"JOHN," said a sweet-faced girl, laying her hand familiarly upon theshoulder of a young man who was seated, near a window in deepabstraction of mind. There was something sad in her voice,--and hercountenance, though, lovely, wore an expression of pain.
"What do you want, sister?" the young man replied, without liftinghis eyes from the floor.
"You are not happy, brother."
To this, there was no reply, and an embarrassing pause of somemoments ensued.
"May I speak a word with you, brother?"--the young girl at lengthsaid, with a tone and manner that showed her to be compellingherself to the performance of a painful and repugnant task.
"On what subject, Alice?" the brother asked, looking up with adoubting expression.
This question brought the colour to Alice's cheeks, and the moistureto her eyes.
"You know what I would say, John," she at length made out to utter,in a voice that slightly trembled.
"How should I know, sister?"
"You were not yourself last night, John."
"Alice!"
"Forgive me, brother, for what I now say," the maiden rejoined. "Itis a painful trial, indeed; and were it not that I loved you sowell--were it not that, besides you, there is no one else in thewide world to whom I can look up, I might shrink from a sister'sduty. But I feel that it would be wrong for me not to whisper inyour ear one warning word--wrong not to try a sister's power overyou."
"I will forgive you this time, on one condition," the brother said,in a tone of rebuke, and with a grave expression of countenance.
"What is that?" asked Alice.
"On condition that you never again, directly or indirectly, alludeto this subject. It is not in your province to do so. A sistershould not look out for her brother's faults."
A sudden gush of tears followed this cold, half-angry repulse; andthen the maiden turned slowly away and left the room.
John Barclay's anger towards his only sister, who had no one, as shehad feelingly said, in the wide world to look up to and love, buthim, subsided the moment he saw how deeply his rebuke had woundedher. But he could not speak to her, nor recall his words--for thesubject she had introduced was one so painful and mortifying, thathe could not bear an allusion to it.
From long indulgence, the habit of drinking had become confirmed inthe young man to such a degree that he had almost ceased to resistan inclination that was gaining a dangerous power over him. And yetthere was in his mind an abiding resolution one day to break awayfrom this habit. He did not intend to become a drunkard. Oh, no! Thecondition of a drunkard was too low and degrading. He could neversink to that! After awhile, he intended to "swear off," as he calledit, and be done with the seductive poison altogether; but he had notyet been able to bring so good a resolution into present activity.This being his state of mind--conscious of danger, and yet unwillingto fly from that danger, he could not bear any allusion to thesubject.
Half an hour, passed in troubled thought, elapsed after this briefinterview between the brother and sister, when the young man leftthe house and took his way, scarcely reflecting upon where he wasgoing, to one of his accustomed places of resort--a fashionabledrinking house, where every device that ingenuity could invent, wasdisplayed to attract custom. Splendid mirrors and pictures hungagainst the walls, affecting the mind with pleasing thoughts--andtempting to self-indulgence. There were lounges, where one mightrecline at ease, while he sipped the delicious compounds the richlyfurnished bar afforded, never once dreaming that a serpent layconcealed in the cup that he held to his lips--a serpent that oneday would sting him, perhaps unto death!
"Regular as clock-work,"--said an old man, a friend of Barclay'sfather, who had been dead several years, meeting the young man as hewas about to enter the attractive establishment just alluded to.
"How?" asked Barclay in a tone of enquiry.
"Six times a day, John, is too often for you to be seen going intothe same drinking-house,"--said the old man, with plain-spokenhonesty.
"You must not talk to me in that way, Mr. Gray," the other rejoinedsternly.
"My respect and regard for the father, will ever cause me to speakplainly to the son when I think him in danger," was Mr. Gray's calmreply.
"In danger of what, Mr. Gray?"
"In danger of--shall I utter the word in speaking o' the son of myold friend, Mr. Barclay? Yes; in danger of--drunkenness!"
"Mr. Gray, I cannot permit any one to speak to me thus."
"Be not offended at me, John. I utter but the truth."
