Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1882-01-25

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make use of your student-iaIher's
money to some purpose,
So he would talk, and Robert from
listening began to covet-it is the
same old story, which has endessly
repeated itself since the days Of Eden
and the apple.
Finally, one evening when time
hung heavy on his hands, he consented
to accompany his new friend, Heinrich
to the club of which he was member.
They were welcomed uproariously, and
a corner of the table at which some
half.dozcn others were seated was ar
ranged for them. Robert found all
much as Heinrich had described il,
though, fortunately for the boys pure
morals, much of the talking and jest
ing was in German, ad so beyond his
comprehension.
Meanwhile his father at home, sit
ting over his books, was aroused by
the unusual thought;
81 wonder what Robert is about? l
really sought to give more time to the
boy; ] will go and find him now, and
ask him if he would not like to take II
walk this bright evening, before we 60
to bed; study has made me restless,
and the fresh air will quiet me-"
This idea had scarcely imprinted on
the brain when he heard some one fun
bling at the hall door. "How strange"
he said, and turning his head, listened
intently. The door finally opened, and
steps-qucer, unsteady, shuflling steps
Game down the hall. Breathless
with amazement and terror, he caught
sight of Roberts rceling form through
the half-open door, and felt as it a
swift, hot knife had been plunged into
his heart. His boy drunk Her much
beloved child sunk so low All God
alone could measure that moments
agony.
AS u drowning man sees all his past
sins set in order before him, so he saw
his past neglect, and felt his wife's re-
proachful eyes upon him; and then
and there, before the reeling boy had
time for more than maudling 'Evcnin'
father: needn't look so scared-I amt
drunk" he recorded a swift solemn
VOW that never again would he neglect
his boy for any thing else.
Controlling his agitation, he stepped
forward.
"Ah, Robert, my boy, Pm glad to
see you home again. Come, let us go
upstairs now. 1t is late and we must
60 to bed.
The heat of the room had sent the
liouor fumes to Roberts brain, and he
was already sinking into a drunken
sleep. Tenderly and quietly, that no
one might be aroused, Mr.. Wayne led
his boy upstairs and helped him to bed,
and then sat beside him to watch his
british slumbers.
Untiring he sat there when Robert
awoke next morning. He leaned over
and asked kindly, "Do you feel better,
my boy? You came home sick last
night" Sick One swift rush of
thought, and Robert remembered it all.
His cheeks flushed, his lips quivered,
but he controlled his rising emotion.
81 have terrible headache, and it
does not seem as if I could sit up!" he
answered in a weary, hopeless tone, for
shame was overwhelming him with its
bitter waves.
"All right, my boy, lie still awhile
and will bring you some breakfast.
You will be better then"
Down stairs he went, and with his
own hands brought back the toast and
strong coffee, which would, perhaps,
prove an antidote to the poison OF last
night.
Robert understood and appreciated
the delicacy and considerations which
made his father shield him from the
curious household, but he was too filled
with shame even to thank him. With
downcast eyes and flushed cheeks he
swallowed the toast and gulped down
the bitter coffee, feeling as if he would
be glad to crawl away from every one
and die. But a thought came-no one
could hide him away from God, and
how should he ever be able to meet
his pure eyes if he conld not even en-
dure the loving gaze of his earthly
father who, like himself, had often
sinned and suffered? The thought was
torture. Muttering something about
being sleepy, he turned his face to the
wall and "chewed the bitter cud" of
his reflections. Oh, what would he
not rive to blot ont last nights doings