flMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
1.0
^1^ 125
50 ^^*
m
■u ». I
I.I
Ui
140
2.2
H2.0
La.
1.25 1.4 |||.6
<
6"
►
V]
0>
y>
'^
^ ^ "^ A^ /• y^
Hiotographic
Sciences
Corporation
33 WfST KtAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. M580
(716) 8/3-4503
"•i.^
.V.
CIHM/ICMH
Microfiche
CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.
Canadian Institute fcr Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microraprod'jctions historiques
Technira! and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques
The institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Features of this
copy which may be bibliographically unique,
which may alter any of the images in the
reproduction, or which may significantly change
the usual method of filming, are checiced belo< 4.
L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a 6td possible de se procurer. Les d^taiis
de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du
point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier
une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une
modification dans la m6thode normale lie filmage
sont indiqu^s ci-dessous.
n
Coloured covers/
Couverture de couleur
I I Covers damaged/
D
D
D
n
D
Couverture endommagde
Covers resf^red and/or laminated/
Couverture restaiirie et/ou pelliculde
Cover title missing/
Le titre de couverture manque
I I Coloured maps/
Cartes g^ographiquss en couleur
Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/
Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire)
□ Coloured plates and/or Illustrations/
ianches et/ou illustrations en couleur
Bound with other material/
RbM^ avec d'autres documents
Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion
aiong interior margin/
La reliure serr^e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la
distortion le long de la marge intdrieure
Blank leaves added during restoration may
appear within the text. Whenever possible, these
have been omitted from filming/
li se peut que certaines pages blanches ajouties
lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte,
mais, lorsque =ela dtait possible, ces pages n'ont
pas dt6 film^es.
□
D
n
□
n
D
Coloured pages/
Pages de couleur
Pages damaged/
Pages endommagdes
Pages restored and/or laminated/
Pages restaurdes et/ou pellicul6es
Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Pages ddcolordes, tacheties ou piqu6es
Pages detached/
Pages d^tachdes
Showthrough/
Transparence
Quality of print varies/
Quality in^gale de I'impression
Includes supplementary mateiial/
Comprend du materiel suppl^mentaire
Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible
Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata
slips, tissues, etc., have been rsfilmed to
ensure the best possible image/
Les pages totalement ou partiellement
obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure,
etc., ont M filmies A nouveau de facon d
obtenir la meilleure image possible.
D
Additional comments:/
Commentaires supplementaires-
This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/
Ce document est film^ au taux de reduction indiqu^ ci-dessous.
10X 14X 18X 22X
26X
30X
7
12X
16X
20X
MX
28X
32X
Tho copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks
to the generosity c?:
National Library of Canada
L'exempiaire film6 fut reproduit grflce A la
g6n4ro8it6 de:
Bibliothdque nationale du Canada
The images appearing here are the best quality
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with the
filming contract specifications.
Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et
de la nettetd de l'exempiaire film6, et en
conformity avec les conH tions du contrat de
filmape.
Original copies :n printed paper covers are filmed
beginning with the front cover and ending on
the last page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All
other original copies are filmed beginning on the
first page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, and ending on the last page with a printed
or illustrated impression.
The last recorded frame on each microfiche
shall contain the symbol — »> (meaning "CON-
TINUED "), or the symbol V (meaning "END"),
whichever applies.
Leo exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en
papier est imprim6e sont film6s en commen9ant
par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la
derni^re page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression «)u d'illustration, soit par le second
plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires
originaux sont filmis en commen^ant par la
premidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par
la dernidre page qui comporte une telle
empreinte.
Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur !a
dernidre imaue de chaque microfiche, selon le
cas: le symboie -«»• signifie "A SUIVKE", le
symbols V signifie "FIN".
Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at
different reduction rntios. Those too large to be
entirely included in one exposure are filmed
beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to
right and top to bottom, as many frames as
required. The following diagrams illustrate the
method:
Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre
filmds A des taux de reduction diffdrents.
Lorsquti le document est trop gr^ind pour dtre
reproduit en un seul clich6, il est f ilm6 d partir
de Tangle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche h droite,
et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre
d'images n^cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants
illustrent la m6thode.
■
1
2
3
32X
1
2
3
4
5
6
_ ^ • :'■ ■
INSTITUTE.
■/■
\v
rmns^
■'■■ '-'I
V^.'V'^
\
«» « •
\
INSTITUTE.
THE RED, RED WINE.
i «V . ir'iMrt'»f»i>wAyHikfrtia i AiW ih %ifffirt i kA
I
\
K
•y -■ »•■
"'«
\
REV. j. JAC rvSON UKAY
^^.Ai^ -;..,.i. .^pi^^j* . , .. -ir^ ii r^ , ^;
^
'.■ -if'
■■•^- >
•■■iv •
1 1 ■( .
v/-'.
i^ "•
;:';+-.p''V
'^^f^f;--^? "
■ . ■, !!('
■:*
V .•!^
/ r^v»
■Hi.
•i?^
':*
\4
.1
' • ^ .: V-.' ^» >•<■!. .«i ■. ■ *^J>yi',l
.^t■:i4^'
THE
Red, Red Wine
A TEMPERANCE STORV.
HY
J. JACKSON WRAY.
Author of "Nestleton Magna," 'Matthew Mellowdew,'
etc.
TORONTO:
WILLIAM BRIGGS,
WESLEV BUILDINGS.
C W. COAXES, Montreal, Que, S. F. HUESTIS. Halifax N S
1895.
g^-yt«WWK Myy»gy y_;^
K 3
J
EnterwI. aocordinn to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, In the year one
thoii8at)(l ei^ht hundred and ninet.v-flve, by William Bkiouh, Toronto, in the
Uttli'e of the Miniater cf Agriculture, Ottawa.
PREFACE.
T T is a source of satisfaction to me to have the privilege
■*■ of publishing the Rev. J. Jackson Wray's last, and
perhaps his most powerfully-written, tale. Like the
author's other works, it has a purpose, and in this in-
stance it is that of advocating the claims of temperance.
For years, in season and out of season, he was a champion
In the cause of total abstinence. With voice and pen he
denounced the traffic which is carrying woe into the happy
homes of this and other lands, and filling to overflowing
our prisons, workhouses, and asylums.
The scene of the story is laid in East Yorkshire,
his native district, which he knew and loved so well.
After toiling beyond his strength in busy London, he
would return to breathe his native air, and gain strength
for future undertakings. Here he would collect facts for
illustration of sermon, speech, and s:ory, and from his own
remembrarces and from his own folk were the materials
gathered for this book. In the first instance the facts
were used for temperance addresses, called "Through
VI
PREFACE.
One Street." This street was the main thoroughfare of
the village where he spent his early life.
Mr. T. Jackson VVray, the author's son, tells me that
the work was cuticised when in serial form as being
overdrawn, too tragical, in fact. The fault is due
not to the narrator, but to ihe drink, for there is not
one incident, however terrible, which has not had its
counterpart in the lives of those who at one time dwelt
in that "One Street."
It now only remains for me to thank the author's son
for going carefully over the work before it was printed
m its present form, and to express a hope that it will
be welcomed by the reading public, and induce many
to join the temperance ranks.
The illustrations in this volume are by Mr. Kenneth
M. Skeaping, and the frontispiece is from a photograph by
Mr. Barry, of Hull, taken shortly before Mr. Wray's death.
William Andrews.
Tub Hull Press.
CONTENTS.
Chapter
1.
Chapter
II.
Chapter
III.
Chapter
IV.
Chapter
V.
Chapter
VI.
Chapter
VII.
Chapter
VIII.
Chapter
IX.
Chapter
X.
Chapter XI.
Chapter XII.
Chapter XIII.
Chapter
XIV.
Chapter XV.
Chapter
XVI.
Chapter
XVII.
Chapter
XVIII
Chapter
XIX.
Chapter XX.
Chapter
XXI.
Chapter XXII.
rAGR
I
9
17
»5
32
41
48
59
67
7?
79
86
94
lOI
106
116
122
127
U3
143
150
155
.iiriki
m
U
\l-
J
^t'-
f
viu
CONTENTS
Chapter
XXIII.
Chaptkr
XXIV.
Chapter
XXV. -
Chapter
XXVI. -
Chapter
XXVII.
Chapter
XXVIII.
Chapter
XXIX.
Chapter
XXX. -
Chapter
XXXI.
Chapter
XXXII.
Chapter
XXXIII.
Chapter
XXXIV.
Chapter
XXXV.
Chapter
XXXVI.
Chapter
XXXVII.
.Chapter
Chapter
XXXVIII.
XXXIX.
Chapter
XL.
Chapter
XLI.
Chapter
XLIL -
Chapter
XLIIL -
Chapter XLIV. -
Chapter
XLV. .
PAGE
I 60
186
'95
201
206
213
218
223
232
237
244
249
254
263
270
276
282
290
295
30Q
%
,tl«mib'i,hUn^
u> —
THE RED, RED WINE.
> • <
CHAPTER I.
IT was Sabbath moniing. The midsummer glory was
over all. Midsummer scents and sounds filled the
genial air, and the melodious music of the Netherborough
bells, wafted across field and brook and garden, fell upon
the ears of the church-going towns-folk as a fitting
accompaniment. The peal of bells that swung in the
square, squpt, red-brick steeple of Netherborough Parish
Church, was quite notable for its silvern harmonies for
many and many a mile around ; but 1 dare to say that
never since they left the moulds of the bell-foundry had
they given forth mellower music than on that Midsummer
Sabbath morning, full fifty years ago.
That, at any rate, was the opinion of old Aaron Brigham,
as he left his little cottage on the Spaldon Road, and bent
his steps towards "Zion Chapel," the humble temple
wherein, for well-nigh fourscore years, he had. been
accustomed to worship God.
Try to get a good look at him. See, he doffs his low felt
hat respectfully as the Vicar passes by, for the Reverend
Septimus Bartley has also heard the summons of the
Sabbath bells, and is on his way to Church, and to his high
and holy duty there. The vicar has a warm, hearty
greeting for his aged parishioner, though he is going
I
--"S!
F'
a.
>.
^^
.M
-il*-
JsSiM.^
2 THE RED, RED WINE.
like a stray sheep to the conventicle yonder, near the
market place, rather than to the true fold where the
Vicar is the shepherd of the sheep. Mr. Bartley knows old
Aaron well, and admires and respects him ; and Aaron,
staunch Nonconformist as he is, never bends his head in
" Zion " without offering a prayer for the Vicar in his desk
and pulpit, that God will " help him from on high, an' give
him a good tahme while he leads his congregation i' prayer
an' praise, an' while he breaks to 'em the bread o' life." It
would probably not be too much to say that old Aaron had
offered exactly that prayer, without gap or change, Sunday
by Sunday, for a good half-hundred years.