"I will not stand to be insulted by any one!" was the young man'sangry reply, as he turned suddenly away from his aged friend, andentered the drinking-house. He did not go up at once to the bar, ashad been his habit, but threw himself down upon one of the lounges,took up a newspaper, and commenced; or rather, appeared to commencereading, though he did not, in fact, see a letter.
"What will you have, Mr. Barclay?" asked an officious attendant,coming up, a few moments after he had entered.
"Nothing just now," was the reply, made in a low tone, while hiseyes were not lifted from the newspaper. No very pleasantreflections were those that passed through his mind as he sat there.At last he rose up quickly, as if a resolution, had been suddenlyformed, and left the place where clustered so many temptations, witha hurried step.
"I want you to administer an oath," he said, entering the office ofan Alderman, a few minutes after.
"Very well, sir. I am ready," replied the Alderman. "What is itsnature?"
"I will give you the form."
"Well?"
"I, John Barclay, do solemnly swear, that for six months from thishour, I will not taste a drop of any kind of liquor thatintoxicates."
"I wouldn't take that oath, young man," the Alderman said.
"Why not?"
"You had better go and join a temperance society. Signing the pledgewill be of as much avail."
"No--I will not sign a pledge never to drink again. I'm not going tomake a mere slave of myself. I'll swear off for six months."
"Why not swear off perpetually, then?"
"Because, as I said, I am not going to make a slave of myself. Sixmonths of total-abstinence will give me a control over myself that Ido not now possess."
"I very much fear, sir," urged the Alderman, notwithstanding heperceived that the young man was growing impatient--"and you mustpardon my freedom in saying so, that you will find yourself inerror. If you are already so much the slave of drink as to feelyourself compelled to have recourse to the solemnities of an oath tobreak away from its bewitching power, depend upon it, that notemporary expedient of this kind will be of any avail. You will, nodoubt, keep your oath religiously, but when its influence iswithdrawn, you will find the strength of an unsupported resolutionas weak as ever."
"I do not believe the position you take to be a true one," arguedyoung Barclay--"All I want is to get rid of present temptation, andto be freed from present associations. Six months will place mebeyond the reach of these, and then I shall be able to do right froman internal principle, and not from mere external restraint."
"I see the view you take, and would not urge a word against it, didI not know so many instances of individuals who have vainly opposedtheir resolutions against the power of habit. When once an appetitefor intoxicating drinks has been formed, there is only one way ofsafety--that of taking a perpetual pledge of total-abstinence. That,and that alone is the wall of sure protection. Without it, you areexposed to temptations on every hand. The manly and determinedeffort to be free will not always avail. In some weak andunsuspecting moment, the tempter will steal quietly in, and all willbe again lost."
"It is useless, sir, to argue the point with me," Barclay replied tothis. "I will not now take the pledge--that is settled. I will takean oath of abstinence for six months. If I can keep to it that long,I can keep from drinking always."
Seeing that further argument would be useless, the Alderman said nomore, but proceeded to administer the oath. The young man then paidthe required fee and turned from the office in silence.
When Alice left the room in tears, stung by the cutting rebuke ofher brother, she retired to her chamber with an oppressed and achingheart. She loved him tenderly. They were, sister and brother, alonein the world, and, therefore, her affections clung the closer tohim. The struggle had been a hard one in bringing herself to performthe duty which had called down upon her the anger of one for whomshe would almost have given her life; and, therefore, the result wasdoubly painful, more particularly, as it had effected nothing,apparently, towards a change in his habits.
"But perhaps it will cause him to reflect.--If so, I will cheerfullybear his anger," was the consoling thought that passed through hermind, after the passage of an hour, spent under the influence ofmost painful feelings.
"O, if he will only be more on his guard," she went on, inthought--"if he will only give up that habit, how glad I should be!"
Just then she heard him enter, and marked the sound of his footstepsas he ascended to his own room, with a fluttering heart. In thecourse of fifteen or twenty minutes, he went down again, and shelistened to observe if he were going out. But he entered theparlours, and then all was, again, quiet.
For some time Alice debated with herself whether she should go downto him or not, and make the effort to dispel the anger that she hadaroused against her; but she could not make up her mind how to act,for she could not tell in what mood she might find him. One repulsewas as much, she felt, as she could bear. At last, however, herfeelings became so wrought up, that she determined to go down andseek to be reconciled. Her brother's anger was more than she couldbear.
