousands ' Written at the time of the war with Mexico. 24" page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 282 THE TWO ROADS. of stout American boys, than one of twice the number of these Mexicans we are fighting against; for, with my boys, I could do more real and successful service. You know, Tom, there is no such word asfear in the American character. Thos. Still, I don't think there's any use in making soldiers of boys; we have men enough that's always willing to fight. Sam. As I told you before, Tom, it is not expected that you, fresh from the country, should know any thing about this cold water army of boys that's now raising. It is not intended to make fighting soldiers out of them, to go to the wars; they are to stay at home, and fight old King Alcohol. Thos. I didn't know we had any kings in this country. I always thought our air was too pure for kings to live in. Sam. So it is, Tom; still, we have a king that exists among us-a king far more formidable than old George the Third, whom our great Washington marshalled the host of freemen to fight against, and who never tired until British power was driven from the country. See what a blessed, great, and glorious country it has been since! %hos. Yes, I know it is a great country; and I know, too, that it is getting greater and greater every day; and if it keeps on grow- ing as it has done these few years past, it will be the greatest coun- try in creation; and I don't see why we should be so afraid of this King Alcohol, as you call him.' When Washington was alive, our country was not half so large as it is now, and only three millions of people in it; yet we whipped old King George and all his armies! Now, they say, we have thirty millions, and our territory is almost boundless! I believe our soldiers could whip all the world-let alone this King Alcohol, you seem so much alarmed about. Sam. We have been battling against him these twenty years past: still he seems to be as strong as ever. I will enlighten you, Tom, on the subject, for I see you are entirely ignorant of this great monster! Thos. Do so, for I am always anxious to learn. Sam. In the first place, Tom, I'll inform you that this terrible king, as he is termed, is not flesh and blood, like other kings, but a spirit, a vampire, that sucks the blood and substance out of all KING ALCOHOL .AND THE COLD WATER BOYS. 283 his votaries; and, notwithstanding the immense sacrifice of life which he is annually the cause of, the ranks of his followers do not seem much to diminish. But this is not all he does; for he makes miserable and wretched, and frequently brings to want and disgrace, the wives, children, parents, and kindred of all that he allures within his grasp! In a word, Tom, he is the cause of nine-tenths, if not more, of all the crimes that are inflicted upon the community, filling our prisons and poor-houses! I sincerely believe, if it was not for him there would be little or no occasion for these places among us. Thos. NVow I know who you mean. It is old Rum you are talking about; for nothing but rum can do all these things! Sam. I am glad you are beginning to understand, Tom; and I should not think it would be a difficult thing for you, now, to guess what the Cold Water Boys are for. T/ws. I suppose they mean temperance boys. Temperance men might do some good, but I don't see how boys can. Sam. The only hope of the temperance people to destroy or weaken the power of this evil spirit, is in the boys of our country. He has so many thousands following in his train, (consisting of the moderate, occasional, and inveterate drinkers,) who are so firmly bound to their idol that they will not listen to the voice of reason or their friendly admonitions. All now de- pends on the rising generation, who have not yet, or are just learning to drink, to abstain entirely from the use of intoxicating liquors, so that by the time they become men, the greater part of the monster's followers will have filled a drunkard's grave, and the remainder in a short time to follow. Consequently, the ma- jority of the then existing generation will be strictly temperance people! Thos. Then this is the meaning of the fuss about Cold Water Boys. By-the-by, it is a capital plan to weaken the power of the old serpent! But then they always talked about the boys fighting him: I could not see how boys could fight, and thought they were raising an army for Mexico. Sam. The boys are not to fight him directly; but, indirectly, they may prove the downfall of his power. The army of Cold Water Boys, Tom, may be compared to General Washington's J page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 THE TWO ROADS. army before Yorktown. You know there was no regular, pitched battle with Lord Cornwallis--only a few occasional sorties upon his works and fortifications, which the Americans battered. down-- just like the sorties which the temperance men, now and then, make upon the rum-forts of old Alchy's followers, and which are sure-to give way when the strong arm of the law is brought to bear against them;--and the British general, finding himself so completely hemmed in on all sides, with the impossibility of receiving any more recruits and supplies, was compelled to sur- render. Now, that's just what the temperance men intend that we shall do--hem old Alchy in on all sides, so that he can't get any more soldiers to supply the place of those that are daily dropping off into the grave. And when at last he finds himself with only a few diseased and miserable followers, don't you think that he will, like Cornwallis, have to surrender to the Cold Water Boys? Thos. Not much doubt about that, Sam; the boys will give him a real "Buena Vista!' and I think they are destined to do much good hereafter. I always thought, before, that it was no use for boys to belong to temperance societies. You have made me think different now. Sam. You know, Tom, that between the ages of twelve and fourteen years is the turning point with boys. It is then that our minds take a change, and the future course of our manhood is marked out. What more fitting time is there for us to enroll our names in the temperance cause? Thos. I should think that would be the mostproper time, and what's more, I would like to be a cold water boy, too; but father and mother being somewhat prejudiced against boys belonging to such societies, I would have to get their consent first. Sam. That's strange, Tom; for I believe your parents are both temperate. Thos. Yes, but not teetotalers. I'll go home and tell them all that you have just said; and perhaps, when they understand it rightly, they will give their consent to my joining one of the companies. Samn. I hope you may succeed in enlightening them on the subject, Tom; for I should like much to have you in our section. BE YE SOBER. 285 NThos. I think I shall succeed i both father and mother dislike drunkards above all things in the world, and I know it would break their hearts if I were to become one. I am pretty certain I shall succeed, Sam. Good-by. Sam. Good-by, Tom; let me know, soon. "BE YE SOBER." WHO shall talk} of strength and freedom With a loud and fever'd breath, While they let a full cup lead 'em To the slavery of death? Men of labour, wake to thinking, Shout not with a reeling brain! Lips that argue o'er deep drinking Ever yield more chaff than grain. Bravery that needs inspiring By the grape and barleycorn, Only gives the random firing, Cunning foes may laugh to scorn. Do ye hope to march the faster To the summit of your claims, While ye let such tyrant master Strike your limbs in staggering shame? Do ye find the hot libation Poured so wildly on the heart, Make it fitter for its station, Whatsoe'er may be its part? Father, husband, wife, or mother! Can ye do the work ye should, While the fumes of madness smother Human love and human good? Wonder not that children trample All fair precept in the dust, When a parent's foul example Robs a home of peace and trust. Who shall reckon all the anguish- Who shall dream of all the sin, Who shall tell the souls that languish At the spectre-shrine of Gin? page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] 286 TqE TWO ROADS. "Be ye sober!" if ye covet Healthy days and peaceful nights: Strong drink warpeth those who love it Into sad and fearful sights. "Be ye sober!" cheeks grow haggard, Eyes turn dim, and pulse-tide blood Runs too fast, or crawleth laggard, When there's poison in the flood. Will ye let a demon bind ye In the chain of Helot thrall? Will ye let the last hour find ye In the lowest pit of all? Oh! stand back in godly terror, When Temptation's joys begin! 'Tis such wily maze of Error, Few get out who once go in. Shun the "' dram," that can but darken, When its vapour gleam has fled;* Reason says, and ye must hearken, "Lessened drink brings doubled bread." Though your rulers may neglect ye, "Be ye sober!" in your strength; And they must and shall respect ye, And the light shall dawn at length. But let none cry out for freedom, With a loud and fever'd breath, While they let a full cup lead 'em To the slavery of death.-[Eliza Cook. AFFECTING SCENE. FROM GOVERNOR BRIGGS'S SPEECH AT LOWELL. I RECOLLECT one member of Congress who was always rallying me about our Congressional Temperance Society. "Briggs," he used to say, "I'm going to join your temperance society, as soon as my demijohn is empty." Hie always filled it again. At one time, toward the close of the session, he said to me, "I am going to sign the pledge when I get home. I am in AFFECTING INCIDENT. 287 earnest," continued he; { my demijohn is nearly empty, and I am not going to fill it again." He spoke with such an air of serious- ness as I had not before observed, and it impressed me; and I asked him what it meant, what, had changed his feelings. "Why," said he, "I had, a short time since, a visit from my brother, who stated to mea fact that more deeply impressed and affected me than any thing I recollect to have heard upon the subject in any temperance speech I ever heard or read. "'In my neighbourhood is a gentleman of my acquaintance, well educated, who once had some property, but is now reduced- poor! He has a beautiful and lovely wife-a lady of cultivation - and refinement-and a most charming daughter. "This gentleman had become decidedly intemperate in his habits, and had fully alarmed his friends in regard to him. At one time, when a number of his former associates were together, they consulted-as to what could be done for him. "Finally one of them said to him, 'Why don't you send your daughter away to a certain distinguished school?' which he named. "' Oh, I cannot,' said he; ' it is out of the question. I am not able to bear the expense. Poor girl! I wish'I could.' "'Well,' said his friend, 'if you will sign the temperance pledge, I will be at all the expense of her attending school for one year.' "'What does this mean?' said he. 'Do you think me in danger of becoming a drunkard?' "No matters' said his friend, 'about that now, but I will do as I said.' "' And I,' said another, ' will pay the rent of your farm a year, if you will sign the pledge.' "'Well, these offers are certainly very liberal-but what do they mean? Do you think me in danger of becoming a drunk- ard? What can it mean? But, gentlemen, in view of your ' liberality, I will make an offer. , I will sign the pledge if you will.' "This was a proposition they had not considered, and were not very well prepared to meet; but for his sake they said, X We will,' and did sign, and he with them. "And now for the first time the truth poured into his mind, and he saw his condition, and sat down bathed in tears. page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] 288 THE TWO ROADS. "'Now,' said he,c gentlemen, you must go and communicate these facts to my wife-poor woman! I know she will be glad to hear it; but I cannot tell her.' "Two of them started for that purpose. The lady met them at the door, pale and trembling with emotion. "' What,' she inquired, X is the matter? What has happened to my husband?' "They bid her dismiss her fears, assuring her they had come to bring her tidings of her husband-good tidings, such as she would be glad to hear. "' Your husband has signed the temperance pledge-yea, in good faith.' "The joyous news nearly overcame her-she trembled with excitement--wept freely, and clasping her hands devotionally, she looked up to heaven, and thanked God for the happy change. 'Now,' said she, 'I have a husband as he once was, in the days of our early love.' "But this was not what moved me," said the gentleman. "There was in the same vicinity another gentleman-a generous, noble soul-married well into a respectable family, and the fower of it. His wine-drinking habits had aroused the fears of his friends, and one day, when several of them were together, one said to another, I Let us sign the pledge.' I will if you will,' said one to another, till all had agreed to it, and the thing was done. "This gentleman thought it rather a small business, and felt a little sensitive about revealing to his wife what he had done. But on returning home, he said to her- - "' Mary, my dear, I have done what I fear will displease you.' "' Well, what is it?' "Why, I have signed the temperance pledge.' "' Have you?' "Yes, I have certainly.' "Watching his manner as he replied, and reading its sincerity, she entwined her arms around his neck, laid her head upon his bosom, and burst into tears. Her husband was affected deeply by this conduct of his wife, and said-- Mary, don't weep; I did not know it would afflict you so, BAD FRUITS FROM BAD SEED. 289 or I would not have done it. I will go and take my name off immediately.' a "Take your name off!' said she, 'no! no! let it be there. I shall now have no more solicitude in reference to your becoming a drunkard. I shall spend no more wakeful hours. I shall no more steep my pillow in tears.' "Now for the first time the truth shone upon his mind, and he folded to his bosom his young and beautiful wife, and wept with her. Now I can't stand these facts, and I am going to sign the pledge." BAD FRUITS FROM BAD SEED. IT is manifest that the spirit of rude and rowdy violence, of reckless mischief and riot, has gained upon us greatly within a few years; and in our cities and populous towns, a large propor- tion of the people, particularly the boyish and youthful part, are easily incited 4o break over the barriers of law and morality. Perhaps there never was a time when desperate men who revel in disorder could find so many volunteers ready to aid them in up- turning all that is settled and venerable. 1 It is always of prime consequence to find out the true cause of any vicious state of things; for till that is ascertained, the proper remedy cannot be applied. We believe that cause will be found in the bad management and neglect of the rising generation. It has been the fashion of late years to let children grow up without restraint, without discipline, without respect for authority, or reverence for age, or regard for the immutable principles of right; and their conduct after arriving at maturity is in exact correspond- ence with the practical lessons of their youth. Look into families and observe the manner in which children grow up. In most cases there is no system of moral instruction; and even professing Christians send their children to Sunday- schools to get all their religious teaching. The talk of the family is about riches, success in business, and the modes of acquiring wealth, and the children hear it, and learn to think that wealth is the best of distinctionsand poverty a disgrace. The father 25 page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] 290 THE TWO ROADS. sees but little of his children, and the mother must attend to them, send them to school, advise them in difficulty and the like. The boys will go if they choose, and if they prefer play will enjoy it, not expecting to have their progress inquired into at home. At school, as at home, they will learn that wealth is the main thing, while moral worth is scarcely named. Robert is a more import- ant boy at school than Bill, because Robert's father is worth more than Bill's, and therefore Bill is cuffed and Robert is courted. Teachers too often consider themselves employed not to impress their pupils with moral truths and lead them to make just dis- tinctions between good and evil, right and wrong, but merely to impart a knowledge of grammar, arithmetic, &c. And when a scholar makes a good show at examination in some branch of mere school-book knowledge, the teacher is, done. But though the teacher has taught no moral lessons, the scholars have been all the time teaching each other immorality. And if we inquire for the pulpit's influence upon youth, what does it amount to? Perhaps they learn the catechism-have heard that the race of man is fallen and sinful-have heard of David and Daniel and Stlomon, and listened to histories of what happened in old times. But what do children learn from the pulpit concerning their duty to each other, to their parents, to aged persons? What do they learn of honesty, truth, honour, patriotism, kindness, compassion for the wretched, sympathy with the afflicted? And when children are put out to trades or placed in stores, what is their training there? Are they taught by their masters' example to lie, cheat, deceive, or to dread every thing of the sort? Is the lad charged if he knows of any defect or blemish in goods to point it out, or if any error in measure or weight to mention and correct it? Or does he learn that any advantage gained over a customer is a mark of shrewdness and tact, and that he is the best business man who can make the best bargains for himself? j And as if all the defects and wrongs of home, school, church, and shop education were not enough, our youth are still further exposed to corruption by their associations with other youth; by the drinking-shops, theatres, bowling-alleys, and by corrupt prints, pamphlets, and newspapers. All these influences work -a com- DOUBT NOT." 291 mon result of early and complete initiation into vice and folly, and soon boys rank off into two divisions-one class claiming to be rich at any sacrifice of truth, honour, and principle-the other striving to be a sort of manly rowdies, swearing, swaggering, drinking, and rioting. Is it wonderful; then, that society is overrun with fresh crops of bad men and women, springing from this vast body of neglected and illy trained youth? And is it not plainly to be seen that if ever things are improved, it must be by a new spirit on the part of parents and all who have control of youthful minds? As is the seed, so will be the harvest. Men do not gather grapes of thorns, nor figs of thistles. Nor should we be gathering thorns and thistles now, if in time past the seeds had not been planted. There must be a reform. The evil has gone too far already. DOUBT NOT. WHEN the day of life is dreary, And when gloom thy course enshrouds- When thy steps are faint and weary, And thy spirit dark with clouds; Steadfast still in thy well doing, Let thy soul forget the past- Steadfast still the right pursuing, Doubt not! joy shall come at last. Striving still and onward pressing, Seek no future years to know, But deserve the wish'd for blessing, It shall come though it be slow; Never tiring-upward gazing- Let thy fears aside be cast, And thy trials tempting-braving, Doubt not-! joy shall come at last. Keep not thou thy soul regretting, Seek the good--spurn evil's thrall, Though thy foes thy path besetting, Thou shalt triumph o'er them all; page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 THE TWO ROADS. Though each year but brings thee sadness, And thy youth be fleeting fast, There'll be time enough for gladness- Doubt not-! joy shall come at last. His fond eye is watching o'er thee- His strong arm shall be thy guard- Duty's path is straight before thee, It shall lead to thy reward. By thine ills thy faith made stronger, Mould the future by the past- 'Hope thou on a little longer! Doubt not! joy will come at last!