Aaron's locks, as the June sunshine falls on them, are
seen to be long and thin, silky white in texture and in
colour ; and, in the light of the midsummer morning, it is
not any great stretch of fancy to imagine a halo round them,
and sure I am, that never a saint in the calendar could have
carried his coronal more fittingly than he. The old man is
tall in stature still, though the burden of his fourscore years
has bowed him somewhat. His step is wonderfully firm
and steady, and with the aid of his " trusty staff," he can
get over the ground a good deal more quickly than some of
his contemporaries, who are twenty years his junior, — but
of this, as the old authors say, more anon.
Just as old Aaron was nearing his destination, he was
met by a little maid of some six summers, or seven at most.
She came bounding towards him, as with an absolute
certainty that a loving reception awaited her. She was
very poorly clad ; the boots upon her feet were so worn and
broken that they were scarcely deserving of the name, and
her little frock was but " a thing of shreds and patches,"
a small and tattered banneret that told how the battle had
gone in the fierce fight with poverty and want. It was an
old young face, painfully pinched and pale, that looked up
into the old man's eyes ; but the glad smile that beamed all
TH^ RED, REJ WINE.
over it at the sight of him, brought out an innocent beauty
that sorrow had failed to kill The Httle fingers that twined
around the horny hand of the aged patriarch were rough,
and red, and swollen, with such labour as nevev ought to be
the hap of so wee a toiler. The old man bent low and
kissed her, then lifted her in his arms, and kissed her again,
as he said :
" Why, Kitty, my bairn ! My sweet lahtle Kitty. What's
browt tl.oo here this mornin'? Is the' goin' te t* chapil
wi' me?"
Kitty looked at her ragged frock, and broken boots ; and
as the smile left her face, she shook her head sadly, and
heaved a half sigh, half sob, and drooped her curly little
head on the old man's shoulder.
"Nivver mind, lahtle lassie!" said Aaron tenderly,
patting her back in soothing fashion. *' I might ha' knoan.
Nivver mind. Thoo can say thy prayers at home, can't
tha' ? What hez tha' cum for, Kitty ? "
"Only to see you," she whispered lovingly, and folding
her Utile arms around his neck, she kissed him again and
again and again.
Then she gave him to understand that the interview was
over, that her object was attained, and climbing down from
her sweet resting-place, she hastened away, as fast as her
wee legs could carry her, to the mean and miserable shelter
which she called " home ! "
" Poor lahtle Kitty ! " said Aaron to himself, as he
entered the Chapel. He did not wipe away the kisses from
his lips. Why should he ? No worshipper in " Zion " that
morning brought a more precious or acceptable offering to
the Lord, and never "a pair of turtle-doves, or two young
pigeons" was so dearly valued by the Master of the
House !
The Master of the House, and He alone, knew how
earnestly, how lovingly, how pleadingly, Aaron Brigham
eiii.-*-
m
::^
THE RED, RED WINE.
prayed that morning for * lahtle Kitty," for her "feyther,"
and her "home."
I think I had better, at this point, tender to my readers
another word or two of explanation. Story-writers —
" novelist " I am not, and never shall be — are always
supposed to introduce a "hero" and a "heroine." They
are exp'jcted to deal with love-passages, and entanglements,
and trials, to prove that the " course of true love never did
run smooth," and all the rest of it. Now, I desire to say
that my " hero " in this history is Aaron Brigham, whose
years are fourscore years and five ; and my " heroine " is
• none other than " lahtle Kitty," whose years are six, or as she
would certainly have put it — " going of seven." They are
an oddly-assorted couple, I know ; but love levels all
distinctions, and never a fonder pair of lovers ever shone in
the pages of romance, and by the time we shall have to
take our leave of them — not without tears^ as I fully expect
— it shall go hard with me, my readers, if you are not head
and ears in love with them, too ! Let me introduce them
properly.
Aaron Brigham, eighty-five. Kitty Smart, six.
Aaron had a " good time " at Zion that morning. He
generally had, for he never went but with a firm intent^ to
gain a personal interview with the Master of the House,
and as the Master was always of the same mind, Aaron was
able, like the two disciples, to return, saying, " I have seen
the Lord." On this occasion, however, there were special
reasons why the hour of worship should be an hour of
gladness and of peace. His heart and soul were filled with
strong sympathy and desire for another's well-being, though
that other was only a ragged little maiden from the street.
That is worship such as our Elder Brother dearly loves and
owns ; and the Jewish proverb is true, my masters, true as
the dear love of Christ, " He that pnys for another is heard
for himself."
THE RED, RED WINE.
5
There must have been some show of all this in Aaron
Brigham's bearing as he strode home with buoyant step and
cheerful mien. He was met on the way by two of the
towns-folk, George Gaffer, the painter, and Philip Lambert,
the barber, a pair of cronies who had three things in
common — unusual skill and ability in their callings, unusual
subjection to the bondage of John Barleycorn, an unusual
antipathy to the Ghristian and the Ghristian creed.
" Hallo, Aaron," said Gaffer, with a ready jeer, he had
already had to have a " refresher " at the sign of the
" Swinging Gate," day of rest though it was. *' Why,
where ha' yo' been, nian ? You should ha' been with us.
My word, but it hez been grand. What ha' yo' been doin' ?
You look as though summat was worth fetchin' ; quite
blithe like, and lithesome as a young four-year-old."
" Hey, that you do," interposed Lambert, with a view to
uphold his comrade.
Aaron stood still, drew himself up to his full height,
looked down with a serene smile on the two cror.ies who
were trying to draw him out, and said,
" An' so would you if you'd had sense to be where I was,
•^n* to hear what I've heeard."
"Where? What? Tell us?" said they in a breath.
" I've been to the readin' o' my Feyther's will."
*' O that's it, is it ?" said Gaffer, with a sneer, fully under-
standing the allusion. "An* how much has He left
yo', eh?"
"A hundred-fold more in this present life, and in the
world to come, life everlasting."
As the old man spoke, his face bore witness to the wealth
of his present legacy, and as* he lifted his eyes to the cloud-
less heavens overhead, the silenced listeners felt that he had
" a good hope through grace " of the bequest of glory that
would fall to him by-and-by.
" Good mornin', neighbours," said Aaron, as ihe shallow
rr
I I
6 THE RED, RED WINE.
pair passed onward ; " an' don't forget that your names are
in the will.''
" Phil," said George Caffer, as they sauntered homeward,
"there must be something in it after all."
" Aye, lad," quoth Lambert, not without a certain
reverence in his tone, "if there was more Aaron Brighams
about, there would be fewer '' septics,' as they call us. But
the bulk on 'em isn't up to sample, an' their faith shakes
hands wi' their works so seldom, that I for one think
precious lahtle about either." Then there fell upon them a
spell of silence as they turned to watch the aged " preacher
of righteousness," until he passed into the little garden
which fronted his cottage home.
" Come in, Aaron. Come in. Your dinner's waitin' for
yo', an' it's never right to spoil good vitals by lettin' 'em get
cowd before yo' eat 'em."
Aaron had lingered a little on the threshold. He was
loth to shut out the June sunshine, loth to turn his eyes
away from the June roses that embowered his cottage door,
loth, too, to break away from the happy flow that rippled
through the soul of him, as he thought of the provisions of
his Father's will.
But he had to. The dispenser of the invitation just
quoted was Esther Harland, tl)£ middle-aged and most
capable housekeeper, who had constituted herself the
keeper of Aaron, as well as of his house, and who fulfilled
her self-imposed mission cheerily and well. If Esther was
just a little imperative and self-assertive, and slightly
impatient of contradiction, it was all and always for his
comfort and srfe-guarding, and that he knew right well.
" Look here, owd friend," she insisted, pointing to the
well-plenished round table in the middle of the kitchen
Boor, "You never had a nicer meal o' meat since the day
you wore short frocks, tho' I daresay a worse 'un tasted
better i' them days. Cum an' hev it while its warm."
JB|
t';^":.
THE RED. RED WINE.
7
A smile flitted across Esther's pleasant face as she
pictured to herself tall old Aaron in the juvenile garb
referred to, and laying her hand on his arm, she gently
forced him into the Windsor chair placed ready for him.
"Why to tell the *'uth, Esther, I was in no great hurry.
I was hevin' a good meal o' meat all to myself, standin'
among them pratty roses i' the sunshine, an' thinkin' o'
whrt my Heavenly Feyther's preparin' — "
" Preparin'," said Esther, whose mind was set just then
on far more material things. " I should think you could
afford to let what's preparin', as you call it, wait a bit till it's
wanted, an' take your chance when yo' hev' it o' meking the
best o' what is prepared already, — an' that's your dinner
Ask a blessin' on it, Aaron. I feel a bit sharp set myself.'
" O," said Aaron, dryly, " that explains it," and quietly
did as he was told, for the old man had a vein of humour
in him.
Such was Aaron Brigham, and such were his surroundings
in the long, long ago when it was the writer's privilege to
wear short frocks ; and such they were on that subsequent
morning, when pinafores had given way to clothing more
akin to r^ian's attire.
Now it was during this same midsummer month of June,
that Netherborough came to be in a state of excitement,
without parallel in the mstory of the place. The oldest
inhabitant declared that he had seen nothing like it since
the day when the big bon-fire was kindled on the market
hill to celebrate the final defeat of " Bonyparty " at
Waterloo.
It is well known that " the oldest inhabitant " is a very
useful authority, quoted on countless occasions by writers of
every sort and size. In general, however, he is a very
indefinite and unproducible individual. In this case, how-
ever, I am able, and proud in being able, to produce tl^
very man.
d
THE RED, RED WINE.
The oldest inhabitant of Netherborough was none other
than old Aaron Brigham. I am aware that there were
those among the townsfolk who callea the fact into
question. But what of that? There are people who seem
able to do nothing else. Everything in turn is questioned
by somebody. The Netherborough doubters gave the palm
of seniority to Geordie Hewitson, the parish clerk.
Geordie's grey head had been a familiar sight in the lower
desk of Netherborough church for nobody knows how long,
and it had never been aught but grey, as everybody knew.
This latter remarkable phenomenon may be accounted
for by the fact that Geordie wore a wig. As an argument it
had no value, for the honest old clerk himself declared for
Aaron.
" Aaron was older than me from the very first," he says.
" We was boys together, an' we sat on the very same form
in Mother Elliker's dame school. I alius admired him, an'
I dearly wanted to be as big an' as old as him, but" — he
used to add, dropping into broad Yorkshire — " I've riivver
owertakken 'im to this day. I'm neeather as owd nor as
big, an' we're both on us growin' downwards noo, an' if I
was only hauf as good, I reckon I should be riddy to join
the angels ony minnit."
This was surely an admirable certificate of character for
Aaron Brigham, and all the more satisfactory that it was the
testimony of an uncompromising Churchman concerning a
Nonconformist who was never suspected, by his more
assertive brethren, of having any " weakness in the knees."
The time is coming, God speed it ! when Judah's vexings
and Ephraim's envyings shall cease for ever ; all such
sorrowful possibilities being swept away by the on-flow and
[he influx of the love of the Tnrist who is Brother and
Lord of all.
#
X -i-'*
i
f-
.« Al
i
CIIAPTF.R IT.