When she entered the parlours, with her usual quiet step, she foundhim seated near the window, reading. He lifted his head as she camein, and she saw at a glance that all his angry feelings were gone.How lightly did her heart bound as she sprang forward!
"Will you forgive me, brother?" she said, laying her hand upon hisshoulder as she stood by his side, and bent her face down until herfair cheek almost touched his own.
"Rather let me say, will you forgive me, sister?" was his reply, ashe kissed her affectionately--"for the unkind repulse I gave you,when to say what you did must have caused you a most painfulsacrifice of feeling?"
"Painful indeed it was, brother. But it is past now and allforgiven."
"Since then, Alice," he said, after a pause, "I have taken a solemnoath, administered by an Alderman, not to touch any kind ofintoxicating drink for six months."
"O, I am so glad, John!" the sister said, a joyful smile lighting upher beautiful young face. "But why did you say six months? Why notfor life?"
"Because, Alice, I do not wish to bind myself down to a kind ofperpetual slavery. I wish to be free, and act right in freedom froma true principle of right. Six months of entire abstinence from allkinds of liquor will destroy that appetite for it which has causedme, of late, to seek it far too often. And then I will, as a freeman, remain free."
"I shall now be so happy again, John!" Alice said, fully satisfiedwith her brother's reason.
"So you have not been happy then of late?"
"O, no, brother. Far from it."
"And has the fact of my using wine so freely been the cause of yourunhappiness?"
"Solely."
"Its effects upon me have not been so visible as often to attractyour attention, Alice?"
"O, yes, they have. Scarcely a day has gone by for three or fourmonths past, that I could not see that your mind was obscured, andoften your actions sensibly affected."
"I did not dream that it was so, Alice.'
"Are you not sensible, that at Mr. Weston's, last night you were byno means yourself?"
"Yes, Alice, I am sensible of that, and deeply has it mortified me.I was suffering acutely from the recollection of the exposure whichI made of myself on that occasion, especially before Helen, when youalluded to the subject. That was the reason that I could not bearyour allusion to it. But tell me, Alice, did you perceive that mysituation attracted Helen's attention particularly?"
"Yes. She noticed, evidently, that you were not as you ought to havebeen."
"How did it affect her, Alice?" asked the young man.
"She seemed much pained, and, I thought, mortified."
"Mortified?"
"Yes."
A pause of some moments ensued, when Barclay asked, in a tone ofinterest,
"Do you think it has prejudiced her against me?"
"It has evidently pained her very much, but I do not think that ithas created in her mind any prejudice against you."
"From what do you infer this, Alice?"
"From the fact, that, while we were alone in her chamber, on mygoing up stairs to put on my bonnet and shawl, she said to me, andher eyes were moist as well as my own, 'Alice, you ought to speak toyour brother, and caution him against this free indulgence in wine;it may grow on him, unawares. If he were as near to me as he is toyou, I should not feel that my conscience was clear unless I warnedhim of his danger.'"
"Did she say that, sister?"
"Yes, those were her very words."
"And you did warn me, faithfully."
"Yes. But the task is one I pray that I may never again have toperform."
"Amen," was the fervent response.
"How do you like Helen?" the young man asked, in a livelier tone,after a silence of nearly a minute.
"I have always been attached to her, John. You know that we havebeen together since we were little girls, until now we seem almostlike sisters."
"And a sister, truly, I hope she may one day become," the brothersaid, with a meaning smile.
"Most affectionately will I receive her as such," was the reply ofAlice. "Than Helen Weston, there is no one whom I had rather see thewife of my dear brother."
As she said this, she drew her arm around his neck, and kissed himaffectionately.
"It shall not be my fault, then, Alice, if she do not become yoursister--" was the brother's response.
