South-eastern Independent. (McConnelsville, Ohio) 1871-1871, 1871-07-14

!, | Will make all well. What IS the mattel
r now, little woman?" he asked, as Lizzi
e sat motionless, and made no response. :"
viii treat yen IS well as l have done my
: self Here is theRfice Of six glasses!
, The money dropped upon ,he floor, a
5 with CicSred hands she exclaimed:
: MY dear hlsSGnd, oh, my husband
) will you not give it up altogether? l
would be but a little sacrifice now; end
Oh, believe nee, it is the only safe course
Th;nh of our dear children. Surely yoT
will do it for their sakesl
"No, no, foolish child, VII not give Il
up; but will take care to keep |iihil
my allowance in future. Three glasses
day never harmed any one. "
/ Lizzie would have urged him still
further, but iocE OF impatianee checked
her, and with secret prayer that he
might never again be led into temptation,
she locked her fears in her own bosom.
Long after her husband slept, her tears
fell fast upon the pillow, as she looked at
Eer little ones and remembered her own
miserable childhood, and her poormothers
unhappy life and early death.
This was but the beginning of sorrows.
For another week all went well; then
came a second excess. There was
1
| liar circumstances which he said
might never oceut again. But the path
down hill is a slippery one, ana of quick
descent Before another year had passed
his unsteady habits were known and COM
mented upon by those who had once re-
spected him as thriving, industrious man.
| Several times he had been seen in the
street in a state little short of absolute in
| toxication, and his work was often neg
lected, even at the most busy season Of the
year. The parents had demonstrated, and
bis wife plead in vain. Opposition seemed
! to serve but as fuel to the flames.
ave can but do our duty and trust in
God" said Lizzie, sadly, as, after the most
trying scene that had yet occurred, she
took her children to her gTandfather's for
an hour or two. thinking that a change
would be useful TO them and to herself
"But tell me, nay poor child" said the
mother, to whom the remark was address
ed, is my son very unkind to you and
the little ones? Surely, he cannot forget
himself so far as to use personal violence."
No, mother, he is rather more surly
than violent. At such times he dislikes
TO be spoken to, and is angry if the chill
dTeu make noise. The poor babes used
to spring with delight when they heard
his steps. Now they shrink from him
with fear Last evening when I babe
Willie say his prayer for poor father be-
cause he was sick, the little fellow wept
and said, Willie will say his prayer for
poor father, but father don't love Willie
any more Tears fell fast from Lizzies
eyes as she spoke, and the mother wept
also. William was her eldest born, and
had ever been her pride and delight. 1t
was, indeed, hard TO know that he had
thus gone astray.
"And is there no hope for the future?"
she said, bitterly. "Will he thus willful-
ly pursue the road to ruin, until it is too
late to retrace his steps ?"
ave know not the end" replied Lizzie,
"but 1 fear that things will become worse.
May God help usi"
Lizzie's fears were but too well ground
ed. The dark cloud about them became
more dense. Dissipation led TO idleness
work was neglected; debts accumulated;
and poverty stared them in the face.
Deeper grew the shadow on the brow of
the old blacksmith, as he watched the
gradual decline from virtue of his SON
For hours he would sit at the door of his
own cottage, apparentlyin state IF moody
abstraction, and then mournfully shaking
his head, would say, as he aroused him
self, "All is silent, now; the blacksmith's |
hammer is no more heard in the old shop. |
On, my boy, my boyi Would that could |
have stood beside thy grave, ere had seen
thee thusP
Suddenly he seemed to have formed |
some new resolution. Rising onemorning |
earlier than had been his wont for years, |
he took the well-known cross-path to the |
shop. 1t was closed, and the entrance |
well secured. For q moment he paused, |
irresolute, and then walked with quick |
steps to a small house in the neighbor
hood.
ais Mr.. Birch IMP" he inquired of the
little boy who answered his knock at the
door.
The man in question, who had long
been in James employ, Immediately |
stepped forward.
"The shop is locked, sir" said the old
gentleman. "Haye you the keyg"
"I have" was the reply; but Mr.. VIII
liam is so seldom at his work, now, that l |
never open without his orders. I sm about
seeking situation in Clyde. Working
one day in seven will not support
family"
at will not, indeed, Mr.. Birch; but if
you will rely upon me, will see that you
are paid as usual. Open the shop at once,
aud be ready for whatever may offer"
"But do not feel myself quite compe-
tent to take the whole charge, Mr.. James,
l am willing to work under orders"
az will be there myself" was the reply,
" and we will see whether Time has
robbed my arm of its strength"
In half an hour all was hustle and activ-
ity at the old blacksmith shop. The Won
III, ha1 for
months past been obliged to go ten miles
to the next village when anything in that
line was required, heard with surprise the
busy strokes of the hammer.
Sam Jones almost rejoiced when his
horse lost shoe, because it gave him an
to satisfy his curiosity. He |
was a rough man, but his heart was
touched when he saw the old gentleman |
hard at work, and it was with almost an
air ofdeference that he asked if his horse |
could be shod immediately, as he was in
haste to go to Clyde on important busi-
ness
Without delay, Sam. Here, Mr.. Birch,
will you attend to this ?-<or, stay, will do |
it myself 1t is ten years or more since / |
have shOd horse; but | know the right |
way yet, if L mistake not"
The Job was about half completed, and |
the old blacksmith, with all the interest
and activity of former years, was bend
ing over the uplifted foot of the ami
NAL, when another person entered
the shop. For a moment he stood
unnoticed, but an attentive observer of
what was passing. The hand of the old
gentleman trembled, as he performed the
unusual labor, and he paused, as if fatigued
Father" said well-known voice at
his elbow, "what means this? This work
becomes not your gray hairs; give me the
hammer"
al have VOW, William" was the re-
ply, "that your wife and children shall
never want while 1 can raise a hammer;
nor your good name be disgraced with
debts, if can earn the means to psy them.
God will give me strength"
More affected than he cared to own,
William walked to the farther part of the
shop, and busted himself with some work
that stood ready. For many days he had
been absent from home, and had returned
at late hour on the previous evening.
His feelings had been good deal softened
by the appearance of absolute poverty his
cottage had assumed. Something must be
done; and after an anxious and restless
night, he fell asleep Just before the day
dawned, with the full resolution to work