Year: 1877

thorns OF disappointment pressed closer 20
their aching hearts Old friends re-
monstrated, but all to no avail, and
despising their advice and counsel
the poor, weak man went into greater dissi-
patton than ever. He lost his situation, his
reputation, his good name, and taking his
family from their pleasant home he moved
them into a strange neighborhood. Here
Mrs Lathrop made few acouaintances; she
felt too keenly her condition to wish for
intimate friends, and save one or two kind
hearted women, she knew no one around
her. She kept Emma at Sunday school
knowing that here at least the child would
have some bright moments.


When the other scholars were called to
their classes poor Emma went timidly her
accustomed seat trembling for fear that her
teacher should have heard about
her father She was hungry, but she had
grown use to that; she was cold, but no
thought of that entered her mind; her
clothes were old and worn, but that mat
tered not; her father was in the station
house, drunken wretch Her red, swol-
len eyes attracted the teachers attention,
and with a loving, tender voice, she asked,
"What's the matter, Emma?' The child
could not reply, but another scholar said:
"Her pa has been arrested for being drunk. y
for his behavior towards his wife was not the
reason for the arrest.


Before any ordinations of surprise or dis
may could wound the already broken hearted
girl, the teacher had the class sing another
hymn, and then she prayed with them ask
ing Gods kindest blessings for Emma. There
the subject was dropped until after the
other pupils had gone, when gently detain-
ing her. the teacher inquired about the mat
ter. ''Tell me frankly, Emma. 1 am your
friend, your elder sister, for we both
love Jesus, and want to help you if can
Is it true what has been told me about your
father? Well, well, darling child, do not
cry so; maybe 1 can see some one who will
aid your mother. If You can not tell me
about it will go home with you and find
out there"


It's unnecessary to repeat the converse.
ton with Mrs. Lathrop; it was the same old
story. She was poor and distressed, and to
no one could she apply for aid. Johns old
friends Stunned him, his former employers
had tried to save him until they were angry,
and nothing was to be expected from them.
IF he goes to the workhouse, Mrs. Ander-
son, he will be lost. l know him well, and
he has the pride of all the other Lathrops
combined, bat l believe If l could
get him clear he would do better in the
future, but have not cent of money nor a
friend. He is my husband-of no conse-
quence, perhaps, in the eyes of the world,
only a drunkard; but to me he is very dear,
and to save him from ruin and degradation
1 would gladly give my eyes"


A few words OF advice, the discussion OF
plan, and the poor woman was left alone
with her children. Emma told her sad
story, bringing fresh pain to the mother,
who lived over with the child the shame
and disgrace that fall upon a drunkard's
family.


The next morning the usual crowd was
waiting to hear the disposal of the cases of
the miserable men and women arrested for
all grades of crimes and misde-
meanors. Some had friends who paid
their fines, and they went out
free again; others were committed
for higher courts, but the third class those
who were too poor and too friendless to pur.
chase liberty with few dollars, were the
most pitiable. Wives stood by their hus-
bands weeping bitterly as they were led
away; fathers and mothers, old and gray





lutte, wild sons were sentenced to the work
house. When John Lathrop was called and
then fined, he glanced once around the
room, as if to find that mild, patient face
that was ever ready to meet him with a
smile. but his wife was not there, and with
every hope of succor gone he heard as a
dream the judge saying, Ninety days in the
workhouse," and he sank into his chair and
hid his face in his hands He
was perfectly sober, and he remember
ed his family. What would become
of them? He had faint recollection of
beating his wife, and he groaned as he guess
ed at the probable reason for her absence, he
had injured her so she could not come.
Three months in the workhouse, a place he
had. even in his drunken sprees, boasted he
had never seen, and his family taunted and
haunted by the shame of him being there.
He would have given his right hand to have
been free to have gone home, if only long
enough to kiss his wife and children, and on
his knees beg the pardon of her whom he
had so deeply wounded by his cruelty and
neglect. But this was useless; he had driv-
en- his friends from him, and he must bear
the result.


At this moment hand touched his bowed
head, kiss was pressed upon his hot brow
"Johnp'-it was his wife, and he held her
10 him uhila the faara sfreamad down his