The Ruined Family

PART FIRST.

"HOW beautiful!" ejaculated Mary Graham, as she fixed her eyesintently on the western sky, rich with the many-coloured clouds of abrilliant sunset in June.

"Beautiful indeed!" responded her sister Anna.

"I could gaze on it for ever!" Ellen, a younger and moreenthusiastic sister remarked, with fervent admiration. "Look, Ma!was ever anything more gorgeous than that pure white cloud, fringedwith brilliant gold, and relieved by the translucent and sparklingsky beyond?"

"It is indeed very beautiful, Ellen," Mrs. Graham replied. But therewas an abstraction in her manner, that indicated, too plainly, thatsomething weighed upon her mind.

"You don't seem to enjoy a rich sunset as much as you used to do,Ma," Anna said, for she felt the tone and manner in which her motherhad expressed her admiration of the scene.

"You only think so, perhaps," Mrs. Graham rejoined, endeavouring toarouse herself, and to feel interested in the brilliant exhibitionof nature to which her daughter had alluded. "The scene is, indeed,very beautiful, Anna, and reminds me strongly of some ofWordsworth's exquisite descriptions, so full of power to awaken theheart's deepest and purest emotions. You all remember this:

  "'Calm is the evening air, and loth to lose  Day's grateful warmth, though moist with falling dews  Look for the stars, you'll say that there are none;  Look up a second time, and, one by one,  You mark them twinkling out with silvery light,  And wonder how they could elude the sight.'"

"And this:

  "'No sound is uttered,--but a deep  And solemn harmony pervades  The hollow vale from steep to steep,  And penetrates the glades.  Far distant images draw nigh,  Called forth by wondrous potency  Of beamy radiance, that imbues  Whate'er it strikes with gem-like hues!  In vision exquisitely clear,  Herds range along the mountain-side;  And glistening antlers are descried;  And gilded flocks appear.  Thine is the tranquil hour, purpureal Eve!  But long as god-like wish, or hope divine,  Informs my spirit, ne'er can I believe  That this magnificence is wholly thine!  From worlds not quickened by the sun  A portion of the gift is won.'"

"How calm and elevating to the heart, like the hour he describes,"Ellen said, in a musing tone, as she sat with her eyes fixedintently on the slow-fading glories of the many-coloured clouds.

The influence of the tranquil hour gradually subdued them intosilence; and as the twilight began to fall, each sat in theenjoyment of a pure and refined pleasure, consequent upon a trueappreciation of the beautiful in nature, combined with highlycultivated tastes, and innocent and elevated thoughts.

"There comes Pa, I believe," Anna remarked, breaking the silence, asthe hall door opened and then closed with a heavy jar; and thewell-known sound of her father's footsteps was heard along thepassage and on the stairs.

None of her children observed the hushed intensity with which Mrs.Graham listened, as their father ascended to the chamber. But theynoticed that she became silent and more thoughtful than at first. Inabout ten minutes she arose and left the room.

"Something seems to trouble Ma, of late," Ellen observed, as soon astheir mother had retired.

"So I have thought. She is certainly, to all appearance, lesscheerful, "Mary replied.

"What can be the cause of it?"

"I hardly think there can be any very serious cause. We are none ofus always in the same state of mind."

"But I have noticed a change, in Ma, for some months past--andparticularly in the last few weeks," Anna said. "She is not happy."

"I remember, now, that I overheard her, about six weeks ago, talkingto Alfred about something--the company he kept, I believe--and thathe seemed angry, and spoke to her, I thought, unkindly. Since thattime she has not seemed so cheerful;" Ellen said.

"That may be the cause; but still I hardly think that it is," Annareplied. "Alfred's principal associates are William Gray and CharlesWilliams; and they belong to our first families. Pa, you know, isvery intimate with both Mr. Gray and Mr. Williams."

"It was to William Gray and Charles Williams, I believe, however,that Ma particularly objected."

"Upon what ground?"

"Upon the ground of their habits, I think, she said."

"Their habits? What of their habits, I wonder?"

"I do not know, I am sure. I only remember having heard Ma object tothem on that account."

"That is strange!" was the remark of Anna. "I am sure that I havenever seen anything out of the way, in either of them; and, as toWilliam Gray, I have always esteemed him very highly."

"So have I," Mary said. "Both of them are intelligent, agreeableyoung men; and such, as it seems to me, are in every way fitted tobe companions for our brother."

But Mrs. Graham had seen more of the world than her daughters, andknew how to judge from appearances far better than they. Some recentcircumstances, likewise, had quickened her perceptions of danger,and made them doubly acute. In the two young men alluded to, nowabout the ages of eighteen and twenty, she had been pained toobserve strong indications of a growing want of strict moralrestraints, combined with a tendency towards dissipation; and, whatwas still more painful, an exhibition of like perversions in heronly son, now on the verge of manhood,--that deeply responsible anddangerous period, when parental authority and control subside in adegree, and the individual, inexperienced yet self-confident,assumes the task of guiding himself.

When Mrs. Graham left the room, she proceeded slowly up to thechamber into which her husband had gone, where all had been silentsince his entrance. She found him lying upon the bed, and already ina sound sleep. The moment she bent over him, she perceived the truthto be that which her trembling and sinking heart so much dreaded. Hewas intoxicated!

Shrinking away from the bed-side, she retired to a far corner of theroom, where she seated herself by a table, and burying her face inher arms, gave way to the most gloomy, heart-aching thoughts andfeelings. Tears brought her no relief from these; for something ofhopelessness in her sorrow, gave no room for the blessing of tears.

Mr. Graham was a merchant of high standing in Philadelphia, where,for many years, he had been engaged extensively in the East Indiatrade. Six beautiful ships floated for years upon the ocean,returning at regular intervals, freighted with the rich produce ofthe East, and filling his coffers, until they overflowed, withaccumulating wealth. But it was not wealth alone that gave to Mr.Graham the elevated social position that he held. His strongintelligence, and the high moral tone of his character, gave him aninfluence and an estimation far above what he derived from his greatriches. In the education of his children, four in number, he hadbeen governed by a wise regard to the effect which that educationwould have upon them as members of society. He early instilled intotheir minds a desire to be useful to others, and taught them thedifference between an estimation of individuals, founded upon theirwealth and position in society, and an estimation derived fromintrinsic excellence of character. The consequence of, all this was,to make him beloved by his family--purely and tenderly beloved,because there was added to the natural affection for one in hisposition, the power of a deep respect for his character andprinciples.

At the time of his introduction to the reader, Mr. Graham wasforty-five years old. Alfred, his oldest child, was twenty-one;Mary, nineteen; Ellen, eighteen; and Anna just entering hersixteenth year. Up to this time, or nearly to this time, a happierfamily circled no hearth in the city. But now an evil wing washovering over them, the shadow from which had already been perceivedby the mother's heart, as it fell coldly and darkly upon it, causingit to shrink and tremble with gloomy apprehensions. From earlymanhood up, it had been the custom of Mr. Graham to use wines andbrandies as liberally as he desired, without, the most remotesuspicion once crossing his mind that any danger to him could attendthe indulgence. But to the eye of his wife, whose suspicions had oflate been aroused, and her perceptions rendered, in consequence,doubly acute, it had become apparent that the habit was gaining afatal predominance over him. She noted, with painful emotions, thatas each evening returned, there were to her eye too evidentindications that he had been indulging so freely in the use ofliquors, as to have his mind greatly obscured. His disposition, too,was changing; and he was becoming less cheerful in his family, andless interested in the pleasures and pursuits of his children.Alfred, whom he had, up to this time, regarded with an earnest andcareful solicitude, was now almost entirely left to his ownguidance, at an age, too, when he needed more than ever thedirection of his father's matured experience.

All these exhibitions of a change so unlooked for, and so terriblefor a wife and mother to contemplate, might well depress the spiritsof Mrs. Graham, and fill her with deep and anxious solicitude. Forsome weeks previous to the evening on which our story opens, Mr.Graham had shown strong symptoms almost every day--symptomsapparent, however, in the family, only to the eye of his wife--ofdrunkenness. Towards the close of each day, as the hour for hisreturn from business drew near her feelings would become oppressedunder the fearful apprehension that when he came home, it would bein a state of intoxication. This she dreaded on many accounts.Particularly was she anxious to conceal the father's aberrationsfrom his children. She could not bear the thought that respect forone now so deeply honoured by them, should be diminished in theirbosoms. She felt, too, keenly, the reproach that would rest upon hisname, should the vice that was now entangling, obtain fullpossession of him, and entirely destroy his manly, rational freedomof action. Of consequences to herself and children, resulting fromchanged external circumstances, she did not dream. Her husband'swealth was immense; and, therefore, even if he should so far abandonhimself as to have to relinquish business, there would be enough,and more than enough, to sustain them in any position in societythey might choose to occupy.

On the occasion to which we have already referred, her heart wasthrobbing with suspense as the hour drew nigh for his return, when,sooner than she expected him, Mr. Graham opened the hall-door, andinstead of entering the parlour, as usual, proceeded at once to hischamber. The quick ear of his wife detected something wrong in thesound of his footsteps--the cause she knew too well. Oh, how deeplywretched she felt, though she strove all in her power to seemunmoved while in the presence of her children! Anxious to know theworst, she soon retired, as has been seen, from the parlours, andwent up to the chamber above. Alas! how sadly were her worst fearsrealized! The loved and honoured partner of many happy years, thefather of her children, lay before her, slumbering, heavily, in thesleep of intoxication. It seemed, for a time, as if she could notbear up under the trial. While seated, far from the bed-side,brooding in sad despondency over the evil that had fallen uponthem--an evil of such a character that it had never been feared--itseemed to her that she could not endure it. Her thoughts grewbewildered, and reason for a time seemed trembling. Then her mindsettled into a gloomy calmness that, was even more terrible, for ithad about it something approaching the hopelessness of despair.

Thoughts of her children at last aroused her, as the gathering nightdarkened the chamber in which she sat, and she endeavoured to rallyherself, and to assume a calmness that she was far from feeling. Areason would have to be given for the father's non-appearance at thetea-table. That could easily be done. Fatigue and a slightindisposition had caused him to lie down: and as he had fallenasleep, it was thought best not to awaken him. Such a tale wasreadily told, and as readily received. The hardest task was toschool her feelings into submission, and so control the expressionof her face, and the tone of her voice, as to cause none to suspectthat there was anything wrong.