--[J. A t Knowlton. , NEW-YEAR'S EVE. IT is the New-year's midnight. An old man with despondent and despairing look appears standing at a window. He gazes upward upon the still, star-flowered heavens; downward upon the pure, quiet, snow-white earth-earth, where not any are now so joy- less and sleepless as he. His grave was close by, hidden only by the snow of age, not by the verdure of youth; and, alas! out of a long life, he has brought no fair and fragrant flowers to adorn it--nothing save sins, and sickness, and an emaciated frame-a barren soul, a bosom full of poison, and an age full of ruth, And now his young days, like spirits, move before him, lead- ing him again to the bright clear morn when his father had placed him at the parting of the Ways of Life-that to the right, con- ducting up the sunlit steep of Virtue, into a far-off but peaceful land of light and harvest, full of angels-that to the left, down- ward through the mole-track of Vice, into a black hell, full of dripping poisons, darting serpents, and dark sweltering vapours. Ah! those serpents twine-about his breast, those poison-drops hang upon his tongue. He knows not where he is. In an an- guish inexpressible, he lifts up his voice to Heaven: he cries, "Give me back my youth, once more! Oh, Father! place me once again at the parting of the ways, that I may choose the right!" NEW-YEAR'S EVE. 293 Alas! his youth and his father have disappeared in the far Past. He beholds only misleading lights dancing by the water- courses, and disappearing on a funeral ground-and he sighs- "They are my foolish days!" -He sees a star shoot out of the heavens, shimmer in its ifall, and disperse upon the earth. "Such am I!" exclaims his bleeding heart, while the serpent-fang of Remorse fastens deeper into his wounds. Fearful is the phantas- magoria which his inflamed fancy now brings before him :--night- walkers gliding upon the roofs--windmills, with vast uplifted arms, threatening to strike--and a skull, left in an empty dead- house, momently assuming the lineaments of life! Suddenly and soothingly, in the midst of this nightmare of the soul, the New-year's music floats downward from a tower, like the far-off melody of psalms. The old man grows less agitated. He surveys the wide horizon; he scans the white earth; and as he gazes upon the scene, recalls the friends of his youth-friends who now, happier and worthier than he, are teachers of the land-- fathers of children and blessed men. "Oh!" he cries, "I too, like you, could have slept this first night of the new-born year, tearless and terrorless, had I but willed it! I also might, have been happy, ye dear parents, had I fulfilled your New-year's wishes, your wise instructions!" In such feverish reminiscences of his youthful time, it seemed to him as if the skull in the dead-house rose up; then-for on New-year's eve, it is said, men behold spirits and the future-it shapes itself into a living youth, in the attitude of the Boy of the Capitol drawing out a thorn--and his own form, as it appeared in the bloom and beauty of youth, is conjured up in mockery before him! There stands the vision-his Past confronting his Present self! He can endure the agony- no longer-he covers his eyes- a flood of hot but blessed tears flow fast from their fountains, sinking in the snow as they fall. He only sighs, sadly and sense- benumbed--"Come back again my youth--come back!" And it did come back; for this miserable one had only so frightfully dreamt on this New-year's midnight. He was yet a youth--but his follies and frailties had been no dream. Heartily, then, did he thank God, that he could still, while young, turn , ' 4 25* page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] 294 THE TWO ROADS. back out of the filthy track of Vice, and betake himself to the sunlit paths which lead to the pure land of harvests. Young reader, turn with him, if thou standest upon his erring path.. Remember! this fearful dream will in future become thy judge, if thou, shouldst ever cry out in thine anguish, "Return, days of my childhood, return!"They will not return. WATER AND ALCOHOL. Go, write it on the loathsome walls, Where liquid death is sold,- Where pains and woes are traded in To glut a love of gold; Let vendors of the poisonous drug The truthful story hear, Cold Water conquers Alcohol, And wipes the scalding tear. In every dram-shop let it ring Throughout this mighty land, Till "Shame" is written on the walls, The cursed. trade to brand; And God's cold water shall be used To quench the raging flame, That alcohol has kindled up To swell his murderous fame. Go write "Cold Water" on the door Of alms-house and of jail, Where Bacchus sends his ruined sons To swell the drunkard's wail,-- Let pauper learn and criminal, That this alone can save From shame and infamy on earth, And from a drunkard's grave. Proclaim it through the nation far, Till weeping mothers hear; 'Twill raise their fainting hearts, I know, Their bleeding hearts 'twill cheer;. j Let all instructors of the young Now heed the cheering truth; WATER AND ALCOHOL. 295 'Twill shed new light with hope to gild The golden morn of youth. Go, write it on the floating flag, And bid the vessel sail,- Unfurl it to the stormy blast, And to the sweeping gale; 'Twill,be a light-house on the sea, A beacon on the strand; 'Twill open up a glorious hope, When far from sight of land. Let Ocean catch the welcome truth, And swell his lofty strain, And roll it in his thundering bass Across the watery plain; Till surges of "Cold Water" roll, And guilty nations lash; On every shore where rum is sold In awful terrors dash. Go, bear it to the distant port, And tell it on the shore: "Cold Water" is our nation's hope; Go tell it o'er and o'er! 'Twill put a star upon the crown That sits on freedom's brow, To shine as long as others will That sparkle in it now. "( Cold Water's" banner take and bear Victorious from its wars, And plant it on the Capitol, Beneath the stripes and stars; There let it wave till congressmen The temperance pledge shall take; And do it with a patriot's heart, For their own country's sake. Talk not of patriots' zeal so rare, Of patriots' love so dear, Till they can spurn a glass of wine, To wipe the orphan's tear; Till they can leave the flowing cup That's " dashed with bitter bowls;" page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 THE TWO ROADS. And rise to stop the fiery wave, That o'er our nation rolls. . Come, wish'd-for day! when statesmen rise And spurn the glowing wine, And- brand with shame the sale of rum Beneath fair freedom's shrine; 'Twill wipe away the stains that blot \ This land of pilgrim pride, \\ When great men shall be wedded to Fair Temperance as a bride.-[Rev. W. M. Thayer. THE BRIDAL WINE-CUP. "PLEDGE with wine--pledge with wine!" cried the young and thoughtless Harvey Wood. "Pledge with wine!" ran through the brilliant crowd. The beautiful bride grew pale-the decisive hour had come. She pressed her white hands together, and the leaves of her bridal wreath trembled on her pure forehead; her breath came quick, and her heart beat wilder. "Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples for once," said the Judge in a low tone, going toward his daughter, " the company expect it." Do not so seriously infringe upon the rules of eti- quette; in your own home, act as you please, but in mine, for this once please me." Every eye was turned toward the bridal pair. Marion's prin- ciples were well known. Henry had been a convivialist, but of late his friends noticed the change in his manners, the indifference in his habits-and to-night they watched to see, as they sneer- ingly said, if he was tied down to a woman's opinion so soon. Pouring a brimming beaker, they held it with tempting smiles toward Marion. She was very pale, though more composed, and her hand shook not, as, smiling beck, she accepted the crystal tempter, and raised it to her lips. Scarcely had she done so, when every hand was arrested by her piercing exclamation of "Oh, how terrible!" "What is it?" cried one and all, thronging together, for she THE BRIDAL WINE-CUP. 297 had slowly carried the glass to arm's length,s and regarding it as though it were some hideous object. "Wait," she answered, while an inspired light shone from her dark eyes, "wait, and I will tell you. I see," she added slowly, pointing one jewelled finger at the sparkling ruby liquid, a sight that beggars description, and yet listen,-I will paint it for you if H can. . "It is a lonely spot-tall mountains, crowned with verdure, rise in awful sublimity around; a river runs through and bright flow- ers grow to the water's edge. There is a thick, warm mist that the sun seeks vainly to pierce. Trees, lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion of the birds; but there-a group of Indians is gathered-they flit to and fro with something like sorrow upon their dark brows. In their midst lies a manly form, but his cheek how deathly, his eyes wild with the fire of fever! One friend stands beside him, nay, I should say kneels, for see, he is pillow- ing that poor head upon his breast. "Genius in ruins! oh, the high, holy-looking brow! Why should death mark it and he so young? Look how he throws back the damp curls! See him clasp his hands! hear his thrill- ing shriek for life! mark how he clutches at the form of his com- panion, imploring to be saved. Oh! hear him call piteously his father's name. See him twine his fingers together as he calls for his sister, the twin of his soul, weeping for him in his distant native land! "See!" she exclaimed, while the bridal party shrank back, the untasted wine trembling in their faltering grasp, and the Judge fell overpowered upon his seat,-"see, his arms are lifted to heaven-he prays, how wildly, for mercy!-hot fever rushes through his veins. The friend beside him is weeping, awe- stricken; the dark men move silently away, and leave the living and dying together." There was a rush in the principal parlour, broken by only what seemed a smothered sob from some manly bosom. The bride stood upright, with quivering lip, and tears stealing to the outward edge of her lashes. Her beautiful arm had lost its tension, and the glass with its little, troubled, red waves, came slowly toward the range of her vision. She spoke again; every page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] 298 THE TWO ROADS. lip was mute; Her voice was low, ftint, yet awfully distinct-- she still fixed her sorrowful glance upon the wine-cup. ' It is evening now, the great white moon is coming up, and its beams lay gently on his forehead. He moves not, his eyes are set in their sockets; dim are their piercing glances; in vain his friends whisper the name of father and sister. Death is here. Death-and no soft hand, no gentle voice, to bless and soothe him. His head sinks back-one convulsive shudder-he is dead!" A groan ran through the assembly. So vivid was her descrip- tion, so unearthly her look, so inspired her manner, that what she described seemed actually to have taken place then and there. They noticed also, that the bridegroom hid his face in his hands and was weeping. "Dead!" she repeated again, her lips quivering faster, and her voice more and more broken. "And there they scoop him a grave, and there, without a shroud, they lay. him down on that damp, reeking earth. The only son of a proud father, the only idolized brother of a fond sister. And he sleeps in that distant country with no stone to mark the spot. There he lies, MY FATHER'S SON, my own TWIN BROTHER! a victim to this deadly poison. "Father," she exclaimed, turning suddenly, while the tears ran down her beautiful cheeks, " father, shall I drink it now?" The form of the old Judge was convulsed with agony. -He raised not his head, but in a smothered voice he faltered- "No no, my child; in God's name, no!" She lifted the glittering goblet, and letting it fall to the floor, it was dashed into ten thousand pieces. Many a tearful eye watched her movement, and instantaneously every wineglass was transferred to the marble table on which it had been prepared. Then, after looking at the fragments of the crystal, she turned to the company, saying, ," Let no friend, hereafter, who loves me, tempt me to peril my soul for wine. Not firmer are the ever- lasting hills than my resolve, God helping me, never to touch or taste that terrible poison. And he to whom I have given hand, who watched over my brother's dying form in the last solemn hour, and buried the dear wanderer there by the river in that land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in that resolve. Will you not, my husband?" FOR EVER WITH THE LORD. 299 His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile, was his answer. The Judge left the room, and when, an hour after, he returned, and with a more subdued manner took part in the entertainment of the bridal guests, no one could fl to read that he, too, had determined to banish the enemy at once and for ever from his princely home. Those who were present at the wedding can never forget the impression so solemnly made. Many from that hour foreswore the social glass. FOR EVER WITH THE LORD. "FOR ever with the Lord!" Amen. So let it be; Life for the dead is in that word, 'Tis immortality. Here in the body pent, Absent from Him I roam; Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home. My Father's house on high, Home of my soul, how near, At times, to faith's aspiring eye, Thy golden gates appear! Ah, then my spirit faints, To reach the land I love; The bright inheritance of saints, , Jerusalem above. Yet doubts still intervene, And all my comfort flies; Like Noah's dove, I flit between Rough seas and stormy skies. Anon the clouds depart, The winds and waters cease; While sweetly o'er my gladdened heart Expands the bow of peace. "' For ever with the Lord!" Father, if 'tis thy will, page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] 800 THE TWO ROADS. The promise of thy gracious word, E'en here to me fulfil.. Be thou at my right hand, So shall I never fail; Uphold me, and I needs must stand; Fight, and I must prevail. So, when my latest breath Shall rend the vail in twain, By death I shall escape from death, And life eternal gain. Knowing "as I am known," How shall I love that word, And oft repeat before the throne, "{ For ever with the Lord!"--[J. Montgomery. "HE WILL FORGIVE YOU, FATHER." HE stood leaning upon a broken gate in front of his miserable dwelling. His tattered hat was in his hand, and the cool breeze lifted the matted locks which covered his once noble brow. His countenance was bloated and disfigured, but in his eye there was an unwonted look-a mingled expression of sadness and regret. Perhaps he was listening to the low, melancholy voice of his patient wife, as she soothed the sick babe on her bosom; or per- chance he was gazing upon the sweet face of his eldest daughter, as at the open window she plied her needle to obtain for her mother and the poor children a scanty sustenance. Poor Mary! for herself she cared not: young as she was, her spirit was already crushed by poverty, unkindness, and neglect. As the inebriate thus stood, his eyes wandered over the miserable habitation before him. The windows were broken, and the doors hingeless; scarce a vestige of comfort remained; yet memory bore him back to the days of his youth, when it was the abode of peace and happiness. In fancy he saw again the old arm-chair where sat his father, with the Bible upon his knee; and he seemed to hear again the sweet notes of his mother, as she laid her hand upon the head of her darling boy, and prayed that God would bless him and preserve HE WILL FORGIVE YOU, FATHER. 301 him from evil. Long years had passed away, yet tears came into the eyes of the drunkard at the recollection of his mother's love. "Poor mother," he muttered, " it is well that thou art sleeping in the grave: it would break thy heart to know that thy son is a wretched and degraded being-a miserable outcast from society." He turned slowly away. Deep within an adjoining forest was a dell where the beams of the sun scarce ever penetrated. Tall trees grew on either side, whose branches, meeting above, formed a canopy of leaves, where the birds built their nests, and poured forth happy songs. Thither the drunkard bent his steps. It had been his favourite haunt in the days of his childhood, and as he threw himself upon the soft green sward, the recollections of past scenes came crowding-over his mind. He covered his face with his hands, and the prayer of the prodigal burst from his lips-- "O God, receive a returning wanderer!" Suddenly a soft arm was thrown around his neck, and a sweet voice murmured--"He will forgive you, father." Starting to his feet, the inebriate saw standing before him his youngest daughter, a child of six years. "Why are you here, Anne?" he said, ashamed that the inno- cent child should have witnessed his grief. "I came to gather the lilies which grow upon the banks," she replied. "See, I have got my basket full, and now I am going to sell them." "And what do you do with the money?" asked the father, as he turned his eyes to the basket, where among the broad green leaves the sweet lilies of the valley were peeping forth. The child hesitated; she thought she had said too much; per- haps her father would demand the money, and spend it in the way in which all his earnings went. "You are afraid to tell me, Anne," said her father, kindly. "Well, I do not blame you; I have no right to my children's confidence." The gentleness of his tone touched the heart of the affectionate child. She threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming--"Yes father, I will tell you. Mother buys medicines for poor little Willie. We have no other way to get it. Mother and Mary work all the time they can get to buy bread." I A pang shot through the inebriate's heart. "I have robbed 5 26 page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 802 THE TWO ROADS. them of the comforts of life," he exclaimed. "From this moment the liquid fire passes my lips no more." Anne stood gazing at him in astonishment. She could scarcely comprehend her father's words; but she saw that some change had taken place. She threw back her golden ringlets, and raised her large blue eyes, with an earnest look, to his face. ( Will you never drink any more rum?" she whispered timidly. "Never! Anne," her father replied, solemnly. Joy danced in her eyes. "Then we will all be so happy," she cried, "and mother won't weep any more. Oh, father, what a happy home ours will be!" Years passed away. The words of little Anne, the drunkard's daughter, had proved true. The home of the reformed man, her father, was indeed a happy one. Plenty crowned his board, and health and joy beamed from the face of his wife and children- where once squalid misery alone could be traced. The pledge had raised him from his degradation, and restored him once more to peace and happiness. I REFORMED DRUNKARDS' HYMN. CAPTIVE to sin and sunk in shame, To all a loathing and a pest; With shatter'd health and blighted name, % Alike unblessing and unblessed- Demons, who made our homes a hell, : Where passions howl'd like fiends below, With all the crimes and shames which swell The catalogue of human wo- Such were we--and could men be worse? Friends from our pathway turn'd aside; s Foes mutter'd in our ears their curse And children saw us to deride! Before us yawn'd a drunkard's grave- 'Twas curtain'd all in midnight gloom- Who from its greedy jaws can save? Beyond, the drunkard's dreadful doom-! . ! i' LIVE NOT TO YOURSELF. 303 Such were we-victims of Despair, For Hope, with folded wings, had died- Hell moved to meet us, and the air Quiver'd with shouts of fiends, who cried, "Aha! and have ye fallen thus, Ye who exulted in your strength? Hurl'd from your heights, have ye, like us, Become the Spoiler's prey at length?" But this is past-the wo-the tears- The fiery weight on heart and brain- The gather'd shame of anguish'd years-- Nought but their memories remain! The cup of crime and suffering Is dash'd by Mercy's hand away; And waters, bubbling from the spring, -The wine of God-our thirst allay! Lord God of Hosts! to thee belong Thanksgiving and the voice of praise! -Thine eye beheld--thine arm was strong The drunkard from the pit to raise! Saved from our vice--to life restored-- To home-to wife--to children given- We praise thee for thy goodness, Lord! And build on thee our hopes in heaven. [ W. H. Burleigh. "VE NOT TO YOURSELF. ON the frail little stem in the garden hangs the opening rose. Go ask why it hangs there. "I hang here," says the beautiful flower, "to sweeten the air which man breathes, to open my beau. ties, to kindle emotion in his eye, to show him the hand of his God, who pencilled each leaf and laid them thus on my bosom. I live not to myself." Beside yon highway stands an aged tree, solitary and alone. You see no living thing near it, and you say, Surely that must stand for itself alone. "No," says the tree, "God never made me for a purpose so small. For more than a hundred years I have stood here. In summer I have spread out my arms and sheltered the panting flocks which hastened to my shade. In i page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] 304 THE TWO ROADS. my bosom I have concealed and protected the brood of young birds, as they lay and rocked in their nest. In the storm, I have more than once received in my body the lightning's bolt, which had else destroyed the traveller. The acorns which I have ma- tured from year to year have been carried far and- near, and groves of forest-oaks can claim me as their parent. I have lived for the eagle, which has perched on my top; for the humming- bird, that has paused and refreshed its giddy wing, ere it danced away again like a blossom of the air; for the insect, that has found a home within the folds of my bark; and when I can stand no longer, I shall fall by the hand of man, and I shall go to strengthen the ship which makes him lord of the ocean, and to his dwelling to warm his hearth and cheer his home. I live -not to myself." On yonder mountain side comes down the silver brook, in the distance resembling a ribbon of silver, running and leaping as it dashes joyously and fearlessly down. Go ask the leaper what it is doing. "I was born," says the brook, "' high up in the moun- tain, but there I could do no good; and so I am hurrying down, running where I can, and leaping where I must; but hastening down to water the sweet valley, where the lark may sing on my margin, where I may drive the mill for the accommodation of man, and then widen into the great river, and bear up his steam- boats and shipping, and, finally, plunge into the ocean, to rise again in vapour, and perhaps come back again in the clouds to my own native mountain, and live my short life over again. Not a drop of water comes down my channel, in whose bright face you may not read-- None of us liveth to himself.' Speak now to that --solitary star that hangs in the far verge of heaven, and ask the bright sparkler what it is doing there. Its voice comes down the path of life, and cries, "I am a mighty world. I was stationed here at the creation. I was among the morning stars that sang together, and among the sons of God that shouted for joy at the creation of the world. Ay, ay, I was there- "'When the radiant morn of creation broke, And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath; !, FORBEARANCE. 