Rigidly true to his pledge, John Barclay soon gained the honourableestimation in the social circle through which he moved, that he hadheld, before wine, the mocker, had seduced him from the ways of truesobriety, and caused even his best friends to regard him withchanged feelings. Possessing a competence, which a father's patientindustry had accumulated, he had not, hitherto, thought of enteringupon any business. Now, however, he began to see the propriety ofdoing so, and as he had plenty of capital, he proposed to a youngman of industrious habits and thorough knowledge of business toenter into a co-partnership with him. This offer was accepted, andthe two young men commenced the world with the fairest prospects.
Three months from the day on which John Barclay had mentioned to hissister that he entertained a regard for Helen Weston, he madeproposals of marriage to that young lady, which were accepted.
"But how in regard to his pledge?" I hear some one ask.
O, as to that, it was kept, rigidly. Nothing that could intoxicatewas allowed to touch his lips. Of course, he was at first frequentlyasked to drink by his associates, but his reply to all importunitieswas--
"No--I have sworn off for six months."
"So you have said for the last six months," remarked young man,named Watson, one day, on his refusing for the twentieth time todrink with him.
"Not for six months, Watson. It is only three months this very daysince I swore off."
"Well, it seems to me like six months, anyhow. But do you think thatyou feel any better for all this total-abstinence?"
"O as to that, I don't know that I feel such a wonderful differencein body; but in mind I certainly do feel a great deal better."
"How so?"
"While I drank, I was conscious that I was beginning to be too fondof drinking, and was too often painfully conscious that I had takentoo much. Now, I am, of course, relieved from all such unpleasantfeelings."
"Well, that's something, at least. But I never saw you out of theway."
"Do you know the reason; Watson?"
"No."
"I'll tell you. You were always too far gone yourself, when we drankfreely together, to perceive my condition."
"So you say."
"It's true."
"Well, have it as you like. But, see here, John, what are you goingto do when your six months are out?"
"I'm going to be a sober man, as I am now."
"You never were a drunkard."
"I was precious near being one, then."
"Nonsense! That's all some old woman's notion of yours."
"Well, be that as it may, I certainly intend continuing to be assober a man as I have been for the last three months."
"Won't you drink a drop after your time is up?"
"That'll be just as I choose. I will drink or let it alone, as Ilike. I shall then be free to drink moderately, or not at all, asseems agreeable to me."
"That is a little more sensible than your perpetualtotal-abstinence, teetotal, cold-water system. Who would be such amiserable slave? I would rather die drunk in the gutter, than throwaway my liberty."
"I believe I have said as much myself."
"Don't you feel a desire to have a good glass of wine, or a julep,now and then?"
"No, not the slightest. I've sworn off for six months, and that endsthe matter. Of course, I have no more desire for a glass of liquorthan I have to fly to the moon,--one is a moral, and the other aphysical impossibility; and, therefore, are dismissed from mythoughts."
"What do you mean by a moral impossibility?"
"I have taken an oath not to drink for six months, and the violationof that oath is, for one of my views and feelings, a moralimpossibility."
"Exactly. There are three months yet to run, you say. After that, Ihope to have the pleasure of taking a glass of wine with you inhonour of your restoration to a state of freedom."
"You shall have that pleasure, Watson, if it will really be one--"was Barclay's reply, as the two young men parted.
Time wore on, and John Barclay, besides continuing perfectly sober,gave constant attention to business. So complete a change in himgave confidence to the parents and friends of Helen Weston, who madeno opposition to his wish for an early marriage. It was fixed totake place on the evening of the very day upon which his temporarypledge was to expire.
To the expiration of this pledge, Barclay had never ceased, from themoment it was taken, to look forward with a lively interest. Notthat he felt a desire to drink. But he suffered himself to beworried with the idea that he was no longer a free man. The nearerthe day came that was to terminate the period for which he had boundhimself to abstinence, the more did his mind dwell upon it, and themore did he desire its approach. It was, likewise, to be hiswedding-day, and for that reason, also, did he look eagerly forward.But it is doubtful whether the consummation of his marriage, or theexpiration of his pledge, occupied most of his thoughts. The day solong looked for came at last.
The day that was to make Barclay a free man, and happy in thepossession of one of the sweetest girls for a wife he had ever seen.