To do this fully, however, was impossible. Her manner was tooevidently changed; and her face wore too dreamy and sad anexpression to deceive her daughters, who inquired, with muchtenderness and solicitude, whether she was not well, or whetheranything troubled her.

"I am only a little indisposed," was her evasive reply to herchildren's kind interrogatories.

"Can't I do something for you?" inquired Ellen, with an earnestaffection in her manner.

"No, dear," was her mother's brief response; and then followed asilence, oppressive to all, which remained unbroken until the teathings were removed.

"Alfred is again away at tea-time," Mrs. Graham at length said, asthey all arose from the table.

"He went out this afternoon with Charles Williams," Mary replied.

"Did he?" the mother rejoined quickly, and with something ofdispleasure in her tone.

"Yes. Charles called for him in his buggy about four o'clock, andthey rode out together. I thought you knew it."

"No. I was lying down about that time."

"You do not seem to like Charles Williams much."

"I certainly do not, Anna, as a companion for Alfred. He is too fondof pleasure and sporting, and I am very much afraid will lead yourbrother astray."

"I never saw anything wrong about him, Ma."

"Perhaps not. But I have learned to be a much closer observer inthese matters than you, Mary. I have seen too many young men atAlfred's age led away, not to feel a deep and careful solicitude forhim."

As the subject seemed to give their mother pain, her daughters didnot reply; and then another, and still more troubled silencefollowed.

A chill being thrown thus over the feelings of all, the familyseparated at an early hour. But Mrs. Graham did not retire to bed.She could not, for she was strangely uneasy about her son. It wasabout twelve o'clock when Alfred came in. His mother opened her dooras he passed it, to speak to him--but her tongue refused to giveutterance to the words that trembled upon it. He, too, wasintoxicated!

Brief were the hours given to sleep that night, and troubled theslumber that locked her senses in forgetfulness. On the nextmorning, the trembling hand of her husband, as he lifted his cup tohis lips, and the unrefreshed and jaded appearance of her son, toldbut too plainly their abuse of nature's best energies. With herhusband, Mrs. Graham could not bring herself to speak upon thesubject. But she felt that her duty as a mother was involved inregard to her son, and therefore she early took occasion to draw himaside, and remonstrate against the course of folly upon which he wasentering.

"You were out late last night, Alfred," she said, in a mild tone.

"I was in at twelve, Ma."

"But that was too late, Alfred."

"I don't know, Ma. Other young men are out as late, and even later,every night," the young man said, in a respectful tone. "I rode outwith Charles Williams in the afternoon, and then went with him to awine party at night."

"I must tell you frankly, Alfred, that I like neither your companionin the afternoon, nor your company in the evening."

"You certainly do not object to Charles Williams. He stands as highin society as I do."

"His family is one of respectability and standing. But his habits, Ifear, Alfred, are such as will, ere long, destroy all of his titleto respectful estimation."

"You judge harshly," the young man said, colouring deeply.

"I believe not, Alfred. And what is more, I am convinced that youstand in imminent danger from your association with him."

"How?" was the quick interrogatory.

"Through him, for instance, you were induced to go to a wine partylast night."

"Well?"

"And there induced to drink too much."

"Mother!"

"I saw you when you came in, Alfred. You were in a sad condition."

For a few moments the young man looked his mother in the face, whilean expression of grief and mortification passed over his own.

"It is true," he at length said, in a subdued tone, "that I diddrink to excess, last evening. But do not be alarmed on thataccount. I will be more guarded, in future. And let me now assureyou, most earnestly, that I am in no danger: that I am not fond ofwine. I was led to drink too much, last evening, from being in acompany where wine was circulated as freely as water. I thought youlooked troubled, this morning, but did not dream that it was on myaccount. Let me, then, urge you to banish from your mind all fearsin regard to me."

"I cannot banish such fears, my son, so long as I know that you havedangerous associates. No one is led off, no one is corruptedsuddenly."

"But I do not think that I have dangerous associates."

"I am sure you have, Alfred. If they had not been such, you wouldnot have been led astray, last night. Go not into the way oftemptation. Shun the very beginnings of evil. Remember Pope'swarning declaration:--

"'Vice, to be hated, needs but to be seen,' &c."

"Indeed, indeed, Ma, you are far too serious about this matter."

"No, my son, I cannot be!"

"Well, perhaps not. But, as I know the nature of my associations farbetter than you possibly can, you must pardon me for thinking thatthey involve no danger. I have arrived to years of discretion, andcertainly think that I am, or at least ought to be, able to judgefor my self."

There was that in the words and tone of the young man, that made themother feel conscious that it would be no use for her to urge thematter further, at that time. She merely replied--

"For your mother's sake, Alfred, guard yourself more carefully, infuture."

It is wonderful, sometimes, how rapidly a downward course is run.The barrier, against which the waters have been driven for years, israpidly washed away, so soon as even the smallest breach is made. Abreach had been made in Mr. Graham's resolution to be only a soberdrinker of intoxicating liquors; and the consequence was, that hehad less power to resist the strong inclination to drink, that hadbecome almost like a second nature to him. A few weeks only elapsed,before he came home so drunk as to expose himself in the street, andbefore his children and servants, in a most disgusting and degradingmanner.

Terrible indeed was the shock to his children--especially to Mary,Ellen and Anna. His sudden death could not have been a more fearfulaffliction. Then, they would have sorrowed in filial respect andesteem, made sacred by an event that would embalm the memory oftheir father in the permanent regard of a whole community: now, hestood degraded in their eyes; and they felt that he was degraded inthe eyes of all. In his presence they experienced restraint, andthey looked for his coming with a shrinking fear. It was, indeed, anawful affliction--such as few can realize in imagination; andespecially for them, as they occupied a conspicuous position insociety, and were conscious that all eyes were upon them, and thatall tongues would be busy with the story of their father'sdegradation.

It is wonderful, we have said, how rapidly a downward course issometimes run. In the case of Mr. Graham, many circumstancescombined to hasten his ruin. It was nearly a year after he had givenway to the regular indulgence of drink, so far as to be kept almostconstantly in a state of half-intoxication through the businesshours of almost every day, that he received news of the loss of avessel richly laden with teas from China. At the proper time hepresented the requisite documents to his underwriters, and claimedthe loss, amounting, on ship and cargo, to one hundred andtwenty-five thousand dollars. On account of alleged improper conducton the part of the captain, united with informality in the papers,the underwriters refused to pay the loss. A suit at law was theconsequence, in which the underwriters were sustained. An appeal wasmade, but the same result followed-thus sweeping away, at a singleblow, property to the amount of over one hundred thousand dollars.During the progress of the trial, Mr. Graham was much excited, anddrank more freely than ever. When the result was finallyascertained, he sank down into a kind of morose inactivity for somemonths, neglecting his large and important business, and indulging,during the time, more deeply than ever in his favourite potations.It was in vain that his distressed family endeavoured to rouse himinto activity. All their efforts were met by an irritability and amoroseness of temper so unlike what he had been used to exhibittowards them, that they gave up all idea of influencing him indespair.

A second heavy loss, of nearly equal amount, altogether consequentupon this neglect of business, seemed to awaken up the latentenergies of his character, and he returned to himself with somethingof his former clear-sighted energy of character. But his affairs hadalready become, to him, strangely entangled. The machinery of hisextensive operations had been interrupted; and now, in attempting tomake the wheels move on again, it was too apparent that much of ithad become deranged, and the parts no longer moved in harmoniousaction with the whole. The more these difficulties pressed upon him,the deeper did he drink, as a kind of relief, and, in consequence,the more unfit to extricate himself from his troubles did he become.Every struggle, like the efforts of a large animal in a quagmire,only tended to involve him deeper and deeper in inextricableembarrassment.

This downward tendency continued for about three years, when hisfamily was suddenly stunned by the shock of his failure. It seemedimpossible for them to realize the truth--and, indeed, almostimpossible for the whole community to realize it. It was only threeor four years previous that his wealth was estimated, and truly so,at a million and a half. He was known to have met with heavy losses,but where so much could have gone, puzzled every one. It seemsalmost incredible that any man could have run through such an estateby mismanagement, in so brief a period. But such was really thecase. Accustomed to heavy operations, he continued to engage in onlythe most liberal transactions, every loss in which was a matter ofserious moment. And towards the last, as his mind grew more and morebewildered in consequence of is drinking deeper and deeper, hescarcely got up a single voyage, that did not result in loss; until,finally, he was driven to an utter abandonment of business--but notuntil he had involved his whole estate in ruin.

The beautiful family mansion on Chestnut-street had to be givenup--the carriage and elegant furniture sold under the hammer, whilethe family retired, overwhelmed with distress, to an humble dwellingin an obscure part of the city.

Seven years from the day on which Mrs. Graham and her children werethus thrown suddenly down from their elevation, and driven intoobscurity, that lady sat alone, near the window of ameanly-furnished room in a house on the suburbs of the city,overlooking the Schuylkill. It was near the hour of sunset.Gradually the day declined, and the dusky shadows of evening fellgloomily around. Still Mrs. Graham sat leaning her head upon herhand, in deep abstraction of mind. Alas! seven years had wrought asad change in her appearance, and a sadder one in her feelings. Herdeeply-sunken eye, and pale, thin face, told a tale of wretchednessand suffering, whose silent appeal made the very heart ache. Hergarments, too, were old and faded, and antiquated in style.

She sat thus for about half-an-hour, when the door of the room wasopened slowly, and a young woman entered, carrying on her arm asmall basket. She seemed, at first sight, not over twenty-three orfour years of age; but, when observed more closely, her hollowcheek, pale face, and languid motions, indicated the passage ofeither many more years over her head, or the painful inroads ofdisease and sorrow. Mrs. Graham looked up, but did not speak, as theyoung woman entered, and, after placing her basket on a table, laidaside her bonnet and faded shawl.

"How did you find Ellen, to-day?" she at length said.

"Bad enough!" was the mournful reply. "It makes my heart ache, Ma,whenever I go to see her."

