Connecticut western news., 1880-03-03
Reclaimed.

- 6n0s most goneS doctor, amt she The speaker --an elderly woman--was standing by the bedside of woman who was almost insensible, and was breath ing very faintly. S.=sstzs
 "She can't live many minutes," said the doctor, looking at his watch. s'It is needless for me to remain longer, and I must visit other patients. hope you will stay with her, Mrs. Hoffman, while she lives. You'll not be detained long," Reckon I will. That drunken beast of a husband of hers hasn't come in yet. Not that he's any good when he's here and goodness knows what these poor children would do by themselves"
 Her coarse homely face softened in pity for the three little ehildren-the eldest not more than seven-who were huddled together in a corner. The eldest. 8 girl, had dim comprehension of what deaih meant, but the others were simply frightened. The youngest, 8 pretty boy of three years old, was crying
 "I want my muzzsr! Lemme go to my muzzer I" ani through her choking sobs. his sister wes trying to soothe him.
 The house was little better than a cabin, and the room in which the woman lay was poorly furnished, though such pieces of furniture as were in it showed that the Greys had not always been in poverty.
 There were curtains at the windows. patched to be sure, but of good quality. There was tidy on the broken rocking chair, and some strips of once hand some carpet lay by the bed. There were some faded flowers in a broken vase, and wreath of autumn leaves hung over the mantel-pathetio touches of adomment which told that Mary Grey had struggled hard to bring some beauty and grace into her wretched life.
 She would struggle. no more. The enaciated hands had done their last work. The hollow, sunken eyes had shed their last tears.
 Well. deaths good thing to some poor crltters,' 2 Mrs. Hoffman muttered. looking st the quiet face. "There a;nt no more heartbreak for her-only I fest wish it was him a-lyin' there instead of her-poor 1ambi The dispisable. cruel murderer Yes, I jest calls him by his right name, for he -
 She stopped, for the sick woman sud. denly opened her eyes.
 "Where's John?" she whispered feebly.
 "I hear him a-comin'," the woman answered, frowning viciously at the door,.
 It opened, and John Grey slouohed in. with 8 flashed face and unsteady step. There was an unmistakable whisky bloat in his well-cut features, and f whisky film covered what might other wise have been his clear blue eyes.
 Those who knew John Grey four year before could have told you that he wal then the handsomest man in the county and the most intelligent mechanic They, and no one else, could have ex plained how and when the madness O drink mastered him.
 Those steps down the fiery ladder ar usually alike in all. There is a dallyin. with temptation, reliance in one's own strength, and the first step is taken, ant then rounds of the ladder are burue, behind the descending man.
 That is thg reason why the return o the drunkard to his first position is S, difficult. Each foothold has been con sumed in turn, and nothing but the in finite mercy of God can weave cor strong enough to lift him from the fer gull.
 John Grey drew near the bed. Flo three years the poor woman lying ther had seen him every day intoxicated, ,mor orJese. For three years her heart ha. throbbed with agony at his disgrace an, the impossibility of reclaiming him But now she was too near the peace o eternity for any active feeling of pain.
 John, " she said, trying to lift he hand to him.