Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 19

The day ended; the votes were counted, and Laneville was proclaimed elected by a majority of one!

The night was one of carousal. The betting on both sides had been considerable, and the payment of these debts caused the small change to circulate pretty freely among the dispensers of eatables and drinkables.

This night James yielded more easily than ever before to the cravings of an appet.i.te that began to master him.

Poor fellow! Deluded man! A fond, a devoted, a trusting wife waiting at home, watching the hands of the clock as they neared the mark of twelve, and listening for thy footfall! Thou, trusting in thine own strength, but to learn thy weakness, lying senseless among thy drinking mates in the hall of dissolute festivity!

Tom Moore may sing in praise of "wine and its sparkling tide;" but the sighing of wronged women and their tears shall toll the requiem of its praise.

CHAPTER VIII.

Notwithstanding the entreaties of George, added to those of Josephine, James continued in the way he had begun to walk, and which was leading him to ruin. The arguments of the one, and the tears of the other, were equally unavailing.

So far had he proceeded in a downward course that his employers remonstrated; and the same arguments they had used upon their former clerks were urged upon his consideration. Fearing the loss of situation, he repented, but it was only to fall again before the power of that appet.i.te with which he had tampered as with a torpid viper, which now felt the warmth of his embrace, and became a living, craving creature within his bosom.

His old companions perceived the change he was undergoing, and, like b.u.t.terflies that hovered about his path in sunshine, left him as clouds overshadowed his way. But he had friends who would not leave him. He had a wife who clung to him with all the affection of woman's love, and a brother whose hand was ever extended to aid him.

James saw the evil that threatened to overwhelm him; yet, strangely infatuated, he would not come to a fixed determination to reform so far as to sign the pledge.

The sun never shone with a brighter effulgence than it did on the morning of the 24th of July, 1849. The streets of Boston were filled with busy crowds, and banners and flags streamed from balconies and windows. Delegates of men from the suburbs poured into the city, and the sound of music filled the air. Men, women, and children, the rich and the poor, the merchant and the mechanic, the American and the foreigner, joined in the movement; and a stranger could not long remain ignorant of the fact that some great event was to transpire that day in the capital of the Old Bay State. Crowds gathered at the corners, and lined the princ.i.p.al thoroughfares.

"He has blist his own country, an' now he will bliss ours," said a well-dressed Irishman.

"An' that he will," was the response; "an' G.o.d bliss Father Mathew!"

"Amen," said half a dozen voices.

"He's coming!" exclaimed another. The sound of distant music was heard, and far up the street was seen approaching a dense ma.s.s of people. White banners mingled with the stars and stripes. Nearer they approached, and more distinct became, to the Irishman and his friends, the peals of music and the hurras of the mult.i.tude.

THEOBALD MATHEW, the friend of Ireland, was making his entry into Boston! Never man was more gladly welcome. Never was man more enthusiastically received. It seemed as though all men strove to do him homage, for they looked upon one who was the instrument, under G.o.d, of saving five millions of human beings from the greatest curse sin brought into the world; lifting them, and bidding them stand up as their Maker intended they should.

The "apostle" was seated in an open barouche, with his head uncovered, bowing to the crowds of stout men and fair women that filled the windows on either side, often shaking hands with those who pressed near him to do so.

A young man stood upon the side-walk watching its approach; and when the carriage in which he was seated came near where he stood, he took off his hat, pressed through the a.s.semblage, and, urging his way towards it, grasped the hand that was extended to him. The carriage stopped. Father Mathew arose, and, as his hand lay upon the head of the young man, he repeated the words of a pledge, which the latter, in a distinct tone, repeated after him. At its close, the words "I do!" were heard far and near, and James Clifton had taken the pledge!

This was done from no sudden impulse. During the previous week he had indulged rather freely, and when its effects were over he began for the first time to give serious thought upon the question whether it was not required of him to become a pledged man. He was becoming convinced that he was unsafe. He knew how often he had fallen, how liable he was to fall again, and that it might be never to rise. He found his companions did not look upon him with as much respect as formerly; and he determined to break down the pride of opinion, rather than have it break him down.

