A look of pain crossed the good deacon's face, and he answered:
"I have news which will surprise you, Mary. My own suspicion and that of my brother deacons has been fully confirmed this morning."
"What suspicion," asked Mrs. Green quickly.
"That our pastor has for some time past given way to the allurements of strong drink."
"Oh, that is too dreadful! it cannot be true; so good, devoted, and holy a man as I have always thought him to be!"
"It is certainly true. Unfortunately, drink spares none, and the more noble and exalted its victims, the more sure and complete is their downfall. It will seem incredible to you; but the truth is, Mr. Harris preached this morning under the influence of liquor. He had been drinking before he came into the vestry, and was trembling and scarcely able to stand. He said he had been suffering with neuralgia, and asked for a glass of wine to steady his nerves. I said, 'Excuse me, Mr. Harris, it is painfully apparent that you have already indulged too freely in stimulant.' He looked convicted, and covered his face; but presently stammered out something about his excessive intellectual labours compelling him to resort to alcohol. Mr. Shaw then said: 'We would far rather listen to simpler preaching, Mr. Harris, than know that your brilliant discourses are composed and delivered under the stimulus of wine.' He promised to be more careful in the future; but declared that it was quite impossible for him to face the large congregation unless he could gain a little self-command; and truly he was in a pitiable condition. It was close upon service time, and there was no alternative but to give him more wine. To my surprise, immediately afterwards he mounted the pulpit stairs steadily, and conducted the service, as you know, with the utmost propriety. But we are resolved that he must either give up the practice of taking stimulant, or leave the church."
"Oh, Herbert! I'm overwhelmed. Mr. Harris has helped me in my spiritual life as no one else has, and it seems impossible that he could give way to such an awful sin as drunkenness," and Mrs. Green dashed away the tears of sympathy that had fallen, and resolved to hope and pray that her beloved pastor might break from the fatal habit which was making him its victim. But months went by, and Mr. Harris was found to be indulging in still deeper excess, until the story of his downfall was on every lip. Again and again he vowed reformation, and before God and his people humbled himself; but he lacked the needful courage to put the poisonous cup entirely away. "I must take a little, only a little," he said, and that little continually asserted its power to entice and ensnare. Couched in terms of Christian sympathy and forbearance, his dismissal from the flock, over whom for years he had tenderly watched, came at length. He was sitting in his study bending over it in remorse and shame when a knock was heard at his door, and a brother minister entered.
"Just in time to witness my degradation," he exclaimed bitterly. "Look here, Shafton! it has come to this! What will become of my wife and children now?"
The Rev. Ernest Shafton laid his hand upon the shoulder of his brother, perused in silence the official paper before him, and then walked to the window. Deeply cogitating, he stood there for some time, while Mr. Harris's face grew darker, and he muttered, "Turned against me, like every one else! Well, it's my own doing."
"Harris," said Mr. Shafton, suddenly, "do you know what this means for you, my poor fellow?"
"Ruin, I suppose," was the gloomy answer.
"Ay, ruin for time and eternity—having preached to others to become yourself a castaway; but you will not suffer alone, Harris. Your gentle, refined wife will be plunged from comfort to penury; your beautiful, promising children will know the cruel shifts of poverty; will hear their father's name uttered in accents of contempt by a scoffing world; will watch his downward career with fear and loathing, and yet, oh! mark my words, will probably follow in his footsteps, drag out miserable existences, and eventually fill drunkards' graves."
"God forbid! God forbid! anything but that," exclaimed the startled minister, rising in great agitation and pacing the room.
"God does forbid; but you Harris, are paving your children's road to ruin. Come, I have a proposal to make. By God's help, I will save you if you will let me."
"Do what you will, I am ready to submit to anything," groaned the trembling man.
"I will use all my influence to change this dismissal into a long suspension of duties. Meanwhile, you shall leave your home and come and stay with me, and I will stand beside you while you fight in God's strength against your foe; but, my brother, you must pledge yourself to abstain from all intoxicants, now and for ever. Say, are you resolved, for the sake of your wife and children, and your own eternal happiness, to put the accursed thing beneath your feet?"
There was a solemn pause, and in the silence a woman's step crossed the floor, and gentle hands twined round the erring man's neck.
"Jessie, help me, decide for me now," he cried.
Ernest Shafton repeated his proposal to the wife, asking if she would second his efforts to save her husband, by her willing consent to leave him in the care of his friend for a year, or longer if needful, until his reformation were effected.
