Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1876-06-22

heart was terrible.
She met her lover by stealth, an6
against her fathers will; but for {
long while she resisted his entreatie.
to marry him in defiance of the old
mans refusal. AT last, angered by
her persistence in obedience, Ed
ward accused her of fearing to share
the fortunes of one comparatively
poor-one who must carve his own
way up life's steep hill without as
sistanee. The unmerited reproach
sank deeply into her warm heart, and
in a sudden impulse of tenderness
and sympathy she gave him the
promise which he had so long sought
in vain. They were married accord
ingly, and on their way to London,
where Edward, sanguine and con-
scious of power, believed that he
should make for himself name and
position of which any woman might
be proud. To her father Ruth
wrote long and loving letter, i'm
ploring his forgiveness, but the an,
swer crushed all hope within her bo-
som.
"As you sow, so must you reap"
were the words the old man wrote.
81 have no longer daughter" and
Ruth knew that henceforth for she
had been motherless for years) J, she
had in all the world only the hus-
band for whom she had sacrificed
fortune, and, what is far more, the
tender protection of a father.
In those early days Edward did
his best to make amends for all, and
she was so proud of him, and so fond
of him, that she soon forgot to
grieve.
She heard his name uttered in
praise by all. She knew that he had
but to keep steadily on to mount to
the proudest seat in fame's high tenn
Pile; and for year she had no fear
of his faltering. Now and then a
feverish something in his voice and
manner, strange light in his eye, a
greater flow of eloquence in his talk,
more passionate demonstration OF
love for her than usual, told that he
was under the influence of wine; but
the fact only seemed to enhance his
power OF fascination; never was he
so brilliant, never so handsome. AL
most could Ruth have laughed at the
sermons preached by temperance
folk, of the harm sure to follow wine
drinking.
If the story could end here, the
true story of Ruth Holly's life, it
would be almost happy one; but,
alas the sunny slope down which it
seemed So easy to glide gaily grew
darker as the1years flew on. How
they began to tell her the fate before
her, Ruth hardly knew.
A little flush Of shame came first
when his step was unsteady and his
voice too loud. Then a grieved tear
or two when he was unreasonable.
Then a sorrow that kept her heart ach-
ing night and day, for the man who
had first won inspiration from the
glass was now lost in its depths; lec-
lures to be delivered were not given
to the expectant public, because "of
the illness of the lecturer"
Ruth knew what that illness meant
and tried to hide it. Literary work
was neglected also. Money was lost
that might have been easily won.
Debts grew and credits lessened; the
handsome suite of rooms were ex-
changed for one quite shabby.
Ruth's dress became poverty-strick
en-; her husband was out at elbows;
he was intoxicated from morning un-
til night, and yet she clung to him,
and in sober moments he loved her as
fondly as ever. Sometimes the old
hope would be aroused in him, and
he would struggle to gain his lost po-
sitiOn, but it was all in vain; gin tri-
umphed, and five years from her wed
ding day Ruth found herself with
her one remaining child (the first
had died within a year of its birth
in the dingiest Of wretched houses,
in state bordering on beggary.
Edward had been more madly in
toxicated that day than ever before ;
he had given her a blow, and now, as
the night wore on, he muttered and
raved, and called for gin, and cursed
her and himself, until she trembled
with fear AT last, as the clock
struck ten, he started to his feet, and
staggered out of the room, vowing to
get drunk somewhere.
Poor Ruth stood where he had left
her for a few moments. The memo
ry of the past was strong on her that
night. On that day, five years be-
fore, they had fed from her fathers
home together. How tender he was,
how loving, how gentle! How he
had vowed that she should never re,
gret that day, and how had he kept
those promises2 He had broken
every vow-he neither cherished nor
protected her. His worldly goods he
/ Ildu SifCH VI tuC latCuOAS uCufOl,
drink; his love had become a some
thing scarcely worth having; and YET
she loved him and clung to him. She
tried to feel cold and hard to him,
but she could not; she strove to re.
member the blow he had given her
the oaths he hal uttered, but she an
swered herself as she did so. "It
was not he who did tit was
drink" She listened to the uncer-
tain, reeling foot-step in the street
below, and burst into tears.
"My poor darlingw she whispered
as she thought some grevious calami
ty had smitten him into the thing be
was, and he had not himself "put an
enemy into his mouth to steal away
his brain," unmindful of her woe and
shame. She thought of him reeline
helplessly along the street, and feared
that some harm would come to him
He might injure himself, or some one
might injure him. He might fall il
some ont of the Way place. and Ii,