IT was a red-letter day at Netherboroiigli, and if ever the
annals of that incipient city come to be written, that
never-to-be-forgouen fifteenth of June, i8 — , will certainly
be recorded in the reddest of red ink, headed with an
illuminate capital, after the fashion of the missals of
medieval days.
Not even at the 'lumination, as it .vas called in local history,
at the coronation of Queen Victoria, were the people of
Netherborough so greatly stirred as now. And yet that
2vas a time. I can remember it, though I was but " a wee
bit bairnie" at the time. Every window in the town had a
lighted candle in it, and many windows had a candle
gleaming in every pane. Many of these candles were wax,
blue, red, green, yellow, my goodness ! and as tall as a
walking-stick, and as thick as a man's wrist. The children
of the various Sunday Schools had each a medal and a
ribbon, and marched through the town, all but bowed to
the earth with pride, ai d then feasted on the fat of the
land until they could scarce walk home for the weight they
carried. O, but that was a day.
Still, Netherborough had never, never been so profoundly
stirred as now. Aaron Brigham himself was as much
excited as his juniors. This in itself is strong evidence
that there was abundant reason why. Old age is not very
sensitive to surprise. The organ of wonder flattens a good
deal in the presence of whitening hairs. Yet old Aaron
was filled with wonderment.
On the market hill, at the churchyard corner, in front
'^
.4*:'
..;:,;.;!, ..-i-jiii"-
W-.^ M*A
fd
THE RKI), RED WINE.
-l t;
of the Netherborough Arms, and elsewhere, clusters of
townsfolk were discussing the news of the day ; the news,
mark you, news which, after all, was scarcely discussible,
for this reason, that it almost took their breath away.
There was to be a York and Netherborough Railway 1
Fifty years ago, railways were not by any means so
numerous as they are to-day, and, as a rule, the lesser
provincial towns had reaped but small advantage from the
introduction of the iron highways and their iron steeds.
Such places as were situated on the few existing main lines
were, of course, exceptions to the general rule ; but branch
lines were few ind far between, and the daily coach and the
weekly waggon were the only means of commercial com-
munication with the great world outside.
As yet, the Netherburgers were far away beyond the
reach of train transport, and seemed, in all likelihood, to be
condemned to isolation for many a long year to come.
Netherborough v/as a small market town of some fifteen
hundred inhabitants. It was situated about half-way
between the ancient city of York and the thriving seaport
of Kingston-upon-Hull. It lay directly at the foot of the
far-famed Yorkshire Wolds, and on the borders of the great
plain of York, through which the sluggish streams of the
Ouse and the Trent wandered deviously to the sea. It was
a region of large and fertile farms, and its crops of wheat
and 'other cereals were noted alike for quality and quantity
far beyond the Loundaries of the Riding and the shire.
The chronic difF.culty was that of transportation — how to
get the grain, the roots, the cattle, and other agricultural
produce to market, for markets of value and importance
were so very far away.
"If we only had a railway," the town folk said, "we
could compete with all the county," and they proudly
added, " we could hold a foremost place in the competition,
too." But the " if " in this case was a formidable matter,
:S^fe
THE RItl), RED WINE.
a
and a railway was regarded as a boon far away beyond their
reach. Even vhile they longed for it, they laughed at the
idea of getting it, and honestly thought that to ask for it
would be as futile a recjuest as the proverbial operation of
crying for the moon.
The French have a proverb to the elTect that it is the
impossible chat happens. It will hardly pass muster,
perhaps, for absolute truthfulness, but in this instance it
was true both in substance and in fact, for Netherborough
was to have a railway, nay more, it was to have it without
the asking. The great Railway King, George Huddlestone,
Esq., M.P., had said it, and "where the voice of a king is,
there is power." In the excited state of the share-markets
of that period, speculating thousands said of him, as another
crowd of simpletons said of Herod, " It is the voice of a
god, and not of a man," and the voice had said, " Nether-
borough shall have a railway !"
His Railway Majesty never let the grass grow under his
feet in those palmy days of his prosperity. In an incredibly
short time the Bill had passed both Houses of Parliament ;
the necessary land-purchases had been made, the contracts
had been signed, and on this never-to-be-forgotten day, the
15th of June, 18 — , the first sod was to be cut in the field
where the Netherborough Station was to be erected, amid
ceremonials, festivities, and rejoicings such as Netherborough
had never before known.
Old Aaron Brigham, who was quite as excited as his
juniors, wandered to and fro among the clusters of curious
gossipers who enlivened the streets that morning. He was
quite unable to continue in one stay, and equally unable to
repress his desire to be on friendliest terms with all and
sundry.
The group of idlers, whose customary gathering-place was
at the "Church Corner," abutting on the market-place,
stood expectant of the old man's greeting ; a motley cluster
«k><4k.'MML
if
\2
THE RED, RED WINE.
of men with dilapidated characters, whose idle hands were
thrust as usual into the pockets of their equally dilapidated
garments- -votaries of John Barleycorn, every man of them,
and every man bearing on his reddened face and ragged
rai'-.ent the tokens of their debasing servitude to that
enslaving tyrant of the town.
" VVeel, weel, weel, ' said Aaron, pausing as he passed.
*' I've never seen nowt like this, lads. To think that I
should live to see t' iron hoss come canterin' ower t'
Shipham hills, an' gallopin' under t' Springwell hills, an'
nowt to stop it. An' t' Toon Close is to he level'd as flat
as the back o' my hand, an' a railway station is to be built
on it. Steam-injuns ar^ goin' to snort an' whistle, an'
scream, an' play all sorts o' cantrips where I used to play at
roonders well-nigh fourscore years since. To think that I
should live to see the day ! Folks say that wonders never
cease. I think surely they're only just beginin'."
" Nay, Aaron, nay j not so fast, owd friend. It hasn't
come to that, yit."
The speaker was Tommy Smart, a loafing "labourer,'*
who did not labour except under strong compulsion, and
whose smartness was ijiost apparent when somebody asked
him to have a glass of ale. A strong, good-looking, and
capable man was Smart when he was at his best, which was
sadly seldom ; and utterly weak, ill-looking, and incapable,
when under the influence of the " curse of Netherborough,"
which, alas, was almost all the time.
"It'll tek some time," continued Smart, "before what you
say can happen. Big jobs like new railways can't be done
like magic, Aaron ; an* mebbe you won't live to see it
through. You're a very owd man, you see."
" Thoo's quite right, Tommy," said the old man, " but I
expect to see it through for all that. I isn't quite as .strong
on my pins as I used to be, but I'm worth a good many
dead 'uns yet. Not that I'm at all afeeard o' goin' when my
THE RED, RED WINE.
»3
time comes. I put that matter into Good Hands mair than
fift)*years back, an' I can afford to leave it there. They're
well-kept that God keeps, and I isn't Hkely to seek a change.
Can thoo say as much, Tom Smart ?"
"There, tak' thy change oot o' that, Smart," said Joe
Hepton, with a laugh. " Still, you know its true, Aaron.
You are gettin' owd."
** Gettin' ? Nay, I've gotten owd, an' very owd, but I'll
tell yo' what, I'm younger than either of you."
As the old veteran spoke, he stood upright, struck the
end of his stick firmly or the ground, and faced the two
men, as if confident that then and there the life within him
was sounder, livelier, and wholesomer than theirs.
The cheers of the bystanders gave the old patriarch a
unanimous vote, though both Smart and Hepton were his
juniors by near fifty years. The old man continued with
a dry humour peculiar to him :
" Lads ! t'ney don't sell good medicine at the *Red Cow,'
an' it's you that get's milked, not it, both o' money, an'
meals, an' manhood, an' what's left meks even the joys
o' John Barleycorn a mighty poor brew. I may live to see
t' new railway oppen'd, or I may not, but, at ony rate," he
continued, looking meaningly at the bibulous Smart, " I
shall tek' novvt into my inside that puts me to a disad-
vantage. I reckon that the railway will be finished in a
couple o' years, an' I expect that strong ale will hap some o'
you up under yon churchyard grass, before my time comes.
Hey, poor lads, I do wish you would tak' a turn an'
mend !"
It was very true. Old Aaron was likely enough to outlast
a good many of his contemporaries. He had a strong
constitution, which, thanks to temperate habits, a common-
sense diet, fresh air and exercise, and a life-walk in the fear
of God was wondrously well preserved. He was neither
dull of Jjearing^ jipj: dim of vision, nor was his natural
aOEBC
M
THE RED, RED WINE.
!
I
strength so very greatly abated for all his fourscore years
and five.
" Why you are a wonder," said Tommy Smart, willing to
conciliate, " there's no mistake about that. You must ha'
some magic mixture that keeps you goin'."
" Right you are," said Aaron, with a happy smile on his
weather-browned face, " an I'll tell yo' what it is. It's
made up o' cowd water an' broon bre-T^ honest work, an' a
good conscience afore God an' man. That's the prescription.
Tommy. I'll mek' yo' a present on it. It's a magic
mixture that wil'. keep ^<7.; goin', an' keep yo^ from goin*
to the * Red Cow,' or to any other spot where the devil's
mixture is always on the tap."
" That's right, Aaron, that's right. Talk to him for his
good. Tommy Smart's a good deal too much of a toss-
pot. It will be a good thing well done if you can get him
to take a turn and mend."
The words were ypoken by a new-comer, who had
appeared upon the scene in time to hear old Aaron's final
sentences. His words were greeted by the by-standers with
a burst of laughter and applause. There was nothing very
witty in what was said ; but it was said by Mr. Norwood
Hayes, and as that gentleman was decidedly the most
popular man in Netherborough, whatever he said was to
be received with cheers.
A tall, shapely, even handsome, man, was Mr. Norwood
Hayes, eminently intelligent as well as attractive in face and
feature. He held a good position in the town as a corn-
factor, an agricultural implement maker, and was also great
in parochial affairs. A very worthy man, a very worthy
man indeed, was Mr. Norwood Hayes, and as this life-story
will need his presence oft and much, I bespeak for him, my
readers, favourable regard. .
Aaron Brigham did not appear to receive the support of
Mr. Hayes with any great amwnt of gratitude, judging from
THE RED, RED WINE.
>5
the quiet way in which he "looked him over," and the
equally quiet way in which he replied.
"There's toss-pot and toss-/>orf, sir. It's hard to say
which on 'em tosses farthest. Both on 'em can toss to the
devil ; and it won't mek' much difference to the tossed 'uns
which it was that tossed 'em there. Tak' a turn an' mend
is a good game to play at. It's like roonders, where every-
\ body gets their innin's, or owt to do."
Of course this sally was not greeted with apolause, at least
not until Mr. Norwood Hayes had passed on, for the
Netherborough lop.fers, like some more respectable people,
had more freedom of utterance behind the backs of the
parties most concerned. «
Mr. Hayes smiled, and nodded affably at old Aaron —
he was seldom greatly ruffled — as he retired, saying : *' True,
Aaron, very true. ' Let him that thinketh he standeth take
heed, lest he fall.' "
Aaron Brigham watched his retreating form with some-
what of sadness mingled with admiration in his eyes. There
was a look on his aged face as if he was thinking deeply ;
but he never saia a word. Had he spoken, he would have
said, I think, something like this :
" You're a good man, Norwood Hayes, and a strong one ;
what a pity you are not something more. Nobody could
do so much to lift the cu;se of Netherborough as you, i
you only were so minded. You will be, some day, but how
much will it take of pain and sorrow, I wonder, to bring it
about ?"