As he thought of his situation at Messrs. Laneville & Co.'s, he for a moment drew back, yet it was but for a moment. He resolved to leave it, and beg rather than continue to disgrace himself and bring ruin upon his relatives and friends. He was cheered by the thought that he had those around him who would furnish him with employment suited to his mind, and in the steady pursuit of which he might live well. This resolution was made a few days previous to the twenty- fourth, but he communicated it to no one.

James hurried from the crowd that gathered around him, and hastened to his home. The glad news preceded him, and his wife, meeting him at the door, caressed, blessed and welcomed him. George grasped his hand, and James, with tears in his eyes, asked pardon for the past, and promised much for the future.

"Once," said he, "I refused to sign. I trusted to my own self, and thought because I was young and strong I could resist temptation. I said I would not make myself a slave to a pledge, and clung to my promise till I found myself a slave to an appet.i.te. I ask your pardon, George, for the manner in which I treated your request."

"I grant it."

"Then I am happy, we are happy, and the future shall redeem the past."

The door opened, and a bright-eyed boy, bounding into the room, sprang upon his father, and, with a smile, said, "Father, I'm a Cadet of Temperance! We formed a little society this morning, 'cause Father Mathew has come to Boston. We've got six names, and we are to have more."

James kissed his child, and encouraged him to go on in the cause he had so early espoused.

Messrs. Laneville & Co. engaged a new clerk,--a young man of seventeen, hopeful, promising. He had heard of the fate of his predecessors, of the narrow escape of him whose place he was being trained to fill; but, like them and him, he thought himself stronger than the tempter at his side. That firm is in the home-desolating business to-day, though James has used much endeavor to induce them to relinquish it. The young man is there to-day, open to temptations which have conquered many strong men, have destroyed many mighty.

The pledge is with us to-day, open for those who have fallen, for those who yet stand,--an instrument of G.o.d, in human hands, to rescue the one and to preserve the other.

ANGELINA.

BLUE-EYED child, with flaxen ringlets, 'Neath my window played, one day; And its tiny song of gladness, Sounded like an angel's lay.

Roses bright in beauty blossomed Round the path the cherub trod Yet it seemed that child was fairest, Freshest from the hand of G.o.d.

Watched I her till hour of sunset Told me of the coming night, And the sun o'er rock and mountain Shed its flood of golden light.

Yet she gambolled, though the dew-drops Fell upon her thick and fast; Fearing ill, I went and told her,-- Dearest child, the day hath past: "Haste thee to thy home,--there waiting Is thy parent, thee to bless."

Then she hasted from the play-ground, To her mother's fond caress.

Stars shone forth in all their splendor, And the moon with silver light Rose in beauty, and presided Queen o'er all the hosts of night.

Days had pa.s.sed; I had not seen her, Had not heard her merry laugh, Nor those joyous tones that told me Of the joy her spirit quaffed.

Vain I asked whence Angelina Had departed,--none could tell; Feared I then that sorrow gathered O'er the child I loved so well.

Funeral train pa.s.sed by my window,-- Banished were all thoughts of mirth; And I asked of one who lingered, "Who hath pa.s.sed to heaven from earth?"

In his eye a tear-drop glistened, As he, turning, to me said, "Heaven now holds another angel,-- Little Angelina's dead!"

I could scarce believe the tidings, Till I stood above her grave, And beheld those flaxen ringlets, That so late did buoyant wave, Lie beside a face whose features Still in death did sweetly smile And methought angelic beauty Lingered on her cheeks the while.

At the pensive hour of twilight, Oft do angel-footsteps tread Near her grave, and flowers in beauty Blossom o'er the early dead; And a simple marble tablet Thence doth una.s.suming rise, And these simple words are on it,-- "Here our Angelina lies."

Oft at night, when others slumber, One bends o'er that holy spot; And the tear-drops fall unnumbered O'er her sad yet happy lot.

Friends, though oft they mourn her absence, Do in meek submission bow; For a voice from heaven is whispering, "Angelina's happy now."

FAREWELL, MY NATIVE LAND.