"A year, did you say? a lifetime, if necessary," was the instant reply. Stooping to her husband's ear she whispered, "Go, dear Henry, and in God's strength fight and conquer. Let no regretful thought turn towards me, for I shall be content.
"You are an angel, Jessie!" exclaimed the man, holding his wife's hands and falling on his knees. Cries for forgiveness for the past and help for the future broke from him as he knelt, and his prayer was heard and answered. In years that followed he looked back upon that memorable hour as the turning-point in his history, and thanked God for the friendly hand that was reached out to save a brother from the abyss which yawned at his feet. Once again he filled an honoured position as the pastor of a large and influential church. Once again he passed in and out of the houses of the people, the beloved friend and ready helper of rich and poor; but in addition to former labours he became everywhere known as the advocate of Total Abstinence for young and old, and so persistent were his efforts in this direction, that many of the deacons and influential men of his church became rigid adherents of the good cause.
"Sir," said one upon whom all the pastor's arguments had apparently been wasted; "Mr. Harris, why can't you let us non-abstainers alone? Let us go our way, and we will accord you the same liberty of action."
Mr. Harris's brow clouded with some painful recollection, and he said with much feeling: "You compel me to refer to the past. Allow me very tenderly, but faithfully to remind you that you did not accord me 'liberty of action' in times gone by."
"What do you mean?" inquired the astonished deacon.
"Forgive me for seeming to be ungrateful for the kindness which alone prompted you; but, oh, my dear friend, remember how in years, that, thank God, are past, you and your brother deacons, equally hospitable and kind-hearted, never allowed me to decline your offer of wine or spirits. If I paid you a call before preaching, you insisted that I needed to be stimulated for my work, and pressed me to accept the best wine your cellars could supply. If I dropped in on my way home, I was sure to be looking white and exhausted, and must therefore take 'just one glass' to restore my energies. Heat and cold, rain and sunshine, joy and sorrow, all afforded you an excuse for compelling me to partake of the fatal cup. Your wines found their way to my table in abundance. Many a time I sought to refuse your false kindness; but you know how deeply I should have grieved you if I had not accepted your hospitality. From the day I first entered upon my pastorate as a moderate drinker, I felt that it was considered a personal slight if I visited any house and refused the proffered wine. Can you wonder that I grew to feel it a necessity? that presently I stumbled and fell, and for a time was 'out of the way through strong drink'? Oh, my brother, let me beg, that, if you cannot banish intoxicants from your home, you will at least refrain from pressing them upon others, lest you cause a weaker brother to offend."
Deeply agitated, the deacon wrung his pastor's hand, abruptly leaving him with the broken words: "Forgive me—I—didn't mean—didn't know—you've won me over at last."
"What is the matter, my dear?" asked Mrs. Green in alarmed tones, as a few minutes later her husband entered the room where she was working, and throwing himself into a chair, buried his face in his hands. The deacon only groaned. "Surely there is nothing wrong with our minister again," said his wife, knowing that her husband had recently been in the company of Mr. Harris.
"No, no, and if so, I, and such as I, would have been to blame, as we were years ago, God forgive us!" Mrs. Green looked at her husband, half-believing that under some sudden strain his mind had lost its balance.
"What do you mean? It was Mr. Harris's own fault that he gave way to drink, and you should remember that you and his other deacons were faithful in your constant warnings and long-suffering with him beyond what might have been expected."
"We, and only we, caused his downfall, and then reproached him for the disgrace he had brought upon our church," gloomily responded the deacon.
"You are speaking in enigmas; do explain yourself, Herbert," impatiently urged his wife.
In answer, Mr. Green repeated the words of his pastor, which had made so deep an impression upon his own mind. When he had finished he looked up to find that his wife's tears were dropping upon the work which had fallen from her hands.
"Oh, how guilty we have been, Herbert! Well do I remember how persistent I always was in my offers of stimulant to our minister in years gone by, and when he declined I pretended to be hurt, and said he must not refuse anything a lady offered, for she would be sure to know what was good for her guest; and then when I conquered, and he reluctantly took the glass from my hands, I felt so exultant, and all the while I was luring him on to the ruin, which might have been eternal."
Mrs. Green broke down utterly, and there was a suspicious huskiness in her husband's voice as he spoke: "Yes, we are indeed guilty, and we may have been no less so in many other instances. Verily, the blood of souls is on our garments. Mary, what shall we do?"
"Can you ask, Herbert? I don't mind how inhospitable it may appear; but I am resolved never again to offer stimulants to our guests, lest I make the same fatal mistake."