305 And the orbs of beauty and spheres of flatne From the void abyss by myriads came: In the joy of youth, as they darted away Through the!widening wastes of space to play, Their silver voices in chorus rung, And this was the song the bright ones sung.' " And thus God has written upon the flower that sweetens the air, upon the breeze that rocks the flower on its stem, upon the rain-drops that swell the mighty riyer, upon the dew-drop that refreshes the smallest sprig of moss that rears its head in the de- sert, upon the ocean that rocks every swimmer in its channel, upon every pencilled shell that sleeps in the caverns of the deep, as well as upon the mighty sun which warms and cheers the mil- lions of creatures that live in his light,--upon all has He written ' None of us liveth to himself." And if you will read this lesson in characters still more dis- tinct and striking, you will go to the garden of Gethsemaneif and hear the Redeemer in prayer, while the angel of God strengthens him. You will hear it on the hill of Calvary, where a voice, that might be the concentrated voice of the whole universe of God, proclaims that the highest, noblest deed which the Infinite can do, is to do good to others-to live not to himself.--[Rev. J. Todd. FORBEARANCE. AN ILLUSTRATION. THERE are pleasant spots where no sunbeams glow, There are fertile vales where no rivers flow, There are flowers that bloom where no south winds comer And the air is stirred with the drowsy hum Of bees, where the place seems not to be A fitting haunt for such melody; And we wonder much that things should be so, Till, searching above, and searching below, We the hidden secret of Nature know. There are cheerful homes, where the light of day Steals in with a faintly glimmering ray; Where the labour is hard,%and coarse the bread, And but scanty rest for the weary head; a 26-4: -1 page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 THE TWO ROADS. Where childhood is nursed by Hunger gaunt, And clasped in the cold embrace of Want; And we wonder much, until we find That a faith which never looks behind Gives feet to the lame and eyes to the blind. There are yearning hearts that wander on Through life, as if seeking a light that is gone; Though no outward cause of grief appear, Yet no friendly hand may stay the tear, Which only in silent sadness reveals All that the desolate spirit feels; These love not darkness, they seek for light; But what to other eyes seems most bright, To them brings nought but despair and blight. There are gentle natures that strangely turn From the hearts where Love doth warmly burn, Who hearken not to Flattery's voice, Who care not for wealth, but make their choice To dwell alone, that so they may hear The Muse's sweet voice for ever near; And amid the treasures of the mind A solace and support they find, Than friendship far more true, more kind. This is Nature's grand primeval law, That from many sources the soul shall draw Happiness, profit, strength, and content, As from every changing element The leafy tree and the springing flower Derive new beauty and added power: Then blame not thy mates that they do not see Each feature of truth which charmeth thee, But abide in thine own sincerity. TIE CAST-OUT EVERGREEN. IN a tangled wild-wood there grew a luxuriant evergreen. It had taken root in the damp earth beneath a clump of dried leaves. But gradually it peeped forth, and throwing its feeble tendrils around the scattered and decayed branches which autumnal and X THE CAST-OUT EVERGREEN. 307 wintry winds had thickly strewed around it, it entwined itself by such supporting embraces until it reached a trailing length, and assumed a brilliant verdancy which made it a conspicuous beauty among the dried shrubbery and mouldering foliage which encom- passed it. And there for years, it may be, it had grown unob- served. Even the bright rays of the sun but scantily and slant. ingly shone in upon its branching progress; for, among the majestic oaks and stately pine trees, the eclipse which fell upon the evergreen was sometimes almost total. Yet it knew no stint, no fading hue, and no rude footsteps had ever trampled upon it. In its obscurity it seemed to obey one of the great laws of nature, and silently to live on with increasing beauty and strength. At every few paces, a vivid green shot out, more tender and youthful than others with whom it claimed affinity, and thus an added beauty was given by its changing colours. But ere long, footsteps are heard in this sacred forest. Over briers and brambles, amid underbrush and rubbish, the pursuit is urged, and the lovely evergreen is at length espied in the tramp. The fatal knife soon severed it from its damp root. Gently was it untwisted from its supporting holds, and through many a gap, and over many a wild and thorny bush had it extended itself. It was indeed hailed by the gleaners as a rare treasure, and care- fully and faithfully was it twined in a broad receptacle, which was designed to enclose many- of its kindred, for the Christmas holidays were approaching, and this undying evergreen was to be woven in a chaplet as an emblem of the Christian faith. Its destination was in a stately mansion, and its preparation was in view of scenes of festivity and joy. By maiden fingers it was rounded and arranged with more perishable wild-flowers, and hung in the splendid drawing-room windows. Here was an em- blem of life contrasted with a dreary prospect without; but it was a new life to the vine which had been cradled amid alternate snows and scanty sunshine. In its new atmosphere a radiant glare of light always beamed upon it. When the setting sun would have left it in its native darkness, the brilliant artificial light shone quite as strongly upon it. And then only a frosty windowpane lent it any damp and refreshing aid to save it from decay; for, amid the heated drawing-rooms where mirth and page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] 308 THE TWO -ROADS. music were keeping time, there was no absence of a blighting heat, which withered both animate and inanimate things. Yet for twenty successive holidays did this evergreen maintain its position. The wild flowers which were first put between it were long since perished, and a decaying beauty was now resting upon the evergreen. It twisted itself, and grew rusty and fading. But it had answered its purpose-it had maintained its place as long as the festive season lasted, and then the window which contained it was suddenly thrown up, and the chaplet was thrown among other rubbish into the street! As with quiet gaze I looked upon it, I too saw an emblem of worldly friendships. It was no more suggestive of Christian faith, for the place it now occupied was but an emblem of fallen greatness, of short-lived remembrances, and of cast-off beauty. And while I moralized, a little tattered beggar picked up the relic, and with her cold and benumbed fingers sought to place it around the crown of her bruised and faded bonnet. Then with a lightsome tread she made her way to yonder attic, where the puny baby tore it in pieces upon the cold hearthstone. Thus ended the cast-off evergreen! Shall I weaken your impression, kind reader, by an analogous picture? Have you never seen the protected child, growing up amid silent influences, maturing year by year in a steady growth- the pride of parental fostering, throwing out the tendrils of affec- tion, dreaming only of merry days, while the soft waters went murmuring by, and in their placid, unruffled flow seemed to image only the innocent thoughts and face of him who stood upon the brink of the stream? By-and-by comes a rough breeze, and the image is no longer reflected. The world has called him out of that peaceful home, and he mingles in a new and heated atmosphere. For a time he is unmindful that he has severed the root from which he drew his healthful nutriment. He plunges into the strange glare of brilliant and festive life. He lives in an excited and pestilential miasma. By slow degrees his moral prin- ciples are undermined- he is enfeebled, perhaps blEated, perchance fevered with the association. But, alas! he has withered at the root, and men cast him out like the worthless evergreen! Is it not so with the devotee at Fashion's shrine? So long as RESIGNATION.. 309 with princely fortune one gives and returns the merry dance, and provides sumptuously at the festive board, is he not sought, ca- ressed, and flattered? But remove the gilded show which his ample fortune supplies; let him now buffet the fierce gales which only plunge him still deeper in the dark shades of poverty, and is he not, too, " cast off," as the evergreen? Alas, that man should be rigid and cold with his brother, even as nature with her rough winds and fearful tornadoes, which sometimes swallow up the richest treasures. The little wild-flower that grows so comely in its silent retreat, untouched by foreign hands, puts forth its tender branches and shuns the vulgar eye, content to bloom in some guardian shade. The morning and evening sun smile upon it; its honeyed blossoms scent the desert air; but the unpitying frosts of autumn leave no vestige of the flower. It came from nothing, and to nothing it has returned! But here my analogy fails. We are born into an endless life; and if we suffer ourselves, through our own misconduct, to be "cast off," we cannot smother or annihilate our life; conscious- ness, once awakened, never dies. But if, by adherence to the firm root of principle, we fearlessly tread life's thorny passages, and find ourselves "cast out" in the conflict, no whirlwind or earthquake can destroy the germinating principle; for, unlike the frail duration of the flower or the decay of the evergreen, we shall yet ripen beneath a more congenial sky, under the guardianship and sunshine of a Father's protecting love.--[i[rs. E. Tellmont. RESIGNATION. THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted! I i page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 THE TWO ROADS. Let us be patient! these severe afflictions Not from the ground arise; But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. We see but dimly through the mists and vapours; Amid these earthly damps, What seem to us but dim, funereal tapers, May be heaven's distant lamps. There is no Death! what seems so is transition; This life of Mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portals we call Death. She is not dead-the child of our affection- But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great Cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which Nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives. Not as a child shall we again behold her; For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, She will not be a child; But a fair maiden, in her Father's mansion, Clothed with celestial grace; And beautiful with all the soul's expansion, Shall we behold her face. And though at times, impetuous with emotion And anguish long suppressed, The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, That cannot be at rest- THE SILVER CUP. 3" We will be patient! and assuage the feeling We can not wholly stay; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way.-[H. W; Longfellow. THE SILVER CUP. THE palace of the Duke De Montre was decorated for a ban- quet. A thousand wax-lights burned in its stately rooms, making them as bright as mid-day: Along the walls glowed the priceless tapestry of the Gobelins, and beneath the foot lay the fabrics of Persia. Rare vases filled with flowers stood on the marble stands, and their breath went up like incense before the lifelike pictures shrined in their frames above. In the hall stood immense tables covered with delicacies from all lands and climes. Upon the side- boards glittered massive plates and the rich glass of Murano. Music, now low and soft, now high and bold, foated in through the open casement, and was answered at intervals by tones of magic sweetness. All was ready. The noble and gifted poured into the gorgeous saloons. Silks rustled, plumes waved, and jewelled embroidery flashed from Genoa velvet. Courtly congratulations fell from every lip, for the Duke De Montre had made a new step in the path to power. Wit sparkled, the laugh went round, and guests pledged him in wine that a hundred years had mellowed. Proudly the duke replied; but his brow darkened, and his cheek paled with passion, for his son sat motionless before his untasted cup. " Wherefore is this?" he angrily demanded. "When did my first-born learn to insult his father?" The graceful stripling sprang from his seat, and knelt meekly before his parent. His sunny curls fell back on his upturned face, and his youthful countenance was radiant with a brave and generous spirit. "'Father," he said, "I last night learned a lesson that sank deep into my heart. Let me repeat it, and then at thy command will drin the cup. I saw a labourer stand at the door of a gay *shop. He held in his hand the earnings of a week, and his wife, page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 THE TWO ROADS. with a babe and two famishing little ones, clung to his garments and besought him not to enter. He tore himself away, for his thirst was strong-and but for the care of a stranger, his family would have perished. "We went on, and, father, a citizen of noble air and majestic form descended the wide steps of his fine mansion. His wife put back the curtains and watched him eagerly and wistfully as he rode away. She was very, very lovely, fairer than any lady of the court, but the shadow of a sad heart was fast falling on her beauty. We saw her gaze around on the desolate splendour of her saloon, and then clasp her hands in the wild agony of despair. When we returned, her husband lay helpless on a couch, and she sat weeping. "Once more we paused-a carriage stopped before a door. It was rich with burnished gold, and the armorial bearings of a duke were visible in the moonbeams. We waited for its owner to alight, but he did not move, and he gave no orders. Soon the servants came crowding out. Sorrowfully they lifted him in their arms, and I saw that some of the jewels were torn from his mantle, and his plumed cap was torn and soiled, as if by the pressure of many footsteps. They bore him into the palace, and I wondered if his duchess wept like the beautiful wife of the citizen. "As I looked on all this, my tutor told me that it was the work of the red wine, which leaps gayly up and laughs over its victims in demon merriment. I shuddered, and resolved never more to taste it, lest I too should fall. But your word is law to me. Shall I drain the cup?" The duke looked wonderingly on his first-born, and then placing his hand gravely yet fondly on his head, answered- "No, my son-touch it not; it is poison, as thy tutor told thee. It fires the brain, darkens the intellect, destroys the soul. Put it away from thee, and so shalt thou grow up wise and good, a bless- ing to thyself and- to thy country." He glanced around the circle. Surprise and admiration were on every face, and, moved by the same impulse, all arose, while one of their number spoke. "Thou hast done nobly, boy," he said, " and thy rebuke shall not soon be forgotten. We have congratulated your father upon I THE DEACON'S COMPLAINT. 313 the passing season. We now congratulate him upon that best of all possessions-a son worthy of France and of himself." The haughty courtiers bowed a glowing assent, and each clasped the hand of the boy. But the father took him to his heart; and even now among the treasured relics of the family is numbered that silver cup. THE DEACON'S COMPLAINT. DEACON OLDPER had a "complaint." It is extremely doubtful whether any one ever knew the precise .nature of the deacon's complaint;" but wherever he was known, and more especially in the immediate neighbourhood where he lived, it was gene. rally conceded that he had one. Deacon Oldper's complaint" was of a very mysterious nature; none of your vulgar, common every-day affairs, which any one might have, and every one in- quire into-nothing of the sort. It was a peculiar " complaint," and one which was not to be adverted to, except in cases of ex- treme necessity; and when at length the deacon was induced through the earnest entreaties of his friends, to advise with a physician upon the subject, he displayed his customary caution and forethought by consulting Doctor Camomile. Now, Doctor Camomile was the deacon's brother-in-law, and, as a matter of course, he should have been consulted upon the momentous sub- ject of the complaint;" for who could possibly understand the necessities of the case better than he? For an indefinite period of time, before the deacon had recourse to the medical skill of the doctor, he had been in the habit of taking ",something," occasion- ally, on account of the " complaint;" and it will readily be per- ceived that his opposition was not very strenuous when the wor- thy doctor informed him that to continue his present course of treatment was the best possible thing he could do-in fact, the only thing necessary to be done; that it was 'the true panacea, a real invigorator to the system, and, in short, all that he needed in the present case. Deacon Oldper had a neighbour whose name was Korning, who was very intemperate and very poor. He was also a small man 27 page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] 314 T HE TWO ROADS. and had a large wife and a large family. Although Korning was far gone in the ways of inebriety, yet he was what is vulgarly called "a good fellow to work," and, when not intoxicated, was a very good-natured sort of a man, both in his family and in his in- tercourse with his neighbours. Korning's wifewas a pious, indus- trious woman, and laboured hard to maintain her family in decency; and, what was far better, she never complained. Her cup was full of sorrow to overflowing; yet bitter as was the draught, she drank it without a murmur. These considerations at length induced a number of charitable individuals in the neighbourhood to make a special effort to re- claim Korning from the evil of his ways; and they accordingly deputed three of their number as a committee to visit him, and endeavour to ascertain his feelings upon the subject. They found him at home, and, for once, sober. "Go to Deacon Oldper," replied Korning, when they urged upon him the necessity of his signing the pledge; "go to Deacon Oldper-he drinks as well as I. If it is necessary'for me to sign, it is for him; and if he'll sign, I will." It was in vain that they argued that Deacon Oldper was com- paratively a temperate man; that he was in no wise interested in the present case; that it was a matter especially designed for his own particular benefit; and that the conduct of Deacon Oldper or any other man ought not to deter him from doing what would manifestly benefit himself and family, and what was so plainly his duty to do. Korning was inexorable, and would only reply, "Go to Deacon Oldper; if he'll sign, I will." Finding that no. thing could be effected without an appeal to the deacon, the com- mittee departed to seek that worthy individual. "Why, gentlemen," said the deacon, gravely and piously as a deacon, after hearing such an important and singular proposal- "why, gentlemen, it is a case of much embarrassment to me-I may say, of much embarrassment. It is a delicate question, gentlemen." "But consider, Deacon Oldper, what a blessing it would be to the poor man's family, and to himself and society, if we could induce him to reform." "True, gentlemen, I may say, very true-it is a-peculiar THE DEACON'S COMPLAINT. 315 case-a very singular request-I am exceedingly embarrassed-I would sign the-that is-I would-I may say-but-you know it is necessary for me to take a little now and then-that is-I have got a 'complaint'-you understand, gentlemen." The dea. con paused, flourished his fine cambric, and looked becomingly grave. This was a clincher. They had heard of the deacon's " com- plaint," and thought they had now ascertained its peculiar bear- ings; and considering the deacon a hopeless case, they exchanged some significant glances and rose to depart. "Gentlemen," said the deacon, as he attended them to the door-" gentlemen, you will have-the goodness--I may say- not to make this matter public-that is-you understand-good- day." "Well, what did he say?" was Korning's inquiry, when the committee entered the apartment where he awaited their return. "Deacon Qldper declines signing at present," said one; "but" "But what?" interrupted Korning. "What did he say? What reason did he give?" "Why, he said he had got a 'complaint,' that rendered it ne- cessary for him to take a little, occasionally." Korning smiled; and to all the reasonings and arguments the committee thought proper to use on that occasion, his invariable repliwas, he had "got a complaint." A few days after the visit of the committee, as Deacon Oldper was passing Korning's house, a loud uproar proceeding therefrom arrested his attention, and being apprehensive that injury would be done the family, he entered, to inquire the cause of the dis- turbance. He found Korning, who was much intoxicated, in a towering passion, because his wife had refused him a small trifle of money, which she had just received for washing. The little children were crowded together in a corner, quaking with fear, while the poor mother sat near them, the very picture of despair. "How now! how now!" cried the deacon, speaking very loud and quick; " what's the matter here, what's the matter, I say?" "Oh, nothing," hiccoughed Korning, turning to the deacon, l page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] 816 THE TWO ROADS. with a drunken, idiotic grin; "oh, nothing, deacon; it's only m-my f complaint."' The deacon's broad skirts suddenly vanished through the door; and with long strides, and a perplexed and mortified air, he sought the sanctuary of his home. We have only to add, that although there is little hope enter- tained by his friends that the cause of the deacon's affliction will ever be eradicated, yet Korning subsequently found in the di- vision-room a sure and permanent remedy for his " complaint." Warwick. REASONS FOR LEAVING OFF STRONG DRINK. I REALLY think those friends are wrong Who say strong drink will make me strong; The stag, the bull, the horse I meet, Are creatures docile, strong, and fleet; Yet water, sparkling water serves To quench their thirst, and brace their nerves. And they are jesting, sure, who say That drink, strong drink, will make me gay. Each warbling bird that pipes a song, Tells me most plainly they are wrong; For who can be more gay and free, Dear little merry birds, than ye? They undervalue nature's wealth Who say strong drink would give me health. The flowers are springing everywhere So pure and fragrant, fresh and fair; Their health and vigour they sustain With draughts of dew, and baths of i sin. I think I never understood Strong drink would make me wise or good. If I'm to shun all evil ways, And serve my Maker all my days, Surely I must betimes begin To leave off every CAUSE of sin. GREAT MSERY FROM SMALL CAUSES. 