Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1862-02-20

| Iallen asleep IN his chair.
On the following morning walked out
with my friend. told him / was sorry to
see him as saw the night before.
"'Oh, > said he with laugh, that was
nothing but little wine party. We had
aglorious time. / wish you had been there. "
At first l thought would say no more !;
but was i not my duty2 knew his nature
better than he knew himself His appe-
tites and pleasures bounded his vision. /
knew how kind and generous he was-alas
too kind, too generous.
John, could You have seen Ellen face
last evening you would have trembled. Can
you make her unhappy"
He stopped pe with
Don't be a fool. Why should she 1e
unhappy"
-, "Beeause she fears you are going down
hill, y / told him.
did she say SO 2" he asked, with flush.
ed face.
No, read it in her looks" 1 said.
Perhaps reflection of your own
thoughts" he suggested.
Surely thought so when you came
home," lreplied.
Never can | forget the look he gave me
then. so full ofreproof, of surprise, of pain.
-, | forgive you, for know you to
be friend; but never speak to me like that
going down hill Youknow better That
can never be. l know my wants. My
mother knows me better than Ellen does. I"
Ah, had the mother been as wise as she
was loving, she would have seen that the
wild oats which her son was sowing would
grow up and ripen, to furnish only seeds for
re-sowing. But she loved hm-loved him
almost too well, or, should say, too blind
ly.
But could say no more. 1 only prayed
that God would guard him, and then we con-
yersed on other subjects. | could spend
bNta day with him, but we promised to cor
respond often.
Three years passed, during which John
Anderson wrote to me at least once month,
and Oftener sometimes; but at the end of
that time his letters ceased coming. and | re-
ceived no more for two years, when again
found myself in his native town. 1t was
early in the afternoon when arrived and
took dinner at the hotel.
had finished my meal and was lounging
| in front Of the hotel, when | saw funeral
procession winding into distant church
yard. asked the landlord whose funeral
| it was.
Mrs. Anderson" he said as he spoke
noticed a slight dropping of the head, as if
it cut him TO say so.
What! john Andersons wife ?" ven
tured.
"No," he said, ''it is his mother" and
as he told ne this he turned away. But "a
gentlemen near by, who had overheard our
conversation, at once took up the theme.
Our host don seem inclined to converse
on the subject, he remarked with shrig.
''Did you know John Anderson.?' he in
quired.
He was my schoolmate in boyhood, and
my bosom friend in youth" toll him.
He then led me to one side, aud spoke as
follows:
Poor John He was the pride of the
town six years ago. This man opened his
hotel at this time, and sought custom by
giving wine suppers. John was present at
| many of ofthem-the gayest of the gay, and
the most generous of the party. In fact, he
paid for nearly all of them. Then he com
inenced to go down hill. and has continued
in the downward path ever since. At times,
true friends have prevailed on him to stop,
but his stops were of short duration. A
short season o sunshine would CLEAN upon
his home, and then the night came more
dark and dreary than before.
| HE said he never would get drunk again,
but still he would take II glass of wine with a
friend That glass of wine was but the gate
to let in the flood. Six years ago he was
worth sky thousand dollars. Yesterday
he borrowed the sum of five dollars to pay
his mothers funeral expenses The poor
mother bore up as long as she could. She
saw her son-her darling boy, as she al.
ways called him-brought home drunk,
l many times And she even bore blow.
from him But now she is at rest. HeI
darling wore her life away, and brought hel
gray hairs in sorrow to the grave. Oh,
hope this may reform him.
"But his wife?" asked
"Her heavenly love has held her up this
far, but she is only the shadow of the wife
she was six years ago." he returned
My informant was deeply affected, and sc
was /; consequently l asked no MORE
During the remainder of the afternoon
debated with myself whether to call upor
John atal But finally l resolved to go
, though WAITED till after tea. found Johl
and his wife alone. They had both beel
weeping though Icould see at a glance tina
| Ellen was beaming with love. But, oh
i they were changed, sadly, painfully so.-
3 They were glad to see me, and my han,
!, was shaken warmly.
q Dear C., don't say word OF tn
!, past, John urged, shaking my hand tn
4 second time. 81 know you spoke the trut
five years ago. l was going down hill. Blu
y have gone as far as can--here stop o
4 the foot. have sworn to be happy now
/ The poor fellow burst into tears; Ellie
% followed suit, and l kept the compauy,
4 could not help crying like child. My Goo
y. what sight The once noble. true man
"A fallen-become mere broken glaSs--tl
q last tragmeHt briefly rejecting the image
> bore poor supplicant at the foot of hom,
[e begging grain Of warmth for the hearts
70 himself and wife. How | honorei an
,,d loved that man, and how loved him still
Nv Oh, how hoped aye, more than hope
w that he would be saved. And MS | gaz,
" upon his wite-so trusting, so loving,
ii true, and hopeful, even in the midst Of Ii
70 ing death--l prayed more fervently than
Of did before :hat God would hold him up al
W lead him back to the top of the hill.
ne In the morning saw the children--groy
ie up to be intelligent boys aud though tn
N. looked pale and wan, yet they smiled a
/ seemed happy when their father Kiss
nv them. When | went from there John to
to to me by the hand, and the last words he 81
,ar We're: rn2 81. .if f'IT fEa.Hi lNr
~ ssTtust ,na Raliava ma now will