"That is well said, my dear; but—but—shall we agree to refrain from offering intoxicants to callers, and the visitors who occasionally sit at our table, lest we place temptation in their way, while every day those dearer than our life sit and partake with us of the cup which I now believe to possess such fatal allurements? If we have decided no longer to tempt our guests, shall we continue to tempt our innocent children, to whom we stand in their early years as their sole medium of light and knowledge? Think, Mary, if a few years hence one of our boys could truthfully say to us what our pastor has just said."
"Don't say any more; I can't bear it, Herbert."
For a few moments there was silence. Then Mrs. Green spoke again: "There is only one step to be taken; from this day all intoxicants must be banished from our home. Neither our children nor our friends must ever have further opportunity of stumbling over our well-meaning but cruel kindness. God, who knows how blindly and ignorantly we have sinned in the past, will surely grant His forgiving mercy to us, and help us in the future to wage successful battle against this subtle foe who has had, till now, his acknowledged place in our house."
"Thank God for that decision; my heart already feels lighter. From this time I will take my stand beside Mr. Harris in his noble Temperance work, and so far as I can, help to repair the wrong we have done him. May God speed our efforts!"
"Amen!" reverently whispered Mrs. Green.
He answered gloomily:
"All very well for the likes of you, Tim Maloney, to be chaffin' a feller; but I'd like to know if you'd feel fit to kill yerself with work if you'd been draggin' about the day afore with the missis a scoldin', and half a dozen brats at yer heels as gave yer no peace, a spendin' of yer hard-earned money, and seein' nought for it."
Tim picked up a brick, and placed it tenderly in the mortar bed he had just prepared, then said:
"An' isn't it bacomin' that the wife uv yer bossum and the childer should share yer holiday, an' hilp yer to spind yer money, me bhoy?"
"I can't say as it isn't," frankly replied John; "but some wives is different to others; and mine just nags and worrits and gives a feller no peace of his life, and the children takes after her."
"Shure, an' what does she nag and worrit ye about thin?" asked Tim, with a twinkle in his eye; but at that moment John shouldered his empty hod and disappeared.
"The ould sthory, shure an' certin," muttered Tim, and in his honest, kindly heart, for the hundredth time, revolved many a scheme for helping and stimulating his fellow-workman to a better life.
The breakfast bell presently rang, and John Jarvis, who lived at a little distance, threw himself at full length upon some boards, grumbling at his wife for being late with his breakfast.
"Maybe she's wearied herself wid followin' ye an' yer half dozen brats yester," dryly suggested Tim, as he threw down his trowel and strode away to his cottage home close by, where a plentiful meal awaited him. Certainly, when he met Mrs. Jarvis the next minute, she looked sufficiently white and fagged to justify his suggestion.
"Mornin' to ye," he said, nodding and hurrying by.
But Tim's cottage lay in Mrs. Jarvis's homeward way, and as her lagging footsteps passed the door, the buxom form of Tim's wife appeared.
"Come in, an' rist ye a spell, Mrs. Jarvis; ye look more fit for yer bed nor to be draggin' about at all, at all."
"It's just what I am. I'm sure I don't know what's coming to me," exclaimed Mrs. Jarvis, as she dropped into a chair.
"Give her a dhrop uv tay, Peggy, an' she'll ravive a bit," said Tim.
"You're very kind, Tim. Why, this tea is real good, as good as what the gentry drinks. I feel quite a different creature after it, I declare;" and Mrs. Jarvis presently set down her empty cup with a surprised air.
"I can't think how you manage, Mrs. Maloney. Here's your husband earning the same wages as mine, yet you can afford to live a sight better than us; you're better dressed too, and what a fine place you've got; and isn't that pig in the garden yours?"
Mrs. Jarvis's eyes had roamed from the bright, clean kitchen, through the open window to the well-stocked garden, where, in a corner, stood a sty, the occupant of which was rooting and grunting in the manner peculiar to his kind.
"Indade, an' ye're rayte; a fine porker he is too. I'll sind ye up a bit whin we kill, an' ye shall tasthe for yerself."
"Thank you kindly, Tim. It's not often we can afford to indulge in a bit of bacon now. Times are so hard, you see," returned Mrs. Jarvis, with a look of still deeper perplexity upon her face as she rose to go.
Tim whispered to his wife who nodded, and then turned to Mrs. Jarvis, saying:
"Now, don't ye be thrudgin' up wid yer husban's bit uv dinner. My Tim'll bring him home, an' he's kindly wilcome to the bist of our purvidin'."
Mrs. Jarvis was certainly weak and unnerved, for she fell back into her seat and began to sob.