317 Oh, then, strong drink! I'll bid adieu For ever, and at once, to you. And He who makes all things his care Will guide my feet from every snare And give me wisdom, truth, and sense To choose the path of temperance. GREAT MSERY FROM SMALL CAUSES. IWE have felt at times a longing desire to draw young men aside, and whisper to them some things which our experience has taught us. For example, when we see a young man reckless in his expenditure, and getting into debt, keeping up indulgences and habits which will always call for money faster than he earns it, we feel as if we must get his ear, to tell him that he is lay- ing a foundation for misery and perhaps crime, which he little thinks of. Look at that young clerk! His income is six hundred dollars, say--enough to pay for all reasonable wants, and leave a respect- able sum to be laid by for the future. But he must dress hand- somely; and not being careful of his clothing, and not being willing to appear on working days in a working suit, he requires three new suits where his careful fellow-clerk gets along with one. Then his appetite must be indulged. At the restaurant he pays two or three shillings for a less wholesome dinner than his fellow paid one shilling for. Little occasional luxuries cost a shilling here and a shilling there, and at the year's end the ag- gregate is quite serious. The scale on which his expenditure is projected is quite beyond his income. For present relief, he obtains his next suit on credit --or he borrows. But pay-day must come, and he is in a fret and a worry at being dunned when he cannot pay. He grows petu- lant and gloomy. He resorts to disingenuous shifts to account for non-payment; makes promises which he has no prospect of fulfilling, and tells falsehoods to excuse his failure. Then he begins to find fault with his employers, for not giving him more salary. His cheerfulness is gone. He is gruff toward his em- 27, page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 818 THE TWO ROADS. ployer, as if he felt himself unjustly treated, or not properly appreciated. Every day he grows more unhappy. As he no longer performs his duties in a cheerful, contented spirit, he does not perform them so well as formerly. Unpleasant feelings spring up be- tween him and his employer. The young man's creditors feel aggrieved, and lose confidence. His friends who have loaned him money complain of his want of punctuality, perhaps doubt his honesty. Meanwhile, things grow worse and worse. Debt thickens and presses; friends will not support his extravagance, and they give him the cold shoulder, and if he be a sensitive person, he will soon feel the painfulness of his situation. He hopes, indeed, that soon his salary will be increased, and that thus he will be relieved. But the chances are that his past folly will interfere with his advancement, and if it does not, he will find that his debts and his wants increase more rapidly than his income. The misery of a young man in such a situation is often so great that health and efficiency are both affected by it. Some- times the effect is to lead him to plunge recklessly into pleasure, or to resort to the wine-cup or to the gaming-table. Instances are not rare in which, pressed by debt and shame, the wretched young man ventures to take what is not his own, hoping to re- place it, perhaps, but prevented by constantly increasing embar- rassment. Could we trace back, step by step, the progress in misery and crime of thousands, we should find that the evil commenced in a thoughtless extravagance which the individual's income would not warrant. If they had rigidly practised on the plan of keep- ing their expenses within their means, the temptation to do wrong would not have presented itself. They would have con- tinued, by slow but sure degrees, to rise in the estimation of em- ployers and friends; their prudent habits would have been a strong recommendation; they would have gone on laying the foundation of a credit and a, character which would avail them in the whole of after life; and, besides all this, the little saved each, month or year from useless or hurtful indulgence, would have 'formed a snug little money capital, enabling them to commence A WORD OF KINDNESS. 319 business perhaps, or at least to establish favourable connections. The feeling of self-respect and the habit of self-control thus formed, would also be of priceless worth. But all this is lost, for want of prudence and economy. For the sake of gratifications which only injure body and soul, the foolish young man throws all these advantages away, and makes himself poor, miserable, distrusted, and perhaps driven to in- temperance or fraud. Will any wonder, then, that we long to whisper to careless young men the word of solemn entreaty to beware!-[ Organ. A WORD OF KINDNESS. How softly on the bruised heart A word of kindness falls, And to the dry and parched soul The moistening tear-drop calls! Oh, if they knew, who walked the earth Mid sorrow, grief, and pain, The power a word of kindness hath, 'Twere paradise again. The weakest and the poorest may This simple pittance give, And bid delight to wither'd hearts Return again and live; Oh, what is life if love be lost? If man's unkind to man? Or what the heaven that-waits beyond This brief and mortal span? As stars upon the tranquil sea In mimic glory shine, So words of kindness in the heart Reflect their source divine. Oh, then be kind, who'er thou art That breathest mortal breath, And it shall brighten all thy life, And sweeten even death.-[C. D. Stuart. page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] 820 THE TWO ROADS. THE LITTLE TEETOTALER. George. Hallo, Ned! where are you going, all spruced up so fine in your Sunday, go-to-meeting clothes? Ned. Going? why I am going to the public exhibition of our section. Come, won't you go along? Here's a ticket and pro- gramme. Geo. A programme! what's that? Ned. What a green one!-don't know what a programme is. Why, it's to let you know what's going to be done to-night. Geo. A programme! Why, it is just like a circus-bill. Let me see. Singing by the boys-Dialogue by Ned Mullen and Ben Levy-Drunkard's Home-Temperance Boys in the Field- Song, Water, pure water-and a whole pack more. And so you're going to speak, Ned?- Ned. To be sure I am; and sing, too. Geo. I didn't think such a small chappy like you could speak. Ned. That's because you know nothing about our order. The little chaps have the same opportunity to learn to speak as the bigger boys. Come, may as well go along. You'll be pleased, I know you will. Geo. I'm afraid father will lick me, if I do; he said he was going to take me to the tavern, to-night. There's to be a great raffle. I won a goose t'other night. Do you ever go to raffles, Ned? Ned. I go to taverns to raffle! Not I, indeed! I should be ashamed to be seen going to such dens of infamy. You won a goose, did you? Your father is certainly a greater goose, to take you to taverns to gamble. Geo. Dear me, how harsh you speak of such places. For my part, I don't see any harm in going there. Father goes; and I guess I have as good a right to go as he. I always get a toddy, or something else to drink, when I go there. Ned. You are a precious genius, George; like a good many more of the rising generation, a gambler and drunkard in pro- spective; and, if I mistake not, your father will rue it one of these days, perhaps by seeing you grow up a drunkard; or, may- be, consigned to the poor-house- or prison. I tell you what, THE LITTLE TEETOTALER. 321 George, you are just in the road-keep straight ahead, and you will soon be there! Geo. You are a pert chap, Ned-just like all temperance boys -mghty independent-don't care what you say to a feller that don't belong to you. You hurt my feelings some, I tell you. Ned. Mighty independent! Temperance people are just the ones to be independent; old rummies can't be independent, for they are slaves to King Alcohol. And, as to hurting your feel- ings, I'd rather do that, by telling you the truth, than tamely lis- ten to you, without making a remark in return. And there's that segar in your mouth! I believe you are always smoking or chewing, and often remind me of one of our locomotives-no. thing but puff! puff! puff It is a nasty, filthy practice. Throw it away--it makes me sick to smell it. No doubt it is a genuine Spring Garden long nine! Geo. I tell you again, Ned, it hurts my feelings, the way you talk to me. I don't like it. Father smokes, and I have as good a right as he to smoke. He don't say any thing to me about it. Ned. I can't help it, if I do hurt your feelings. I am only telling you the truth, and it is all for your own good. I feel sorry your father sets you so bad an example. Mind, I tell you, he'll rue it one of these days, as I said before. Geo. Why, Ned, you'd make a good temperance preacher, if you wasn't so small. Ned. I'd rather be a temperance preacher, apd small, to boot, than a rum-drinker, or tobacco-chewer, or smoker: Don't catch this child using poison, no how! Geo. Poison! Ned, how so? WNed. How so? Why, don't you know that rum is a slow poi- son! Look at the poor, miserable wretches that are in the habit of using it to excess. Observe their emaciated and decrepit ap- pearance; their wild and haggard looks; the frenzied state of their brain; all the finer feelings of manhood destroyed, and ,nothing but the miserable wrecks of what they once were remain. ing; and who, when in this state, are ready for almost any crime, be it larceny, arson, or murder. The fact is, George, they will' do any of- these things to get rum! The whole man is poisoned; and in this state, their reasoning faculties being I 2 page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 THE TWO ROADS. destroyed, they are generally unconscious of the crimes they commit. Geo. I know rum is the cause of a great deal of crime and wickedness, but I didn't think it was poison! It may be, though; but I don't see how you can make out that segars and tobacco are poison, too. Ned. You don't, hey? I do. The other day I was reading a book on the evils of tobacco, by an eminent physician; and he says that, next to rum, nothing helps to break down the constitu- tion of man sooner than tobacco. It hurts the digestive organs of your stomach, impairs your health, and is very destructive to the whole nervous system. Many a good constitution has been destroyed by the excessive use of tobacco. Besides, it is an ugly, filthy, dirty practice. Nothing but spit, spit, spit, over carpets, furniture, clothes, and every thing else; for the nasty stuff must come out-no swallowing it; for, if you do, you run a great chance of its killing you. Geo. Still, I never thought tobacco was poison. Ned. Poison! Why, it is the worst of poison. Eminent physicians have made experiments with the oil of tobacco, on rabbits, dogs, cats, and other animals; and a few drops, placed on the tongue of .either of them, has always caused their death in a few seconds. Geo. A few seconds? Ned. Yes, a few seconds! Did you ever hold a segar or piece of tobacco to a dog or cat, George? Geo. Yes, I have; but they all ran away from it. Ned. Now you know the reason why they do so. Aid, would you, a boy endowed with sense and reason, keep on using that which dumb brutes turn up their noses at? Don't catch this chap using what they refuse. Geo. I believe there is a great deal of truth in what you say, Ned. There! I have thrown my segar away, and here gqes the tobacco. I won't use any more of the stuff. I'll not :run the risk of being poisoned. Ned. Now you talk like a sensible boy, George. But t(here is one thing more you have forgot-best leave that off, too; you Y INTEMPERANCE. 323 will never regret it. You don't know what good may come out of it. Geo. I tell you what I'll do, Ned. I'll go home, and tell father that I don't think taverns and raffles are fit places for boys to go to; that I might become a drunkard or a gambler, by the time I am a man; and that I'd rather become a temperance boy, join your section, and persuade father to go with me to the exhi- tion to-night. I'll succeed, I know I shall! Mother will be on my side. Huzza! I'm off! Ned. Stop, George; here's a ticket for your father and mother, in case they should wish to go. Geo. G ive me a couple of them pro-, pro-, what do you call 'em, Ned? Ned. Programmes. Geo. Good-by, Ned, till I see you up at the hall. I'll be there! I'll succeed, I know I shall! Father will be there, too! Ned. I sincerely hope he may succeed, and that his parents may come to the exhibition with him. It may be the means of saving the whole family from degradation and ruin. INTEMPERANCE. PARENT! who with speechless feeling, O'er thy cradled treasure bent, Every year new claims revealing,-- Yet thy wealth of love unspent- Hast thou seen that blossom blighted, - By a drear, untimely frost? All thy labours unrequited? Every glorious promise lost? Wife! with agony unspoken, Shrinking from affliction's rod, Is thy prop, thy idol, broken- Fondly trusted, next to God? l: 4 page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] 824 THE TWO ROADS. Husband! o'er thy hope a mourner, Of thy chosen friend ashamed, Hast thou to her burial borne her, Unrepented, unreclaimed? Child! in-thy tender weakness turning To thy heaven-appointed guide, Doth a lava-poison burning, Tinge with gall affection's tide? Still that orphan-burden bearing, Darker than the grave can show, Dost thou bow thee down despairing, To a heritage of wo? Country! on thy sons depending, Strong in manhood, bright in bloom, Hast thou seen thy pride descending, Shrouded, to th' unclouded tomb? Rise!--on eagle pinions soaring-- Rise!-v-like one of godlike birth- And, Jehovah's aid imploring, Sweep the Spoiler from the earth! [Mrs. S;gourney. SOW THY SEED. IN the morning sow thy seed- In the morning of thy youth; Prompt to evyery generous deed, Scatter wide the seeds of truth: He whose LP ay set at noon, Never can bin too soon! Nor withhold thy willing hand In the eventide of age; E'en to life's last lingering sand, In thy closing pilgrimage, Seed may yet be sown by thee- Sown for immortality! THE DYING MAIDEN' S DREAM. 325 "By all waters," be it known-- Everywhere enrich the ground, Till the soil with thorns o'ergrown Shall with fruits and flowers abound; Pregnant with a sweet perfume, Decked in Eden's loveliest bloom! Sow it in the youthful mind; Can you have a fairer field? Be it but in faith consigned, Harvest, doubtless, it shall yield, Fruits of early piety, All that God delights to see. Sow it mid the crowded street- Lanes and alleys 'dark and foul, Where the teeming masses meet- Each with an immortal soul Sunk in deepest moral gloom, Reckless of the coming doom. Sow it mid the haunts of vice- Scenes of infamy and crime; Suddenly may Paradise Burst as in the northern clime, Spring) with all its verdant race, Starts from winter's cold embrace. Sow it with unsparing hand, 'Tis the Kingdom's precious seed; 'Tis the Master's great command, \ And his grace shall crown the deed; He hath said, the precious grain lNever shall be sown in vain!-[ T. Raffles. THE DYING MAtDEN'S/ DREAM. THE sun had long since sunk to rest, when a fair and childlike maiden turned wearily upon her couch, and awoke from troubled sleep. The chamber in which she lay was plainly furnished, but the taste with which all was arranged-the flowers; the books, the cheerful fire, and the shaded lamp-showed that the hand of 28 l a!7 page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] 326 THE TWO ROADS. love was unwearied in administering to the comfort of the beauti- ful sufferer. The flickering light fell upon her countenance, and exhibited features of matchless beauty. A roseate flush was upon the cheek, but there lay settled on the brow a more than marble paleness. Bright and very expressive were her dark eyes, but hollow and faint were the tones of her once musical voice. There she lay a sufferer from that only disease whose arrow im- parts beauty when it pierces the heart of its victim. "Mother, mother!" and at the summons there rose from an easy chair a tall and graceful matron, but almost too youthful for the mother of the sufferer. And can it be the mother, who thus calmly raises the form which she knows will so soon be hidden in the grave? No tear bedews her cheek, as she soothes her agi- tated child-no groan heaves her bosom, as she replaces beneath the cap whence they have strayed, the raven curls she had so often dressed in her pride. All these offices were performed with the tenderness which only a mother knows, but also with the submission which none but a Christian can feel. The struggle had been made in weeks gone by, and now she felt that she was ministering to an heir of glory. Her own heart had been too deeply wrung by earthly anguish, too cruelly de- ceived by earthly hopes, to desire length of days even for her only beloved child. There mingled no selfishness with her love, and she could anticipate with joy, even in view of her own deso- lation, the entrance of her child into glory. She had learned to say- "The time-worn heart can be By pangs in this world riven, Keener than those who yield, like me, An angel unto heaven." "You seem to be in pain, my child; can I do any thing more for you?" said she, tenderly, as she stooped to kiss her daughter. "No, mother, I am not in pain-I am quite free from it now; but I want you to pray for me; and don't leave me to-night, mother. I have awakened from a fearful dream, and I cannot sleep again. My peace, which was like a river, has departed. The tempter is here to-night, and I feel his power. Mother, I ; - THE DYING MAIDEN'S DREAM. 327 doubt-and my soul-I fear to pass through the river of death alone." '"Alone, my darling? Surely you cannbt forget Him who said, ' When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee.' "But, dear mother, a voice whispers that I may have applied , that promise in my own vain hope, and the bare possibility is fearful in an hour like this. Last evening, before I slept, my thoughts wandered back to happier days, and to our old beautiful home. I thought of all our dear friends, of your love, and of my poor father's former kindness;. then the thought of his pre- sent condition, and of your desolation when I shall be gone, almost broke my heart. I thought of my father, till I forgot our wrongs, and I longed for his return, that I might clasp him in my arms, and entreat him, for the sake of his dying child, to be what he once was to her mother. "Oh, mother dear, how earnestly I prayed for his restoration! Then my thoughts wandered to him -who has been his ruin--to the days when he and his family were our dearest friends--to the first fears we expressed to each other--then to the day when I ran joyfully to welcome Helen, and was met by her with tears, and she said, ' Mary, I love you dearly; but father will not let me play with you any more: he says I must not play with a drunkard's child.' Then I thought of the day when, like a thunderbolt, came from her father's lips the announcement that our beautiful home was his, and that the house where my mother was born, and where I was born, must no longer be ours; then of our removal to these rooms, and theirs into the house where we were once so happy. Since then, although he disdains to let Helen play with-a drunkard's child, he disdains not, mother, to take our hard-earned money, giving us misery and disgrace for the gold our midnight stitches have, gained. I thought of him and all his crimes-of all the wretched homes he has made-till he stood before me like a very fiend. It seemed as if no mortal, so covered with crime, could walk the earth unpunished. My father, in all his sin and guilt, looked almost pure beside him, and I felt pity and love for him as the victim of a fiend." page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] 328 THE TWO ROADS. "Rest a while, my child," said the mother; "you exhaust yourself." "No, mother, let me tell, while I can, all my vision. Excited and wearied with these dreadful thoughts, I fell into a troubled sleep. Then I dreamed that I was walking wearily through a beautiful green meadow; the green was like emerald, and the sun shone on a stream, which I ran through till it sparkled like a bed of diamonds. "Raising my eyes to the opposite side of the river, I saw a form too glorious for mortals to gaze upon. I saw Him whom I knew by the crown upon His head. As I looked, an angel came, robed in dazzling white, and laid upon His breast an infant. Its little arms encircled His neck, and it laid its beautiful head trustingly upon His bosom. I knew it to be a spirit newly ran- somed from earth, and, in my sleep, wished that the mother who bore it could see it as I did then. Surely she could have shed no tears for it. I longed to have Him cast one such look on me, as that with which I saw Him bend over the babe. I seemed to be expecting him to send the white-robed messenger to bear me upon his wings over the river. I felt that if I could lay my head upon His breast, it would be heaven-that I could never sin or suffer more. "But the angel came not, and feeling my dying weakness fall like a mantle, I called upon Him to send a messenger for me. He raised His head, and the expression of ineffable love was changed into one of mild reproof. 