"Was her husband at home?"

"Yes, and as drunk and ill-natured as ever."

"How is the babe, Mary?"

"Not well. Dear little innocent creature! it has seen the light ofthis dreary world in an evil time. Ellen has scarcely any milk forit; and I could not get it to feed, try all I could. It nestles inher breast, and frets and cries almost incessantly, with pain andhunger. Although it is now six weeks old, yet Ellen seems to havegained scarcely any strength at all. She has no appetite, and creepsabout with the utmost difficulty. With three little children hangingabout her, and the youngest that helpless babe, her condition iswretched indeed. It would be bad enough, were her husband kind toher. But cross, drunken and idle, scarcely furnishing his familywith food enough to sustain existence, her life with him is one ofpainful trial and suffering. Indeed, I wonder, with her sensitivedisposition and delicate body, how she can endure such a life for aweek."

A deep sigh, or rather moan, was the mother's only response. Herdaughter continued,

"Bad as I myself feel with this constant cough, pain in my side, andweakness, I must go over again to-morrow and stay with her. Sheought not to be left alone. The dear children, too, require a greatdeal of attention that she cannot possibly give to them."

"You had better bring little Ellen home with you, had you not, Mary?I could attend to her much better than Ellen can."

"I was thinking of that myself, Ma. But you seemed so poorly, that Idid not feel like saying anything about it just now."

"O yes. Bring her home with you to-morrow evening, by all means. Itwill take that much off of poor Ellen's hands."

"Then I will do so, Ma; at least if Ellen is willing," Mary said, ina lighter tone--the idea of even that relief being extended to heroverburdened sister causing her mind to rise in a momentarybuoyancy.

"Anna is late to-night," she remarked, after a pause of a fewmoments.

As she said this, the door opened, and the sister of whom she spokeentered.

"You are late to-night, Anna," her mother said.

"Yes, rather later than usual. I had to take a few small articleshome for a lady, after I left the store, who lives in Sixth nearSpring Garden."

"In Sixth near Spring Garden!"

"Yes. The lad who takes home goods had gone, and the lady wasparticular about having them sent home this evening."

"Do you not feel very tired?"

"Indeed I do," the poor girl said, sinking into a chair. "I feel,sometimes, as if I must give up. No one in our store is allowed tosit down from morning till night. The other girls don't appear tomind it much; but before evening, it seems as if I must drop to thefloor. But I won't complain," she added, endeavouring to rallyherself, and put on a cheerful countenance. "How have you beento-day, Ma?"

"If you won't complain, I am sure that I have no right to, Anna."

"You cannot be happy, of course, Ma; that I know too well. None ofus, I fear, will ever be again happy in this world!" Anna said, in atone of despondency, her spirits again sinking.

No one replied to this; and a gloomy silence of many minutesfollowed--a quiet almost as oppressive as the stillness that reignsin the chamber of death. Then Mary commenced busying herself aboutthe evening meal.

"Tea is ready, Ma and Anna," she at length said, after their frugalrepast had been placed upon the table.

"Has not Alfred returned yet?" Anna asked.

"No," was the brief answer.

"Hadn't we better wait for him?"

"He knows that it is tea-time, and ought to be here, if he wantsany," the mother said. "You are tired and hungry, and we will not,of course, wait."

The little family, three in number, gathered around the table, butno one eat with an appetite of the food that was placed before them.There were two vacant places at the board. The husband and son--thefather and brother--where were they?

In regard to the former, the presentation of a scene which occurreda few weeks previous will explain all. First, however, a briefreview of the past seven years is necessary. After Mr. Graham'sfailure in business, he gave himself up to drink, and sunk, with hiswhole family, down into want and obscurity with almost unprecedentedrapidity. He seemed at once to become strangely indifferent to hiswife and children--to lose all regard for their welfare. In fact, hehad become, in a degree, insane from the sudden reverses which hadovertaken him, combined with the bewildering effects of strongdrinks, under whose influence he was constantly labouring.

Thus left to struggle on against the pressure of absolute want,suddenly and unexpectedly brought upon them, and with no internal orexternal resources upon which to fall promptly back, Mrs. Graham andher daughters were for a time overwhelmed with despair. Alfred, towhom they should have looked for aid, advice, and sustenance, inthis hour of severe trial, left almost entirely to himself, as faras his father had been concerned, for some two years, had sunk intohabits of dissipation from which even this terrible shock had notthe power to arouse him. Having made himself angry in his oppositionto, and resistance of, all his mother's admonitions, warnings, andpersuasions, he seemed to have lost all affection for her and hissisters. So that a sense of their destitute and distressed conditionhad no influence over him--at least, not sufficient to arouse himinto active exertions for their support. Thus were they left utterlydependent upon their own resources--and what was worse, wereburdened with the support of both father and brother.

The little that each had been able to save from the general wreck,was, as a means of sustenance, but small. Two or three gold watchesand chains, with various articles of jewelery, fancywork-boxes, and a number of trifles, more valued than valuable, madeup, besides a remnant of household furniture, the aggregate of theirlittle wealth. Of course, the mother and daughters were driven, atonce, to some expedient for keeping the family together. Aboarding-house, that first resort of nearly all destitute females,upon whom families are dependent, especially of those who haveoccupied an elevated position in society, was opened, as the onlymeans of support that presented itself. The result of thisexperiment, continued for a year and a half, was a debt of severalhundred dollars, which was liquidated by the seizure of Mrs.Graham's furniture. But worse than this, a specious young man, oneof the boarders, had won upon the affections of Ellen, and inducedher to marry him. He, too soon, proved himself to have neither atrue affection for her, nor to have sound moral principles. He was,moreover, idle, and fond of gay company.

On the day that Mrs. Graham broke up her boardinghouse, Markland,her daughter's husband, was discharged from his situation as clerk,on account of inefficiency. For six months previous, the time he hadbeen married, he had paid no boarding, thus adding himself as a deadweight to the already overburdened family. As he had no house towhich he could take Ellen, he very naturally felt himself authorizedto share the house to which the distressed family of her motherretired, seemingly regardless of how or by whom the food he dailyconsumed was provided.

But Mrs. Graham was soon reduced to such extremities, that he wasdriven off from her, with his wife, and forced to obtain employmentby which to support himself and her. As for the old man, he hadmanaged, in the wreck of affairs, to retain a large proportion ofhis wines, and other choice liquors; and these, which no pressure ofwant in his family could drive him to sell, afforded the means ofgratifying his inordinate love of drink. His clothes graduallybecame old and rusty--but this seemed to give him no concern. Hewandered listlessly in his old business haunts, or lounged about thehouse in a state of half stupor, drinking regularly all through theday, at frequent periods, and going to bed, usually, at nights, in astate of stupefaction.

When the boarding-house was given up, poor Mrs. Graham, whose healthand spirits had both rapidly declined in the past two years, feltutterly at a loss what to do. But pressing necessities requiredimmediate action.

"Anna, child, what are we to do," she said, rousing herself, oneevening, while sitting alone with her daughters in gloomyabstraction.

"Indeed, Ma, I am as much at a loss as you are. I have been thinkingand thinking about it, until my min--has become beclouded andbewildered."

"I have been thinking, too," said Mary, "and it strikes me that Annaand I might do something in the way of ornamental needlework. Bothof us, you know, are fond of it."

"Do you think that we can sell it, after it is done?" Anna asked,with a lively interest in her tone.

"I certainly do. We see plenty of such work in the shops; and theymust buy it, of course."

"Let us try, then, Mary," her sister said with animation.

A week spent in untiring industry, produced two elegantly wroughtcapes, equal to the finest French embroidery.

"And, now, where shall we sell them?" Anna inquired, in a tone ofconcern.

"Mrs.--would, no doubt, buy them; but I, for one, cannot bear thethought of going there."

"Nor I. But, driven by necessity, I believe that I could brave to gothere, or anywhere else, even though I have not been inChestnut-street for nearly two years."

"Will you go, then, Mary?" Anna asked, in an earnest, appealingtone.

"Yes, Anna, as you seem so shrinkingly reluctant, I will go."

And forthwith Mary prepared herself; and rolling up the two elegantcapes, proceeded with them to the store of Mrs.--, inChestnut-street. It was crowded with customers when she entered, andso she shrunk away to the back part of the store, untilMrs.--should be more at leisure, and she could bargain with herwithout attracting attention. She had stood there only a fewmoments,--when her ear caught the sound of a familiar voice--that ofMary Williams, one of her former most intimate associates. Her firstimpulse was to spring forward, but a remembrance of her changedcondition instantly recurring to her, she turned more away from thelight, so as to effectually conceal herself from the young lady'sobservation. This she was enabled to do, although Mary Williams cameonce or twice so near as to brush her garments. How oppressively didher heart beat, at such moments! Old thoughts and old feelings camerushing back upon her, and in the contrast they occasioned betweenthe past and the present, she was almost overwhelmed withdespondency. Customer after customer came in, as one and anotherretired, many of whose faces were familiar to Mary as old friendsand acquaintances. At last, however, after waiting nearly two hours,she made out to get an interview with Mrs.--.

"Well, Miss, what do you want?" asked that personage, as Mary cameup before her where she still stood at the counter, for she hadobserved her waiting in the store for some time. Mrs.--either didnot remember, or cared not to remember, her old customer, who hadspent, with her sisters, many hundreds of dollars in her store, intimes past.

"I have a couple of fine wrought capes that I should like to sell,"Mary said, in a timid, hesitating voice, unrolling, at the sametime, the articles she named.

"Are they French?" asked Mrs.--, without pausing in her employmentof rolling up some goods, to take and examine the articles profferedher.

"No, ma'am; they are some of my own and sister's work."

"They won't do, then, Miss. Nothing in the way of fine collars andcapes will sell, unless they are French."

Mary felt chilled at heart as Mrs.--said this, and commencedslowly rolling up her capes, faint with disappointment. As she wasabout turning from the counter, Mrs.--said, in rather anindifferent tone,

"Suppose you let me look at them."

"I am sure you will think them very beautiful," Mary replied,quickly unrolling her little bundle. "They have been wrought withgreat care."'