As the time was drawing near for the special ceremonial
of the day, the various groups of gossipers dissolved, and as
even Tommy Smart could find no satisfaction in lounging
by himself, he, too, adjourned to his familiar resort — the
bar of the " Red Cow." There were a few coppers in his
pocket, and talking had made him thirsty. That was, at
any rate, the excuse he made to himself for spending them
iMacwaM
i6
THE RED, RED WINE.
in beer, though in his m'serable "home" down in South-
gate, yonder, there are four small children, including the
wee white slave, little Kitty Smart — Old Aaron Brigham's
child-lover, on whose brave shoulders the whole burden of
the "mitherless bairns" was laid. I must defer a more
specific introduction of my " heroine " for a while, for I
mean to do justice to her, so far as my poor pen can
manage iu
%
i^*
:^lBfe'^
;.U'>1-'" _Lll*A^^'
CHAPTER III.
ALONG the main street of Netherborough went Mr.
Norwood Hayes, walking erect as was his wont,
looking, as folks say, every inch n man, and with a
gentlemanly and courteous bearing which was eminently
characteristic of him. He had a nod and a smile for
everybody who seemed to expect it. He had a pause, a
salutation, and a hand-grip for the selected few ; and once,
on his ^^ay, he put his hand within the arm of a young man
whom he overtook, and walked with him, winning a new
and stronger hold on his affection and regard.
Mr. Norwood Hayes was very popular with the young
men of Net'ierborough, and rightly so, for he was deeply
interested in them, and did his best, at least he thought so,
for their welfare. In that, however, good man, he was
sadly mistaken, at least in one all-important particular, as
will be manifest to the reader all too soon. At length he
reached his office, a quite imposing edifice, measured on
the Netherborough scale, of brick and stoiie. Here and
there the stone was sculptured into stony sheaves of corn, a
stony Ceres and her well plenished cornucopia, stony reapers
at work with stony sickles in their hands. These and many
other devices of the sculptor's chisel illustrated the secular
calling of Mr. Norwood Hayes. This was still more plainly
set forth on the wire window-blinds of the office, where the
following legend in gilded capitals was inscribed : " Norwood
Hayes, Corn Merchant and Miller, Depot for Agricultural
Implements of every description. Agent for the Yorkshire
Fire and Life Insurance Co."
Behind the offi.ces lay the warehouses, sheds, and other
9
■iH^^J^a&mi
Piiw^np
^mm^^
18
THE RED, RED WINE.
buildings, in which were stored sacks, corn, seeds, linseed
cakes, ploughs, harrows, and all other matters connected
with Mr. Hayes' large and inclusive trade. At the further
end of the long yard was a broad and brawling brook, which
at times was so swollen with freshets from the wolds ''s to
be quite a river. This stream was known as the Nether-
borough Beck. A pleasant pathway bordered it, and
provided the townsfolk with an attractive sauntering place
through green pastures and fair fields.
Mr. Norwood Hayes did not "live at the business,"
though he lived by it, and made a good thing of it beyond
the cost of doing so. He had quite a delightful place of
his own, a little out of town, on the Scanton Road. It was
hardly a " mansion," perhaps, but it was worthy of a better
name than •' villa," that hackneyed French importation that
suggests stucco and semi-detachments. Mr. Hayes himself
had named it Throstle's Nest, and the name suited it to a
T, as they say, though why a B or a P or a W would not
do as well, passes the wit of man to discover. It was a
snug rural nest, and as luxuriously cosy as anybody could
well desire. Mrs. Hayes, their son Cuthbert, their daughter
Alice, and himself, constituted the entire household at
Throstle's Nest, with the exception of two maids, a man-
servant, and a boy, who probably made as much work as
they performed, and so kept the balance even.
The " first sod " of the new railway was to be cut at four
o'clock precisely, and no less important an individual than
George Huddlestone, Esq., the great railway king, was to
perform the ceremony. That great financier and
adventurous speculator was rightly regarded as the best
friend that Netherborough had ever known. He had
purchased a large landed estate in the imm.ediate
neighbourhood, and had already given clear proof of his
belief that if property has its rights it has its duties and its
obligations too.
THE RED, RED WINE.
»9
Now this was an astounding innovation. The good folks
of Netherborough had not been at all accustomed to that
kind of thing. Fifty years ago the duties, obligations, and
responsibilities of the landed classes were not very generally
recognised. Things are more promijing now, and even yet
there is abundant room to mend.
The Dukes of Debenham, from whom the estate had
passed, were of no more use to Netherborough than was the
celebrated Duke Humphrey. Not so much, for according
to tradition he does accept your company to dinner, though
the meal is of the scantiest. The Dukes of Debenham, on
the contrary, were never seen at all, and seldom heard of,
except on rent days, when the tenants were actually invited
to dine with — the steward !
With Mr. Huddleston, matters were managed in a very
different way. As soon as his great purchase was
completed, he set to work to improve the condition, and
to advance the interests, of the little market town close
by. What wonder that Netherborough swore by George
Huddleston ? What wonder that the Debenhams and all
their ducal traditions vanished into thin air, which precisely
represented their genuine value. It was the new lord of the
manor that lighted Netherborough's sombre streets with gas,
and he it was who had brought the crowning gift — the
railway ! Is it to be wondered at that the railway king was
the man whom the townsfolk delighted to honour ? The
fact is that his majesty is held in true regard and grateful
remembrance at Netherborough to this day.
Of course on that great day of the turning of the first
sod, the townspeople were resolved that the place should
be dressed in its very best, and indeed it was well-nigh
"dressed to death," that is to say, it was almost smothered
in flags and bunting ; and both banners and bunting bore
strange mottoes and devices illustrative of Netherborough
genius and wit. On the town pump itself, which held its
20
THE RED, RED WINE.
time-honoured place on the market hill, was hoisted a flag,
which waved "Success to our Railway !" before the eyes of
all who passed that way. Right across the front of the big
square inn, known as the '* Netherborough Arms," was
i^tretched a long broad strip of crimson cloth, bearing in
white letters the grateful inscription, " Welcome to
Netherborough's Best Friend." Quite remarkable, was
it not, that everybody knew this referred to (ieorge
Huddleston, and that not a single being linked it with
the name of any Duke of Debenham that ever wore a
coronet, or carried away the rents ?
There was a coach running every day between York and
Hujl, which always stopped at the " Netherborough Arms "
for change of horses. The daily advent of the " Highflier"
gave quite a throb of life to the sleepy little town. The
sound of the guard's horn, as he blew a ringing blast, not
musical but strong, at the *' town-end," called out the
children to shout, the dogs to bark, and the folk to gaze
in curious wonder at the strangers who came and went.
This was Netherborough's daily dram of excitement, and
was so very mild a stimulus that the veriest teetotaler could
not have found the heart to dash it from their lips.
Now the " Highflier " used once upon a time to put up
at the " Grapes," a rival hotel a few doors distant from the
" Netherborough Arms." When, in consequence of some
disagreement, the coach transferred its patronage to the last
named inn, the " Grapes " took huge offence, and never lost
an opportunity of belittling the " Highflier," and predicting
the time when its pride would have a fall.
Now its time had come. The " Grapes " displayed a
large and roughly effective picture, " The Death of the
* Highflier.' " A railway train was crashing at full speed
into the obnoxious coach, which was sadly smashed by the
force of the collision. The horses were drawn in every
inconceivable and impossible position of frantic alarm.
■"\
THE RED, RED WINE.
21
The coachman was hurled into mid-air, and the guard was
laid on his back, blowing a lugubrious blast through his
horn, from which a thin white cloud was issuing with
this legend on it, "The 'Highflier' is a Low-lier." The
" Netherborough Arms " had not grace enough to forbear
an ill-natured retort — there are few people who have, more's
the pity — and so it made answer in its wrath, " Not the
' Highflier,' but Peter Ransdell !" Now Peter Ransdell was
mine host of the "drapes."
It was very naughty and very rude, and it will be seen
from this little episode that Netherborough folks had all the
failings common to poor weak human nature. Mine host
Sampson, of the " Netherborough Arms," ought to have
been well scolded for his spiteful sentence, but then, let
him who is innocent of this despicable trick of the tongue
cast the first stone.
At the hour of three, or soon afterwards, an open carriage
with four horses came rolling through the main street of the
town, driven in dashing style by a coachman 'in brilliant
livery. Two footmen, clad, as the old song says, in
garments gorgeous to behold, stood behind, keeping guard
over the occupants of the carriage. These were Mr. and
Mrs. George Huddleston, together with Miss Huddleston
and the young Lord Seaton, son-and-heir of the Right
Honourable the Earl of Thaxendale, who, it was said, was
a suitor for the young lady's hand and heart. People said
— but then that is poor authority — that the impecunious
young patrician would have been content to get on without
either, if he could have their full value in railway shares.
Judging from appearances, his lordship, on the other hand,
was not likely to be much of a bargain at any price.
The railway king was a somewhat short, stout personage,
whose general appearance made it tolerably evident that he
had " sprung from the rank-s." Shrewdness and energy were
depicted in every line of his face, and so was geniality and
•--•m.
I
'
33
THK RED, RED WINE.
good nature. Those who were most intimate with him
spoke warmly of him. Most people do so speak of those
from whom they hope to receive great things, and railway
shares were great things and precious in those days, and his
majesty held the bestowing of them in his own right hand
of power.
While the great man and his party were partaking of some
light refreshments at the " Netherborough Arms," quite a
crowd had gathered in front of the inn, standing with
straining eye and ear to catch sight or sound of the
illustrious guest within. Some of the rudest and most
daring flattened their noses against the windows, if haply
they might catch one poor glimpse of the profile of the
monarch of the railway world. And what wonder? For at
that time George Huddleston was supposed to have in his
possession the philosopher's stone that turned all he touched
into gold, red gold ! Not only the general public, but lords
and ladies, dukes and duchesses, aye, princes and princesses,
crawled and fawned about the feet of the golden idol whom
their cupidity had set up on high, and worshipped as a god.
All this was the shameful truth full fifty years ago.
At last the eventful hour arrived, the carriage was at the
door. The great man's appearance was greeted with a
deafening burst of cheers. Then the eager crowd followed
the carriage at a run, as it led the way to the green fields
and the chosen spot where the first sod was to be turned in
state of the new railway, which was to link Netherborough
with the city of York, and with the open markets of the
great world outside.
I have no space to narrate in detail the historic events
that followed. Are they not written in the columns of the
York Herald of that period ? The Rev. Septimus Bartley,
vicar of Netherborough, rotund, rubicund, and genial,
standing with a select few within an enclosure of ropes and
stakes, presented Mr. Huddleston with an address, and a
;^^^i;V-.