"Whist, now, did ye think we mane to pisin yer good man?" said Tim, cheerily.
"No, no, indeed; but I don't know what to make of such kindness. It's nothing but cross words and scowling looks I ever get."
Tim sat down with a determined air.
"Jist dhry yer eyes, me dear, and listhen to me; bekase I mane it all for yer good, and Jack's too, poor bhoy!"
Tim continued: "Ye're both uv ye makin' a therrible big misthake that'll ruin ye in time an' etarnity. Here's Jack, a sheer lump uv misary, wid no heart for wark nor play, an' here's yerself a frettin' an' a pinin' yer life away; an' yer poor childer's like to thread in yer stheps. An' here's mesilf an' me wife, no betther an' no wurse off in the matther uv brass nor ye, as happy an' comforthable as ye'd wish, an' all bekase uv that same big misthake ye're makin'."
"What do you mean, Tim?" inquired Mrs. Jarvis, wiping her eyes.
"Jack 'ud know what I mane, for he's had the lingth uv me tongue many's the time on that same subjact; but I'll till ye, an' maybe ye'll lay it to heart betther nor he. Mrs. Jarvis, if ye'll belave me, it's the dhrink that's at the botthom uv yer misary."
"I won't hear you say such dreadful things, Tim. My Jack's no drinker, nor me neither. We're both of us moderate, and never—never—" but here Mrs. Jarvis faltered; and, eyeing her steadily, Tim went on:
"Ye niver, niver take a dhrop too much 'cept on holiday times, an' sich like; an' thin, what wid the boddher uv the childer, an' the sayte seein', an' the heat, maybe ye git a little overcome wid what ye take to quanch yer thirst."
"I dare say you're right, Tim," said Mrs. Jarvis, very much ashamed; "but I mean to say that my Jack and me don't do what some folks do in the way of drinking. He doesn't spend his evenings in the public, except now and then; and, as for me, I only take what will keep body and soul together, though I confess you're pretty near the truth as to taking more than is good on holidays."
"Well, we won't say anythin' about sich times. But supposin' it's to-day, ye'll kape about till the childer's home from school, an' the first thing'll be: 'Here, Sammie, fetch me a pint of bitther,'—it's bitther, I suppose?"
"Yes, I can't drink swill, there's no strength in it," said Mrs. Jarvis.
"Then you'll feel spry for a bit; but it don't last, an' ye want to sit down an' take a nap afore the fire; an' whin ye git up ye feel out uv sorts, an' the babby's a burdhen, an' yer toddlin' Jim's a plague; an' by the time that afthernoon school's done ye want windin' up agin, an' ye must have half a pint afore ye touch yer tay; an' whin Jack fetches the supper beer, ye're more than riddy to take yer share. Thin ye slape heavy like, an' if the babby wants seein' to ye can scarce wake; an' ye don't know how to dhrag yersilf up in the mornin', an' ye wish ye'd got a dhrink uv beer handy to give ye a sthart, on'y ye haven't the face to sind for it afore breakfast; but, ye may belave me, ye'll do that wan uv these days; an' the more ye take uv the pisenin' stuff, the more ye'll want, an' the wurse ye'll feel, for there's no strength an' no good in it at all, at all. It jist gives ye a little spurt for the time, but it's over in a jiffy, an' ye're cross an' fretful wid iverythin' an' iverybody, an' life's a burdhen from morn till night. An' it's jist the same wid Jack, poor bhoy. An' thin, whin ye might git a few hours of plasure, ye're in an' out uv the public-houses till ye're fair fuddled; an' the nixt day ye've both sore heads and sour tempers, an' yer money's gone inter the bargain."
"Do you really think there's no good in the beer, Tim? It does seem to put new life into one; and I hanker after it when I'm weakly."
"Uv coorse, that's nateral, whin ye feel sthronger an' betther afther a glass; but I've sthudied the quastion, an' wiser heads nor mine'll tell ye jist as I do,—that it takes out uv a bodhy more nor it iver puts in. It gives ye for a space what ye want; but ye have to pay for it at an awful rate uv intherest."
Mrs. Jarvis looked frightened; but Tim proceeded in still graver tones:
"It's the mortal thruth as I'm tellin' ye, indade an' indade; for ye have to pay for ivery bit uv go that yer glass uv bitther gives ye wid yer ha'pence first, uv coorse, an' afther wid loss uv yer good timper, an' the time ye spind in pullin' yersilf togither agin. Ye have to pay wid a wakely bodhy and a heavy heart; so the childer's sint out uv yer sayte to git inter mischif an' sin; and yer husban' niver sees yer face wid a smile on it, an' niver hears ye spake a kindly word. An' sooner nor later ye'll find ye'll have to pay for yer bitther wid the loss uv husban' an' childer; for, ye may belave me, the time'll come, bad cess to ye, whin Jack'll spind ivery blissid night at the public, an' yer childer will make ye sup sorra be rasin uv turnin' to bad ways; for there's no worritin' wives at the public, an' no grumblin' mothers round the sthreet corners. An' that's the last worrud I can say, for the bell'll ring afore another minit."