"Sure enough, they are quite well done," Mrs.--said, coldly, asshe glanced her eyes over the capes. "Almost equal in appearance tothe French. But they are only domestic; and domestic embroideredwork won't bring scarcely anything. What do you ask for these?"

"We have set no price upon them; but think that they are richlyworth five or six dollars apiece."

"Five or six dollars!" ejaculated Mrs.--, in well feignedsurprise, handing back; suddenly, the capes. "O! no, Miss;--Americangoods don't bring arty such prices."

"Then what will you give for them, Madam?"

"If you feel like taking two dollars apiece for them, you can leavethem. But I am not particular," Mrs.--said, in a careless tone.

"Two dollars!" repeated Mary, in surprise. "Surely, Mrs.--, theyare worth more than two dollars apiece!"

"I'm not at all anxious to give you even that for them," saidMrs.--. "Not at all; for I am by no means sure that I shall everget my money back again."

"You will have to take them, then, I suppose," Mary replied, in adisappointed and desponding tone.

"Very well, Miss, I will give you what I said." And Mrs.--took thecapes, and handed Mary Graham four dollars in payment.

"If we should conclude to work any more, may we calculate on gettingthe same money for them?"

"I can't say positively, Miss; but I think that you may calculate onthat price for as many as you will bring."

Mary took the money, and turned away. It was only half an hourafter, that Mrs.--sold one of them, as "French," for twelvedollars!

Sadly, indeed, were the sisters disappointed at this result. Butnothing better offering that they could do, they devoted themselves,late and early, to their needles, the proceeds of which rarely wentover five dollars per week; for two years they continued to labourthus.

At the end of that period, Anna sunk under her self-imposed task,and lay ill for many weeks. Especially forbidden by the physician,on her recovery, to enter again upon sedentary employments, Annacast earnestly about her for some other means whereby to earnsomething for the common stock. Necessity, during the past twoyears, had driven her frequently into business parts of the city forthe purchase of materials such as they used. Her changed lot gaveher new eyes, and her observations were necessarily made upon a newclass of facts. She had seen shop-girls often enough before, but shehad never felt any sympathy with them, nor thought of gaining anyinformation about them. They might receive one dollar a week, ortwenty, or work for nothing--it was all the same to her. Even if anyone had given her correct information on the subject, she would haveforgotten it in ten minutes. But now, it was a matter of interest toknow how much they could make--and she had obtained a knowledge ofthe fact, that they earned from three to six and seven dollars aweek, according to their capacities or the responsibility of theirstations.

When, therefore, her shattered health precluded her from longerplying her needle, much as she shrank from the publicity andexposure of the position, she resolutely set about endeavouring toobtain a situation as saleswoman in some retail dry-goods store. Oneof the girls in Mrs.--'s store, who knew all about her family, anddeeply commiserated her condition, interested herself for her, andsucceeded in getting her a situation, at four dollars a week, inSecond-street. To enter upon the employment that now awaited her,was indeed a severe trial; but she went resolutely forward, in theway that duty called.

The sudden change from a sedentary life to one of activity, whereshe had to be on her feet all day, tried her feeble strengthseverely. It was with difficulty that she could sometimes keep up atall, and she went home frequently at night in a burning fever. Butshe gradually acquired a kind of power of endurance, that kept herup. She did not seem to suffer less, but had more strength, as itwere, to bear up, and hold on with unflinching resolution.

Thus she had gone on for two or three years, at the time she wasagain introduced, with her mother and sister, to the reader.

As for their father, his whole stock of liquors had been exhaustedfor nearly two years, and, during that time, he had resorted to manyexpedients to obtain the potations he so much loved. Finally, hebecame so lost to all sense of right or feeling, that he would takemoney, or anything he could carry off from the house, for thepurpose of obtaining liquor. This system had stripped them of manynecessary articles, as well as money, and added very greatly totheir distress, as well as embarrassments.

At last, everything that he could take had been taken, and asneither his wife nor daughters would give him any money, his supplyof stimulus was cut off, and he became almost mad with theintolerable desire that was burning within him for the fiery poisonwhich had robbed him of rationality and freedom.

"Give me some money!" he said, in an excited tone, to his wife,coming in hurriedly from the street, one day about this time. Hisface was dark and red, as if there were a congestion of the blood inthe veins of the skin, while his hands trembled, and his whole framewas strongly agitated. Those who had been familiar with that oldman, years before, would hardly have recognized him now, in his oldworn and faded garments.

"I have no money for you," his wife replied. "You have alreadystripped us of nearly everything."

"Buy me some brandy, then."

"No. I cannot do that either. Brandy has cursed you and your family.Why do you not abandon it for ever?"

"I must have brandy, or die! Give me something to drink, in the nameof heaven!"

The wild look that her husband threw upon her, alarmed Mrs. Graham,and she hesitated no longer, but handed him a small piece of money.Quick as thought, he turned away and darted from the house.

It was, perhaps, after the lapse of about half an hour that hereturned. He opened the door, when he did so, quietly, and stoodlooking into the room for a few moments. Then he turned his headquickly from the right to the left, glancing fearfully behind himonce or twice. In a moment or two afterwards he started forward,with a strong expression of alarm upon his countenance, and seatedhimself close beside Mrs. Graham, evidently in the hope of receivingher protection from some dreaded evil.

"What is the matter?" quickly exclaimed Mrs. Graham, starting upwith a frightened look.

"It is really dreadful!" he said. "What can it all mean?"

"What is dreadful?" asked his wife, her heart throbbing with anunknown terror.

"There! Did you ever see such an awful sight? Ugh!" and he shrunkbehind her chair, and covered his eyes with his hands.

"I see nothing, Mr. Graham," his wife said, after a few moments ofhurried thought, in which she began to comprehend the fact that herhusband's mind was wandering.

"There is nothing here that will hurt you, father," Mary added,coming up to him, as her own mind arrived at a conclusion similar toher mother's.

"Nothing to hurt me!" suddenly screamed the old man, springing tohis feet, and throwing himself backwards half across the room; "andthat horrible creature already twining himself about my neck, andstrangling me! Take it off! take it off!" he continued, in a wildcry of terror, making strong efforts to tear something away from histhroat.

"Take it off'! Why don't you take it off! Don't you see that it ischoking me to death! Oh! oh! oh!" (uttered in a terrific scream.)

Panting, screaming and struggling, he continued in this state ofawful alarm, vainly endeavouring to extricate himself from the toilsof an imaginary monster, that was suffocating him, until he sankexhausted to the floor.

Happily for his alarmed and distressed family, two or threeneighbours, who had been startled by the old man's screams,--camehurriedly in, and soon comprehended the nature of his aberration. Abrief consultation among themselves determined them, understanding,as they did perfectly, the condition of the family, and his relationto them, to remove him at once to the Alms-House, where he could getjudicious medical treatment, and be out of the sight and hearing ofhis wife and children.

One of them briefly explained to Mrs. Graham, and Mary, the natureof his mental affection, and the absolute necessity that there wasfor his being placed where the most skilful and judicious managementof his case could be had. After some time, he gained their reluctantconsent to have him taken to the Alms-House. A carriage was thenobtained, and he forced into it, amid the tears and remonstrances ofthe wife and daughter, who had already repented of theiracquiescence in what their judgment had approved. Old affection hadrushed back upon their hearts, and feelings became stronger thanreason.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when this occurred. Earlyon the next morning, Mrs. Graham, with Mary and Anna, went out tosee him. Their inquiries about his condition were vaguely answered,and with seeming reluctance, or as it appeared to them, withindifference. At length the matron of the institution asked them togo with her, and they followed on, through halls and galleries,until they came to a room, the door of which she opened, with asilent indication for them to enter.

They entered alone. Everything was hushed, and the silence that ofthe chamber of death. In the centre of the room lay the old man. Asingle glance told the fearful tale. He was dead! Dead in thepauper's home! Seven years before, a millionaire--now sleeping hislast sleep in the dead-room of an Alms-House, and his beggared wifeand children weeping over him in heart-broken and hopeless sorrow.

From that time the energies of Mary and Anna seemed paralyzed; andit was only with a strong effort that Mrs. Graham could rouseherself from the stupor of mind and body that had settled upon her.

Mrs. Graham and her two daughters had nearly finished their eveningmeal, at the close of the day alluded to some pages back, when thesound of rapidly hurrying footsteps was heard on the pavement. In amoment after, a heavy blow was given just at their door, and someone fell with a groan against it. The weight of the body forced itopen, and the son and brother rolled in upon the floor, with theblood gushing from a ghastly wound in his forehead. His assailantinstantly fled. Bloated, disfigured, in coarse and worn clothing,how different, even when moving about, was he from the genteel,well-dressed young man of a few years back! Idleness and dissipationhad wrought as great a change upon him as it had upon his father,while he was living. Now he presented a shocking and loathsomeappearance.

The first impulse of Mary was to run for a physician, while themother and Anna attempted to stanch the flow of blood, that hadalready formed a pool upon the floor. Assistance was speedilyobtained, and the wound dressed; but the young man remainedinsensible. As the physician turned from the door, Mrs. Graham sankfainting upon her bed. Over-tried nature could bear up no longer.

"Doctor, what do you think of him?" asked the mother, anxiously,three days after, as the physician came out of Alfred's room. Sincethe injury he had received, he had lain in a stupor, but with muchfever.

"His case, Madam, is an extremely critical one. I have tried in vainto control that fever."

"Do you think him very dangerous, Doctor?" Mary asked, in a huskyvoice.

"I certainly do. And, to speak to you the honest truth, have,myself, no hope of his recovery. I think it right that you shouldknow this."

"No hope, Doctor!" Mrs. Graham said, laying her hand upon thephysician's arm, while her face grew deadly pale. "No hope!--My onlyson die thus!--O! Doctor, can you not save him?"

"I wish it were in my power, Madam. But I will not flatter you withfalse hopes. It will be little less than a miracle should hesurvive."

The mother and sisters turned away with an air of hopelessness fromthe physician, and he retired slowly, and with oppressed feelings.

When they returned to the sick chamber, a great change had alreadytaken place in Alfred. The prediction of the physician, it wasevident to each, as all bent eagerly over him, was about to be toosurely and too suddenly realized. His face, from being slightlyflushed with fever, had become sunken, and ghastly pale, and hisrespiration so feeble that it was almost imperceptible.