'Return,' said He, with a gentle motion of the hand, ' return whence you came. Thou art not yet meet for my kingdom. Knowest thou not that nothing impure can enter here? and thou hast unforgiven wrongs, the memory of which is still rankling in thy bosom. Return to earth, and learn to " bless them that curse you," to "do good to them that hate you," and to " pray for them that despitefully use you."'" Here the invalid paused, closed her eyes, and was silent for some time. She then resumed-' "The sensations of faintness and dread produced by these words awakened me, and I am now distressed and amazed to find, that in my heart-searchings I had never discovered this peace- THE DYING MAIDEN'S DREAM. 329 destroying spirit of unforgiveness-to remember that in all my prayers for friends and for strangers, I had never offered one for the man whose cruelty first led me to see the vanity of earthly hopes and pleasures. Surely it is enough for him and his brethren in guilt that the anger of their Maker and Judge rests upon them. How have I ever dared to raise my tiny arms against a fellow-sinner? Oh that I could see him, and confess that no prayer for him has ever escaped my lips! Then would I entreat him to turn from his evil ways. I know that his heart encased in gold, is harder than the nether millstone. I remem- ber how cruelly he spurned all your gentle entreaties, and how lhe trifled with your fears as to the end of my father's course. I remember all-how rudely he dismissed from the door one whom, two or three years ago, he acknowledged his superior in society." "But, my child," interrupted her mother, " can you"-' "Mother, I know all your objections-I read them in your countenance; but I must see him. He will not refuse a dying request. I will send it to him through Helen, the idol of his heart. You have nothing to fear from him. There is nothing he can do to you that he has not done. You have no son, mother, to be ruined--no houses?r lands to be wrenched from you--no tender husband to be ali nated-no heart to break now -that and all these he has already done. Why, then, do you object to my sending for him to come to my bedside? Nothing can be lost, and much may be gained. Helen, the gentle, amiable companion of my childhood, may come, if her father will not, and then I can, at least, plead with him, through her, and commend you to her faithful heart. "Never for a moment have I doubted her through all our trials. Although she has never visited us, yet whenever I have met her in the street, she has always extended a trembling hand, and asked for you with tears. Once she said, 'Your mother, Mary, how much I want to see her!' She has never met me as , the well-dressed lady meets the seamstress carrying her bundle of work, but always with a tenderness of manner I cannot de- scribe." "But why has she not called to see you in your sickness'?" inquired the mother. 28 -.- page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 880 THE TWO LOADS. S I am sure that a promise has been extorted from her, that she would never come here; for her father knows the goodness of her heart, and her influence over him too well, 'to trust her with us. He knows her to be conscientious and upright. Her judgment he greatly respects and although one so unholy can- not respect, yet I know he fears her goodness. I do not think we are forgotten, and I have always thought the gold you re- ceived from an unknown hand came from the dear girl. "I remember when I was a giddy, thoughtless girl, that she was thoughtful and serious, and that at times she reflected deeply upon her accountability to God. Indeed, I cannot but hope she is a Christian; and perhaps the word of one entering the eternal world may second her efforts for her father's rescue from the love of gold-may aid her in winning him from the paths of sin to those of righteousness. The feeblest means are sometimes blessed; and who can tell but I, who have never accomplished any good by my life, may by my death be instrumental in con- verting this man from the error of his ways, and thus' causing many a desolate heart to sing for joy. "Still, although it is the desire of my heart to see Mr. B--, I will yield to your wishes, if you do not think it best to send, or if you think that the meeting would be more than my ex- hausted strength could bear. What say you, mother dear?" "You are worn and exhausted now, my precious one," softly said the mother. "Your waking and sleeping thoughts have been painful. You also have talked much more than you should have done. - Let me smooth your pillow, and pray for you, as you asked mte to do, and then do you try to get a little rest. I will think of your request, and talk with you when you are rested." Another night closed around the lonely dwelling of Mrs. Mor- ton-that night in which she was written "' childless." The angel of death hovered over, waiting to bear a ransomed soul to rest. Within stood weeping friends to sympathize with the stricken mother, and to minister to leer dying child. She who had been a " lone watcher" through nights of wo, now saw a conscience-stricken father bending over his child, ^if ' THE DYING MAIDEN'S DREAM. 331 eager to catch the word of forgiveness from her faltering lip. She saw the man, who, for the love of gold, had put the cup to his neighbour's mouth, and spread desolation and death around him. There stood, bathed in tears, the gentle maiden who would gladly have purchased length of days for the dying one by the cutting short of her own. * * * Mary lay apparently in peaceful sleep. But at length she roused herself, and extended her hand to each with a pleasant smile. She gathered strength, and addressed first the one whom she had so much desired to see. She set in order before him all his sins, with the faithfulness of one who has nothing to fear; told how deeply she had felt, and how earnestly she had prayed for him, and begged him to grant her dying request, by reflecting on the past, and striving, ere he should lie down in death, to re- lieve those who else would rise up against him in the "judgments" from the drunkard's grave. "Begin, oh begin there, and do it now!" said the faltering voice, as she pointed to her weeping father. Then tenderly taking her father's hand, she talked with him till all around them wept. Receiving a promise that he would forsake his evil ways, she said, "Remember, father; for your dying child will be the witness to the fulfilment of this pledge." After kind words of thankfulness, and a long embrace of the others, she leaned back exhausted, and fell into a tranquil sleep, which lasted long-for she never awoke on earth. Mr. B-- was a man of few words. He spoke not, save the low a' Good-night,"when he left that house of death; but he went out an altered man. He saw the lovely daughter of the man he had ruined laid in the dust, and over that new-made grave he re- solved, in a strength greater than his own, to review the past, and to those he had wronged to restore fourfold, even should he be stripped of the wealth which had been his idol. That altered home--that dying girl-the submission of the mother-the ruined father and husband-had touched a conscience seared, and impervious to reason and argument. He sought out many poor and "degraded-relieved and strove to elevate them. He gave employment to the idle, encouraged the wavering, and re- ; S stored to several families the homes of which he had bereft them. 1 page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 THE TWO ROADS. He was ever after a firm and unflinching friend of temperance. The remaining years of his life bore witness to the genuineness of the change wrought in his character. Another year saw Mr. Morton a respectable man, and his wife the occupant of her childhood's home. The reformed drunkard and his family have done much in the cause of temperance and humanity; Theirs is .the work of the heart. They toil not like day-labourers. They have deeply felt the woes of the wine-cup, and are ever ready to remember the past, and to toil for others as others toiled for them. Who pities the drunkard as does he who has himself been plucked as a brand from the burning? Who so ready to weep with and succour the neglected wife and helpless children, as they who have just been raised from the same condition? [Abridged fjom the New York Templerance Organ. LOOK ALWAYS ON THE SUNNY SIDE. WHAT little things may sweeten life, If we but view them rightly! Our darkest moments oft are rife With pleasures beaming brightly. The mind that wraps itself in grief, And vents its woes in groaning, Would never gain one hour's relief For ages passed in moaning. Look always on the sunny side- The sun is ever shining; The shadow may be dark and wide, But 'tis no use repining. Nay, though the sun seem vanished quite, We are not unenlightened; The glittering stars show best at night, As though by darkness brightened. a'^ SWALLOWING AN EEL. 333 ;,':?, kYour path may be through deserts drear But springs even there are flowing; Keep up your spirits, never fear, Heaven still is joy bestowing. As a bright flower that may be found Where all beside is' dreary, Seems to shed sweeter fragrance round, In comfort to the weary- Just so, a joy-the mourner sees Amid the gloom of sorrow, ]'ossesses double power to please, And strengthens for the morrow. Then let us always look for joy, Even in our griefs invite her; And what would otherwise annoy, Will help to make life brighter. SWALLOWING AN EEL. Jack. Good evening, Toney; you are just the chap I wanted to see. I have something for your ear, as well as for all other cold water boys. You recollect, in our last conversation on tem- perance, I told you there was great danger in drinking too much cold water? i Toney. I kiow you did; but I defied you to bring proof to sustain so grayf a charge against nature's beverage. Jack. I think I can do that now, to your satisfaction, if you will have the patience to hear me out; and I assure you, every word of it is true, for I read it in the newspapers. Toney. Read it in the newspapers! What signifies that? It is not all gospel you find there. For my part, I am very cautious in believing what I find in such journals, especially when the good cause of temperance is derided. Jack. I do not intend to run down the temperance cause. I would only make good my assertion, that it is dangerous to be always drinking cold water. What say you?-will you give me an opportunity? The story I would relate is rather a humorous I I page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334 TEE TWO ROADS. one, but is sufficient, I think, to sustain my assertion of the danger, of too much water-drinking. Toney. I have no objection to listen to your story, now that you have told me that temperance is not to -be attacked; so I'll take a seat, and you may proceed. Jack. Well, to begin:-The other day, a labourer, growing thirsty, went hastily over to the hydrant for a drink, and clap- ping his mouth to the spout, imbibed the water as it came out in the most forcible manner. Hardly had Paddy tasted the gushing flood that distended his cheeks, when he bolted upright, and with a look of horror commenced a series of contortions which were painful to witness. "Ow-ow-ugh!" he groaned convulsively, at the same time clawing at his throat in a frenzied manner, while he spirted the water forth with the energy of a whale; then suddenly recovering the use of his speech, he shouted, "Och, murther! but he's gone; it's all over with me now!" "What's gone?" exclaimed the crowd that had gathered around him. "I've swallowed him! Oh, howly St. Patrick, I've swallowed him!" And what the deuse have ye swallowed?" "A snake-a murtherin' snake! Oh, howly St. Patrick, pro- tect me!" "Sure, then, ye've made a savin' of yer dinner!" said a fel- low-labourer, more alive to fun than sympathy. "But was it alive, man?" inquired a bystander. "Alive, did ye say? By the blessed powers, ye didn't think I'd be after ating him dead? Alive is it! and didn't he jump down my throat in spite o' my teeth? Och hone, he's squirming now. Oh, howly St. Patrick! Oh! why didn't ye do yer work entirely, and kill the snakes in this murthering country too. Help! he'll bite the insides ov me! Oh, howly Moses! Help! murther! fire!" "Tut, tut, tut! be quiet, man!" returned another; "how do you know that it was a snake?" "How do I know it? Didn't I fale him wriggling his tail! Oh, howly St. Patrick, deliver me!" SWALLOWING AN EEL. 335 A gentleman here suggested that it might possibly be a fish or perhaps an eel; and remarked that there ought to be a filter attached to'every hydrant in the city. "It's an ail! it's an ail!" shouted a hodman, catching at the idea. Mike, it's an ail! Run for a filter, and ye'll catch the. rascal prisantly!" "A filter, a filter!" was the general cry. "Run for a filter, Mike!" Without pausing to inquire into the feasibility of using the article in question for the purpose desired, the poor distracted son of Erin started with the speed of a race-horse for the filtering establishment hard by, where the figure of Hebe, standing in the window, pours her never-ceasing fount. "A what d'ye call 'em!" cried he, rushing frantically into the establishment. "A snake-catcher for the love of Moses!-a snake-catcher! Oh, howly St. Patrick!" he continued, snatching up a filter, and applying it to his lips. "Come out wid ye, ye thafe of the world!" "My good fellow," said the astonished man, "what's the matter with you?" "Matter, is it?-isn't everything the matter? A snake is the matter! I've got an ail in my stomach! Och, hullaboo, hullaboo!" "An eel! How came an eel in your stomach?" "And didn't the varmint jump into my mouth widout saying, tBy yer lave,'" said the bewildered sufferer, endeavouring to screw the filter into his lips. "But, my man, that won't do any good now. It should have been attached to the hydrant, and then you might have drunk with safety." - "And won't it catch him now?" asked Mike in a piteous tone, as he dropped the filter in despair. "Of course not; how should it?" said the man. Och, murther! what will become of me?" exclaimed Mike, with an agony truly painful to behold. " Get a fish-hook," shouted a wag. "Run for a doctor," said another, "and get a stomach. pump." page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] 336 THE TWO ROADS. This suggestion was immediately followed, and he started for a drug-store near by. The apothecary, however, applied an emetic instead of the pump, and the poor fellow, after violent retching, ejected a lively black eel, about six inches long. "Oh, howly St. Patrick!" he exclaimed, experiencing imme- diate relief, "why didn't ye make clean work of it, and kill the ails as well? Sure and they're first Xcousin to the wicked sar- pents. Divil a drop o' water will I ever drink again in this blessed counthry, without a snake-catcher in my mouth." Toney. You are a droll soul, Jackl ut have shot wide of the mark this time. I can hardly believe tat you expect to win me over to your way of thinking by such a ludicrous story. Really, I thought you had better sense. Jack. Then you don't believe it? I tell you, I read it in the newspapers! Toney. A fig for the newspapers! I don't disbelieve your story, Jack, for I, too, have frequently caught young eels and various kinds of animalcula in drawing a pail or pitcher of water, and was always taught that it was dangerous to drink from pumps or hydrants with the mouth. Had this poor son of Erin been more discreet, he would not have swallowed the eel. Jack. You never heard of any one swallowing an eel or other varmint in a glass of toddy! They can't live in that element! Toney. Well said, Jack; and is it not humiliating to think, that of all living things, man, and man only, is addicted to the use of this deadly poison? Every thing else avoids it. It is always a matter of wonder to me how men of talents and re- spectability can be so lost to decency and self-respect as to be seen intoxicated. Jack. But you have not answered my question, whether you ever knew of any one swallowing an eel in a glass of toddy. Toney. Swallow an eel in a glass of toddy! Not directly; but they swallow worse things than eels; for every drop of the liquid fire the poor inebriate pours down his throat, is so much poison, that gradually eats up his vitals, and hastens him to the grave. You know, Jack, that it is a common thing among people, when they see a drunken man, to exclaim, "He's got a snake in his hat!" I have always thought that the adage might be im- SWALLOWING AN EEL. 337 proved by saying, "Hes got a snake i his stomach!" Verily, the filthy stuff by which he is bloated, makes him an object of pity and disgust. Swallow an eel! Why, I would rather run the risk of swallowing a hundred, than drink one drop of rum. The eel, you perceive, was easily ejected from the man's stomach, and did him no harm-only causing a temporary fright. He might drink every day, in like manner, for a long course of years, and never meet with a similar occurrence. Not so with those who use liquor, for they go on daily swallowing the serpent, that will ultimately sting them-even to death; not even hinting at the vice, crime, and wretchedness it entails upon the community. Your story, Jack, only serves to amuse-not instruct. Why, if I chose to go to story-telling, I could entertain you for a week or more on the miseries caused by rum-drinking. Jack. You are a deep one, Toney, and I find it a hard thing to change your position. You seem as determined in your tem- perance cause as "Old Zack" was in all his encounters with the Mexicans. I believe I shall have to knock under, as I find I can make no impression on you. Toney. Determined as Old Zack! You may well say so; and I hereby give you warning, that if you would avoid the disgrace of a "Buena Vista defeat," never again attempt to win me from the best of causes-temperance--by such nonsensical stories of the danger of water-drinking. Besides, did not the old general publicly declare, "that during the long service in the cause of his country-in the Floridas, in Mexico, and elsewhere-he has ever found it essential to his health and the interests of his country, to observe the strictest temperance principles?" for that alone, with the blessing of God, enabled him to bear up with the great fatigues and privations which fell to his lot. General Taylor is not the only distinguished soldier that has given his opinion on the subject of temperance. The immortal Jackson has left another record behind, couched in similar language; and during his presidency, so much were the poor Indians imposed upon by unprincipled traders, who always plied them well with rum-the better to enable them to cheat-causing much de- gradation and misery among them-that he peremptorily forbade liquor to be introduced into their country, and ordered all such 29 page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 THE TWO ROADS. liquors, when found by the United States officers, to be destroyed Many a whiskey-barrel had its head knocked in, and the precious stuff permitted to take its own course in the bowels of the earth. Now, I wonder, Jack, you are not ashamed of your rum-drinking cause, when such distinguished men as these have spoken favour- ably of cultivating temperance principles. And I tell you again, that I am not only determined, as "Old Zack," but as resolved, to be VICTORIOUS; and, like him, my motto is-Temperance boys, " never surrender!" Jack. I believe it is time to be off, Toney. Good-by. Toney. Good-by, Jack; I hope when next we meet you will have changed your opinions of the danger of water-drinking. "GHT IN DARKNESS. O THOU who driest the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If, pierced by sin and sorrows here, We could not fly to thee! The friends, who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone. But thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of wo. When joy no longer soothes or cheers, And e'en the hope that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, Is dimm'd and vanish'd too- Oh who could bear life's stormy doom, Did not thy wing of love Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our peace-branch from above? Then sorrow, touch'd by thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray; As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day. THE TEMPERANCE EFFORT. 