"I shall not see you again, until to-night, John," his sister saidto him, as he was about leaving the house, after dinner, laying herhand as she spoke upon his arm, and looking into his face with aquiet smile resting upon her own lovely features.--"I have promisedHelen to go over and spend the afternoon with her."
"Very well, sis'."
"Of course we shall see you pretty early,"--an arch smile playingabout her lips as she made the remark.
"O, yes, I shall be there in time," was the brother's smiling reply,as he kissed the cheek of Alice, and then turned away and left thehouse. He first proceeded to his store, where he went through,hurriedly, some business that required his attention, occupyingsomething like an hour. Then he went out, and walked rapidly up oneof the principal streets of the city, and down another, as if onsome urgent errand. Without stopping anywhere, he had nearlyreturned to his own store, when he was stopped by a friend, whoaccosted him with--
"Hallo, John! Where are you going in such a hurry?"
"I am on my way to the store."
"Any life and death in the case?"
"No.--Only I'm to be married to-night, as you are aware; and,consequently, am hardly able to tell whether I am on my head or myheels."
"True enough! And besides, you are a free man today, are you not?"
"Yes, Watson, thank Heaven! that trammel will be off in half anhour."
"You must be fond of trammels, John, seeing that you are going toput another on so soon after getting rid of this--" the friend said,laughing heartily at his jest.
"That will be a lighter, and far pleasanter bondage I trust, Watson,than the one from which I am about escaping. It will be an easy yokecompared to the galling one under which I have toiled for the lastsix months. Still, I do not regret having bound myself as I did. Itwas necessary to give me that self-control which I had well-nighlost. Now I shall be able to act like a rational man, and betemperate from principle, and not from a mere external restraintthat made me little better than a machine."
"Your time will be up, you say, in half an hour?"
"Yes--" looking at his watch--"in ten minutes. It is later than Ithought."
"Come, then, let us go over to R--'s--it is full ten minutes' walkfrom here--and take a drink to freedom and principle."
"I am ready to join you, of course," was Barclay's prompt reply, ashe drew his arm within that of his friend, and the two turned theirsteps towards the drinking establishment that had been named by thelatter.
"A room, a bottle of sherry, and some cigars," said Watson, as theyentered the drinking-house, and went up to the bar.
In a few minutes after, they were alone, with wine and glassesbefore them.
"Here's to freedom and principle!" said Watson, lifting his glass,after having filled his own and Barclay's.
"And here's to the same high moral attributes which should everbe man's distinguishing characteristics," responded Barclay, liftinghis own glass, and touching with it the brim of that held in thehand of his friend. Both then emptied their glasses at a draught.
"Really, that is delicious!" Barclay said, smacking his lips, as therich flavour of the wine lingered on his palate with a sensation ofexquisite delight.
"It's a pretty fair article," was the indifferent reply ofWatson--"though I have tasted better in my time. Long abstinence hasmade its flavour peculiarly pleasant. Here, let me fill your glassagain."
Without hesitating, Barclay presented his glass, which was againfilled to the brim. In the next moment it was empty. So eager was heto get it to his lips, that he even spilled a portion of the wine inlifting it hurriedly. Suddenly his old, and as he had thought,extinguished desires, came back upon him, roused into vigorousactivity, like a giant awakening refreshed by a long repose. So keenwas his appetite for wine, and stimulating drinks, thus suddenlyrestored, that he could no more have withstood its influence than hecould have borne up against the current of a mighty river.
"Help yourself," said his friend, ere another minute had elapsed, asBarclay took up the bottle to fill his glass for the third time."Long-abstinence has no doubt made you keen."
"It certainly has, or else this is the finest article of wine thathas ever passed my lips."
'It's not the best quality by a good deal; still it is pretty fair.But won't you try a mint-julep, or a punch, by way of variety?"
"No objection," was the brief response.
"Which will you choose?"
"I'll take a julep."
"Two juleps," said Watson to the waiter who entered immediatelyafterwards.
The juleps were soon ready, each furnished with a long straw.
"Delicious!" was Barclay's low, and delighted ejaculation, as hebent to the table, and "imbibed" through the straw a portion of theliquid.