The last and saddest trial of this ruined family had come. The sonand brother, for whom now rushed back upon their hearts the tenderand confiding affection of earlier years, was lingering upon life'sextremest verge. It seemed that they could not give him up. Theyfelt that, even though he were neglectful of them, they could not dowithout him. He was a son and brother; and, while he lived, therewas still hope of his restoration. The strength of that hope,entertained by each in the silent chambers of affection, was unknownbefore--its trial revealed its power over each crushed and sinkingheart.

But the passage of each moment brought plainer and more palpableevidence of approaching dissolution. For about ten minutes he hadlain so still, that they were suddenly aroused by the fear that hemight be already dead Softly did the mother lay her hand upon hisforehead. Its cold and clammy touch sent an icy thrill to her heartThen she bent her ear to catch even the feeblest breath--but shecould distinguish none.

"He is dead!" she murmured, sinking down and burying her face in thebed-clothes.

The cup of their sorrow was, at last, full--full and running over!

PART SECOND.

STUNNED by this new affliction, which seemed harder to bear than anyof the terrible ones that had gone before, Mrs. Graham sunk into astate of half unconsciousness; but Anna still lingered over theinsensible body of her brother, and though reason told her that thespirit had taken its everlasting departure, her heart still hopedthat it might not be so,--that a spark yet remained which wouldrekindle.

The pressure of her warm hand upon his cold, damp forehead, mockedher hopes. His motionless chest told of the vanity of her fondanticipations of seeing his heart again quicken into livingactivity. And yet, she could not give him up. She could not believethat he was dead. As she still hung over him, it seemed to her thatthere was a slight twitching of the muscles about the neck. Howsuddenly did her heart bound and throb until its strong pulsationspained her! Eagerly did she bend down upon him, watching for somemore palpable sign of returning animation. But nothing met eitherher eye or her ear that strengthened the newly awakened hope.

After waiting, vainly, for some minutes, until the feeble hope shehad entertained began to fail, Anna stepped quickly to themantelpiece, and lifted from it a small looking-glass, with whichshe returned to the bedside. Holding this close to the face of herbrother, she watched the surface with an eager anxiety that almostcaused the beating of her heart to cease. As a slight mist slowlygathered upon the glass and obscured its surface, Anna cried outwith a voice that thrilled the bosoms of her mother and sister--

"He lives! he lives!" and gave way to a gush of tears.

This sudden exclamation, of course, brought Mrs. Graham and Mary tothe bedside, who instantly comprehended the experiment which Annahad been making and understood the result. The mother, in turn, withtrembling hands, lifted the mirror, and held it close to the face ofher son. In a moment or two, its surface was obscured, plainlyindicating that respiration, though almost imperceptible, was stillgoing on,--that life still lingered in the feeble body before them.

Gradually, now, the flame that had well-nigh gone out, kindled upagain, but so slowly, that for many hours the mother and sisterswere in doubt whether it were really brightening or not. The feverthat had continued for several days, exhausting the energies of theyoung man's system, had let go its hold, because scarcely enoughvital energy remained for it to subsist upon. In its subsidence,life trembled on the verge of extinction. But there was yetsufficient stamina for it to rally upon; and it did rally, andgradually, but very slowly, gained strength.

In an earnest spirit of thankfulness for this restoration of Alfred,did the mother and sisters look up to the Giver of all good, andwith tearful devotion pray that there might ensue a moral as well asa physical restoration. For years, they had not felt towards him thedeep and yearning tenderness that now warmed their bosoms. Theylonged to rescue him, not for their sakes, but for his own, from thehorrible pit and the miry clay into which he had fallen.

"O, if we could but save him, sister!" Anna said, as she satconversing with Mary, after all doubt of his recovery had beenremoved. "If we could only do some. thing to restore our brother tohimself, how glad I should be!"

"I would do anything in my power," Mary replied, "and sacrificeeverything that it was right to sacrifice, if, by so doing, I couldhelp Alfred to conquer his besetting evils. I cannot tell you how Ifeel about it. It seems as if it would break my heart to have himreturn again into his old habits of life: and yet, what have we tofound a hope upon, that he will not so return?"

"I feel just as you do about it, Mary," her sister said. "The sameyearning desire to save him, and the same hopelessness as to themeans."

"There is one way, it seems to me, in which we might influence him."

"What is that, Mary?"

"Let us manifest towards him, fully, the real affection that wefeel; perhaps that may awaken a chord in this own bosom, and thuslead him, for our sakes, to enter upon a new course of life."

"We can at least try, Mary. It can do no harm, and may result ingood."

With the end of his reformation in view, the two sisters, during hisconvalescence, attended him with the most assiduous and affectionatecare. The moment Anna would come home from the store at night, shewould repair with a smiling countenance to his bedside, and althoughusually so fatigued as to be compelled to rally her spirits with aneffort, she would seem so interested and cheerful and active tominister in some way to his pleasure, that Alfred began to lookforward every day as the evening approached, with a lively interest,for her return. This Mary observed, and it gave her hope.

Three weeks soon passed away, when Alfred was so far recovered as tobe able to walk out.

"Do not walk far, brother," Mary said, laying her hand gently uponhis arm, and looking him with affectionate earnestness in the face."You are very weak, and the fatigue might bring on a relapse."

"I shall only walk a little way, Mary," he replied, as he opened thedoor and went out.

Neither the mother nor sister could utter the fear that each felt,lest Alfred should meet with and fall in temptation before hereturned. This fear grew stronger and stronger, as the minutes beganto accumulate, and lengthen to an hour. A period of ten or fifteenminutes was as long as they had any idea of his remaining away.Where could he be? Had he been taken sick; or was he again yieldingto the seductions of a depraved and degrading appetite? The suspensebecame agonizing to their hearts, as not only one, but two, and eventhree hours passed, bringing the dim twilight, and yet he returnednot.

In the meantime, the young man, whose appearance the careful hand ofMary and her sister had been rendered far superior to what it hadbeen for years past, went out from his mother's humble dwelling, andtook his way slowly down one of the streets, leading to the mainportion of the city, with many thoughts of a painful characterpassing through his mind. The few weeks that he had been confined tothe house, and in constant association with his mother, and one orboth of his sisters, who were at home, had startled his mind intoreflection. He could not but contrast their constant andaffectionate devotion to him, with his own shameful and criminalneglect of them. Conceal her real feelings as she would, it did notescape his notice, that when Anna came home at night, she was somuch exhausted as to be hardly able to sit up; and as for Mary,often when she dreamed not that he was observing her, had he noticedher air of languor and exhaustion, and her half-stifled expressionof pain,--as she bent resolutely over her needle-work. Never beforehad he felt so indignant towards Ellen's husband for his neglect andabuse of her, his once favourite sister; and, indeed, the favouriteof the whole family.

It was, to his own mind, a mystery how he ever could have sunk solow, and become so utterly regardless of his mother and sisters.

"Wretch! wretch! miserable wretch that I am!" he would, sometimes,mentally exclaim, turning his face to the wall as he lay reviewing,involuntarily, his past life. Uniformly it happened, that followingsuch a crisis in his feelings, would be some affectionate word orkind attention from Mary or his mother, smiting upon his heart withemotions of the keenest remorse.

It was under the influence of such feelings that he went out on theafternoon just alluded to. Still, no settled plan of reformation hadbeen formed in his mind, for the discouraging question wouldconstantly arise while pondering gloomily over his condition and thecondition of the family.

"What can I do?" To this, he could find no satisfactory answer.Three or four years of debasing drunkenness, had utterly separatedhim from those who had it in their power to encourage and strengthenhis good desires,--and to put him in the way of providing forhimself and his family, by an industrious application to some kindof business.

He had walked slowly on, in painful abstraction, for about fiveminutes, when a hand was laid on his arm, and a familiar voicesaid--

"Is this you, Graham! Where in the name of Pluto have you been, forthe last three weeks? Why, how blue you look about the gills! Havn'tbeen sick, I hope?"

"Indeed I have, Harry," Alfred replied, in a feeble voices. "It camevery near being all over with me."

"Indeed! Well, what was the matter?"

Raising his hat, and displaying a long and still angry-looking woundon the side of his head, from which the hair had been carefully cutaway, he said--

"Do you see that?"

"I reckon I do."

"Well, that came very near doing the business for me."

"How did it happen?"

"I hardly know, myself. I was drunk, I suppose, and quarrelled withsome one, or insulted some one in the street--and this was theconsequence."

"Really, Graham, you have made a narrow escape."

"Havn't I? It kept me in bed for nearly three weeks, and now, I canjust totter about. This is the first time I have been outside of thehouse since it happened."

"You certainly do look weak and feeble enough," replied his oldfriend and crony, who added, in a moment after,

"But come! take a drink with me at the tavern across here. You standin need of something."

"No objection, and thank you," Alfred rejoined, at once moving overtowards a well-known, low tavern, quenching in imagination a morbidthirst that seemed instantly created, by a draught of sweetenedliquor.

"What will you take?" asked his friend, as the two came up to thecounter.

"I'll take a mint sling," Alfred replied.

"Two mint slings," said his companion, giving his orders to thebar-keeper.

"Hallo, Graham! Is this you?" exclaimed one or two loungers, comingforward, and shaking him heartily by the hand. "We had just made upour minds that you had joined the cold-water army."

"Indeed!" suddenly ejaculated Graham, an instant consciousness ofwhat he was, where he was, and what he was about to do, flashingover his mind. "I wish to heaven your conclusion had been true!"

This sudden charge in his manner, and his earnestly, indeed solemnlyexpressed wish, were received with a burst of laughter.

"Here Dan," said one, to the bar-keeper, "havn't you a pledge forhim to sign."

"O, yes! Bring a pledge! Bring a pledge! Has no one a pledge?"rejoined another, in a tone of ridicule.

"Yes, here is one," said a man in a firm tone, entering the shop atthe moment. "Who wants to sign the pledge?"

"I do!" Graham said, in a calm voice.

"Then here it is," the stranger replied, drawing a sheet of paperfrom his pocket, and unrolling it.

