Year: 1871

said am tired, and out OF sorts, 10
tell you the truth, was persuaded to take
an extra glass or two where | have been
this afternoon, and it was little too much
for me- My good supper has nearly set
me right, however, and good nights rest
will make all well. What is the matter,
now, little woman ?" he asked; as Lizzie
sat motionless, and made no response. g
will treat you as well as have done my
self. Here is the price of six glasses"


The money dropped upon the floor, as
with clasped hands she exclaimed:


"My dear husband, oh, my husband,
will you not give it up altogether? 1t
would be but a little sacrifice now; and,
ON, believe me, it is the only safe course
Think of our dear children. Surely you
will do it for their sakes


"No, no, foolish child, will not give it
up; but l will take care to keep within
my allowance in future. Three glasses a
day never harmed any one. p"


Lizzie would have urged him still
further, but look of impatience checked
her, and with a secret prayer that he
might never again be led into temptation,
she locked her fears in her own bosom.
Long after her husband slept, her tears
fell fast upon the pillow, as she looked at
her little ones and remembered her own
miserable childhood, and her poor ormothers
unhappy life and early death.


This was but the beginning of SORROWS.
For another week all went well; then
came second excess. There was
still some good eXcuse-some pecu-
liar circumstances which he said
might never occur again. But the path
down hill is a slippery one, and of quick
descent. Before another year had passed
his unsteady habits were known and COM
mented upon by those who had once re-
spected him as thriving, industrious man.
Several times he had been seen in the
street in a state little short of absolute in
toxication, and his work was often. neg
lected, even at the most busy season of the
year. The parents had demonstrated, and
his wife plead in vain. Opposition seemed
to serve but as fuel to the flames.


1--WE can but do our duty and trust in
God" said Lizzie, sadly, as, after the most
trying scene that had yet occurred, she
took her children to her grandfather's for
an hour or two, thinking that change
would be useful to them and to herself


But tell me, my poor child," said the
mother, to whom the remark was address
ed, /" is my son very unkind to you and
himself so far as to use personal violence"


y
than violent. At such times he dislikes
to be spoken to, and is angry if the chill
dreu make noise. The poor babes used
to spring with delight when they heard
his steps. Now they shrink from him
with fear. Last evening when bade
Willie say his prayer for poor father be-
cause he was sick, the little fellow wept
and said, Willie will say his prayer for
poor father, but father don't love Willie
any more Tears fell fast from Lizzie S
eyes as she spoke, and the mother wept
also. William was her eldest born, and
had ever been her pride and delight. 1t
was, indeed, hard to know that he had
thus gone astray.


"And is there no hope for the future ?'
she said, bitterly. "Will he thus willful-
ly pursue the road to ruin, until it is too
late to retrace his steps?"


1--WE know not the end" replied Lizzie,
"but fear that things will become worse.
May God help us!"


Lizzies fears were but too well ground
ed The dark cloud about them became
more dense. Dissipation led to idleness
and poverty stared them in the face.


Deeper grew the shadow on the brow OF
the old blacksmith, as he watched the
gradual decline from virtue of his son.
For hours he would sit at the door of his
own cottage, apparently in state of moody
abstraction, and then mournfully shaking
his head, would say, as he aroused him.
self, "All is silent, now; the blacksmith S
hammer is no more heard in the old shop.
On, my boy, my boyl Would that could
have stood beside thy grave, ere l had seen
thee thusT


Suddenly he seemed to have formed
some new resolution. Rising one morning
earlier than had been his wont for years,
he took the well-known cross-path TO the
shop. 1t was closed, and the entrance
well secured. For a moment he paused
irresolute, and then walked with quick
steps to a small house in the neighbor.
hood.


"Is Mr.. Birch imp" he inquired of the
little boy who answered his knock at the
door.


The man in question, who had long
been in James employ, Immediately


"The shop is locked, SIR" said the old
gentleman. "Have you the key?"


az have" was the reply; "but Mr.. Will
liam is so seldom at his work, now, that
never open without his orders. l am about
seeking situation in Clyde. Working
one day in seven will not support a
family"


at will not, indeed, Mr. Birch; but il
you will rely upon me, will see that you
are paid as usual. Open the shop at once
aud be ready for whatever may offer"


"But I do not feel myself quite compe
tent to take the whole charge, Mr.. James
1 am willing to work under orders"


"I will be there myself" was the reply,
"and we will see whether Time has
robbed my arm of its strength"


In half an hour all was hustle and activ
ity at the old blacksmith shop. The won
dering neighbors-who had for many
months past been obliged to go ten miles
to the next village when anything in tha
line was required, heard with surprise the
busy strokes of the hammer.


Sam Jones almost rejoiced when his
horse lost shoe, because it gave him al
was a rough man, but his heart wa
| touched when he saw the old gentleman
hard at work, and it was with almost al
air of Difference that he asked if his hors
could be shod Immediately, as he was il
haste to go to Clyde on important busi
| ness.


Without delay, Sam. Here, Mr. Birch
will you attend to this ?-or, stay, will d.
it myself. 1t is ten years or more since
have shod horse but 1 know the righ
wav vet. if mistake not"


The job was about half completed, an,
the old blacksmith, with all the interes
and activity of former years, was bend
ing over the uplifted foot of the ami
NAL, when another person entere
the shop. For moment he stoo
unnoticed, but an attentive observer c
what was passing. The hand of the oil
gentleman trembled, as he performed tn
unusual labor, and he paused, as if fatiguet


Father" said well-known voice q
his elbow, "what means this? This wor
becomes not your gray hairs; give me tn
hammer"


"I have VOW, William" was the re
ply, "that your wife and children sha'
never want while l can raise a hammer
nor your good name be disgraccd wit
debts, if can earn the means to pay then
God will give me strength"


More affected than he cared to owl
William walked to the farther part of til
shop, and busted himself with some wor
that stood ready. For many days he ha