Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1881-03-27

| man.
Nv turn came. I was the last speak
er. l was well known to most of the
audience, as I had been long time in
the college. The applause, as began
and ended, was vehement, but I scarcely
heard it. A train had arrived just as I
had mounted the rostrum. Surely he
was in it Surely he would claim me
now before them all
I stepped down when had finished,
and took my place in the class to receive
my diploma.
1t was given. There was a short
prayer, and all was over. Carrying the
roll of parchment in my hand proudly
as if it had been a Marshals baton. L
went out, with Jenny clinging to my
arm, to the campus, crowded with my
friends.
Leaning against the fence was a
bloated, blear-eyed man, whose worn
clothes showed that he had walked a
long way. Two of the professors were
talking together behind the pillar by
which I stood.
eyes, that is he," said one. "Gone
quite to the dogs. Rum rum But
he has one redeeming trait. For nine
years he has sent his pay to support this
boy and girl, and has lived himself on a
mere pittance of his pay"
"But they never saw him. What in
duced him to sacrifice himself in that
way?"
"They were all he had. The only
drops of his blood in the world ran in
their veins. The poor wretch has never
had anybody to care for him, and per-
haps he thought these children might
have some affection for him, ruined as
he is by his appetite for drink"
I stood, stunned and dumb. Ill
It vast was my brother, my hero,
that they meant!
At that moment the man came for
ward, trembling. He had not drank
that day, and was unsteady from excite
ment and the want of liquor. "Rob-
ert p He held out his hand, appeal
ingly. 81 am your brother Douglas p
| [ made no answer.
[ glanced around in deadly terror lest
some one should hear him. They had
all heard.
Then looked him full in the eyes.
"This man is mad |" I said, deliber-
ately. "You are nothing to me-noth-
ing! I can own no relationship with
such as you %
He staggered back as if he had been
shot.
"Great God p he muttered. 81 did
not expect this But-I-have-de-
served it p
There was sudden rush, and Sob
| bino cry. and Jenny had both her arms
around his neck. douglas Brother
Douglas p she cried. 81 have you at
last p Then she drew back, with her
arm about him, and, turning to party
of her friends who stood near, said, with
a calm dignity:
"This is my brother Douglas. [ owe
everything am and have in the world
to him. And have never seen him be-
fore. You will excuse me if I go with
him now"
She chung to his arm and led him
away.
"Let me go!" he said, struggling to
withdraw from her. "Let me 60 back
and die in the gutter. It's the only
place for mel"
81 will never let you go! !" cried
Jenny, passionately.
"Look at those people, how they
beggar !"
"These people" said Jenny, steadily,
keeping her hold of him, "know but
your one fault. I know you for the
noble, generous, brave man you are,
brother. Let us go away from here. 1
love you. We will make home for
each other"
| She led him, weak as a child, to his
hotel. And, in spite of all my remon-
strances, she left town with him next
day. I could not overcome the feeling
of disappointment and of outraged pride.
1t was worse than foolish-it was wicked.
Nevertheless, l left them, secured po-
sition as clerk, and worked my own
way. I acted, in short, like an migrate
full coward.
When I found Jenny persisted in re-
naming with him, ceased even to write
to her. The work she began that day
she never gave up. She did make a
home for him, the first he ever had
known; made it cheerful and happy.
She dealt with his failing as disease
watched over him night and day; when
the struggles with his tempter grew too
hard for him, gave him medicine prayed
for him, chung to him, never lost pa
tience nor hope, and showed him that
she had not lost them.
My motive in telling this story is to
show that the drunkard may sometimes
be cured by unfailing love and practical
commons sense.
She did cure him. He lived for many
years, and died in her arms at last. She
had, it is true, good material to work
upon. But there is almost always good
material in the drunkard. His ailment
is physical as well as moral disease,
and should be combated by physical as
well as moral means.
When I attained full manhood, [ rec
ognized the meanness and cruelty of my
position toward them. [ went to my
brother and humbly begged his pardon.
He forgave me, but have never forgiv-
en- myself. The remembrance of this
one chance which lost to show myself q
man humbles me with regret and morti-
| fcation. Youths Companion.
Luck.
| Tbo dicpo+obar which i,odi c+ota tbe