With a nod to his wife, and a kindly "good mornin'" to Mrs. Jarvis, Tim hastened away.
"My missis says I'm to fitch ye home to dinner wid me, Jack, an' she's tould yer wife that same; so come along wid ye, for ye'll git nought but air for all ye're growlin' if ye stay there," were the words that fell on John Jarvis's astonished ears, as he lay watching his companion get into his coat at the dinner hour.
"Well, I never, if that don't beat all," he exclaimed, jumping up and seizing his own coat. "What's put that into her head?"
"Case yer quastions an' look sharp now, for I want ye to have a look round me bit uv ground afther dinner," good-humouredly replied Tim.
The meal to which John presently sat down was simple enough but abundant, and such as he seldom partook of at his own table. He could not help also contrasting the bright, happy faces of Tim's wife and children with his own. He became silent and absorbed in thought, as he walked round Tim's garden when the repast was ended.
"Ye're an' illigant slip uv a pig, an'll make good mate to ralish the bread an' praties nixt winter, shure now, won't ye?" said Tim, addressing himself to the bristly porker who grunted his approval of his master's hand, as the two men leaned over the sty.
"I'd advase ye to kape a pig, Jack; ye've no idaya how handy a bit uv bacon is through the winter, wid so many mouths to be fadin'."
"You might just as well advise me to set up a carriage and pair," answered John, somewhat testily.
"Nonsinse, ye might do it jist as aisy as mesilf."
"I'd like to know how you make that out, when I never have a penny to bless myself with after I've paid up on Saturday nights."
"Jist tell me how much ye an' yer ould woman spind a week in beer," was the unexpected reply.
"At yer old game, matey, eh; well, really now, I can't say. Perhaps I take three pints a day; not much for a working man, Tim."
"An' maybe yer wife wad take a pint an' a half uv bitther, that wad make sixpence a day for yersilf, an' fourpence ha'pinny for hersilf; an' ye know ye ofthen spind more nor that. That 'ud make six shillin' an' a pinny three farthin's a wake; wan poun' six shillin' an' eight pince a month; an' sixteen poun' a year. How many pigs de ye sind down yer throats at that rate in the coorse uv twelve months, me bhoy?"
John Jarvis stood open-eyed and open-mouthed.
"Sixteen pound a year! What on earth have I been a doin'? Sixteen pound a year; who'd have thought it!" he ejaculated presently; and no more could Tim get out of him, till, late in the afternoon of that day, he emptied a hod of bricks at Tim's feet with such energy that Tim looked up astonished.
"I've made up my mind, Tim, to have a pig. I've been a fool, and thank'ee for as good as tellin' of me;" and then, as if afraid to trust himself to say more, he turned away to his work.
That night he and his wife, in the course of a long conversation, not necessary to record here, made certain resolves; two of which were never to spend any money in beer, and to try and do their duty better to each other and their children than they ever had done.
In future years they never ceased to be thankful for the promises then made, which, being faithfully kept, bore fruit in a happy home, and the envied worldly prosperity which was their neighbour's.
"Poor thing! no wonder you look exhausted!" said a friend who had called, and was listening with a sympathetic ear to the story of a woman's fretting cares and heavy responsibilities.
"I wouldn't mind if only my health were vigorous, and I had physical strength to face life bravely," sighed Mrs. Stewart in reply.
"Do let me beg you to take all the care of yourself that you can. You must think not only of the present, but of the future, for these little ones who need such unceasing toil now will want your loving thought and oversight for many years to come; and for their sake, and your husband's, it is your bounden duty to stimulate your flagging energies and strengthen your system to meet the constant demand upon it," was the response.
"How can I?" despairingly asked Mrs. Stewart; "you see baby, poor little fellow, fills my arms night and day, and seldom gives me a chance of taking proper rest."
"I know of only one way in which, overtaxed as you are, you can prevent yourself from breaking down under such pressure, and that is, by taking stimulants in one form or another. When you feel nervous and depressed, don't hesitate to take a glass of wine, and before commencing your dinner and supper take a little malt liquor to give you an appetite, for after attending to the children's wants I am sure you must feel disinclined to eat anything yourself."