339 THE TEMPERANCE EFFORT. IF there be any, who have hot yet given to this effort their ap- probation and support, let me respectfully conjure them, by all the ties that bind them to this blessed land, no longer to give to folly, vice, and crime, the support of their example. Methinks, to every reflecting and benevolent mind, this little self-denial-I will not dignify it with the name of sacrfice-this little self-denial, would be but the merest trifle, when put in competition with the good which even a silent example of abstinence may effect. Think sir, of the blessings you confer, when you save but one man from the drunkard's life, the drunkard's death, and the drunkard's retribution! You raise from the degradation to which it would otherwise have sunk, and you restore to its appropriate rank in the scale of being, an immortal mind-an emanation of the Deity It may be he is a son-and then you give new life to the parents whose gray hairs would else "have been Fought down with sorrow to the grave!" Or he is a husband-and then you impart hope and happiness to the deserted female, who, in the confidence of youthful love, united her destiny with his Or he is a father --and then the little band whom you have rescued from antici- pated orphanage, will rise up and call you blessed! Or he may unite in himself all these relations, and then you open, in nume- rous hearts, new and unlooked-for sources of delight! Or, to some one or all of them, he may add the gifts of genius and the accomplishments of learning-he may have been endowed with powers of the highest order, and ere he gave way to brutal appe- tite, he may have adorned the sacred desk, the seate, or the bar; and then you replace a fallen luminary in its native sphere, and you diffuse through an extended system, light, and life, and joy! But our aim is not to save one, nor fifty, but thousands, and tens of thousands from a drunkard's fate! To save our friends, our brethren, and ourselves, our children, and our children's children our country, and the world! Shall we not, one and all-hence- forth and for ever-deem it not merely a duty, but happiness and honour, to be fellow-labourers in a work so benevolent and sub- lime?-[Ilon. B. F. Butler. page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] 840 THE TWO ROADS. THE MORAL RESURRECTION. THE following, being an abridgment of a Temperance Tale, is taken from the ",Saturday Mail," a family paper commenced in this city about the first of the year, under the most favourable auspices, and becoming quite popular among the friends of Tem- perance throughout the Union; the editor of which, GEO. R. GRAHAM, Esq., states a that the tale is but a short history of facts.' ' In one of our extreme Northern States, lies a village where Charles Lawford was born. He was an only son. His father was the most complete specimen of the old Puritan to be met with in a two days' journey in any direction, and, for thirty years at the least, was leading deacon of a Calvinistic church. The pen- cil that sketched " douce Davie Deans" could alone have done full justice to the character and the outward man of Deacon Jude Lawford. Vividly do I remember that tall, gaunt figure, with the broad-brimmed hat; the wide-skirted, square-collared coat; the waistcoat, with flaps reaching mid-thigh; the small-clothes, with the long, gray stockings stretching tight over calves that might have served as the { pillars of Hercules;" and the shoes fastened with huge buckles-a costume retained unaltered to the day of his death. Well, too, do I recall the solemn fervour with which, in those deep bass tones of his, he used to pray and ex- hort at all the " conference meetings," on both Sunday and week- day evenings. Nor shall I ever forget the mute awe that fell upon us boys whenever the " deacon" passed near us, however excited and clamorous we may have been the instant before. Yes, Deacon Lawford was a strong man in his way, grave, stern, un- bending in appearance and manner, and holding a prominent position and making a decided impression on the community he lived in, during his whole life. His wife was, by temperament, affectionate and gentle, with but little firmness or force; and therefore, while linked to such a consort, not likely to manif est, even if she possessed, much indi- viduality of any kind. In truth, the deacon was not a man either THE MORIAL RESURRECTION. 341 to call forth or to accept demonstrations of connubial attachment or to be content with much short of implicit obedience on the part of the "weaker vessel." So far, then, as concerned the "deacon," Mrs. Dorothy Lawford was little more than a trusty housekeeper and an echo. But her warm affections, dammed up in this direction, flowed the more amply forth upon her little son Charles. And he was well-fitted to call forth parental love, for he was really an uncom- monly interesting child--handsome, very bright and precocious in intellect, and with so much of his mother's heart as gave rise to a thousand little winning ways, which made him a general favourite, as well as a maternal pet. Even the deacon himself, though he strove hard, could not help unbending, often, into a grim, solemn smile at his boy's funny tricks. The mother, however, was quite as indulgent as the father was strict; so that, between the two, the lively, impulsive lad did not receive the most judicious moral training possible. All princi- ples of self-control and self-denial were made unlovely and ab- horrent to him by his father's harsh, stern method of enforcing their observance; and the "-rod," which Solomon himself would have admitted was not " spared," left behind it nothing save its smart, since a double measure of loving caresses, on the mother's part, was sure to follow every chastisement by the paternal hand. Intellectually, the boy exhibited tokens of much promise. He passed through the preparatory schools with great credit, and when fifteen years of age entered college. Those were, in some respects, dark days; and our lad, so organized and so trained, was at once encompassed by perils of a twofold description-the one arising from his temperament, and the other from popular usage. Alcohol was then, in a supreme sense, one of the "powers that be;" and, on all social occasions, to speak of no other, was sure to stand prominently forward. On the two occasions witnessing the extremes of human emotion- the wedding and the funeral-and not less at all intermediate stages, this liquid fire gushed forth like water; and, at all times and places, hospitality and good-will must needs be sealed by a "treat." 29* page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 THE TWO ROADS. Now Lawford was " born to be popular," as General Jackson was " born to command." Of brilliant and rapid-working facul. ties, his college tasks were despatched in a trice; and, while so acquitting himself as to stand among the highest in scholarship, he had yet more leisure at his disposal than, at his age and under such conditions, he was likely to use to any moral or intellectual advantage. Handsome, witty, fascinating, his companionship was eagerly sought, and his evenings were mostly spent amid a throng of the liveliest and gayest of the two hundred youths there con- gregated. Imperceptibly, and all too soor, the habit was thus contracted of swallowing substances which prompt the remark, "We won't go home till morning." But the reader must imagine the four collegiate years com- pleted, and our Charles graduating with "high honours," in despite of many a wild, reckless evening. He must also imagine three years of legal study gone through-and that, too, with credit, notwithstanding many an occasional irregularity-and our young lawyer " starting in life" under brilliant auspices in his native town. Not often does one thus start with prospects equally fair. His personal endowments, both mental and bodily-his educational accomplishments, and his influential relatives on either side the house, made a combination of advantages not often witnessed. And, to put the keystone on the arch, he wooed and won Ellen Stanley, the most beautiful and fascinating of contem- porary maidens within fifty miles' circuit-the universal, un- challengeable belle and toast of the country side. Business flowed rapidly in; and, -alike within doors and without, all things seemed to promise a distinguished and a happy lot. But time sped. The Nemesis, that chastises infractions of the supernal law, though it may slumber long, yet inevitably wakes at last, and, waking, brings the retributory hour. This Nemesis now awoke. The venom infused by alcoholic indulgence into Lawford's veins, after circulating for years in a seemingly neu- tralized state, now broke out into virulent action. For some time whispers, insinuations, rumours, more or less definite and probable-seeming, were floating through our community, like shadows of approaching events, till at last it became known, as an incontrovertible f att, that, three or four times per week, TIiE MORAL RESURRECTION. 843 Charles Lawford, after gambling till midnight, was carried home from the tavern, with senses totally paralyzed by intoxication! The hours fly fast, and destruction works rapidly under such conditions. First departed ability and reputation. Clients dis- appeared, and poverty appeared. Then vanished friends, all, at least, save those who are the bitterest of all foes, one's associates in vice. Finally, the' wretched Ellen, worn out, totally dis- heartened, and spoiled of the last gleam of hope, went, with her two little girls, back to her parental home. Lawford was regarded universally as a desperate- case, a consummated ruin. NTo language can begin to depict the anguish of either the father or the mother of the fallen man. It made the very blood stand still to hear the voice of that austere, solemn man, uplifted in prayer at our religious assemblies. Of course he made no allusion in words to his private sorrows; still, his soul's im- measurable agony toned out in his own despite, and the redhot tear that would sometimes stand on that gray eyelash, or roll down that writhing cheek, called respondent drops from eyes rarely moistened by other causes. At this time I quitted my native village for a distant university. In the flying visits I made there, during twelve or more years following, I do not remember ever having seen Lawford. I would, however, casually hear him mentioned; and the report ever was, "there is no hope of him." At length, I was absent some nine years without making a visit, and it was during this interval that the so-called "Washingtonian Reform," commencing in Balti- more, ran like wildfire through the whole country, producing effects that seemed like miracle, and quickening to new life ntum- bers who had long been reckoned among the virtually dead. At the close of this period I again visited my native town. On the morning after my arrival, while taking an early walk, I chanced to meet a gentleman holding a rosy-cheeked young girl by either hand. He was a noble-looking, well-dressed man of middle age; and, having myself rather a gift for remembering faces once seen, I felt confident that somewhere, at some period, I must have been somewhat familiar with the face before me. And I had been; for who, think you, it was, but Charles Law- ford? I think I should have discovered this by the vigorous I fordO '\h TV ^ ^ think you) it w^ but charles La' page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 344: THE TWO ROADS. squeeze he gave my hand, if by no token else! But tokens enough were speedily detected besides. Yes, here was Charles Lawford " redivivus," as fine a looking middle-sized man as I ever saw-with compact, robust frame, blooming face, and that happy, buoyant, genial expression throughout, which infallibly indicates the filfilment of the Pythagorean requirement, a " sound man in a sound body." I was so confounded by this sudden encounter, and the throng- ing memories it called up-so engrossed by comparing the past with the present-that it was only by an effort I could respond to his cordial inquiries about myself, let alone putting any ques- tions in my turn. While we thus stood there, some passing vil- lager saluted my companion with, "Good morning, Deacon Law- ford." Deacon Lawford! More astounded than ever, I was glad enough, after promising Lawford to take tea with him that even- ing, to hurry home and let loose a cataract of questions' upon my brother, himself a member of the legal fraternity. "How stands Lawford now?" was my first question. The reply was, that no man stood higher in the State than he for professional ability and integrity, or for his qualities and virtues as a man. In cases of greatest importance, difficulty and delicacy, he was the advocate always consulted, and, if possible, retained by litigants within a circuit of thirty miles. His busi- ness was as large as with his utmost efforts he could manage; and/ already possessing an ample income, he was rapidly accumu- lating a competency. -Better still, he was in the genuine sense a Christian man, and carried the principles he professed into every act of a vocation which has sometimes been pronounced in- compatible with their unmodified exercise. In short, alike in his professional functions and in all his civic and social relations, he was a friend to the friendless; the helper of those needing help; a main support of the best and most vital interests of the community. I was further informed that this revolution in Lawford's state, dated back to an early stage of the so-named "'Washingtonian movement." His father then lay prostrate in his last illness, and the son's heart, however callous, could not but be wrung by the THE MORAL RESURRECTION. 845 thought that his own derelictions had borne no small share in bringing that venerable head to a sorrowful grave. At this crisis, the whole community became agitated by this new impulse in behalf of total abstinence. Evening after even- ing, men-but late the shattered and long despaired of victims of alcohol, and now redeemed to self-ownership, to vigorous life and bright hopes-narrated to vast crowds the tale of their fore- gone wo and desperation, and of their present buoyant happiness, in those burning words which irresistibly kindled in the hearers a feeling responsive to their own. In short, enthusiasm in behalf of the cause they advocated became a veritable epidemic, from whose blessed contagion no one totally escaped, and under the impulse of which multitudes subscribed the required pledge; embracing numbers, who, from an almost forgotten date, had been both abandoned by others and self-abandoned to remediless ruin. Meanwhile, it could not be expected that Iawford, more than others, would escape the sweep of the universal excitement; the less, that he was much softened by remorseful grief on his father's 'account. An evening finally arrived when, no longer able to stifle the impulse urging him on, he, too, came forward in the face of an immense assemblage, and put his name to the pledge. The whole crowd, as if touched by an electric shock, sprang to their feet and burst into shouts of joy! They thronged around to grasp him by the hand; and many a venerable man and woman, the contemporaries and friends of his father, whom for long years he had not dared look in the face, now greeted him with benedictions so cordial, that he could respond to them only with irrepressible tears. Abroad he encountered the same kindly sentiment wherever he went, and it was curious to witness with what unanimity the whole population, far and near, kept jubilee at this single event. But the feelings of the parents at an occurrence so auspicious and so unhoped for, I will not wrong by attempting their descrip- tion. It is little to say, that for this son, " once dead but now alive again-once lost, but now found," the dying father's heart rose to heaven in a very ecstasy of thanksgiving. For his few remaining days, that sick-room was radiant for him with celestial page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] 346 THE TWO ROADS. light, and the death-pang was scarce felt as his heart swelled with the assured hope of again meeting his loved ones in the world he was entering. But the change in Lawford did not stop with the relinquish- ment of a single bad habit. The good seed sown in his early years, which had hitherto lain dormant, and, it might seem, utterly dead, now started up in- a vigorous growth.- He became ere long a member of his father's church, and a year or two later, was elected deacon in his father's place. Meanwhile, it was wondrous to see how outward circumstances shaped themselves into accordance with the new phase of his in- ward being. On reopening his office, which he soon did, his legal business revived as if by magic; clients poured in from-all quarters; and, ere one year had closed,it might be seen from the present aspect of things, that the dread past was all but a feverish dream. Soon, too, his wife and daughters returned, and this long- severed, sorrowing family, reunited under their own roof, and, again gathering around their own hearth, constituted as happy a group as the wide world contained. Such is an exceedingly brief abstract of my informant's nar- rative. Had I space, I should like to describe the pleasant hours I spent that evening at Lawford's house, as well as picture the charming domestic circle I there met. All this, however, I must omit, and I must hurry, too, over my remaining narrative. On leaving that region, I adopted means of often hearing therefrom. And, ere long, I heard that Law- ford had been elected with extraordinary unanimity to the State Legislature, and had at once risen to high eminence therein. Next I learned that he had been chosen Speaker of the House; which office I think he held for several successive sessions. Lastly, I heard he was Governor of the Commonwealth and un- usually popular in his administration of the office. Had I related all the interesting and touching, not to say the harrowing incidents comprised in Lawford's history, I should have required a volume, instead of an article. I would fain trust, how- ever, that even this imperfect abstract may not be wholly wanting SEQUEL TO THE RUM MANIAC. 347 in interest either to those engaged in the temperance movement or to the general reader. SEQUEL TO "THE RUM MANIAC." THE following beautiful poem, being a sequel to "THE RUM MANIAC," on page 214, was written by Judge JOSEPH ATl TSON, of this city; and is, in part, a brief history of facts that transpired under his immediate notice. It' cannot fail to interest the reader. The morning dawned, and there he lay Upon his couch, calm and peaceful; Now, no frightful visibns haunt his Troubled brain to drive him mad. No fancied furies lash him with Their scorpion whip, nor demons Hold their fearful revels round His peaceful bed. They gathered In that silent room, one by one His wronged yet uncomplaining Family; with fairy step they Trod the darkened chamber, lest Perchance, they might wake him from his Calm, sweet sleep, and rouse once more the Ravings of his troubled brain. The sun had slowly crept to his Meridian height, and shone with Radiance on the world beneath. One golden ray, darting across The sleeper's face, awoke him from His calm repose, to consciousness And reason. There stood his anxious Wife, gazing in sorrow o'er The wreck of him her heart once loved. Yes, loved him still, though he had Long since forgot his plighted vows; Had blasted all her youthful hopes, page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 348 THE TWO ROADS. And oft had caused the blush of shame To mantle on her pallid cheek. Supporting that pale mother with Her fond encircling arms, was there His only daughter; on whose face So sweetly beautiful and fair Deep sorrow sat enthroned. Now o'er her high and marble brow The raven ringlets stray, curling As they fall. Those cheeks where beauty Loved to linger in her hours of ease, Those eyes of fire, those lips of love, That form of symmetry and grace, Now bow in anguish o'er the couch Of him who in her prattling days Of innocence and youth would take. Her to his heart in all the pride And fondness of a father's love. His mother, too, was there, aged and Feeble; yet she had watched with Sleepless eye, nor once would leave his Couch; but through .the silent vigils Of the night, and watchful hours of Day, a faithful sentinel, she Had never left her post; but there Had watched while others slept, and There had prayed while others wept. There he lay, and yet how altered! You who had known him in his youth, Would scarce have known him now, As fiercely he gazed around him. Wild and tumultuous thoughts came Rushing o'er him-the memory Of the past, of what he once was, And what he was now. That deathless Passion, that not e'en the struggles Of the previous night could conquer, Awoke again, and kindled once More the fire of hell within him: Again he cried aloud for rum! Again he shrieked from very Agony, i Why am I thus cast Off of God? Why mock at my dread THE DRUNKARD'S BIBLE. 349 Sufferings? Why does not Heaven In mercy spare me of this pain? And can there be another hell?" He paused, and with a mighty Effort, curbed the rising passion: "Quick! bring to me the pledge," he cried. 