^sh'.
' ?*■•
THi: Rl-t), Rt:i) WINE.
«3
few added words of welcome. The contractor for the line
presented the hero of the hour with a " silver spade." A
little polished wheelbarrow, constructed for the purpose, was
placed, with its dainty wheel upon a plank, the "sod was
cut in a workman-like manner," so the reporters wrote, and
was placed in the barrow for removal. His Majesty
wheeled it along the plank, and overturned it at the
appointed place with a smile and a nod that roused afresh
the crowd to cheer. No navvy could have done it better,
most likely not so well.
Mounting a platform, improvised for the purpose, Mr.
Huddleston delivc;ed a short and stirring speech. He
congratulated the townfolk on " this auspicious turn of the
tide of fortune, and predicted a rapid rise in the trade of the
town and district. He referred to the fact that he had
become a near neighbour as the purchaser of the Debenham
estates, and gave an earnest and truthful promise to do his
best to promote the interests of the good town of
Netherborough." Mr. Norwood Hayes proposed a vote of
thanks to their honoured visitor in his usual graceful and
winsome style, and using, as he always did, words apt and
fit and few. This was seconded by Dr. Marcus Medway,
whose local popularity was based on his professional faith in
port wine, which he freely prescribed and inbibed. Indeed
he was accounted to be at his best and cleverest when
moderately under the influence of that stimulating inspira-
tion. Alas, for certain of his patients, the moderation
often failed at need. Dr. Medway cut short his remarks
with the intimation that a banquet was impending, and that
a supply of ale ad libitum was awaiting the patronage of the
crowd, " free, gratis, and for nothing." A treble volley of
cheers was the least return that could be made for such a
peep into a prospective land of bliss.
At this point Miss Alice Hayes, a young lady of eighteen
summers, stepped forward and presented a big bouquet.
1
-J ,- --rx
^
rfiMii
JBSSm
u
THE RED, RED WINE.
almost as sweet and lovely as herself, to Mrs. Hufldlestoil,
who received it with a bow, a smile, and a blush, though the
latter perhaps was not distinctly understood by some of the
lookers on. Then the " Nelh'irborough celebrated brass
band," with more metal than music in it, played " God save
the Queen," and that portion of the ceremonial came to an
end.
The crowd dispersed. The select hundred and twenty,
who had tickets for the bantjuet, retired to get ready for the
evening's ceremonial, which was to be held in the big club-
room of the Netherborough Arms. The crowd in general
found their way to "The Green," which had become a
veritable land of Goshen, where beef and beer and bread
and cheese and ale were waiting to satisfy the hunger and
to quench the thirst of all who chose to put in their claim.
!^k»i:
sJfifsik^-
.■'i,j^--.5c'.^i>(*-'ii ■'-.-' .
CHAPTER IV.
OLD Aaron Brigham had been an intensely interested
spectator at the afternoon's proceedings, but there
was quite a shadow on his dear old face as he retired from
the spot, and his white head was bowed as if the heart
within him had been made sad. He was overtaken by Mr.
Norwood Hayes.
•* Well, Aaron," said he, " this is a good day for Nether
borough, isn't it ? "
•' Why," said the old man, speaking slowly and thought-
fully, " I isn't so sure about it, as I was a bit since. I'se a
good de?^ crubbled in my mind. Don't yo' think it was a
bit heathenish, all that? Was there none o' yo' that felt
like askin' God's blessin' on it? Didn't you nivver read
aboot the man that put his money in a bag full of holes ? I
did think o' puttin' a bit o' money into the railway myself.
I hevn't much, as you know ; but there's a lahtle lassie that
I'se varry fond of, an' I thowt it might help her some day.
But if God has nowt to do with it, it's a bad investment, an*
it won't do neither for Kitty nor me."
"Why, youi see, Aaron," said Mr. Hayes, with a little
laugh, though as a Christian and a deacon he felt a little bit
uncomfortable. "A railway isn't exactly a religious thing,
and—"
'* Then it's an irreligious thing, an' neither you nor me
has ony business with it. The devil nivver hit on a cleverer
device than when he got folks .o call some things ' worldly
things,' an' other things religious. Why, the very world
itself is the temple o' God, isn't it ? An' there's nowt that
owt to be goin' on it that isn't according/^. I teks mv
n
i
26
THE REt), RED VVlKE.
IS
hymn-book when I go to chapel ; and I teks my spade when
I go to work i' my garden ; an' I try to praise God wi' both
of 'em ; and I don't see that one of 'em's more religious than
t'other. If it's right to have a railway, it's right that God
should hev a hand in it ; His blessing will be like the wind
in the mill-sails yonder — just the thing to make it go."
" Well, well, no doubt you're right," said Deacon Hayes,
«• but—"
" Aye, aye, that's just i*:," said Aaron, striking his stick
upon the ground ; " it's right, fiuf, an' the enemy o' souls
sprinkles them * buts ' so thickly that the * right '
smothered out o' life like thin corn in a bed o
couch-grass. O, Mr. Hayes, when will folks, an' specially
religious folk, do what's right an' stick to it, an* leave the
devil to use all the ' buts ' hisself."
"Still, you will own tha*^ it's a good day for Nether-
borough ? "
*' I'se not so sure on it," said the straightforward old
puritan. " You've not been content wi' leaving God oot o'
the day's proceedings, but you've ta'en a bit o' special
trubble to bring the devil into 'em."
" What do you mean, Aaron ? "
The old man stood still, laid his wrinkled hand on the
arm of his companion, and said,
" Mr. Hayes, what is the one great curse of Nether-
borough? What is it that has made this little market-toon
notorious, all the way to York on one side and all the way
to Hull on t'other."
" Why, intemperance, I'm sorry to say," was the reply.
•' There's no denying that."
" An' yet on this good day for Netherborough, as you call
t, you've arranged for more than a hundred and twenty of
your toonsmen to eat an' drink till midnight or the
small hours of the mornin' ; an' you can mention the names
of as many of 'em as will take twice across your ten fingers
V*
THE RED, RED WINE.
27
s
i
to tick 'em off who are sure to croon the festive gatherin' by
being carried home dead drunk ! Worse than that, you've
rolled whole hogsheads of strong ale on to the Green yonder
for free consumption, an' before nine o'clock to-night scores
of men an' lads an' women an' lasses will be reeling drunk
or lying daft and senseless about the streets. That an
worse things that I won't mention are to be the crownin
glory of this good day for Netherborough, and what the
newspapers will call the festivities of the occasion ! An' a
clergyman and a deacon are to the front of it all. You've
kept God oot, an' you've brought the devil in, and I don't
envy you your pillow, Mr. Hayes."
It was a strong talk, and, for old Aaron Brigham, a very
long one ; but this Christian of strong moral fibre and old-
fashioned strictness of principle, was angry and indignant,
and was filled with sorrow as he thought upon the scenes
on which the pallid moon would look down on the midnight
of that memorable day.
Mr. Norwood Hayes, good man, did not feel much like
talking just then, which was much to his credit, for he could
not in his conscience deny the truth of the allegations, and
he was too manly a man to make light of what the old
patriarch felt so keenly. Just as they were turning out of
the Town-close towards the Green, the bonnie-faced, ill-clad,
little mite whom old Aaron had lifted into his arms on
Sunday morning, came shyly up to them, and looking
askance at Mr. Hayes, as though she feared to intrude,
placed her rough, red little fingers in the old man's hand,
then looked him in the face with, oh, such an anxious look,
and said,
** Ha' yo' seen anythin' o' feyther. "
" No, my dear," said the old man, with a tender cadence
in his voice, " not this afternoon. 1 saw him this mornin'
an'," said he, lowering his voice, " he was all right then.
I'll go an' look for him."
MkMiil
m.-'A- tA«
ffW
sS
THE RED, RED WIKE.
But little Kitty shook her curly head, and turned to scan
the pathway for any sign of the object of her search.
"Thenk you," she said, sighing as she spoke, i'but
nobody'll do but me. I want to tek' him home. He won't
go wi' nobody else. Mebbe, he won't go wi' me to-day."
No, little Kitty, not even for you will " feyther " go home
to-day, for is it not a " good day for Netherborough ? "
And are there not barrels of strong ale running, sparkling
and free, on Netherborough Green ? Old Aaron evidently
felt the force of the little maiden's fear, for again he lifted
her in his arms, and this time he whispered in her ear a
few words, which had become familiar to the. child from his
lips.
"Jesus helps me, always will :
I will trust in Jesus still."
" Noo, then," continued the old man, still whispering,
" say it to me, Kitty, if yo' mean it."
In a moment the child's red little lips were at his ear,
and the gleam in her eyes told that she meant it, as she
repeated the words,
"Jesus helps me, alius will :
I will trust in Jesus still."
Then she waited with her ear attent for the words she
knew were coming. And they came, a precious message
from the orphan's Helper, by the mouth of His servant,
Aaron Brigham, — and, whispered as the aged lover
whispered them, there was the voice of the gentle Jesus in
every word.
" Tell my darling little Kitty
All my love and all my pity,
Help her ? Yes, I always will |
Kitty darling, trust me still."
Before Kitty Smart was released from the old man's arms,
tha little private service being over, Mr. Norwood Hayes
"**'-
'li.lV-.: Jt.. ■
THE RED, RED WINE.
29
had passed on, wondering at Aaron's familiarity v/iLh such a
forlorn little waif. Not that he would not have been glad
to show favour to the poorest, for he was kind-hearted and
sympathetic, and had ever an open hand. But what he saw
between these two was love. A love which gleamed in the
eyes, sounded in the tones of their voice, and made his own
eyes glisten, though he was a mere looker on. Suddenly
he heard a child's voice crying out loudly,
" Feyther ! Feyther ! Stop. Ah want yo' ! "
Mr. Hayes turned to look, and this is what he saw.
Aaron Brigham's " lahtle lassie" was running along the road
towards the Green, calling *' Feyther ! " In the distance
was Tommy Smart, making his way with eager step towards
the beef and beer — especially the beer. For a while he
did not hear, and still held on his way towards the goal of
his desires.
Poor little Kitty was growing breathless in the chase.
" Feyther ! " she cried in a louder key. Smprt turned round
at once, and Kitty stopped, not willing to go further than
was necessary from her dear old friend behind her. Tom
Smart approached her with a smile, for he loved his " lahtle
wench " as he called her ; as he came nearer his brow
clouded, for he feared her ; she was the only being on God's
earth who had any control of him.
Just then the thought of the strong ale on the Green
came to him ; the laughter of the roysterers who were
already enjoying what was as free to him as them fell upon
his ears. He stood still. Kitty walked forward to meet
him, and then her feyther, rather than face her, rather than
dare to gaze into her sweet, but tear-dimmed and reproach-
ful eyes, and rather than be deprived of all that free
beer, suddenly turned round without a word, dived down a
narrow passage, and Mr. Norwood Hayes heard the sound
of his retreating feet as he left his " lahtle wench " standing
in the road- ^nd ran away like a truant who, if caught, must
30
THE RED, RED WINE.
go to school. Can anything in the world but drink make a
man such a coward, and at the same time such a cruel
crusher of the loves and hearts of those who are nearest
and dearest to him ?
