Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1855-05-17

leyes were growing dim. bleared ant
bloodshot the once fair cheeks were be
coming red swollen and Bloated. and thu
lips looked dry and cracked. No won
der she knelt down by her bedside ant
prayed. -
1t was now Saturday evening, ant
Malcolm was going out. He was t.
meet some of his friends, and his wifi,
knew that he was to meet them at tn,
tavern. He had worked only thres
days during the past week, and had pay
flor these three days work in his pocket
That money was needed at home, bu
where would it be on tomorrow. -
"Malcolm, o, do not wholly forge
your fond, loving wife, when you are
going"
But Malcolm did not answer. He
kissed his wife, however-kissed hel
not as he used to do, but kissed hei
merely because she asked him to-and
then left his cottage. When he had
gone, his wife sat down and wept. She
could not help it. Her darling boy
crept by her side. and placed his arms
around her neck; he asked her no ques-
tons, but told her not to cry. His lit
tie mind seemed to have some idea of
the coming calamity. 1t must have
been vague, bat it was clear enough to
prevent him from forcing the dread
thoughts upon his mother. Once more
he asked her not to cry, and then his
own little heart burst with grief, and
the mother and child wept together =
This vas another drop in the poor wife's
cup of af1iction. o, how palpable now
must be her husbands course when even
the prattling child saw and knew the
danger? But she could only clasp and
pray more fervently; and the little boy.
when his mother had done praying,
said, "AMEH."
1t was clear, cold evening, and as
Malcolm Warren stepped out into the
street, he seemed to shake himself as
though he would shake off the influence
of the dear place he was leaving. But
he could not wholly do it. He could
not drive from his mind the fearful coun-
tenance of his fond and faithful wife,
nor could he forget the fond and earnest
simple anguish he had noticed upon the
face of his child. Yet he tried to crush
the thoughts that r,Ape tl,,,e -sF,rin5ins
into life. "Poh !" said he, as the i'm
age of his wife forced itself upon him,
ats only little 1un and frclic. Whose
business is it?-away with such nom
senser"
Thus speaking, the young husband
and father closed his hands, although he
would hold on upon the feelings he had
tried TO express and then he hastened
on. Soon he reached the tavern where
he found his companions. The laugh
and the joke commenced, andaere long
Malcolm forgot all about his home He
sat in the bar-room, and his sharp wit
made food for much merriment.
"Who says there's danger in the
bowl?' cried a young man, as he raised
the glass to his lips.
''It's the ravens croak," said anoth-
er of his companions Here's confu-
sion to the idea"
"Good!" exclaimed Malcolm War
ren, posing his glass. "Poison in the
bowl-nonesensel look at old Uncle
Adam, now. He's used it all his life
time. and here he is, the Oldest man in
town. Come, here's to old Uncle
ADAM"
The person to whom Malcolm had
thus alluded, was an old white-haired
man, who stood at the bar with a glass
of rum in his hand. His name was
Adam Stanford, and almost ninety years
had rolled over his head. His form
was bent, and his limbs trembled, but
he still lived, and his mind was yet
clear. He heard the remark which the
young carpenter made, and having set
down his untouched liquor, he turned
and gazed upon the youthful speaker.
He knew Malcolm Warren well.
Malcolm" said he, ''come with me-
Come along for l would speak with you.
Come"
There was something very deep and
meaning in the old mans voice, and as
he turned toward the door, Malcolm
arose to follow.
"Detain him not" said the old man
as some of his companions sought to him
der him. |
"Why should go with you?" he
asked.
"To please an old man, / mean you
no harm Malcolm. Come"
Passing out of the door, they moved
across the street. Near by was the vii
lage church yard, and hither Adam
bent his steps; arriving at the gate. he
passed in; as Malcolm hesitated to enter,
the old man said:
.sCome, follow me-"
Malcolm went, and soon stood within
the village church-yard.s This white
haired guide was the sexton, who for
more than sixty years had made those
beds for the children of mortality. The
pale moon shed its beams upon the
place, and the chill air sighed mourn
fully among the weeping willows that
grew among the hedge. The grave
stones stood up like spectres above the
faded grass, and here and there arose q
white monument, like some more pow
erful spirit that watched the sanctity of
the place.