'Twas brought-with frantic eagerness He grasped the pen, as though his life Depended on the act-he wrote With trembling hand, his name, then fell Exhausted on his pillow. They Who gathered round him spoke not; Words could not tell of half they felt: The scalding tear, the deep-toned sigh, the Heaving of the anxious bosom, Tell of their warm, heartfelt rapture. At length his mother's voice broke on The stillness of the scene-"He's saved! He's saved!" with throbbing joy she cried: Then round his bed they knelt and prayed As such fond hearts alone can pray. Oh! if there is a scene on earth, on Which angel purity can look, Nor blush, nor turn away in loathing From the' sight, surely it is this! THE' DRUNKARD'S BIBLE. {iMR. PRESIDENT," said a short, stout man, with a good-hu- moured countenance and a florid complexion, "I have been a tavern-keeper." At this announcement there was a movement through the whole room, and an expression of increased interest. "Yes, Mr. President," he went on, I have been a tavern- keeper, and many a glass I have sold to you, and to the secre- tary there, and to dozens of others that I see here,"-glncing around upon the company. "That's a fact," broke in the president; "many a gin-toddy and brandy-punch have' I taken at your bar. But times are 30 page: 350-351[View Page 350-351] 850 THE TWO ROADS. changed now, and we have begun to carry the war into the enemy's camp. But go on, friend W., let us have your expe. rience." "As to my experience, Mr. President," the ex-tavern-keeper resumed, "in rum-selling and rum-drinking-for I have done a good deal of both in my time, that would be rather too long to tell to-night, and one that I would much rather forget than re- late-it makes me tremble and sic] at heart when I look back upon the evil I have done. I therefore usually look ahead, with the hope of doing some good to my fellow-men. "But there is one incident I will relate. For the last five years, a hard-working mechanic, with a wife and seven small children, came regularly almost every night to my tavern, and spent the evening in my bar-room. He came to drink, of course, and many a dollar of his hard earnings went into my till. At last he became a perfect sot-working scarcely one-fourth of the time, and spending all he earned in liquor. His poor wife had to take in washing to support herself and children, while he spent his time and the little he could make at my bar. But his appetite for liquor was so strong, that his week's earnings were usually gone by Tuesday or Wednesday, Land then I had to chalk up a score against him, to be paid off when Saturday night came. "This score gradually increased, until it amounted to three or four dollars over his Saturday night's pay, when I refused to sell him any more liquor until it was settled. On the day after I had thus refused him, he came in with a neat mourning breast- pin, enclosing some hair-no doubt, I thought, of a deceased re- lative. This he offered in payment of what he owed. I accepted it, for the pin, I saw at once, was worth double the amount of my bill. I did not think, nor, indeed, care about the question whether he was the owner or not. I wanted my own, and in my selfish eagerness to get it, I hesitated not to take a little more than my own. "I laid the breastpin away, and all things went on smoothly for a while; but he gradually got behindhand again, and again I cut off his supply of liquor. This time he brought me a pair of brass andirons, and a pair of brass'candlesticks, and I took them, and wiped off the score against him. At last he brought THE DRUNKARD'S BIBLE. 851 a large family Bible, and I took that too-thinking, no doubt I could sell it for something. On the Sunday afterward, having nothing to do, (for I used to shut my bar on Sundays, thinking it was not respectable to sell liquor,) I opened this poor drunkard's family Bible, scarcely thinking of what I was doing. The first place I turned to was the family record. There it was stated that upon a certain day he had been married to Emily .--. I had known Emily, when I was a ybung man, very well; I remembered her happy young face, and seemed suddenly to hear ' tone of her merry laughter. "'Poor creature ' I sighed involuntarily, as a thought of her present condition crossed my mind; and then with no pleasant feelings I turned over another leaf: there was the record of the birth of her four children; the last entry had been made recently, and was in the mother's hand. "I never had such strange feelings as now came over me. I felt that I had no business with this book; but I tried to stifle my feelings, and turned over several leaves quickly. As I suf- fered my eyes to rest upon an open page, these words arrested my attention-- Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging; whoso is deceived thereby is not wise.' "This was just the subject that, under the feelings I then had, I wished to avoid, and so I referred to another place. There I read-s Who hath wo? who hath sorrow? who hath wounds? who hath babbling? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine. At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.' "I felt like throwing the book from me; but once more I turned the leaves, and my eyes rested upon these words- ' Wo unto him that giveth his neighbour drink; that putteth the bottle to him, and maketh him drink.' "I closed the book suddenly, and threw it down. Then, for half an hour, I paced the room backward and forward in a state of mind I never before experienced. 'I had become pain- fully conscious of the direful evils resulting from intemperance, and still more painfully conscious that I had been a willing in- strument in the spread of those evils! I cannot tell you how much I suffered during that day and night, nor describe the fear- page: 352-353[View Page 352-353] 352 THE TWO ROADS. ful conflict that took place in my mind, between a selfish love of the gains of my calling, and the plain dictates of truth and hu- manity. It was on the same evening that I opened the drunkard's Bible again, with a kind of despairing hope that I should there meet with something to direct me. I opened at the Psalms, and read two or three of them. As I read on, without finding any thing directly to my case, I felt an increasing desire to abandon my calling, because it was injurious to my fellow-men. "After I had read the Bible, I retired to bed, but could not sleep. I am sure that during that night I thought of every drunken man to whom I had sold liquor, and of all their beg- gared families. In the brief sleep that I obtained, I dreamed that I saw a long line of tottering drunkards, with their wives and children in rags; and a loud voice said, 'Who hath done this?' "The answer, in a still louder voice, directed, I felt, to me, smote upon my ear like a peal of thunder-' Thou art the man!' "From this troubled slumber I woke to sleep no more that night. In the morning the last and most powerful conflictcame. The question to be decided was-' Shall I open my tavern, or at once abandon the dreadful traffic in liquid poison?' "Happily, I decided never again to put to any man's lips the cup of confusion. Then I went and signed the total abstinence pledge; and, what is better, never rested until I had persuaded the man whose Bible had been of so much use to me, to sign the pledge also. "And now, Mr. President, I am keeping a temperance grocery There are at least half a dozen families to whom I furnish a small quantity of groceries every week, in many cases equal to the amount that used to be spent at my bar for liquor. Four of my oldest and best customers have already signed the pledge by my persuasion; and I am not going to rest until every man I helped to ruin is restored to himself, his family, and society." "FE'S SUNNY SPOT. 353 "FE'S SUNNY SPOT. THOUGH life's a dark and thorny path, Its goal the silent tomb, It yet some spots of sunshine hath, That smile amid the gloom. The friend who weal and wo partakes Unchanged whate'er his lot, Who kindly soothes the heart that aches, Is sure a sunny spot. The wife, who all our burden bears, And utters not a moan; Whose ready hand wipes off our tears, Unheeding all her own: Who treasures every kindly word, Each harsher one forgot, And carols blithely as a bird-- She's too a sunny spot. The child who lifts, at morn and eve, In prayer its tiny voice; Who grieves whene'er its parents grieve, And smiles when they rejoice; In whose bright eyes young genius glows, Whose heart, without a blot, Is fresh and pure as summer's rose- That child's a sunny spot. There's yet, upon life's weary road, One spot of brighter glow, Where sorrow has forgot its load, And tears no longer flow; Friendship may wither, love decline, Our child his honour blot, But still, undimmed, that spot will shine- Religion lights that spot.-[ W. Leggett. 30* l- page: 354-355[View Page 354-355] 854 THE TWO ROADS. CHESTERFIELD ON INTEMPERANCE. IF the following had been written or spoken at the present day, it could not have been more to the point on the great question that is being agitated from one end of the Union to the other. It is copied from the Philadelphia "Public Ledger." "In 1743, Lord Chesterfield delivered a speech in the House of Lords on the 'Gin Act.' Among other things, he said- "uxury, my lords, is to be taxed, but vice prohibited, let the difficulty in the law be what it will. Vice is not properly to be taxed, but suppressed. The use of things which are simply hurtful in their own nature, and in every degree, is to be pro- hibited. None, my lords, ever heard, in any nation, of a tax upon theft or adultery; because a tax implies a license granted for the use of that which is taxed, to all who are willing to pay for it. Drunkenness is universally, and in all circumstances, an evil, *and therefore ought not to be taxed, but punished. We are told that the trade of distilling is very extensive-that it employs great numbers--that a large capital is invested in it- and therefore it is not to be prohibited. But it appears to me, that since the spirit which distillers produce is allowed to enfeeble the limbs, vitiate the blood, pervert the heart, and obscure the intellect, that the number of distillers should be no argument in their favour; for I never heard that a law against theft was re- pealed or delayed because thieves were numerous. It appears to me, that if so formidable a body are confederated against the virtue and the lives of their fellow-citizens, it is time to put an end to the havoc, and to interpose, while it is yet in our power, to stop the destruction. It is said, distillers have arrived at ex- quisite skill in their business. But, in my judgment, it is no great use to mankind to prepare for them palatable poison; nor shall I ever contribute my interest for the reprieve of a murderer, because he has, by long practice, obtained great dexterity in his trade. If their liquors are so delicious that the people are tempted to their own destruction, let us at length, my lords, secure them from their fatal draught, by bursting the vials that contain them. Let. us crush at once these artists in human slaughter, who have reconciled their countrymen to sickness and ruin, and spread over the pitfalls of debauchery such bait as can- not be resisted. I am very far from thinking that there are, this year, any peculiar reasons for tolerating murder; nor can I con- ^ . THE LAND THAT WE LIVE IN. 355 ceive why this manufacture is to be held sacred now, if it is to be destroyed hereafter.' "We hope distillers and those engaged in the sale of intoxi- cating drinks will read, ponder, and inwardly digest this extract from the speech of Lord Chesterfield. It is an answer to the plea so often urged against prohibition on account of the interests in- volved in thbliquor traffic, that we should like to see answered. This was more than one hundred years ago. What would he say now, in view of the appalling increase of poverty, wretchedness, and crime induced by the rum traffic?" THE LAND THAT WE LIVE IN. OH! bright is the land that we live in, And soft blow the breezes around- The stars make a palace of heaven, And flowers enamel the ground! The orange and chestnut are flinging Their odours divine on the gale, And the mocking-bird's melody ringing From the bowers that circle the vale! Then here's to the land that we live in- The land of the locust and lime! And a song for the sweet stars of heaven, That brighten this beautiful clime! ]But dearer by far to the minstrel, Than all the sweet wealth of this land, Are the maidens who dwell in its bowers, By mountain, savanna, and strand! And all its rich trophies were given, As tributes of beauty to these; And these are the stars of our heaven- The flowers that gladden the breeze! Then here's to the land that we live in- The land of the locust and lime! And a song for the sweet stars of heaven, [i That brighten this beautiful clime! 'Twas hymn'd by a bard that the planets Once charm'd from their passionate home, Assumed the fair features of woman, And dwelt in the valleys of Rome! page: 356-357[View Page 356-357] 356 THE TWO ROADS. But sure, if a land e'er presented Temptation to angels, 'tis ours, And the vision of song was invented From forms in these soft, sunny bowers! Then here's to the land that we live in- The land of the locust and lime! And a song for the sweet stars of heaven, That brighten this beautiful clime!-[A. B. Meek. A SAD SCENE. SUPPOSE that the one hundred thousand homes of the drunkards' motley army are brought together and arranged in a city; suppose, likewise, that alongside of these homes are placed the one hundred and fifty thousand dram-shops of our land; and a little apart from these, three-fourths of the poor-houses, and jails, apd prisons, and a large part of the lunatic asylums, and not a smaller share of those houses whose chambers are fully within the confines of hell; and just in the suburbs our twenty thousand distilleries; and just back of these, a large burial-place. But I need not add any more items: we have already the largest city in Christendom, and a Pandemonium such as no one of us would desire to enter. But you must go with me, and take a birdseye view of what is going on within it. The army you just saw is now disbanded, and they are all in their daily or nightly avocations. We will first look into two or three of the houses. Here is a large half-clad family of children, shivering with the cold, and no fuel for a fire, and famishing with hunger, and no food to eat. The pale and broken-hearted mother, unable to rise from her couch of rags and straw, folds her lean hands and bony arms around a new-born infant; for herself she longs for the sweet re- pose of the grave. But then the mother yet lives in her heart, and looks out from her wild eyes; for the sake of these she prays to live. But hunger and cold are comparatively sufferable, if they come by unavoidable misfortune, and in spite of the well- directed efforts of a faithful husband and father. When he comes home, if he be not able to bring the wood and the bread, A SAD SCENE. 357 if he bring a husband's and a father's heart, and amid all their woes lifts to heaven a Christian's prayers-family affection, and confidence, and sympathy, and the hope of a better country, will bear away half their sufferings, and infuse a sweet ingredient into their cup of tears. But in this family no such mitigation of their sufferings exists: the bitterest ingredient in their brimful cup is the fact that he who should be the husband and father, has fallen to be a swine! In the ten thousand scenes of wo that meet our eyes, we are too apt to overlook the producing causes, not seeming to think that these, according as their characters may be, inconceivably miti- gate or augment them. Our eyes alone constitute a poor gauge of the dimensions of any scene of suffering. Virtue, with all her attendant train of heavenly affections and heavenly offices, diffuses something of good into every circle over which she presides; and vice, with all her crime and shame, adds poignancy to every wo she brings. There are thousands of mothers and children in this proud country, whom we behold daily toiling beyond their strength for the support of life, and, after all, suffer for the want of many comforts; we sometimes see them weep, and we pity them, and give them money, and clothing, and bread, and then talk of their being comfortable. But ah! we see not the iron that is festering in their souls: they weep not because they arn poor, and hungry, and naked, but because their father is a drunkard! Their unseen agony of shame and mortification, too often forgotten in our superficial kindnesses, demands our sym- pathy, and should never, never be forgotten. But I have no time to moralize. Let us pass on half a mile, and look in upon another scene. But what is here? A helpless husband lying upon the floor by a lifeless wife, whose blood ho has just shed with a knife. Three-fourths of the crime of this land comes of rum. tLet us enter one more home. Open your eyes now, if you can, upon the scene before you. There lies a drunken wife upon the coals of the fire, and a drunken husband lies upon the floor, unable to help her off, and two men are in the chamber, too drunk to descend for her cries. She burns to death! (This oc- curred in Western New York in the winter of 1841.) I' /* page: 358-359[View Page 358-359] 358 THE TWO ROADS. But it would take too long, and it would be too sickening, to go around even to a few of these groggeries, and behold their fighting, and blood, and murders, and hear their drivelling blas- phemies. It would take too long, and be too much for ordinary nerves to endure, to pass along by all those grated doors, and look in upon those seventy-five thousand criminals that rum has barred up within them, pining away under the burdens of an ever-present memory, or fast sinking into the arms of idiocy. It would take too long to visit those two hundred thousand inmates of the poor-houses, bereft of their own self-respect, and conse- quently not only wretched, but prepared, when temptation assails them, for the worst of crimes. Nor can we spend but a few mo- ments in those asylums, in viewing those with reason dethroned, raving in the maniac's chains, or giving only the idiot's stare. APPEARANCES. THNK not, because the eyes are bright, And smiles are laughing there, The heart that beats within-is light, And free from pain and care. A blush may tinge the darkest cloud, Ere the sun's rays depart; And underneath the sunniest smile May lurk the saddest heart. Mirth's sudden gleam may light the cheek, Though joy be far away, As blossoms oft adorn the tree That's hastening to decay; Alas! 'tis but the varying hue Of April's wayward hours- A sunbeam bursting brightly through, When all beneath are showers: For there are pangs the sorrowing heart Will oft in darkness shroud, That lurk within the lonely depths Like lightning in the cloud, THE TEMPERANCE MEETING. 359 As falls the shadow on the path, When bright the sunbeams glare, Whichever way our thoughts are turned, That darksome shape is there. Though brightly o'er the hollow cheek The smile, the laugh may break, Like bubbles, bursting on the breast Of Acheron's dark lake; They are but outward signs to hide The deadly pangs we feel, As o'er the lone and mouldering tower The rose is taught to steal. THE TEMPERANCE MEETING. George. Were you at the temperance meeting last evening, William? We had a fine time of it. Several speeches were made, and the way the rumsellers were used up should be a caution to them. William. No; I didn't go. I like temperance very well, so does father too; but he and I both think that there is too much fuss made on the subject now-a-days. He thinks boys have no business at such meetings: he says that they had better be at home reading a good book, and imprgving their minds. Geo. Well, every one to his notion. For my part, I think it has done me good to go to temperance meetings: I hate rum worse, and pity rumsellers and rum-drinkers more than I did be- fore; every temperance speech I hear makes me love the glorious cause more than ever. Win. George, that may all be. I too pity rumsellers and tipplers, because I have seen so many mothers and children with- out victuals, and even decent clothes, because "father drank the stuff;" yet I feel all this without running off to temperance meetings every day or two. Samuel, do you go, to such gatherings? Sa'muel Yes, to be sure I do. I go the whole figure in tem- perance matters; there is no halfway business with me in such page: 360-361[View Page 360-361] 360 THE TWO ROADS. things; and I rather guess if you had been at the meeting last night, and heard me join in the temperance songs, you would have thought me a full-blooded teetotaler. So long as old Mr. Rednose, who lives near our house, whips his wife, and turns his children out of doors whenever he comes home drunk, so long I intend to go to temperance meetings, if father will permit me to do so. Geo. That's all well said, Samuel: I see we are two against one, and the facts all on one side. I think William will be glad to back out soon, and come to our meetings. He means well, and wishes us God-speed, I know; but he seems to be in a thick fog about the good done at such places. Sam. Yes, George, he and many other boys I have talked with, are behind the times in the matter. They don't seem to understand that union and action are necessary to combat, with success, the votaries of alcohol. They forget that we who are now boys will soon be men, and have to take our fathers' place in society; also, that we are now forming the habits which will govern us when we become men. They forget, too, that when we become young men, the tempting bowl will be urged upon us by our acquaintances, and that we will be likely to drink of it, unless we learn, when boys, to fear and to loathe it. Geo. Well said, Samuel: give me your hand. That was a great speech. I think you have confounded William now, and that there will be no need of my saying any thing more. Wil- liam, can you answer Samuel's last speech? Win. I must confess, boys, there is much truth in what you have said, and that it is hard to answer all your arguments; but I have another strong objection to these meetings, which I have not stated yet. Geo. Pray, what is it? Wn. It is this: the pledge which,\he boys are asked to sign, not only forbids them drinking distilled liquors, which is all pro- per enough, but it don't allow them to taste a little wine, or even beer. I don't think there is any use in pledging oneself: we can be temperate without doing so, if we choose. Geo. That is an objection very often made. Most persons dis- like dreadfully to give up their wine, beer, &c.; hence their op- THE TEMPERANCE MEETING. 