"Our friend R--understands his business," was Watson's briefreply.
A silence of some moments ensued, during which a painfulconsciousness of danger rushed through the mind of Barclay. But withan effort he dismissed it. He did not intend to drink beyond thebounds of moderation, and why should he permit his mind to bedisturbed by idle fears?
* * * * * * *
"It is time that brother was here," Alice said to Helen Weston, asthe two maidens sat alone, near a window in Helen's chamber, theevening twilight falling gently and with a soothing influence.
"Yes. I expected him earlier," was the reply, in a low tone, whileHelen's bosom heaved with a new, and exquisitely pleasurableemotion. "What can keep him?"
"He is lingering at his toilet, perhaps," Alice said, with a smile.
All was silent again for many minutes, each gentle and innocentheart; busy with images of delight.
"It's strange that he does not come, Alice, or sister, as I mustcall you," Helen remarked, in a graver tone, as the shadowy twilightdeepened until everything wore a veil of indistinctness.
"There! That must be him!" Alice said. "Hark! That is certainly hisvoice! Yes--And he is coming right up to your room, as I live, asboldly as if the house belonged to him."
While Alice was yet speaking, the door of the chamber in which theysat was swung open with a rude hand, and her brother entered. Hisface was flushed, and his whole person in disorder.
"Why, brother! what has kept--," but the sister could utter no more.Her tongue was paralyzed, and she stood, statue-like, gazing uponhim with a look of horror. He was intoxicated! It was hiswedding-night, a portion of the company below, and the gentle,affectionate maiden who was to become his bride, all attired andwaiting, and he had come intoxicated!
Poor Helen's bewildered senses could not at first fully comprehendthe scene. When she did realize the terrible truth, the shock wasmore than she could bear.
Over the whole scene of pain, disorder, and confusion, thattranspired on that evening, we must draw a veil. Any reader of evenordinary imagination can realize enough of the exquisite distresswhich it must have brought to many hearts, without the aid ofdistinct pictures. And those who cannot realize it, will be sparedthe pain of its contemplation.
One week from that night, at about nine o'clock in the evening, asold Mr. Gray was passing along one of the principal streets of thecity where the occurrences we are relating took place, a young manstaggered against him, and then fell at full length upon thepavement, from whence he rolled into the gutter, swollen by a smartshower that had just fallen. Too drunk to help himself, he must havebeen drowned even in that insignificant stream, had there not beenhelp at hand.
Mr. Gray came at once to his relief, and assisted him to rise andget upon the pavement. But now he was unable to stand. Either hurtby the fall, or unnerved by the liquor he had taken, he was nolonger able to keep his feet. While Mr. Gray stood holding him up,undetermined how to act, another young man, not quite so drunk asthe one he had in charge, came whooping along like an Indian.
"Hallo! Is this you, John, holding up old Mr. Gray? or is it old Mr.Gray holding you up! [hiccup.] Blast me! If I can tell which of youis drunk, or which sober. Let me see? hic-hic-cup. Was it the Whalethat swallowed Jonah, or Jonah the Whale? Is it old Mr.Gray--hic-cup--that is drunk, or John Barclay?"
"John Barclay!" ejaculated the old man, in a tone of surprise andgrief. "Surely this wretched young man is not John Barclay!"
"If he is not John Barclay, then I am not--hic-cup--not Tom Watson.He's a bird, though! aint he, old gentleman?--hic-cup--Look here,I'll give you five dollars,--hic-cup--if you'll stopthese,--hic--these confounded hic-hic-hic-cups--There now--There's achance for you!--hic--blast 'em! He swore off for six months, ha!ha! ha! And it's just,--hic--just a week to-night since the sixmonths were up. Hurrah for freedom and principle! Hur--hic--hurrah!"
"Thomas Watson!--"
"Don't come your preaching touch over me, mister, if you please. I'mfree Tom Watson,--hic-hic-hic-cup--I'm--hic--I'm a regularteam--whoop! John, there, you see, would drink to freedom andprinciple,--hic-cup--on the--hic--day his pledge was up. But the oldfellow was--hic--too strong--hic-cup--for him. He's been drunk as afool ever since--hic-cup!--"
Just at that moment a cab came by which was stopped by the old man.Young Barclay was gotten into it and driven to Mr. Gray's dwelling.