"Give me a pen Dan," Alfred said, turning to the barkeeper.

"Indeed, then, and I won't," retorted that individual, "I'm notgoing to lend a stick to break my own head."

"O, never mind, young man, I can supply pen and ink," said thestranger, drawing forth a pocket inkstand.

Alfred eagerly seized the pen that was offered to him, and instantlysubscribed the total abstinence pledge.

"Another fool caught!" sneered one.

"Ha! ha! ha! What a ridiculous farce!" chimed in another.

"He'll be rolling in the gutter before three days, feeling upwardsfor the ground," added a third.

"Why, I don't believe he can see through a ladder now;" the firstspeaker said, with his contemptuous sneer. "Look here, mister," tothe stranger who had appeared so opportunely. "This is all gammon!He's been fooling you."

"Come along, my friend," was all the stranger said, drawing his armwithin that of the penitent young man, as he did so,--"this is noplace for you."

And the two walked slowly out, amid the laughter, sneers, and openridicule of the brutal company. Once again in the open air, Alfredbreathed more freely.

"O, sir," he said, grasping the hand of the individual who hadappeared so opportunely--"you have saved me from my last temptation,into which I was led so naturally, that I had not an idea of danger.If I had fallen then, as I fear I should have fallen but for you, Imust have gone down, rapidly, to irretrievable ruin. How can Iexpress to you the grateful emotions that I now feel?"

"Express them not to me, young man," the stranger said, in a solemnvoice; "but to him, who in his merciful providence, sent me just atthe right moment to meet your last extremity. Look up to him, and,whenever tempted, let your conscious weakness repose in hisstrength, and no evil power can prevail against you. Be true to theresolution of this hour--to your pledge--to those who have claimsupon you, for such, I know there must be, and you shall yet fillthat position of usefulness in society, which no one else but youcan occupy. And now let me advise you to go home, and ponder wellthis act, and your future course. No matter how dark all may nowseem, light will spring up. If you are anxious to walk in a rightpath, and to minister to those who have claims upon you, the waywill be made plain. This encouragement I can give you withconfidence; for twelve months ago, I trembled on the brink ofruin, as you have just been trembling. I was once a slave to thesame wild infatuation that has held you in bondage. Hope, then, witha vigorous hope, and that hope will be a guarantee for your futureelevation!"

And so saying, the stranger shook the hand of Alfred heartily, and,turning, walked hastily away.

The young man had proceeded only a few paces when he observed hisold friend and companion, Charles Williams, driving along towardshim. No one had done so much towards corrupting his morals, andenticing him away from virtue, as that individual. But he hadchecked himself in his course of dissipation, long before, whileAlfred had sunk rapidly downward. Years had passed since anyintercourse had taken place between them, for their condition inlife had long been as different as their habits. Charles had enteredinto business with his father, and was now active and enterprising,increasing the income of the firm by his energy and industry.

His eye rested upon Graham, the moment he came near enough toobserve him. There was something familiar about his gait and manner,that attracted the young man's attention. At first, he did notdistinguish, through the disguise that sickness and self-imposedpoverty had thrown over Alfred, his old companion. But, suddenly, ashe was about passing, he recognised him, and instantly reined up hishorse.

"It is only a few minutes since I was thinking about you, Alfred,"he said. "How are you? But you do not look well. Have you beensick?"

"I have been very ill, lately," Alfred Graham replied, in a mournfultone; former thoughts and feelings rushing back upon him inconsequence of this unexpected interview, and quite subduing him.

"I am really sorry to hear it," the young man said, sympathizingly."What has been the matter?"

"A slow fever. This is the first time I have been out for weeks."

"A ride, then, will be of use to you. Get up, and let me drive youout into the country. The pure air will benefit you, I am sure."

For a moment or two, Alfred stood irresolute. He could not believethat he had heard aright.

"Come," urged Williams. "We have often ridden before, and let ushave one more ride, if we should never go out again together. I wishto have some talk with you."

Thus urged, Alfred, with the assistance of Charles Williams, got upinto the light wagon, in which the latter was riding, and in amoment after was dashing off with him behind a spirited horse.

It was on the morning of a day, nearly a week previous to this time,that Mary Williams, or rather Mrs. Harwood,--for Anna and MaryGraham's old friend had become a married woman--entered the store ofMrs.--on Chestnut-street, for the purchase of some goods.

While one of the girls in attendance was waiting upon her, sheobserved a young woman, neatly, but poorly clad, whom she had oftenseen there before, come in, and go back to the far end of the store.In a little while, Mrs.--joined her, and received from her a smallpackage, handing her some money in return, when the young womanretired, and walked quickly away. This very operation Mrs. Harwoodhad several times seen repeated before, and each time she had feltmuch interested in the timid and retiring stranger, a glance atwhose face she had never been able to gain.

"Who is that young woman?" she asked of the individual inattendance.

"She's a poor girl, that Mrs.--buys fine work from, out of merecharity, she says."

"Do you know her name?"

"I have heard it, ma'am, but forget it."

"Have you any very fine French worked capes, Mrs.--," asked Mrs.Harwood, as the individual she addressed came up to that part of thecounter where she was standing, still holding in her hand the smallpackage which had been received from the young woman. This Mrs.Harwood noticed.

"O, yes, ma'am, some of the most beautiful in the city."

"Let me see them, if you please."

A box was brought, and its contents, consisting of a number of veryrich patterns of the article asked for, displayed.

"What is the price of this?" asked Mrs. Harwood, lifting one, thepattern of which pleased her fancy.

"That is a little damaged," Mrs.--replied. "But here is one of thesame pattern," unrolling the small parcel she had still continued tohold in her hand, "which has just been returned by a lady, to whom Isent it for examination, this morning."

"It is the same pattern, but much more beautifully wrought," Mrs.Harwood said, as she examined it carefully. "These are all French,you say?"

"Of course, ma'am. None but French goods come of such exquisitefineness."

"What do you ask for this?"

"It is worth fifteen dollars, ma'am. The pattern is a rich one, andthe work unusually fine."

"Fifteen dollars! That is a pretty high price, is it not, Mrs.--?"

"O, no, indeed, Mrs. Harwood! It cost me very nearly fourteendollars--and a dollar is a small profit to make on such articles."

After hesitating for a moment or two, Mrs. Harwood said--

"Well, I suppose I must give you that for it, as it pleases me."'

And she took out her purse, and paid the price that Mrs.--hadasked. She still stood musing by the side of the counter, when theyoung woman who had awakened her interest a short time before,re-entered, and came up to Mrs.--, who was near her.

"I have a favour to ask, Mrs.--," she overheard her say, in a halftremulous, and evidently reluctant tone.

"Well, what is it?" Mrs.--coldly asked.

"I want six dollars more than I have got, for a very particularpurpose. Won't you advance me the price of three capes, and I willbring you in one a week, until I have made it up."

"No, miss," was the prompt and decisive answer--"I never pay any onefor work not done. Pay beforehand, and never pay, are the two worstkinds of pay!"

All this was distinctly heard by Mrs. Harwood, and her very heartached, as she saw the poor girl turn, with a disappointed air, away,and walk slowly out of the store.

"That's just the way with these people," ejaculated Mrs.--, inaffected indignation, meant to mislead Mrs. Harwood, who, shefeared, had overheard what the young woman had said. "They're alwaystrying in some way or other, to get the advantage of you."

"How so?" asked Mrs. Harwood, wishing to learn all she could aboutthe stranger who had interested her feelings.

"Why, you see, I pay that girl a good price for doing a certain kindof work for me, and the money is always ready for her, the momenther work is done. But, not satisfied with that, she wanted me, justnow, to advance her the price of three weeks' work. If I had beenfoolish enough to have done it, it would have been the last I evershould have seen of either money, work, or seamstress."

"Perhaps not," Mrs. Harwood ventured to remark.

"You don't know these kind of people as well as I do, Mrs. Harwood.I've been tricked too often in my time."

"Of course not," was the quiet reply. Then after a pause,

"What kind of sewing did she do for you, Mrs.--?"

"Nothing very particular; only a little fine work. I employ her,more out of charity, than anything else."

"Do you know anything about her?"

"She's old Graham's daughter, I believe. I'm told he died in theAlms-house, a few weeks ago."

"What old Graham?" Mrs. Harwood asked, in a quick voice.

"Why, old Graham, the rich merchant that was, a few years ago. Quitea tumble-down their pride has had, I reckon! Why, I remember whennothing in my store was good enough for them. But they are gladenough now to work for me at any price I choose to pay them."

For a few moments, Mrs. Harwood was so shocked that she could notreply. At length she asked--

"Which of the girls was it that I saw here, just now?"

"That was Mary."

"Do you know anything of Anna?"

"Yes. She stands in a store in Second-street."

"And Ellen?"

"Married to a drunken, worthless fellow, who abuses and half starvesher. But that's the way; pride must have a fall!"

"Where do they live?" pursued Mrs. Harwood.

"Indeed, and that's more than I know," Mrs.--replied, tossing herhead.

Unable to gain any further information, Mrs. Harwood left the store,well convinced that the richly-wrought cape, for which she had paidMrs.--fifteen dollars, had been worked by the hands of MaryGraham, for which she received but a mere pittance.

Poor Mary returned home disappointed and deeply troubled in mind.She had about three dollars in money, besides the two whichMrs.--had paid her. If the six she had asked for had only beenadvanced, as she fondly hoped would be the case, the aggregate sum,eleven dollars, added to three which Anna had saved, would haveenabled them to purchase a coat and hat for their brother, who wouldbe ready in a few days to go out. They were anxious to do, this,under the hope, that by providing him with clothes of a morerespectable appearance than he had been used to wearing, he would beled to think more of himself, seek better company, and thus befurther removed from danger. At her first interview with Mrs.--,Mary's heart had failed her--and it was only after she had left thestore and walked some squares homeward, that she could rally herselfsufficiently to return and make her request. It was refused, as hasbeen seen.

"Did Mrs.--grant your request?" was almost the first question thatAnna asked of her sister that evening, when she returned from thestore.

"No, Anna, I was positively refused," Mary replied, the tears risingand almost gushing over her cheeks.