When Old Aaron overtook his little friend, they sauntered
together through the town and along the Southgate all the
way to Kitty's " home." And all the way the child wept in
silence, unbroken but by sobs which shook her shoulders in
their strength. Shr would fain have spoken, for the sake
of her white-haired love, but grief choked her ; and it was
only after they had got indoors that she was able to say,
and then only in speech broken into syllables by sobs :
" Feyther ran away fre' me. Ah don't think he'll tek
notice o' me ony mair."
Then looking at the "childer," as she called them, and
thinking of what the loss of her little authority over
" feyther " meant in the way of loss of bread, the " wee
white slave " rushed to the old man, buried her head upon
his knees, and wept such tears as, when they come from
children's eyes, are blood and water, like that which came
from Christ's pierced heart. From Christ's pierced heart
such tears do come, for so sure "as ye do it to these little
ones, ye do it unto Me." Of all the crucifiers of Jesus,
surely the most cruel and malignant is strong drink — that
"good creature" whom Christians not only tolerate, but
patronise and enjoy !
As soon as Aaron Brigham had succeeded in drying the
tears of his little friend, he left ihe house, promising to
make it his special business to *' look efter feyther." Poor
old man. His heart was sad and sore as he made his way
to the Green. They say that in old age the feelings grow
dull, the sensibilities decrease, and the sympathies decline.
I hope this is not a necessary outcome of lengthened years.
If it is, I think it would be much better for us to die before '
the wrinkles come to tell us that the best thing in us is
THE RED, RED WINE.
31
ne.
us.
dead a'ready. In the case of Aaron Brighanr., however,
most certainly this thing was not true. He had the heart
of a child, the sympathy and affection possible to woman,
the deep feeling which is one of the best characteristics of
true manhood, and all these under the control of the Man
Christ Jesus ! I knew him, and I aver it to be true.
Nearing the Green, he paced the ground slowly, with
eyes down looking, his hands behind his back, and a look
of deep trouble on his aged face. Poor little Kitty ! That
was the burden of his care. He was overtaken by Tommy
Smart, who had only just come upon the ground after
stealthily following Kitty until he saw her safe indoors.
He would dearly have liked to pass the old man in silence ;
had he seen him earlier, he would have " gone by another
way," that favourite route of cowards and wrongdoers.
"Tom !" said Aaron, as soon as he caught sight of him,
" If you've the heart of a man i' your breast, yo'll go home
to Kitty this minnit. If you don't, T ♦•^ink she'll cry her
heart oot, poor bairn."
Tommy Smart elected to take a bold style with the old
man. " Nonsense, Aaron. The lahtle wench is all right,
only let her be. You an' me's a'most ower late. You'd
better stir your owd pins a bit. Them as gets on t'ootside
o' the crood, are alius t' worst off at times like these. I
should like to get into the middle myself."
" Aye, and as near the barrels as yo' can get, I'll warrant,
you poor simpleton. Tom," he continued seriously, " they
say that this is a good day for Netherborough, but it'll be a
bad day for a good mony o' yo'. It is a bad day for thy
pretty lassie. O Tom, Tom, thoo'lt be the death on her.
She'll die of a heart break ! There's sin an' trubble bein'
sown to-day that'll bring a harvest o' shame an' sorrow
that'll take mony a long year to reap. It's a parlous thing
that such it day as this should end i' guz/.ling and wine
bibbing, anc all that .hat sort o' thing leads to. But I'm
aao
32
THE RED, RED WINE.
1 i
most trubblec^ aboot thoo, Tom, not only for thy own, but
for Kitty's sake."
At this point Aaron la*.' ".iis hand on Tom's arm. The
thirsty soul was starting off, anxious alike to get out of the
old man's reach, and to get, as he said, " in the swim."
"Tom," said Aaron Brigham, "go wi' me ; go home wi'
me to my house, I'll give you as good a meal o' meat, an'
as good a cup o' tea, and as good a pipe o' "bacca, as yo'
ever had i' all your life ; an' I'll put something into a basket
for yo' to carry home to Kitty and the childer." But Tom
was not to be bribed off the Green at any price that honest
Aaron could afford to pay.
" No, thenk yo', Aaron, not for me," he answered lightly,
" Fse varry much obliged to yo', I'se sure ; but it isn't good
enough. It's seldom that a poor fellow like me hez sitch a
chance o' gettin' a big drunk on sitch stingo stuff, an' all for
nowt, an' I shan't miss it. There's plenty o' bread an' beef
there, if I happen .0 be hungry ; an' there's butts an'
hogsheads an' gallons of Carter's treble X waiting to be
drunk, an' I'll ha' my full share on it, whativer fool turns
his back on it. Good neet."
So saying, the poor droughty victim of the drink thirst
hasted on. The old man looked after him with sorrow in
his eyes as he turned away, saying to himself, " * Till a dart
strike through his liver. As a bird hastcth to the snare,
and knoweth not that it is for his life.' To-day, the first
sod's been cut for a new railway, and to-night the first sod
will likely enough be cut o' many a* grave : an', I'se sadly
'feared, the grave o' mony a soul."
CHAPTER V,
WHEN Alice Hayes had returned to Throstle's Nest,
she began to retail to her mother, in voluble
speech, the great events of the afternoon, in which she had
taken part.
" O mamma !" said she, " we have had such a lovely
time of it ! Mr. Huddleston, let people say of him what
they will, is a perfect gentleman. Well, not exactly perfect,
you know ; but perfect considering his — what-you-may-call-it
— his origin, and — all that, you know. Mother, don't you
think there's a lot of sheer nonsense about all that sort of
thing? What's origin to do with it? 'A man's a man for
a' that.'"
" Don't you think that you are talking a good deal of
sheer nonsense, Alice? I wish you would not run on so.
You give me the headache, or rather, you make the one I
have twice as bad, and that is needless, goodness knows.
Take your hat off: sit down and be quiet."
" Quiet, mother ! Who can be quiet on such a day as
this? Nobody ought to, for, as papa said in his speech,
* this is an epoch in the history of Netherborough ; * and
didn't they cheer him when he said it ; and — oh, I was
going to tell you — Mrs. Huddleston took the bouquet I
presented to her so nicely and sweetly, and said, 'Thank
you very much, my dear.' She's a dear, I'm sure she is,
and she's going to have a ladies' party, and — "
" Alice, dear ! " said Mrs. Norwood Hayes, raising herself
languidly from the sofa on which she was reclining,
" Excuse me, but I really must ask you to be silent. If
3
'W.
■■• I ..iii'UMii
'MM'>W. »-' .<IM
34
HE RED, RED WINE.
you must relieve your mind by talking, go into the kitchen
and tell Eliza and the cook all about it. They'll listen hard
enough, and it really does»not interest me, or rather, to put
it more correctly, I am far too unwell to attend."
So saying, the languid Mrs. Hayes sank back upon the
cushions of the lounge, on which her limp form was
bestowed ; she allowed the " drooping curtains of her eyes "
to fall, and reverted to her norma) condition of " general
washed-outness " in which her daughter Alice declared she
spent her days ; so she spent, also, the patience of other
people, which was very dishonest of her, for that sort of
coin ought always to be held in keeping by the owner.
It is true that there were times when there was a bright
gleam in those light blue eyes of hers, and certain well
defined patches of colour on her cheeks. At such times ; s
these she was very plentiful of speech herself, speech botii
" voluble and vacuous," that wicked Dr. Marcus Medway
said. He ought to know, for it was given to him to hear
the most of it, and not seldom, to join in, as volubly and
vacuously as did the lady herself. All this, however, was
dependent on what Sidney Smith used to call the "in-
spiration of the sideboard," and that useful article of
furniture was kept carefully locked just now for prudential
reasons. A private prohibitory act had been passed and
put in temporary operation at Throstle's Nest.
As soon as Mrs. Hayes had thus effectually put the
stopper on Alice's flow of speech, that young lady jumped
from her seat and bounced out of the room, with a good
deal of avoidable noise, had she been so minded. She
twirled her hat round by its ribbon strings as an additional
outlet for her feelings, and sought more kindly and
congenial companionship with 'Liza and the cook. It was
something to her credit that she did not answer her mother
with sharp words, for she w^as well able, and self-control
under such circumstances is not easy.
v-^
THE RED, RED WINE.
35
She was a bonny lass, this young Alice Hayes ; and now
that the day's engagements had given brightness to her eyes
and roses to her cheeks, she was, as the cook said, "A
perfec' pickshur." If you could have seen and heard her as
she told the sympathetic servants all about the turning of
the first sod, you would not have wondered that Walter
Bardsley, one of the most prominent and promising young
men in Netherborough, regarded her as a prize to be wooed
and won and held for life.
I am afraid this fresh, healthy, high-spirited young lady
of eighteen summers, had not any very great amount of
sympathy with her lackadaisical mother, who spent much of
her time on the sofa, seeking to relieve the insipidity of life
— on the homoepathic principle, I suppose, — by loitering
through perpetual volumes of insipidity in the shape of
novels from the circulating library. Mrs. ttayes varied the
monotony of her colourless existence by incl Iging in wine
and other alcoholic stimulants whenever she could get
them. It had come to be necessary to put her under the
stress of certain definite limitations in this direction.
When the deprivation was most felt, she was most ailing.
Her nerves were then the most delicate and most finely
strung, and her favourite enemies, palpitation of the heart
and distracting headache, necessitated a relaxation of the
bonds that kept the wine-cup from her longing lips.
Poor Mrs. Hayes ; sad type of ten thousand English
mothers ! And poor Alice Hayes, with only such a mother
to pilot her through all the fateful years of girlhood, when
the path is shapen, ill or well, for all the pilgrimage of
life.
As Mrs. Hayes lay among her cushions, listlessly turning
the pages of the second volume of " Almira ; or, the Secret
Bride," the door of the sitting room was gently opened, and
a tall, good looking well-proportioned youth entered.
There was a smile on his pleasant face, which beamed with
36
THE RED, RED WINE.
intelligence and good humour, as he passed over to the
reclining lady, and gently kissed her forehead. Mrs. Hayes'
face lighted up at the sight of him.
" Well, Cuthbert, dear, so you've found a moment to
come and tell your mother of the doings in the Town Close.
Has everything gone off well?"
It was evident that " Cuthbert, dear," was on a different
footing with his mother than was the young lady who had
been so effectively dismissed.
" First-rate, mammie," was the cheery reply. " I wish
you had been there to see," and in a few brief sentences he
described the programme of the afternoon.
It was only at the close of his lively narrative that Mrs.
Hayes relapsed into her lethargic condition.
" O, Bertie, dear," she said, in a weak, weary voice, " lay
your hand on my head. Thank you ; how deliciously
cool ! Yes : I should liked to have been there with you.