When brought to the light, he presented a sad spectacle, indeed. Hisface was swollen, and every feature distorted. His coat was torn,and all of his clothing wet and covered with mud. Too far gone to beable to help himself, Mr. Gray had him removed to a chamber, his wetgarments taken off, and replaced by dry under-clothing. Then he wasput into a bed and left for the night. When the morning broke,Barclay was perfectly sober, but with a mind altogether bewildered.The room in which he found himself, and the furniture, were allstrange. He got up; and looked from the window; the houses oppositewere unfamiliar.
"Where am I? What is the meaning of all this?" he said, half-aloud,as he turned to look for his clothes. But no garments of any kind,not even his hat and boots, were visible.
"Strange!" he murmured, getting into bed again, and clasping hishands tightly upon his aching and bewildered head. He had lain,thus, for some minutes, trying to collect his scattered senses, whenthe door of his chamber was opened by a servant, who brought him ina full suit of his own clothes; not, however, those he remembered tohave worn the day previous.
As soon as the servant had withdrawn, the young man, who had feltaltogether disinclined to speak to him, hurriedly arose, and dressedhimself. On attempting to go out, he was surprised, and somewhatangered, to find that the door of the room had been locked.
Ringing the bell with a quick jerk, he awaited, impatiently, ananswer to his summons, for the space of about a minute, when hepulled the cord again with a stronger hand. Only a few moments moreelapsed, when the key was turned in the door, and Mr. Gray entered.
"Mr. Gray! Is it possible!" Barclay ejaculated, as the old manstepped into the room, and closed the door after him.
"I can hardly believe it possible, John," his father's friend said,as he turned towards him a sad, yet unreproving countenance.
"But what is the meaning of all this, Mr. Gray? Where am I? And howcame I here?"
"Sit down, John, and be calm. You are in my house. Last night I tookyou from the gutter, too much intoxicated to help yourself. Youwould have drowned there, in three inches of water, had not afriendly hand been near to save you."
"Dreadful!" ejaculated the young man, striking his hand hard againsthis forehead, while an expression of shame and agonizing remorsepassed over his face.
"It is, indeed, dreadful to think of, my young friend!" Mr. Grayremarked, in a sympathizing tone. "How wretched you must be!"
"Wretched? Alas! sit, you cannot imagine the horror of this dreadfulmoment. Surely I have been mad for the past few days! And enough hasoccurred to drive me mad."
"So I should think, John. But that is past now, and the future isstill yours, and its bright page still unsullied by a single act offolly."
"But the past! The dreadful past! That can never be recalled--neverbe atoned for," Barclay replied, his countenance bearing thestrongest expression of anguish and remorse. "To think of all I havelost To think how cruelly I have mocked the fondest hopes, andcrushed the purest affections--perhaps broken a loving heart by myfolly. O, sir! It will drive me mad!"
As the young man said this, he arose to his feet, and commencedpacing the room to and fro with agitated steps. Now striking hishands against his forehead, and now wringing them violently.
"Since that accursed hour," he resumed, after a few minutes thusspent, "when I madly tempted myself, under the belief that I hadgained the mastery over a depraved appetite by an abstinence fromall kinds of liquor for six months, I have but a dim recollection ofevents. I do, indeed, remember, with tolerable distinctness, that Iwent to claim the hand of Helen Weston, according to appointment.But from the moment I entered the house, all is to me confusion, ora dead blank. Tell me, then, Mr. Gray,"--and the young man's voicegrew calmer,--"the effect of my miserable conduct upon her whom Iloved purely and tenderly. Let me know all. I ask no disguise."
"The effect, John, has been painful, indeed. Since that dreadfulnight, she has remained in a state of partial delirium. But herphysician told me, yesterday, that all of her symptoms had becomemore favourable."
"And how is her father, and friends?"
"Deeply incensed, of course, at your conduct."
"And my sister? How is Alice?"