861 position to the pledge. You remind me, William, of the anti- temperance man I read of the other day, who was taking to task one of his old companions who had just signed the pledge. Said the pledged man, "Strong drink occasioned me to have more to do with pledging than ever teetotalism has. When I was a con- sumer of strong drink, I pledged my coat, I pledged my bed, I pledged, in short, every thing that was pledgeable, and was losing every hope and blessing, when teetotal truth met me and convinced me of my folly; then Ipledged myself, and by so doing, soon got my other things out of pledge, and got more than my former property about me." Wmn. I have no objection to those miserable creatures who can't touch a drop of liquor without craving more, to sign the pledge-indeed, I would recommend it; but I cannot see much use in those who use it very moderately to pledge themselves. What harm does the little liquor do which they occasionally take? Sam. I am surprised at you, William! What harm does it do? A great deal of harm! What surety has the moderate drinker that he will ever continue such? Recollect that all drunkards first used it moderately; then it became their master. What harm does rum do? Go, ask that ragged, emaciated being, stag- gering along the streets-ask him why he has fallen from a high position in society down to the very gutter? Go ask the heart- broken wife, with sunken cheek and hollow eye-ask her why she is thus distressed, and her peace and happiness for ever gone? Go ask the thousands whose hearts have been made as desolate as the grave itself-go ask the paupers in our almshouses, the criminals in our penitentiaries, the unfortunate and miserable hangers-on in gambling hells-go and visit all the sinks of ini- quity, and of filthy, squalid wretchedness, and ask, Why are you all thus situated? Without one dissenting voice, the answer will be-Rum! rum! Wm. I don't think there is any use in you becoming so warm on the subject, Samuel. I trust and pray I shall never be a drunkard; I never liked the stuff, and hope I never shall. Geo. All that you have just said, Samuel, is very true. You talk as correctly as a book. How often do we hear of young men becoming sots, from having first learned to drink wine and beer? 31 page: 362-363[View Page 362-363] 362 THE TWO ROADS. What good boy, who wishes to be useful in his day and genera. tion, would not be willing to deny himself these indulgences? Who can fully describe the great evils of dram-drinking? How many kind mothers have been made miserable widows by the curse of a drunken husband? How many fine little boys and girls have been clothed in rags by this cause? How many quar- rels, fights, and murders have been caused by rum? My soul shudders when I think of these things! Sam. I wish there were more instances of moral courage on the part of the poor inebriates who renounce their deadly foe, than are recorded. I read an article in the paper the other day, headed, "A Good Joke," which is full of interest, and goes to prove that when a man is resolved to become temperate, there is nothing more easy for him to accomplish. I will relate the story:- There was a certain young doctor on Staten Island, full of talent, skill, and every thing of the kind, who became quite dis- sipated. The consequence was that he lost his practice and caste in society. No one would employ him, and he sank lower and lower. He went into a public-house one day, where he was well known, and asked the bar-keeper, whose name was Coddington, to lend him a shoe-brush to black his boots. Coddington lent him the blacking and shoe-brush, and commenced at him in this style, yet perfectly respectful :-"Now, ought you not to be ashamed of yourself? A man who has received a first-rate edu- cation, graduate of a college, blacking his own boots! I am completely astonished. Why, had you behaved yourself, you might have been a justice of the peace, member of the legislature or Congress, and finally, had you conducted yourself rightly, bar-keeper in a respectable hotel!" The doctor, at the latter remark, threw down his shoe-brush, although he had but one boot blackened, and immediately went and joined the temperance society. Geo. Capital, Samuel!"Bar-keeper in a respectable hotel" was too much for the fallen doctor; and I am pleased that, in his sober moments, he was fully sensible of his degraded condition, and did not desire to occupy a lower sphere in society-that of a "bar-keeper in a tavern"--the most menial of all occupations. GO, SPEAK TO HM. 863 Indeed, I don't wonder that he was anxious to sign the pledge after such a comparison. I hope the Lord will give him strength to keep the pledge inviolate, and that he may soon be raised to his former standing in society. Wm. I begin to see, boys, that you are right, and that I have been somewhat insensible to the merits of the temperance cause, as well as too inactive. I confess that you have overcome some of my strongest objections. I mean to try to persuade father to let me go to your next meeting, and I think he will. I know he thinks rum-selling, as well as rum-drinking, a very mean business, and that he never drinks the stuff himself. I have often re- marked to mother, how bad off we would be if father were to take to drinking, and how grateful to our heavenly Father we should be that he is a temperate man. Since listening to your remarks, I have become convinced that all; whether young or old, who wish to spread the blessings of temperance, should sign the total abstinence pledge, and encourage temperance meetings by their presence. GO, SPEAK TO HM. 'Tis not too late: the tender germ is there, Which-dire temptation has not wholly seared; Oh, not entirely is the mind debased; And timely rescued, many a latent seed Of moral worth may quicken, and the sad Chasm fill, which sin has grooved. As yet, perhaps, The sacrifice at vice's fearful shrine Is small, comparatively; and cunning, Base betrayal, has cruelly decoyed The virtuous heart, and warped the gifted Mind. Oh, speak! speak to the youth, while now the Freshness and beauty of his early day May be restored, and peace within his soul Brought back by true repentance. Ye bright Philanthropists, the glory of our land, Your fostering arms especially extend To those, whom hateful circumstance, and other page: 364-365[View Page 364-365] 3t64 THE TWO ROADS. Than natural depravity, is now Excluding from the honourable ranks Of man. Oh, stimulate that fortitude Of soul which nerves to faithful action, and Rend the chains which accident has forged. And So, perchance, of nature's fairest offspring, Shalt thou be doubly bless'd, as thou the ray Of reason may rekindle, and her firm Control effect; yielding to thy mild ioice, The after details of their onward course Shall give a colouring to thy life's close, Which beams alone from heaven. And thou, young Man, ere guilt shall cast her deep and lengthened Shadows o'er thy path, ere the magic of her Entrancement shall thy soul enthral, pause and Reflect-let self-examination have Its sway, and school thine heart, till its first firm Promptings be the honour of thy God, and Self-respect, with graphic touch, shall point thee To thy rightful place. THE RUINED FAMLY. THE depopulating pestilence that walketh at noonday-the carnage of cruel and devastating war-can scarcely exhibit their victims in a more terrible array than exterminating drunkenness. I have seen a promising family spring up from the parent trunk, and stretch abroad its populous limbs like a flowering tree co- vered with green and healthy foliage. I have seen the unnatural decay beginning upon the yet tender leaf, gnawing like a worm in an unopened bud, while they dropped off, one by one, and the ruined shaft stood alone until the winds and rains of many a sorrow laid that too in the dust. On one of those holy days, when the patriarch, rich in virtue as in years, gathered about him the great and little ones of his flock, his sons and his daugh- ters, I too sat at the board. I pledged therein hospitable health, and expatiated with delight upon the eventful future, while the PITY, GOOD GENTLEFOLKS. ' 365 good old man, warmed in the genial glow of youthful enthusiasm, wiped a tear from his eyes. He was happy. I met them again when the rolling year brought the festive season round. But all were not there. The kind old man sighed as his suffused eye dwelt on the then unoccupied seat, but joy yet came to his relief, and he was happy. A parent's love knows no diminution- time, distance, poverty, shame, but give intensity and strength to that passion, before which all others dissolve and melt away. The board was spread, but the guests came not. The man cried "Where are my children?" and echo answered, "Where?' His heart broke, for they were not. Could not Heaven have spared him this affliction? Alas! the demon of drunkenness had been there. They had fallen victims to his spell; and one short month sufficed to cast the vail of oblivion over the old man's sorrow and the young one's shame. They are all dead. [Washington Irving. ) PITY, GOOD GENTLEFOLKS HAVE pity on the poor, good gentlefolks For they are cold and hungry. Starving pain Is hard to bear, and oftentimes provokes The deed of infamy and crime, t' obtain The bread that honest labour fails to earn. Have pity on the poor; nor coldly turn The ear away from their distressful sighs. Spurn not too rudely eren the beggar-he Has fallen far, yet let his misery Plead with your heart and dew your tender eyes, Oh pity him! Perchance'twas strong temptation That drew him to this fate: perchance 'twas grief For loss of all. -Deep is the desolation Of an unfriended heart. Vouchsafe him some relief. Have pity on the poor-the hidden ones, Who shut their sorrows in their hearts-the worn And weary man-the widow, and her sons And daughters fatherless-the overborne. 31* page: 366-367[View Page 366-367] 366 THE TWO ROADS. Have pity on the hapless slave of toil, The patient, gentle, fragile sewing-girl, Whose thin and sunken cheek is pale as pearl, Whose slender fingers constantly must moil, To wring from masters the small weekly dole That barely binds the body and the soul. And ye fine ladies, beautiful and proud, Whose delicate forms are clad in rich array, Remember those whose sister-heads are bow'd With toil for you, endured by night and day. Ye flitting moths-ye butterflies of fashion- Ye pinching, hard, unfeeling things of pride- Aristocrats of pompousness and passion, Who sternly brush the humble man aside- Ye who increase upon the poor man's labour- Who reap the harvest ye have never sown- Who eat the fruit that other men have grown- The Lord has said: "The wretched is your neighbour." Your brother too. And in the Father's heart (Who holds the world within His love, and gives ts daily food to every thing that lives) Perchance he has a large and loving part. Be kind and pitiful while yet ye may, And sweep somewhat of human wo away. The world is dark; and who for Jesus' sake Do good to man, are like the city lamps: Their rays throughout surrounding darkness break, And cheer the wanderer in the midnight damps. They pale at breaking of the morn - but soon The sun majestic shall arise, and pour A flood of radiance from the skies' mid-noon: Their little lamps are needed then no more. Absorb'd and lost in heavenly love and glory, Their ravish'd minds then hear the Saviour say, "Ye did it to the suffering sons of clay, And so 'twas done to Me." The immortal story O'er the wide plains of Paradise shall fly, And crowds descend to welcome them on high. [Thomas MacKellar. THE USE OF INTOXICATING DRINKS. 367 THE USE OF INTOXICATING DRINKS. eI MEN resolve, as it were, to anticipate the corruption of their natures. They cannot wait to get sick and die. They think the worm is slow in his approach, and sluggish at hOwork. They wish to reconvert the dust, before their hour comes, into prema- ture deformity and pollution. It has been called a partial death. I would call it a double death, by which they drag about with them, above the grave, a mass of diseased, decaying, acting clay. They will not only commit suicide, but do it in such a way as to be the witnesses and conscious victims of the cruel process of self-murder; quenching the sight, benumbing the brain, laying down the arm of industry to be cut off, and changing a fair, ro- bust frame, for a shrinking, suffering, living corpse, with nothing of vitality but the power of suffering, and with every thing of death but its peace. Then follows the wreck of property-the great object of human pursuit; the temporal ruin which comes like an avenging angel, to waste the substance of the intemperate; which crosses the thres- hold, commissioned, as it were, to plague him with all the horrors of a ruined fortune and blasted prospects, and passes before the astonished sight in the dread array of affairs perplexed, debts ac- cumulated, substance squandered, honour tainted, wife and chil- dren cast out upon the world, and he who should have been their guardian and protector, dependent for his unearned daily bread on those to whom he is a burden and a curse. It produces con- sequences of still more awful moment. It first exasperates the passions, and then takes off from them the restraints of reason and will; maddens and then unchains the tiger raving for blood; tramples all the intellectual and moral man under the feet of sti- mulated clay lays the understanding, the kindly affections, and the conscience in the same grave with prosperity and health; and having killed the body, kills the soul.-[E. Everett. page: 368-369[View Page 368-369] 868 THE TWO ROADS. "VE TO DO GOOD. "VE to do good-this world should be But one united family, One holy brotherhood; Where each should for his neighbour fee!, Helping along the general weal, And universal good. But selfish aims too oft intrude, And thoughtless words, or actions rude, Engender enmity; And hence the scenes of foolish strife, Marring the happiness of life, Which every day we see. 'Tis sad to find the evil seed So thickly sown, and noxious weed Its baleful presence spread; And wildest passion's harsh control Crush the affections of the soul Beneath its iron tread. Live to do good-an idle wail Is useless-action must prevail, A living pattern teach; Invoke example's potent aid, And that- to which you would persuade, Practise as well as preach. Live to do good-if festering sores Humanity with tears deplores, Strive all you can to heal.; Direct the young, and comfort age, Boldly for right and truth engage, And for the suffering feel. Live to do good-and kindness show To neighbour, stranger, friend and foe, Nor think the task is hard; Heaven will bestow its righteous meed, And every earth-forgetting deed Shall bring a rich reward. THE OPEN HAND. 369 THE OPEN HAND. "FOR the love of Heaven, good friend, a penny," said a feeble beggar, one bitter night, to a wealthy merchant in the street. But the proud man, wrapping his rich imantle abott him, turned scornfully away, and the beggar passed on. You would scarcely have noticed the scene, yet there was in it a whole history of life, the calm, unfeeling coldness of an in- human apathy, and the great agony of a breaking heart. The one went to his lordly home, where'music and gladness, and the bright faces of his happy children were around the hearthstone; the other tottered along, with trembling steps, to the wretched hovel, where his pale-faced wife awaited his return. The light flashes forth from the rich man's mansion; but the beggar's house was desolate. Through the whole of that weary night did the beggar and his wife sit musing over the past, and looking for some light in the future. Above, around -them, on all sides, they beheld nothing but the gloom which no ray might penetrate; nothing but the impenetrable obscurity which is ever resting upon the wretched and the outcast. For God knows, if we do not, that at all times, even at this moment, by many a cheerless hearth, there are strong men bowed beneath the weight of an overwhelming de- spair; trembling women, pining away in their great despondency; and bright-eyed little children, growing pale and ghastly from the want of bread. God knows that, even upon our neighbours and friends, possi- bly upon the one next door, there is resting the cold, relentless hand of poverty--that poverty of which we can form no true conception, until we shall find ourselves bending like them over the last dead ember, and famishing like them for food. Could we but enter into the homes so near us, go, like the angels, into every haunt of wo and grief, and touch our lips to the wretched ones gathered there, what tales of agony should we' hear! One would tell us sweet dreams of his sinless boyhood; tell us how he started in life, gladly and gayly, and with no fear of the unknown future; how for a time the breeze was fair, \ page: 370-371[View Page 370-371] 870 THE TWO ROADS. and the sky blue, and the ocean calm, and, with his flag thrown out upon the gale, he sped along bravely and rapidly, until his voyage was nearly over, when, just as he caught sight of the de- sired spot, saw its temples and spires glittering in the sunlight, heard the music of the harp and the voices of the singers wafted from its street-just as the last billow was bearing him in upon its bosom to the desired anchorage-just then, alas! alas! the storm came down, and the billow dashed him back, and the rud- der gave way, and his gallant vessel was carried out again, all crushed and broken, a thousand leagues into the angry sea. He would tell us, perhaps, how the storm passed by, and the sun shone out as brightly as before, and the sea became calm again, and that once more, with the blue sky above him, he sped along toward the haven. But again the storm came down, and again, and again, until at length his brave and beautiful bark was thrown high upon the rocky reef, and left, a solitary hulk, to moulder in the sun. Another would tell his tale of love. How the sweet being whom he worshipped, the idol to which his heart gave homage, loved him and blessed him for many a long and pleasant year; but that, before long, her cheek grew pale, and her eye dim, and now his only solace in life is to go at the twilight hour, and, bending over the grave where she lies sleeping in death, hold communion with her spirit, and pray to meet'her again in the silent land. Still another, an old and feeble man, leaning upon his staff, would tell, perhaps, the saddest tale of all-that of a boyhood unblessed, of a manhood wasted, of an old age comfortless and wretched. He would tell that from his youth up, as the days and weeks and months passed slowly on, the gloom had deepened, and the guiding star gone out, and that now he was only waiting God's good time, that he might depart and be at rest. Such suffering ones are all around us. Such tales of wo have come so often to our ears, that-God forgive us-we pass them by unheeded, and leave the starving to their untold agony, even as the rich man did. Say what we will, deny it as we please, the blessing of God does rest upon the charitable; the curse of BENEDICTUS. 871 God does follow the unfeeling. The bond of brotherhood may not be broken. So Heaven help us, now and ever, to bear the burdens of the poor,-and do it joyfully. For so shall thousands look from their wretchedness, and thank God for the angels he has sent-the cheerful heart-THE OPEN HAND.-[A. J. Whitecar. BENEDICTUS. BLESSED be thy name for ever, God of mercy, God of might! Of all gracious gifts the giver, Of all life the Lord and Light! Bless Thee for the rest of even, Bless Thee for the joy of day; Peace on earth, and hope of heaven- Blessed ever, blessed aye! Not for these alone, O Father! Bless Thee, not for joys alone; For the griefs that round me gather, For my misery and my moan; Bless Thee, with a bowed heart's blessing, For the good that seems the ill: Whether chast'ning or caressing, Bless Thee, Father, bless Thee still! Bless Thee for th' awakening sorrow, Weeping o'er the early dead, Tearful night and mournful morrow, Sinking heart and aching head! Bless Thee, Lord, for thou dost love me When with sickness thou dost smite; Bless Thee for the clouds above me, 'Tis Thy mercy makes them bright! Blest the tempest o'er me sweeping, For o'er Thee the storm hath swept; Blest my weariness and weeping- Let me weep, for Thou hast wept! page: 372-373[View Page 372-373] 872 THE TWO ROADS. Bless Thee! every grief's a token Calling me to Thee away; Break, my heart! for thine was broken; Bless Thee ever, bless Thee aye! Bless Thee, for the soul that yearneth, With a lowly love for Thee! Bless Thee, for the love which burneth Thine, in life and death, to be! Bless Thee, for the life which liveth, Vapour-like, to pass away! Bless Thee, for the death that giveth Life to bless thee, Lord, for aye! [R. T. Conrad. THE -END. STEREOTYED BY L. JOHNSON AND CO. PHLADELPHA.