But," she continued, with a sigh, as she turned wearily on
the sofa, " such enjoyments are not for me. It is mine to
suffer, suffer, suffer. I feel as if I should glide swooning
out of life," and as she spoke, she looked it every whit ;
and sympathetic Bertie was distressed to see her.
" Poor dear mammie," he said, " can I do anything for
you. I wish I could stay with you ; but I must go back to
the office ; father, you know, is busy to-day."
" Don't trouble, darling. I'm used to solitude, and I
would not like any living being to be saddened with such
sorrowful company as mine, much less my Bertie."
Mrs. Hayes dearly loved her boy, loved him in very
truth, and yet at that moment she was looking to him to
turn the prohibitory lock and give her the stimulus without
which she felt that she must die !
Bertie sat a moment, thinking, and it was thus he thought :
father is going to the banquet, I'm going to the cricket-field,
Alice will be at the Bardsley's. Mammie must not be left
.'.L^&^
'.K i -"fMiAl^ :
,.:m.:
I
The REt), REn wine.
37
like this. I will give her a glass of sherry, it will cheer her
up a bit till some one of us returns.
"If you have one good glass of Madeira, dear, do you
think it would do you good?"
"I think it would," was the reply, given in a faint whisper.
Cuthbert left the room, leaving the door open behind him,
crossed the hall, and entered the dining-room which was
just opposite. Having taken the side-board key from its
secret nook, he filled a wine-glass with the coveted sherry,
and bore it to his mother.
There was a strange pallor on her cheek as he re-entered,
her hand was held upon her forehead, and lines of pain
were drawn across her face.
" O, Bertie, dear, just run up to my bedroom and get me
the strong salts from off the dressing-table. Quick, please."
Cuthbert put down the glass, and went on the desired
errand. In an instant Mrs. Hayes rose from the sofa, and
passed out into the dining-room with an agile and cat-like
tread. As she expected, the side-board door remained
unclosed. To abstract a bottle of brandy, about half full,
from its place, and to fly back to her place on the sofa, was
barely half-a-minute's work. When Bertie returned she was
lying languidly as before, with the stolen spirits hidden
beneath the cushions of the lounge.
"I can't find it, mammie," said Bertie, as he handed her
the glass of wine.
"Never mind, dear, I'm better now;" hut as she spoke
her breath came and went in short spasms, a hectic flush
had come upon her cheek, caused by her excited chase for
drink, and for a few moments Cuthbert stood, uncertain
what to do.
"You had better lock the side-board, Bertie," she said.
" It does not do to be careless in such matters where there
are servants about. I shall be all right now."
That fiction about the servants was Mr. Norwood
. .»•« * .Jlk ,
38
THK RED, RED WINE.
Hayes' little stratagem for avoiding any humiliation to his
wife by the locking up of the decanters. A very kind and
thoughtful man was Mr. Hayes.
" I shall be all right now," Mrs. Hayes had said to her
son as he retired. That evening, while Hcrtie was handling
bat and ball, enjoying life to the full with merry comrades
in the light of the setting sun ; while Mr. Norwood Hayes
was banqueting at the " Netherborough Arms," and drinking
healths in "generous liquor," the poor lost mother and wife
was found on the floor by the servants, helplessly drunk.
They carried her to her bed and laid her on it as they found
her, and left her there. Look in upon her for one momer'
Her hair frowsy and frumpled, her face red, dark red,
but purple in its hue, her eyes partly open, but with no
light in them but a stare, her mouth open, and the breath
coming in long, stertorous snores, her hands and arms
stretched out widely, as if she lay fastened to a cross, as
indeed she did, crucified, all that was womanly of her, by
that masked and murderous assassin, strong drink. At that
very time Mr. Norwood Hayes had the wine-glass at his
lips, and was drinking a health " to the ladies " in the club-
room of the " Netherborough Arms !" Yet Mr. Norwood
Hayes was a Christian, the deacon of a C hristian church,
and a good man. I, who knew him, repeat it and affirm
it — a very good man indeed.
Yet surely, surely, there was something wrong some-
where. What was it? Let the Christian reader of this
fact from real life tell us where was the wrong, and who
was answerable for it before God and man?
Mr. Hayes was quite a pillar of the nonconforming
church that worshipped in " Zion " Chapel, and with
which Aaron Brigham had been allied for full threescore
years. He had no strong temptations to contend with,
and was often led to wonder how it was that he had no
weaknesses of the flesh that some good men have to
t III
'^>-;^.!i.
:^'-
' '-m/-!.!. '■vi.w'.v .■" \^.rAs~^^':^\-
THE RED, RED WINE.
39
struggle with as if for dear life. He was a strong-minded
man. He could take his one, two, or three glasses of
wine or other alcoholic beverage with impunity ; and he had
nothing but strong words and some measure of contempt
alike for those who could not drink moderately, and for
those who would not drink at all.
" What is wine for," he would say, " but to be drunk, and
what is a man worth if he has not grit enough to push the
bottle away when h^has had enough? There's reason even
in the roasting- of eggs.""
Of course such reasoning as this was unanswerable.
There was the ring (>i common sense and self-government
about it that demanded assent, and that touch about the
eggs had some mysterious and occult force in it that made
opposition to appear contemptible.
Mr. Hayes had a way with him, a winning and convincing
manner that had a silenci,ig effect of themselves. He spoke
in tones that were tuned to honesty through all their gamut.
He was a man of great local influence, and, as I have said
before, a good man, and an honour to " Zion," of which he
was the stay and the pride. His daughter, Alice, was proud
of him, as she well might be. She was proud of his manly
figure, of his superior intelligence, of his eloquence, and
aptitude of speech. She often affirmed that if her father's
lot had been cast at York, instead of Netherborough, he
would most assuredly have become lord mayor of that
ancient city.
Is there any wonder, then, thai young Walter Bardsley,
head over ears in love with Alice, saw in her father a model
man, a man worthy of imitation, and, indeed, it was seen
and known of all men that this fine young fellow had chosen
Mr. Norwood Hayes as a pattern man, after whom he might
well shape his own social and public life. Not that Walter
Bardsley held his model to be perfect. According to his
strong judgment, Mr. Hayes had one fault, and that a
.;}»»jitigiK MW I ^ w » ^
.mm'tyiii' -MtumtM H^ii . i iim w
^^ii a ■W« l^ l> » l>«'^«UiW«^W.w^■J«ll^al^|»> «iliiiitittm»M*0» Mmm >Mti «X »l lii i «i l«» * . it m' ■Oi''-.
40
THE RED, RED WINE.
1
serious one — he was not a total abstainer. Walter had
strong views on this subject, and did not hesitate to publish
them, though a " fanatic " of that sort, fifty years ago, had
no easy time of it.
" If only Mr, Hayes would come over to our side on the
drink question," Walter used to say, " he would be a man
without a flaw,"
had
•lish
had
"V
the
nan
CHAPTER VI.
IT was quite impossible for blithe, h'ght-hearted Alice
Hayes to stop long indoors on that eventful summer's
day. So after having regaled 'Liza and the cook with a full,
true, and particular account of the afternoon's ceremonieSf
she donned her hat again, and went forth to compare notes
with her chosen friend, Jennie Bardsley, over a quiet cup of
tea.
As the Bardsley family are bound to have much to say
and do in this drama of real life, it will be well to have
them before us once for all. Old Richard Baidsley — Ricky
Bardsley was the name by which he had been known in his
own generation — was a dry '^ Iter of established name and
position in Netherborough. His business had been built
up by himself, and in such vigorous fashion that when the
old man died his three sons found it good enough and
strong enough to maintain all three of them, and so they
went into partnership, and the firm of Bardsley Brothers,
drysalters, etc., was now considered to be as firm a piece of
construction as the parish church, and as progressive as the
creed of a Chartist, that is to say, the Chartist of fifty years
ago.
Of the three brothers Bardsley, Richard, the elder, was a
clever business man, and had he been as steady as he was
capable, it is hard to say to what pitch of prosperity the
business might not have attained. Keen, pushing, energetic,
with a quick eye to see an advantage, and ready skill to lay
hold of it, and a dogged perseverance that kept it when it
was got, Richard Bardsley, as a manager, was worth his
Jitfir i.WimrnJw-i' -r '-• .iwm-,.nii nniiiiMiiiii<[*a«iiiiiti w^^n, ti-fMr^ftumt^
1
I
I
t
'V '.•■
42
THE RED, RED WINE.
weight in gold. Rather, let me say, would have been,
if only he had been independent of the curse of Nether-
borough, which, through three generations of hard drinkers,
still held the Bardsleys more or less in its dread hereditary
grip. But Richard and his second brother, Henry, were
jovial fellows ; free-handed and free-hearted ; and as capital
boon companions, were ever in request. Both of them were
strong, substantial, vigorous young fellows physically, and,
though neither of them was remarkable either for strength
of mind or extent of knowledge outside the mysteries of
drysalting and the sale of it, they were a couple of "likely
young fellows," and great favourites with the " set " with
which they had socially allied themselves.
Walter Bardsley, the youngest brother, was quite different.
Slight in build, and somewhat short in stature, he offered
quite a contrast to his more robust brothers. I do not
doubt that he possessed a fair measure of business
capability, but he thought a good deal less about the
trade than they did, and contented himself with the round
of duty that came with every day, with no great desire to
increase its scope. You had but to look at his thoughtful
eyes, his broad intellectual brow, his whole face indeed, to
perceive how completely the material in him was dominated
by the mental, and how the moral held them both in check.
Walter had been a member of Mr. Norwood Hayes'
Bible-class, which had met for many years in the larger
vestry of Zion Chapel. Then it was that the lad began to
admire Mr. Hayes, and begin the process of devotion, that
ended in little less than idolatry. Walter was well read ;
for all the stores of Mr. Hayes' well-stocked library had
been placed at his disposal. Books were not much in the
Bardsley's line, and the family book-case was ominously
innocent of volumes, either of instruction or recreation.
Whilij he was still in his teens, Walter had come under the
influence of that splendid soul, and noble pioneer in the
• • *:■
"N ^'-v
v. '
i Sjta-^
'i
THE RED, RED WINE.
43
great Temperance movement, Robert Gray Mason. He
" signed the pledge," and at the date we come to know him,
he was a staunch and devoted supporter of the small and
feeble Total i^bstinence Society, which, like Mrs. Partington's
mop before the Atlantic waves, was trying to sweep away
the curse of Netherborough. It was a day of small things ;
still, all honour to the bold and faithful few, though their
success was small.
The three brothers Bardsley had two sisters, Annie and
Jane. Ihe former was, to all intents and purposes, the
mistress of the household, for as yet, none of them had
ventured to bind themselves in matrimonial bonds. It is
true that the mother, widow of Ricky Bardsley, was still
nominally at the head of affairs, but the old lady had been
practically superseded by her eldest daughter. She was
still " consulted," but as she could seldom leave her chair
without assistance, nothing very serious came of that.
Jane Bardsley, or Jennie, as she was called, was at once
the youngest daughter and the youngest child. She was a
bright, sprightly, and charming young woman of twenty.