"She keeps up with an effort. But oh, how wretched andbroken-hearted she looks! Is it not dreadful, John, to think, how,by a single act of folly, you have lacerated the hearts that lovedyou most, and imposed upon them burdens of anguish, almost too heavyto be borne?"
"It is dreadful! dreadful! O, that I had died, before I became anaccursed instrument of evil to those I love. But what can I do, Mr.Gray, to atone, in some degree, for the misery I have wrought?"
"You can do much, John, if you will."
"If I will, Mr. Gray?"
"Yes, John, if you will."
"There is nothing that I am not ready to do, Mr. Gray--even thecutting off of my right hand, could it be of any avail."
"You swore off, as I believe you called it, for six months, did younot?"
"Yes."
"Had you any desire to drink, during that time?"
"None."
"Sign a pledge of perpetual total-abstinence, and you are safe fromall future temptations. Time will doubtless heal the present painfulwounds."
"And make a slave of myself, Mr. Gray. Surely I ought to have powerenough over myself to abstain from all intoxicating drinks, withoutbinding myself down by a written contract."
"That is true; but, unfortunately, you have not that control overyourself. Your only safety, then, lies in the pledge. Take that, andyou throw between yourself and danger an insurmountable barrier. Youtalk about freedom; and yet are a slave to the most debasingappetite. Get free from the influence of that eager, insatiabledesire, and you are free, indeed. The perpetual total-abstinencepledge will be your declaration of independence. When that is taken,you. will be free, indeed. And until it is taken, rest assured, thatnone of your friends will again have confidence in you. For theirsakes,--for your sister's sake, that peace may once more be restoredto her troubled heart--for the sake of her, from whose lip youdashed the cup of joy, sign the pledge."
"I will sign it, Mr. Gray. But name not her whom I have so deeplywronged. I can never see Helen Weston again."
"Time heals many a wound, and closes many a breach my young friend."
"It can never heal that wound, nor close that breach," was the sadresponse. "But give me a pen and ink, and some paper; and let mewrite a pledge. I believe it is necessary for me to sign one."
The materials for writing were brought as desired, and Barclay wroteand subscribed a pledge of perpetual abstinence from all that couldintoxicate.
"That danger is past," he said, with a lighter tone, as he arosefrom the table at which he had been writing. "I can never passanother such a week as that which has just elapsed."
"Now come down and take a good warm breakfast with me," Mr. Graysaid, in a cheerful voice.
"Excuse me if you please," Barclay replied. "I cannot meet yourfamily this morning, after what has occurred. Besides, I must see mysister as quickly as possible, and relieve, as far as lies in mypower, her suffering heart."
"Go then, John Barclay," the old man said. "I will not, for Alice'ssake, urge you to linger a moment."
It was still early when Mr. Barclay entered his own home. He foundAlice sitting in the parlour so pale, haggard, and wretched, thather features hardly seemed like those of his own sister. She lookedup into his face as he came in with a sad, doubting expression,while her lips trembled. One glance, however, told her heart that achange had taken place, and she sprang quickly towards him.
"Alice, my own dear sister!" he said, as her head sank upon hisbreast. "The struggle is over. I am free once more, and free forever. I have just signed a pledge of total-abstinence from all thatcan intoxicate--a pledge that will remain perpetually in force."
"And may our Father in Heaven help you to keep it, John," the maidenmurmured, in a low, fervent tone.
"I will die before it shall be violated," was the stern response.
One year from that time, another bridal party assembled at theresidence of Mr. Weston. Helen long since recovered from the shockshe had received, had again consented to be led to the altar, byJohn Barclay, whose life had been, since he signed the pledge, ofthe most unexceptionable character. Indeed, almost his only fault informer times had been a fondness for drinking, and gay company. Notmuch of boisterous mirth characterized the bridal party, for nonefelt like giving way to an exuberance of feeling,--but there was,notwithstanding few could draw a veil entirely over the past, arational conviction that true and permanent happiness must, andwould crown that marriage union. And thus far, it has followed it,and must continue to follow it, for John Barclay is a man ofhigh-toned principle, and would as soon think of committing ahighway robbery, as violating his pledge.
THE END.
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