"Then we will only have to do the best we can with what little wehave. We shall not be able to get him a new coat; but we can havehis old one done up, with a new collar and buttons,--I priced a pairof pantaloons at one of the clothing-stores, in Market-street, as Icame up this evening, and the man said three dollars and a half.They looked pretty well. There was a vest, too, for a dollar. Iheard one of the young men in the store say, two or three days ago,that he had sold his old hat, which was a very good one, to thehatter, from whom he had bought a new one--or rather, that thehatter had taken the old one on account, valued at a dollar. I askedhim a question or two, and learned that many hatters do this, andsell the old hats at the same that they have allowed for them. Oneof these I will try to get,--even if a good deal worn; it will lookfar better than the one he has at present."

"In that case, then," Mary said, brightening up, "we can still gethim fitted up respectably. O, how glad I shall be! Don't you think,sister, that we have good reason to hope for him?"

"I try to think so, Mary. But my heart often trembles with fearfulapprehensions when I think of his going out among his old associatesagain. It will be little less than a miracle if he should not fall."

"Don't give way to desponding thoughts, sister. Let us hope sostrongly for the best, that our very hope shall compass its ownfruition. He cannot, he must not, go back!"

Anna did not reply. Her own feelings were inclined to droop anddespond, but she did not wish to have her sister's droop and despondlikewise. One reason for her saddened feelings arose from the fact,that she had a painful consciousness that she should not long beable to retain her present situation. Her health was sinking sorapidly, that it was only by the aid of strong resolutions, whichlifted her mind up and sustained her in spite of bodily weakness,that she was at all enabled to get through with her duties. This shewas conscious could not last long.

On the next morning, when she attempted to rise from her bed, shebecame so faint and sick that she was compelled to lie down again.The feeling of alarm that instantly thrilled through her bosom, lestshe should no longer be able to minister to the wants of her mother,and especially of her brother at this important crisis in his life,acted as a stimulant to exhausted nature, and endowed her with adegree of artificial strength that enabled her to make another andmore successful effort to resume her wearying toil.

But so weak did she feel, even after she had forced herself to takea few mouthfuls of food at breakfast time, that she lingered fornearly half an hour longer than her usual time of starting in orderto allow her system to get a little braced up, so that she couldstand the long walk she had to take.

"Good by, brother," she said in a cheerful tone, coming up to thebed upon which Alfred lay, and stooping down and kissing him. "Youmust try and sit up as much as you can to-day."

"Good by, Anna. I wish you didn't have to go away and stay so long."

To this, Anna could not trust herself to reply. She only pressedtightly the hand she held in her own, and then turned quickly away.

It was nearly three quarters of an hour later than the time thedifferent clerks were required to be at the store, when Anna camein, her side and head both paining her badly, in consequence ofhaving walked too fast.

"It's three quarters of an hour behind the time," the storekeepersaid, with a look and tone of displeasure, as he drew out his watch."I can't have such irregularity in my store, Miss Graham. This isthe third time within a few days, that you have come late."

A reply instantly rose to Anna's tongue, but she felt that it wouldbe useless--and would, perhaps, provoke remarks deeply wounding toher feelings. She paused, therefore, only a moment, with a bowedhead, to receive her rebuke, and then passed quickly, and with ameek, subdued air, to her station behind the counter. There weresome of her fellow-clerks who felt for and pitied Anna--there wereothers who experienced a pleasure in hearing her reproved.

All through that day, with only the respite of some ten or fifteenminutes, when she retired to eat alone the frugal repast of breadand cold meat that she had brought with her for her dinner, did Annastand behind the shop-man's counter, attending to his customers witha cheerful air and often a smiling countenance. She spoke to no oneof the pain in her breast, back, and side; and none of those aroundher dreamed that, from extreme lassitude, she could scarcely standbeside the counter.

To her, suffering as she did, the hours passed slowly and heavilyaway. It seemed as if evening would never come--as if she would haveto yield the struggle, much as she strove to keep up for the sake ofthose she loved.

But even to the weary, the heavy laden, and the prisoner, the slowlingering hours at length pass on, and the moment of respite comes.The shadows of evening at last began to fall dimly around, and Annaretired from her position of painful labour, and took her wayhomeward. But not even the anticipation of speedily joining thoseshe loved, had power so to buoy up her spirits, that her body couldrise above its depressed and weakened condition. Her weary stepswere slowly taken, and it seemed to her that she should never beable to reach home. Many, very many depressing thoughts passedthrough her mind as she proceeded slowly on her homeward way. Thecondition of her sister Ellen troubled her exceedingly. Aboutone-third of her own and Mary's earnings were required to keep herand her little ones from absolute suffering; and Mary, like herself,she too plainly perceived to be rapidly sinking under her burdens.

"What is to be done when we fail, heaven only knows!" she murmured,as a vivid consciousness of approaching extremity arose in her mind.

As she said this, the idea of her brother presented itself, with thehope that he would now exert for them a sustaining and supportingenergy--that he would be to them at last a brother. But thisthought, that made her heart leap in her bosom, she put aside withan audible--

"No,--no,--Do not rest on such a feeble hope!"

At last her hand was upon the latch, and she lifted it and entered.

"I am glad to see you home again, Anna," Alfred said, with anexpression of real pleasure and affection; as she came in.

"And I am glad to see you sitting up and looking so well, brother,"Anna replied, her gloomy thoughts at once vanishing. "How do youfeel now?"

"O, I feel much better, sister. In a few days I hope I shall be ableto go out. But how are you? It seems to me that you do not lookwell."

"I do feel very much fatigued, Alfred," Anna said, while her tone,in spite of her effort to make it appear cheerful, became sad. "Weare not permitted in our store to sit down for a moment, and I getso tired by night that I can hardly keep up."

"But surely, Anna, you do not stand up all day long."

"Yes. Since I left this morning, I have been standing every moment,with the exception of the brief period I took to eat my dinner."

This simple statement smote upon the heart of the young man, andmade him silent and thoughtful. He felt that, but for his neglect ofduty--but for his abandonment of himself to sensual and besottingpleasures, this suffering, this self-devotion need not be.

Anna saw that what she had said was paining the mind of her brother,and she grieved that she had been betrayed into making any allusionto herself. To restore again the pleased expression to Alfred'scountenance, she dexterously changed the subject to a more cheerfulone, and was rewarded for her effort by seeing his eye againbrighten and the smile again playing about his lips.

Instead of sitting down after tea and assisting Mary with herembroidery, as she usually did, Anna took a book and read aloud forthe instruction and amusement of all; but most for the sake ofAlfred-that he might feel with them a reciprocal pleasure, and thusbe enabled to perceive that there was something substantial to fallback upon, if he would only consent to abandon the bewildering andinsane delights to which he had given himself up for years. Theeffect she so much desired was produced upon the mind of herbrother. He did, indeed, feel, springing up within him, a new-bornpleasure,--and wondered to himself how he could so long have strayedaway from such springs of delight, to seek bitter waters in atangled and gloomy wilderness.

When the tender good-night was at last said, and Mary stretched herwearied limbs in silent thoughtfulness beside her sister, there wasa feeble hope glimmering in the dark and gloomy abyss of doubt anddespondency that had settled upon her mind--a hope that her brotherwould go forth from his sick chamber a changed man. On this hope,fancy conjured up scenes and images of delight, upon which her minddwelt in pleased and dreamy abstraction, until sleep stole upon her,and locked up her senses.

When she awoke, it was with the same sinking sensation that she hadexperienced on the morning previous, and, indeed, on every morningfor many months past. The remembrance of the rebuke she had receivedon the day before for being late at her place of business, acted asa kind of stimulant to arouse her to exertion, so as to be able toget off in time. It was, however, a few minutes past the hour whenshe entered the store, the owner of which looked at his watch,significantly, as she did so.

This day passed, as the previous one had, in pain and extremeweariness--and so did the next, and the next, the poor girl'sstrength failing her too perceptibly. During this time, Alfred'scoat had been repaired, a pair of pantaloons and a vest bought forhim, and also a second-hand hat of very respectable appearance--allready so soon as he should be strong enough to venture out. Howanxiously, and yet in fear and trembling, did the sisters lookforward to that period, which was to strengthen their feeble hopes,or scatter them to the winds!

"I do really feel very ill," Anna said, sinking back upon herpillow, after making an attempt to rise, one morning some four orfive days after that on which Mary has been represented asendeavouring to get an advance from Mrs.--.

"What is the matter?" Mary inquired kindly.

"My head aches most violently--and grows confused so soon as Iattempt to rise."

"Then I would lie still, Anna."

"No, I must be up, and getting ready to go to the store."

"I wouldn't go down to the store, if I were you, Anna. You hadbetter rest for a day."

"I cannot afford to lose a day," Anna said, again rising in bed, andsitting upright, until the swimming in her head, that commenced uponthe least motion, had subsided. Then she got out upon the floor, andstood for a few moments, while her head seemed reeling, and sheevery instant about to sink down. In a little while this dizzinesswent off, but her head throbbed and ached with aggravated violence.

At breakfast, she forced herself to swallow a small portion of food,although her stomach loathed it; and then, with trembling limbs anda feeling of faintness, she went out into the open air, and took herway to the store. The fresh breeze, as it fell coolingly on herfevered forehead, revived her in a degree; but long ere she hadreached the store her limbs were sinking under her with excessivefatigue.

"Late again, miss--" said her employer, as she came in, with a lookof stern reproof.

"I have not been very well, sir," Anna replied, lifting her pale,languid face, and looking appealingly into the countenance of thestore-keeper.

"Then you should stay at home altogether, Miss," was is coldresponse, as he turned away, leaving her to proceed to heraccustomed station at the counter.

The day happening to be one of unusual activity in business, Annawas kept so constantly busy, that she could not find a moment inwhich to relieve the fatigue she felt by even leaning on thecounter. Customer after customer came and went, and box after boxwas taken from, and replaced again upon the shelves, in what seemedto her an endless round. Sometimes her head ached so violently, thatit was with difficulty she could see to attend correctly to herbusiness. And sometimes she was compelled to steady herself byholding to the counter to prevent sinking to the floor, from afeeling of faintness, suddenly passing over her. Thus she heldbravely on, under the feeble hope that her indisposition, as shetried mentally to term it, would wear off.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon that the fever which hadbeen very high all through the day, began to subside. This symptomshe noticed with an emotion of pleasure, as indicating a healthyreaction in her system.

