"DEAR father," said Mary Edwards, "don't go out this evening!" andthe young girl, who had scarcely numbered fourteen years, laid herhand upon the arm of her parent.
But Mr. Edwards shook her off impatiently, muttering, as he did so,
"Can't I go where I please?"
"O! yes, father!" urged Mary, drawing up to him again,notwithstanding her repulse. "But there is going to be a storm, andI wouldn't go out."
"Storm! Nonsense! That's only your pretence. But I'll be homesoon--long before the rain, if it comes at all."
And, saying this, Mr. Edwards turned from his daughter and left thehouse. As soon as she was alone, Mary sat down and commencedweeping. There had been sad changes since she was ten years old. Inthat time, her father had fallen into habits of intemperance, andnot only wasted his substance, but abused his family; and, sadderstill, her mother had died broken-hearted, leaving her alone in theworld with a drunken father.
The young girl's trials, under these painful circumstances, weregreat. Night after night her father would come home intoxicated, andit was so rare a thing for her to get a kind word from him, that atone of affection from his lips would move her instantly to tears.Daily the work of declension went on. Drunkenness led to idleness,and gradually Mr. Edwards and his child sunk lower and lower in thescale of comfort. The pleasant home where they had lived for yearswas. given up, and in small, poorly furnished rooms, in a narrowstreet, they hid themselves from observation. After this change, Mr.Edwards moved along his downward way, more rapidly; earning less anddrinking more.
Mary grew old fast. Under severe trials and afflictions, her mindrapidly matured; and her affection for her father, grew stronger andstronger, as she realized more and more fully the dreadful natureand ultimate tendency of the infatuation by which he was led.
At last, in the anguish of her concern, she ventured uponremonstrance. This brought only angry repulse, adding bitterness toher cup of sorrow. The appearance of a storm, on the evening towhich we have alluded, gave Mary an excuse for urging her father notto go out. How her remonstrance was received has been seen. Whilethe poor girl sat weeping, the distant rolling of thunder indicatedthe approach of the storm to which she had referred. But she caredlittle for it now. Her father had gone out. She had spoken of itonly with the hope that he might have been induced to remain withher. Now that he was away, the agitation within was too great toleave any concern for the turbulent elements without.
On leaving his home, Mr. Edwards, who had not taken any liquor forthree or four hours, and whose appetite was sharp for the accustomedstimulus, walked quickly in the direction of a drinking-house wherehe usually spent his evenings. On entering, he found that there wasa little commotion in the bar-room. A certain individual, not overfriendly to landlords, had intruded himself; and, his characterbeing known, the inmates were disposed to have a little sport withhim.
"Come now, old fellow!" said one, just as Edwards came in,--"mountthis table and make us a first rate temperance speech."
"Do; and I'll treat you to the stiffest glass of whisky toddy thelandlord can mix," added another. "Or perhaps you'd like a mintjulep or gin cocktail better? Any thing you please. Make the speechand call for the liquor. I'll stand the treat."
"What d'ye say, landlord? Shall he make the speech?" said another,who was eager for sport.
"Please yourselves," replied the landlord, "and you'll please me."
"Very well. Now for the speech, old fellow! Here! mount this table."And two or three of the most forward took hold of his arms.
"I'm not just in the humor for making a speech," said the temperanceman, "but, if it will please you as well, I'll sing you a song."
"Give us a song then. Any thing to accommodate. But come, let'sliquor first."
"No!" said the other firmly, "I must sing the song first, if I singit at all."
"Don't you think your pipes will be clearer for a little drink ofsome kind or other."
"Perhaps they would," was replied. "So, provided you have noobjection, I'll take a glass of cold water--if such a thing is knownin this place."
The glass of water was presented, and then the man, who was somewhatadvanced in years, prepared to give the promised song. All stoodlistening attentively, Edwards among the rest. The voice of the oldman was low and tremulous, yet every word was uttered distinctly,and with a pathos which showed that the meaning was felt. Thefollowing well-known temperance song was the one that he sung; andwhile his voice filled the bar-room every other sound was hushed.
"Where are the friends that to me were so dear, Long, long ago--long, long ago? Where are the hopes that my heart used to cheer, Long, long ago--long ago! Friends that I loved in the grave are laid low, Hopes that I cherished are fled from me now, I am degraded, for rum was my foe Long, long ago--long ago!"Sadly my wife bowed her beautiful head, Long, long ago--long, long ago. Oh! how I wept when I knew she was dead! Long, long ago--long ago. She was an angel! my love and my guide! Vainly to save me from ruin she tried; Poor, broken-hearted! 'twas well that she died Long, long ago--long ago.
"Let me look back on the days of my youth, Long, long ago--long, long ago, I was no stranger to virtue and truth, Long, long ago--long ago. Oh! for the hopes that were pure as the day! Oh! for the joys that were purer than they! Oh! for the hours that I've squandered away Long, long ago--long ago."
The silence that pervaded the room when the old man's voice died, ormight rather be said, sobbed away, was as the silence of death. Hisown heart was touched, for he wiped his eyes, from which tears hadstarted. Pausing scarcely a moment, he moved slowly from the room,and left his audience to their own reflections. There was not one ofthem who was not more or less affected; but the deepest impressionhad been made on the heart of Edwards. The song seemed as if it hadbeen made for him. The second verse, particularly, went thrilling tothe very centre of his feelings.
"Sadly my wife bowed her beautiful head!"
How suddenly arose before him the sorrow-stricken form of the wifeof his youth at these words! and when the old man's voice falteredon the line--
"Poor, broken-hearted! 'twas well that she died!"
the anguish of his spirit was so great, that he only kept himselffrom sobbing aloud by a strong effort at self-control. Ere the spellwas broken, or a word uttered by any one, he arose and left thehouse.
For many minutes after her father's departure, Mary sat weepingbitterly. She felt hopeless and deserted. Tenderly did she love herparent; but this love was only a source of the keenest anguish, forshe saw him swiftly passing along the road to destruction withoutthe power to save him.
Grief wastes itself by its own violence. So it was in this instance.The tears of Mary were at length dried; her sobs were hushed, andshe was about rising from her chair, when a blinding flash oflightning glared into the room, followed instantly by a deafeningjar of thunder.
"Oh, if father were home!" she murmured, clasping her handstogether.
Even while she stood in this attitude, the door opened quietly, andMr. Edwards entered.
"I thought you would be afraid, Mary; and so I came home," said hein a kind voice.
Mary looked at him with surprise. This was soon changed to joy asshe perceived that he was perfectly sober.
"Oh, father!" she sobbed, unable to control her feelings, andleaning her face against his breast as she spoke--"if you wouldnever go away!"
Tenderly the father drew his arm around his weeping child, andkissed her pure forehead.
"Mary," said he, as calmly as he could speak, "for your mother'ssake--" but he could not finish the sentence. His voice quivered,and became inarticulate.
Solemnly, in the silence of his own heart, did the father, as hestood thus with his child in his arms, repeat the vows he hadalready taken. And he kept his vows.
Wonderful is the power of music! It is the heart's own language, andspeaks to it in a voice of irresistible persuasion. It is a goodgift from heaven, and should ever be used in a good cause.
THE END.
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