The organ of the temperance reform. (Cincinnati, O. [Ohio]) 1852-1853, 1852-09-10

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"Oh, Henry, what has happened ne yor
hurti Are You ill9 Speak 70 me for the low
Of Heavenl" she almost shrieked, as the I'M.
happy man gazed at her with vacant stare
but without making any attempt to reply.
A loud and insulting laugh Of derision was
the answer to her last appeal and Instantly
the dreadful truth flashed through the mind
Of the poor wife. For an instant the shock
seemed too great to be borne, aud conscious
ness was suspended, but the deep, devoted love
| Of true woman oVercame her weakness, and
trembling in every limb, she closed the door,
and inwardly congratulating herself that no
| eye but her own would witness this disgrace,
she gently placed her hand on Henry's arm,
and supported his unsteady steps to their own
room. Another dreadful hour passed before
her repeated and patient efforts had succeeded
in inducing him to take off his clothes and 20
to rest but at length this task was accom-.
plished, and he fell into deep, heavy sleep.
Through all this the little one had slept,
protected by the guardian spirits around it; but
now he awoke and urged his claim to the
mothers attention a well-timed call, for
when the immediate necessity for exertion had
passed, Helen would have yielded to the over
powering sorrow which had come upon her.
But the infant cried, and her own grief was
again hushed, while she ministered to it's
wants.
1t is ever thus with woman No thought of
self intrudes, while aught remains to be done
for the loved ones in whom her thoughts are
centered.
The eastern sky was becoming bright with
the light of day, ere Helen sought her pillow,
not to sleep-fOr how could she sleep, When
he who had so betrayed her trust lay by her
side in the deep repose Of drunkenness--but,
herthrobbing temples seemed almost bursting,
and her trembling form was unable longer to
retain an upright pOsision. Thought after
thought crowded upon her mind. She could
now see that this was no sudden and accidental
downfall. Many little circumstances came to
her recollection, which at the time had passed
unheeded, but which now presented them
selves in fearful array to prove that her be-
| loved husband had indeed become what she
shuddered to name even to herself. What
should now be her cOurse2 Surely he was not
| yet irreClaimable. 1t should be her task to
| win him back to virtue. She would exert her
| self to make home even. more attractive than
| it had hitherto been; and for Henry's sake
| she would consent to leave her babe more fire.
| quently with its attendant, and again mingle
with the gay society in which he had formerly
delighted Not reproach should pass her
| lips, and unless he forced the truth from her,
he should not even guess that she was aware
of his situation.
These thoughts tranquilized her, and feel
ing the insufficiency of her own strength to
combat the trials before her, she poured out
her full heart in prayer to her heavenly Father,
and received in return that peace and consola-
tion which earnest prayer never fails to bring.
| A few hours OF sound sleep brought return
ing consciousness, and a dim recollection Of
what had passed, to the mind Of Henry Gra-
ham. His heart was filled with shame and
| ppAe pobe e.. H., l., a
for the grief which he knew he must have oc :
casiOned his wife. He dreaded to meet her
eye or to hear the tones Of her gentle voice;
but her first words relieved him. They con-
tanned merely a kind inquiry for his health,
| and whether he had recovered from his fa-
tigue. Surely she could not speak in this
manner, If she had suspected the true state of
the case. He endeavOred to reply in an un-
concerned and Indifferent tone, but in vain; he
could not return her looks or words Of love;
and when she placed the babe in his arms, he
shrunk from its touch as if he feared to con-
taminate one so innocent and lovely.
Well had it been for him il he had then
| paused in his course, and firmly resolved,
with the help OF heaven, to transgress no
| more. But he was again tempted and again
( he yielded to the temptation.
His almost heart broken wife finding silent
endurance, and devoted love Of no avail, ven :
tured to speak plainly on the subject, and
| poured forth her feelings in earnest though
| gentle remoustrance and entreaty urging him
to pause ere it was yet too late, and save him
self and family from the ruin which awaited
| them. But, alas it was in vain. Henry S
whole nature seemed to have changed. The
prayers of her whom he had so lately almost
idolized, were now unheeded, and her fears
treated with contempt and riGicule. His for
mer unremitting attention to his business was
now exchanged for idle, desultory habits
which soon involved his affairs to an alarm
ing extent; but still he rushed madly on.
The friends Of Helen thought it time to in
terfere. Her father came forward and warm
ly urged her to leave one so unworthy Of her
affection, and return with her babe to the
home of her childhood. But Helen was i'm
movable. If he had been led into error, there
was the more reason why she should remain
by his side and endeavOr to lead him back to
the right path. IL she left him, she felt sure
that there would no longer be a chance for his
reformation but if she still clung to him,
surely Providence would open the way by
which she could yet reach his heart.
''This is madness, my child" demonstrated
the afflicted father. "You must be well aware
that your infatuated husband will soon be
penniless, and if you still retain your connec-
tion with him twill be nearly impossible TO
aid you. You and your child must share his
poverty and degradation"
ut matters not, returned Helen firmly
81 will abide by my husband. 1t would be
little comfort to me to be surrounded with
all that should make life happy and to
feel that my husband was a wanderer up
on the earth, without friends or home.
''But your child" still urged the disap-
pointed parent. "DO you consider your
duty to him2 Think Of the evils to which he
will be exposed as a constant witness OF the
scenes which are enacted in the home q Q
drunkard, You shudder, Helen, and think
me unkind, but | present to you the PLAN,
unvarnished truth. Your innocent boy, nay,
even yourself, may be treated with personal
violence.
| r.Oh,. father, father in pity fOrbear,' ex-
/ claimed Helen, covering her face. with her
hands, and giving way to burst Of grief al
most alarming BY its violence"
But Mr.. Meredith went on:
Promise me at least, Helen, that if what
have mentioned ever does take place, You will
] then consider yourself absOlved from the Tic