"Yes, I am often unable to eat a mouthful of solid food; but thanks for your advice; I will try what a little stimulant will do for me."
So Mrs. Stewart commenced the daily use of alcoholic stimulants, and finding their effects to be beneficial to body and mind, and knowing little or nothing of the subtle danger that lurked in the poisoned cup, each domestic emergency that arose was ere long met in the fictitious strength afforded by the ready stimulant.
Years passed away, and the children, whose ceaseless demands upon their mother's patience and love had well-nigh exhausted her strength, grew into girlhood and boyhood.
One morning the family was seated at the breakfast table when the servant brought in a letter enclosing a bill with the familiar signature of a well-known firm of brewers. The husband's brows knitted as he glanced down the items.
"It seems to me, Eliza, that we use too much ale and wine for a private family. Why, we consume more and more, and I only take the same quantity that I did years ago. It's more than I can stand!" he said, looking across at his wife, who was listlessly sitting at the head of the table with her coffee untasted before her. She answered sharply:
"I can't help it, John; I shouldn't take it if I didn't need it, and you might know that nothing else has kept me alive for many a year."
"I don't complain of stimulant in moderation, my dear; but I cannot believe that an extensive use of alcohol can benefit a delicate constitution," replied Mr. Stewart. His wife was not inclined to let the matter drop.
"You seem to forget that the children take their glass of ale too, and that makes some difference in the amount we use."
"Well, I object to strong, healthy boys and girls touching stimulants; it is expensive and quite unneedful."
"But, papa, we like it so much; you mustn't stop our supplies," cried several youthful voices.
"I must, and I will, my dears; you have not your mother's plea of ill-health to urge, and from this time I shall not expect you to take alcohol as a daily beverage. I have no objection to lemonade or some other non-intoxicant taking its place, for that will be much less expensive, and besides, I have lately come to the conclusion that young people, at least, are likely to be harmed by the stimulus of ale or wine."
"You are very absurd, John. What harm could come to our boys and girls by taking half a glass of ale at dinner and sometimes at supper?" testily asked Mrs. Stewart.
"Why, Eliza, you know that a taste formed in childhood is held with greater tenacity than any other, and this taste for stimulant, which I am sorry to see the children possess, may not always permit them to remain satisfied with a glass or so daily; for, I was reading not long ago, that the tendency of alcohol is to create a morbid craving which may become that insatiable thirst for drink which has ruined thousands of men and women who were once children as promising as those who sit round our table. I wish I had been as wise years ago; they should never have known the taste of it." So saying, Mr. Stewart left the table.
A chorus of voices was raised as the door closed.
"It's too bad!" "A great shame!" "Lemonade, indeed!" and other exclamations were uttered expressing disapproval of the father's action. Mrs. Stewart had not been careful of late years to uphold her husband's authority in the household, and the unfilial remarks passed without rebuke, she merely adding: "You'll have to mind what your father says, you know, or we shall all get into trouble."
A few hours after, when the elder children were at school, the youngest, a bright boy of seven, came to her side and said: "Shall I get your wine, mamma?"
"You are mamma's dear boy to remember her lunch time. Yes, bring it out, though it is quite early."
The wine was brought, and one glass, and then another, and yet another was drained; the little fellow meanwhile standing by. Catching sight of his wistful looks, the mother said: "Come, and have a sip, Bertie."
"Papa says I mustn't," faltered Bertie, but drawing a step nearer. Lost to all sense of duty to husband or child, Mrs. Stewart answered:
"Come, and drink, I tell you; didn't your father say you were not to have any at dinner, and this is lunch?"
She poured out a full glass, which the child drank without further demur. He was shortly asleep on the sofa, waking at dinner-time in fretful mood, and turning impatiently from his food.
"You mustn't have it, Bertie," said his eldest sister; "we all have to do without it now, thanks to papa's whimsical notions."
"Wait till you're a man, Bertie, and you can drink as much as you please, as I mean to," remarked his fourteen-year-old brother with a contracted brow, and a longing glance towards his mother's glass; while she, poor deluded woman, looked on, languidly smiling, with never a thought of the possible future of these children for whom she had suffered and toiled. Many a time, when scarcely conscious of her own actions, did she encourage them to partake with her in secret of that which was banished from the table. It was only by the awful but timely discovery of their mother's degradation that the children were prevented from following in her steps.