It was but half an hour after, that she sunk, fainting, to thefloor, at her place beside the counter. When the fever abated,exhausted nature gave way.

For nearly an hour she remained insensible. And it was nearly twohours before she had so far recovered as to be able to walk, whenshe was suffered to go away unattended. It was seven o'clock, when,with a face almost as white as ashes, and nearly sinking to theground with weakness, she arrived at home, and opening the door,slowly entered.

"O, Anna! What ails you?" exclaimed her mother.

"I feel very sick," the poor girl replied, sinking into a chair."But where is Alfred?" she asked, in a quicker tone, in which was astrong expression of anxiety, as she glanced her eye about the room,in a vain search for him.

"He has walked out," Mary said.

"Has he!" ejaculated Anna. "How long has he been away?"

"It is now nearly four hours,'" Mary said, endeavouring to concealthe distress she felt, in pity for her sister, who was evidentlyquite ill.

"Four hours!" exclaimed Anna, her face blanching to still whiterhue. "Four hours! And do you not know where he is?"

"Indeed we do not, Anna. He went out to take a short walk, and saidhe would not be gone more than ten or twenty minutes."

Anna did not reply, but turned slowly away, and entering herchamber, threw herself exhausted upon her bed, feeling so utterlywretched, that she breathed an audible wish that she might die. Inabout ten minutes a carriage stopped at the door; and in a momentafter, amid the rattling of departing wheels, Alfred entered,looking better and happier than he had looked for a long, long time.A single glance told the mother and sister that all was right.

"O, brother! How could you stay away so long?" Mary said, springingto his side, and grasping tightly his arm.

"I did not expect, when I walked out, that it would be so longbefore I returned, Mary," he replied, kissing her cheekaffectionately. "But I met with an old, though long estrangedfriend, who seeing that I had been ill, and needed fresh air,insisted on taking me out into the country in his carriage. I couldbut consent. I was, however, so weak, as to be obliged to go to bed,when about three miles from the city, and lie there for a couple ofhours. But I feel well, very well now; and have some good news totell you. But where is Anna?"

"She has just come in, and gone up to her chamber. I do not thinkher at all well to-night," Mary said.

"Poor girl! She is sacrificing herself for the good of others,"Alfred remarked, with tenderness and interest.

"Shall I call her down?" Mary asked.

"O, yes,--by all means."

Mary went up and found her sister lying across the bed, with herface buried in a pillow.

"Anna! Anna!" she said, taking hold of her and shaking her gently.

Anna immediately arose, and looking wildly around her, mutteredsomething that her sister could not comprehend.

"Anna, brother's come home."

But she did not seem to comprehend her meaning.

The glaring brightness of Anna's eyes, and her flushed cheeks,convinced Mary that all was not right. Stepping to the head of thestairs, she called to Alfred, who instantly came up.

"Here is Alfred, Anna," she said, as she re-entered the chamber,accompanied by her brother.

For a moment or two, Anna looked upon him with a vacant stare, andthen closing her eyes, sunk back upon the bed, murmuring

"It is all over--all over."

"What is all over, Anna?" her sister asked.

"What is all over?" the sick girl responded, in a sharp, quick tone,rising suddenly, and staring at Mary with a fixed look. "Why, it'sall over with him! Havn't I drained my heart's blood for him? Havn'tI stood all day at the counter for his sake, when I felt that I wasdying? But it's all over now! He is lost, and I shall soon be out ofthis troublesome world!"

And then the poor half-conscious girl, covered her face with herhands and sobbed aloud.

"Don't do so, dear sister!" Alfred said, pressing up to the bedside,and drawing his arm around her. "Don't give way so! You won't haveto stand at the counter any longer. I am Alfred--your brother--yourlong lost, but restored brother, who will care for you and work foryou as you have so long cared for and worked for him. Take courage,dear sister! There are better and happier days for you. Do not giveup now, at the very moment when relief is at hand."

Anna looked her brother in the face for a few moments, steadily, asher bewildered senses gradually returned, and she began tocomprehend truly what he said, and that it was indeed her brotherwho stood thus before her, and thus appealed to her withaffectionate earnestness.

"O, Alfred," the almost heart-broken creature, said--as she bentforward, and leaned her head upon his bosom--"Heaven be praised, ifyou are really and truly in earnest in what you say!"

"I am most solemnly in earnest, dear sister!" the young man said,with fervency and emphasis. "Since I saw you this morning, I havesigned my name to the total abstinence pledge, and I will die beforethat pledge shall be broken! And that is not all. I met CharlesWilliams immediately after that act, and have had a long interviewwith him. He confessed to me that he had often felt that he was muchto blame for having first introduced me into dissipated company, andthat he now desired to aid me in reforming and assisting my motherand sisters, if I would only try and abandon my past evil courses. Iresponded most gladly to his generous interest, and he then told me,that if I would enter his and his father's store as a clerk, hewould make my salary at once a thousand dollars per annum. Of courseI assented to the arrangement with thankfulness. Dear mother! Dearsisters! There is yet, I trust, a brighter day in store for you."

"May our Heavenly Father cause these good resolutions to abide forever, my son!" Mrs. Graham, who had followed her children up stairs,said, with tearful earnestness.

"He will cause them to abide, mother, I know that he, will," Alfredreplied.

Just at that moment some one entered below--immediately after quickfeet ascended the stairs, and Ellen bounded into the room.

"O, I have such good news to tell!" she exclaimed, panting forbreath as she entered. "My husband has joined the reformers! I feltso glad that I had to run over and let you know. O, aint it goodnews, indeed!" And the poor creature clapped her hands together inan ecstacy of delight.

"It is truly good news, my child," Mrs. Graham said, as she drew herarm about the neck of Ellen. "And we too have glad tidings. Alfredhas joined them also, and has got a situation at a thousand dollarsa year."

Ellen, who had always loved her brother, tenderly, notwithstandinghis vile habit of life, turned quickly towards him, and flinging herarms about his neck, said while the tears gushed from her eyes,

"Dear brother! I have never wholly despaired of this hour. Truly, mycup of joy is full and running over!"

It was about eleven o'clock on the next day, as Mary and her mothersat conversing by the side of the bed upon which lay Anna, now tooill to sit up, that a knock was heard below. Mrs. Graham went downand opened the door, when an elegantly dressed lady entered, callingher by name as she did so, at the same time asking for Anna andMary.

She was shown up stairs by the mother, who did not recognise her,although both voice and face seemed familiar. On entering thechamber, Mary turned to her and exclaimed--

"Mary Williams! Is it possible!"

"And Mary Graham, is it indeed possible that I see youthus!"--(kissing her)" And Anna--is that pale, worn face, the face ofmy old friend and companion, Anna Graham?" And she bent down overthe bed and kissed the lips and cheek of the sick girl, tenderly,while her eyes grew dim with tears. "How changed in a few shortyears!" she added, as she took a proffered chair. "Who could havedreamed, seven years ago, that we should ever meet thus!"

In a short time, as the first shock and surprise of meeting passedoff, Mary Williams, or rather Mrs. Harwood, entered into a seriousconversation with Mrs. Graham, and her daughters, in reference tothe past, the present, and the future. After learning all that shecould of their history since their father's failure, which wasdetailed without disguise by Mary--Anna was too feeble toconverse--Mrs. Harwood turned to Mary and asked suddenly--

"Do you know this cape, Mary?" alluding to one she had on.

"O, yes--very well."

"You worked it, did you not?"

"Yes."

"For what price?"

"Two dollars."

"Is it possible! I bought it of Mrs.--for French, and paid her forit fifteen dollars."

"Fifteen dollars!" ejaculated Mary, in surprise. "How shamefullythat woman has imposed upon me! During the last two years, I haveworked at least one hundred capes for her, each of which brought mein only two dollars. No doubt she has regularly sold them for Frenchgoods, at from ten to fifteen dollars apiece."

"No doubt of it. I, myself, have bought several from her during thattime at high prices, all of which may have been worked by you. I sawyou in her store a few days ago, but did not recognise you, althoughyour appearance, as it did several times here before, attracted myattention. I had my suspicions, after I had learned from Mrs.--whoyou were, that you had wrought this cape, and from having overheardyou ask her for an advance of six dollars, as the price of threecapes, was pretty well satisfied that two dollars was all youreceived for it. I at once determined to seek you out, and try toaid you in your severe struggle with the world. It was only lastevening that I learned from my brother where you lived--and I alsolearned, what rejoiced my heart, that there was about occurring afavourable change in your circumstances. If, however, your healthshould permit, and your inclination prompt you to do so, I will takecare that you get a much better price for any capes that you mayhereafter work. They are richly worth ten and twelve dollars apiece,and at that price, I have no doubt but that I can get sales formany."

"Bless you, Mary! Bless you!" Anna said, smiling through gushingtears, as she rose up in the bed, and bent over towards her oldfriend and companion. "Your words have fallen upon my heart like ahealing balsam!"

Mrs. Harwood came forward, and received the head of Anna upon herbosom, while she drew an arm round her waist, and bent down andpressed her with tenderness and affection.

A better day had truly dawned upon this ruined and deeply afflictedfamily. Mrs. Harwood and her brother continued to be their steadyfriends. For a year Alfred remained in his new situation as anefficient clerk, and at the end of that time had his salaryadvanced. During that period, Mary, and Anna, whose health hadbecome measurably restored, employed all their spare time inembroidery, which, at the excellent prices which, through the aid ofMrs. Harwood, they were enabled to get for their really beautifulwork, brought in a handsome addition to their brother's earnings,and this enabled them to live in independence, comfort andrespectability. As for Ellen, her husband had become truly areformed man, and provided for her comfortably.

It is now nearly two years since this happy change took place, andthere is every appearance that another and a still happier one isabout to occur in reference to Anna. Charles Williams is seen veryoften, of late, riding out with her and attending her to publicplaces. The reader can easily guess the probable result. If there;is not a wedding-party soon, then appearances, in this case atleast, are very deceptive.

THE END.

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