A few months later, upon entering the house at the close of the day, the father was met by his eldest daughter, a girl of seventeen, who, with dismay on her face, exclaimed: "Oh, papa, do come upstairs, and see what is the matter with poor mamma. She has been sleeping heavily for hours, and when I have tried to disturb her, she has spoken quite wildly, and then gone to sleep again. A dreadful thought has just occurred to me that perhaps she has taken poison." Mr. Stewart anxiously followed his daughter to the room where his wife was lying on the bed. He bent over her. Her unnatural appearance, and the strong smell of liquor which proceeded from her parted lips, told the tale; and the truth, horrible and ghastly, stood revealed to the husband.
"Papa, tell me the truth; is it poison?" asked his daughter, as Mr. Stewart staggered to a seat. He hesitated a moment, then hoarsely said:
"It is poison of the worst kind, my poor child! Your mother is intoxicated. Oh, what shall we do? How can we save her?" One brief moment of horror, and then, subduing all outward manifestation of her agony, the girl said:
"Papa, we must put the temptation out of her way. We must all of us do without a luxury which has brought about such a terrible result."
So from the house there was banished from that time the alcoholic beverages which had been deemed necessary; but, alas! too late to save the wife and mother from rapidly drifting into confirmed habits of drunkenness. All the schemes that love could devise proved powerless to prevent the mistaken woman from continued indulgence in the fatal cup.
The apparent need for constant recourse to stimulants had long since passed away, but the habit of past years had wrought deadly mischief, not alone in gradually weakening the power of self-control, but in creating that morbid craving for alcohol which leaves its deluded victim no alternative but to obey its behests. She had seen no harm in what had become an essential of life to her, until she found herself bound in its toils. True, she did not yield to its slavery without many a struggle, but temptation was overpowering, and finally she succumbed to what she declared was inevitable. She had forgotten the only remedy available in such need as hers. No cry from her despairing heart had risen to heaven; the strength she lacked had not been sought from Him Who only can save from the thraldom of sin, and so, with the stain of uncancelled guilt upon her conscience, she hastened to an untimely end.
As she lay dying with mind weakened by long excess, they sought in vain for some sign of penitence, for some words to assure their sad hearts that the darkness of approaching dissolution was gilded by hues of hope and trust in the forgiving mercy of God through Christ. Day after day the sufferer's lips were sealed in an obstinate silence that struck dismay into the hearts of the watchers. She was dying without hope it seemed; but the prayer of faithful friends rose that the intercession of the Great High Priest might be made, and prove effectual for His wandering child.
Still the shadows deepened until it became evident that the mother's hours were numbered.
"I will watch beside her now, my dears," said the husband, dismissing his children for a brief period. Taking his seat beside the motionless form, he sent up a petition for help. Then, stooping over his wife, he said: "Eliza, dear, would you not like me to pray for you?"
The dying woman opened her eyes and faintly whispered: "No."
"Shall I send for a minister to come and pray with you, then, dear?"
Mrs. Stewart roused herself with a great effort, and with energy exclaimed: "No, He has prayed for me, and that is enough." They were her last words. Before the next morning she had passed away, leaving to husband and children the faint comfort of her dying testimony: "He has prayed for me."
Say, gentle reader, whether being assured of the thousand parallel cases which exist in this civilised land of ours, you will dare to place temptation in the way of your sister, by advocating the use of alcohol as the necessary stimulant which alone can nerve the failing heart and brain to meet the exigencies of her daily life, thus placing before her unwary feet the stumbling-block over which she may fall never to rise? It may be that you who proffer the well-meaning advice are moderate in the use of your own alcoholic luxuries, and cannot understand the mysterious attraction they may hold for another; yet, surely to you is uttered the divine warning: "Woe unto him that giveth his neighbour drink, that puttest thy bottle to him." And you, sister, plying your household tasks with an aching head, amidst the ceaseless prattle of the little ones who call you mother, striving patiently to perform your God-given duties, yet fainting under the burden and heat of the day, beware, oh, beware, of seeking relief from the tension of nerve and brain, which is a woman's allotted portion, by deadening the finely strung susceptibilities of your nature by indulgence in any of the various forms which alcohol assumes, or under which it would hide. Beware how you seek its false stimulus to enable you to cope with the almost superhuman duties devolving upon you! Patience and strength to endure will be given in God's appointed way; but be assured you will never find it in that which is responsible for myriads of ruined homes and blighted lives.
"Perhaps you are right, dear. Elsie will meet with no temptation at home, and a child of her tender years is scarcely likely to find it outside."
So said Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, when it had been proposed to introduce the subject of total abstinence to their youngest, a fairy child of six, and suggest to her that she should follow the example of her parents and brothers and sisters, who shortly before had pledged themselves to abstain from the use of intoxicating beverages.
"If we say anything to the dear child, it would be necessary to tell her why we consider it advisable to banish wine and ale from the house, and she would be perplexed and saddened by the insight afforded into misery and degradation of which she, at present, knows nothing. Her life is all sunshine now, and we have no right to disturb her childish happiness," added Mrs. Morgan.
So Elsie's little mind puzzled over the unrevealed reason of the absence from her father's table of the bottled ales and sparkling wines, the taste of which she had already learned to like.
A year passed away, and an invitation to a children's party was sent to Elsie, who forthwith became wild with excitement. A dainty creature she looked on the afternoon of the important day. Her golden curls softly floated over her blue merino dress, and her brown eyes flashed and glowed with delight.
"Mother's darling, good-bye! try and be a little lady, and nurse shall fetch you at nine o'clock," said the mother, as she pressed her child's coral lips, and then watched the little feet trip down the road beside the servant.
The hours, brimful of frolic and merriment, passed all too quickly for the happy children, and at eight o'clock they gathered in the dining-room for the early supper. The long table was covered with luxuries, and beside each child's plate was a small glass of wine.
"Now, dear children, make yourselves quite at home, and ask for anything you want," said the hostess, as her little guests took their places.
"May I have a glass of water, please?" asked an eight-year-old boy, soon after supper had commenced, pushing his glass of wine aside.
"Oh, my dear Charlie, I am sure you will like a glass of wine much better. Gentlemen always take wine, you know," replied the lady.
"I mus'n't take wine, please, because I belong to the Young Abstainers' Union," replied Charlie.
"Why, whatever kind of a Union is that, my boy?" asked the host.
"It means that those who join it have promised never to touch wine or anything of the kind."
"Stuff and nonsense! You'll never be a man unless you can drink a glass of wine with your friends."
Charlie coloured, but pushed his glass further away.
"Never mind, dear! our little friend's whims must not be interfered with. He will learn better when he is older," said the hostess, ordering a glass of water to take the place of the wine.
Elsie sat next to Charlie, and turning to her the host said:
"Now, Miss Elsie, you don't look as if you belonged to this army of youthful abstainers. Let us see how you can drink your wine; then you shall have the glass that Charlie despises."
Nothing loth, Elsie obeyed. She had never been allowed more than a sip or two from her father's glass, and it was many months since even that quantity had passed her lips. What wonder, then, that when supper was ended, and she tried to leave her seat, she should stumble and fall to the ground, overcome by her unwonted indulgence in the stimulant.
"Poor little Elsie! let me help you up," cried Charlie; but Elsie lay at his feet, and kicked and screamed in unaccountable anger. When at last she was picked up, her cheeks were purple with passion, and her eyes gleamed with a strange, wild light.
"The excitement has been too much for her, I suppose; but I am quite surprised at such a display of temper. She has always seemed so sweet and gentle," and the hostess hurried Elsie away to the waiting nurse.
"Miss Elsie, Miss Elsie, I am ashamed of you; whatever will your ma say?" expostulated the servant, as Elsie clung to her skirts and refused to say good-night.
"Papa, what is the matter with the child! I never saw her look so strange," exclaimed Mrs. Morgan, taking Elsie a few minutes later from her nurse's arms.
Mr. Morgan sat the child on his knee, and as he did so the fumes of wine met him.
"She has taken more wine than has been good for her; that is what is the matter with our little one!"
The horrified mother sank into a chair, but Elsie raised her dimpled hand and struck at her father, crying in a hoarse unnatural voice:
"I haven't, I haven't, you nasty papa! I didn't have half enough of the nice wine."
"That is quite sufficient; take her away, nurse, and put her to bed. I will talk to her to-morrow."
"We have made a great mistake, wife, and are reaping the consequences in seeing our six-year-old child inflamed with the stimulant which we have banished from our own home," said the father, as the door closed.
Mrs. Morgan wept, and made no reply.
Long and seriously did the parents talk to Elsie on the following day, who, easily influenced, as what child of her tender years might not be, listened with tears to the revelation of unknown dangers, and pleaded that she, like Charlie, might make such a promise as would save her childish feet from again being ensnared by the betrayer, and in the following years prove her safeguard and defence.
Mothers, who read this true story, will you not beware of the danger that threatens your little children, and learn that none are too young and fair to escape the toils of strong drink, unless guarded by an intelligent knowledge of the perils that beset them, and a resolve, early formed, never to touch or handle the treacherous cup?