I am no great hand at describing youthful grace and beauty,
and in Jennie Bardsley's case, I will leave the task alone,
and content myself with an affirmation. She was sai^ to be
the most beautiful girl in Netherborough, and I, who knew
her well, am prepared to say the same of her — with one
exception !
The Bardsleys lived on the business premises, which
were situated quite in the central position of the High
Street, and not far from the place where the imposing
block, owned by Mr. Norwood Hayes, quit-e put the old-
fashioned drysalting establishment into the shade. Tc
this latter, as I have said, came Miss Alice Hayes t(
her friend, who, young lady-like, greeted her witl
effusion. Miss Jennie had been a delighted o\
the bouquet incident.
44
THE RED, RED WINE.
11 ii
I
I:
i
•
" Why, Alice, you just looked lovely," she cai'l, " and
you went through it as easily as though you had been
presenting bouquets for a month, to get your hand in. I
saw Walter watching you. I tell you, he was that proud,
the dear silly goose, that he stood a full inch higher in his
shoes at the thought that you belonged to him ! "
"O, nonsense," saia Alice deprecatingly, but blushing
with pleasure, nevertheless. " I don't belong to him yet,
and, maybe I never shall, who knows."
" Yes, dearie, who knows," echoed Jennie in a low tone,
and half checking a sigh the while.
" What's that mean," said Alice quickly. " Is it for me
or yourself? If for me, don't trouble. I've faith in * my
ain true laddie.' If for yourself," continued the chatty
maiden, running on as usual, " I saw Reuben Stanford h\
the crowd this afternoon ; but he looked so- strange — "
Alice paused in dismay, for the beautiful girl to whom
she spoke blushed hotly to the very roots of her hair ; then
she turned pale as the white roses pinned at her breast,
then her chin dropped upon the roses, large tears flowed
down her face, and her lips quivered with a speechless ache
of heart. The curse of Netherborough was again at work
on "that glorious day."
Regretful Alice bit her lip in her vexation. She might
have known ; she ought to have known what it was that
made Reuben Stanford "look so strange." When the
tongue runs over fast, says the old proverb, it runs over far,
and Alice's had a very free flow, though mainly a harmless
one. She sought to turn the current of conversation.
"Are your brothers going to the banquet to-night?"
She knew they were, but she must say something.
The only answer she got was a weary sigh, and a half-
hopeless look, and the words,
" I hope /le won't be there."
And yet Reuben Stanford, "the handsome Vet," as he
',At.
THE RED, RED WINE.
45
\
f
was called, was just the sort of '* social acquisition " that is
always in great request at such gatherings as these. Never
a finer young fellow passed through the halls of the
Veterinary College than Reuben Stanford. Physically,
mentally, and in the main, morally, he was every inch a
man. This bright young man, who had won the heart of
sweet Jennie Bardsley, seemed to win the hearts of all.
No club, no public dinner, no charity ball, no anything of a
social nature in or around Netherborough, could be called
complete without the presence of the genial, witty, hand-
some Reuben Stanford. This is the sort of man who is
pressed to go on to perilous ground for other people's
enjoyment and his own danger. These are they who come
to be sympathetically spoken of as *' nobody's enemy but
their own ;" but, alas, they have enemies by the hundred,
and these are their so-called "social friends!" Friends
who worship with them at church on Sunday, and on
Monday help to send them to the devil, the grimmest devil
that hunts for the souls of men !
Jennie Bardsley had a terrible heartache ; this brought
on a terrible headache ; her young companion placed her
upon the sofa, and laid the cushions so that she could lie at
ease ; but what cushion is there on which a breaking heart
can lie softly? Scarcely had Alice Hayes retired, closing
the door quietly behind her, than the sorrowing girl buried
her head amongst those same cushions, and sobbed and wept
as though her heart would break.
And why? What was the cause of all this grief? Only
this, good Christian friends, — Mr. Norward Hayes was coming
along the street that morning just before luncheon time.
At his office door he met the Vicar and Reuben Stanford.
The former Kad an ailing carriage horse ; the " handsome
Vet." had been to see it, and both were now on their way
to Bardsley Brothers for the healing drugs requl.ed.
*'Good morning. Vic^j-/' said Mr. Hayes, who, as we
46
THE RED, RED WINE.
have already seen, was in unusually cheerful trim that
morning. " Come and lunch with me in my private room,
I want to talk to you about this afternoon's programme.
Come along."
"Thanks," said the Vicar who had pleasant memories of
Mr. Hayes' little luncheons at the business office, " but
stay, no, I must go with Stanford, here, who is — "
" Nonsense," said the genial merchant, " You'll come,
too, won't you, Stanford? You've often promised; now
you shaliy
Of course, on such a day, a bottle of champagne must
make the meeting merry : and all three " enjoyed it in
moderation." Who shall say them nay ; shall there be no
more cakes and ale ? Shall ginger no longer be " hot i' the
mouth?" Small blame to you, Mr. Norwood Hayes. And
you, O worthy Vicar, what law, canonical or otherwise, shall
condemn you ?
Reuben Stanford, by the very fact that the others were
most moderate and abstemious, was thrust into greater
peril. "You really must not leave a half-emptied bottle,"
Mr. Hayes had said. " We must finish it. Here Vicar,
take another glass."
"Not a drop more," said the Vicar, extending a de-
l)recatory palm.
" Then you must, Stanford, eh ?" said the genial host.
And Stanford did ! Yes, and did not seem any worse
for it. He and the vicar went on to Bardsley's. There Mr.
Bartley, having obtained the required drugs, left him, and
so it camft to pass that young Stanford was left to his evil
genius in the person of jovial Dick Bardsley, with whom he
must drink prosperity to the new railway about to be
inaugurated that day. The drink appetite which had been
kept laid and latent in Stanford for well nigh a month of
hardly-kept resolve, was fully roused, and thus it came
^bout that Reuben Stanford "looked so strange" at the
i
)
THE RED, RED WINE.
47
ceremony of the turning of the first sod ; ana thus it was
that the heart of the fair and innocent Jennie was sore with
grief and anguish, that her cheeks were wet with bitter
tears, and her soul was tortured by an agony of appre-
hension and nameless dread.
And pray, with all this cloud and shadow, pain and
peril, what had the good vicar and the estimable deacon to
do ? Am I my brother's keeper ? In these days, it is not
only the actual murderer Cain that asks that question, but
righteous Abel himself, from whom the Elder Brother, the
Brother born for our adversity, in His dear love for the
weak and erring, hopes for better things t
j
i
I
%
-»»^.
CHAPTER VII.
AT the aristocratic hour of seven, the guests assembled
at the " Netherborough Arms," filed into the large
club-room of the inn, and sat down to dinner. If the
plain and simple-going folks of the town had not been
otherwise instructed, they would have called it supper, and
would have regarded the hour as quite late enough for that.
One o'clock at the latest, twelve o'clock as the earliest, and
half-past twelve as a workable medium — these were the
notions at Netherborough as to the proper time to dine. I
have an idea that Old Parr, Old Jenkins, Old Methuselah,
and the other elderly notables, who kept death at arm's
length for so long a term of years, must have patronised
the good old Netherborough plan. What matter? A
supper by any other name will taste as good if proper care
be taken as to the provisions and the cook.
In this case there could be no question about either.
The " Netherborough Arms " had a reputation to maintain,
a county character to uphold, and everyone employed in the
kitchen on that day were Yorkshire hands. The guarantee
for the quality of the dinner could, of course, no further go.
I shall not attempt to describe in detail the dinner which
celebrated the new era in the fortunes of the town. It
might only excite desires that cannot easily be gratified, and
nothing is to be gained by dilating on the charms of the
unattainable. A bygone dinner is as of little present interest
as a last year's nest. It is enough to say that Yorkshire
appetite did abundant justice to Yorkshire fare, and that the
" Netherborough Arms " not only kept, but even added to,
the laurels it had already won.
:,'''
THE RED, RED WINE.
49
Of course, there was wine, the " red, red wine," and
white, too, and champagne, which boasts ©f a colour some-
where between the two. It is pretty safe to say that fifty
years ago a public dinner without wine would have been as
rare a thing as a wedding without a ring, and would have
been regarded as quite as incomplete. In these days, the
average Briton at a "celebration dinner" is quite as great a
fool as his forefathers, and never .orgets at such times to
pour out his libations in strong drink to whatever god or
demi-god may be chosen to receive the honours of the day.
That would not matter so much if only the votaries, after
the fashion of some ancients, poured the liquor on the
ground. They pour it into themselves, and many of them
find themselves at the last where the liquor ought to be !
I am not in a position to say anything as to the quality ot
the wine which graced the table at the Netherborough
dinner ; but I have no doubt that, as in these days, there
was sherry compounded, say, of red currants and alum, port
expressed from the finest blackberries and logwood chips,
and champagne, whose parentage could be traced to goose-
berry bushes. All of them adulterated with more or less of
the real article, or some other form of alcohol even more
potent and deleterious. So long as the alcohol is there —
— "the thing," as the droughty Scotchman said, "that spins
a wee, an' then sets a' things spinnin' mair an' mair" — the
rest is a mere detail not to be curiously inquired into.
I can, however, produce a witness, at secondhand, as to
the character of the liquors on that great day. On the
following day a cluster of loungers, it seems, were standing,
as was their custom, at Church Corner. One of them was
speaking in envious terms of the happy condition in which
some of the " gentlemen " were taken home from the
dinner in the small hours of the morning. George Caffer,
the painter, who was present, together with his boon
companion, Phil Lambert, began to make excuse for them.
^ft-
50
THE RED, RED WINE.
Geordie was always ready to excuse lapses of that kind, and
was equally ready to '• lapse " himself when he had the
chance.
"Why, is there ony wonder?" he said. "It isn't ofen
that folks hev' a chance like that. Them that teks's wine
ev'ry day don't get that kind o' wine ev'ry day, because,
don't yo' see, their pockets couldn't stand it. Why,
somebody as was there tell'd Phil Lambert, and Phil
Lambert tell'd me, that some of it was such first-class
stingo that it knocked yo' ower like nine-pins a'most before
you knew where yo' was ! "
As Geordie uttered these stirring words, he nodded again
and again in affirmation of the story.
But to return to the dinner. Of course Mr. Huddleston
took the chair at the subsequent proceedings. He did offer
to give way in favour of the young Lord Seaton ; but that
youthful nobleman looked so cowed and frightened at the
very thought, that in sheer pity for him the railway monarch
ended . his troubles and took his own appointed place.
Lord Thaxendale's heir fanned his heated face with his
'kerchief as he took his seat beside him, and turning to
his next neighbour, he said, in tones which told of the
tremor he had felt,
"Really, don't you know, Mr. Huddleston shouldn't
come — ah-r-down on a fellow — ah — like that. It's very
exciting ; it is really — ah — don't you know ? " The force of
his lordship's eloquence was exhausted, and he would gladly
have taken a glass of wine there and then to get himself
pulled together again. That, however, he rould not do.
The "^health of the Queen " had to be attended to first.
What a magnificently hale and vigorous woman her
Majesty ought to be, considering the oceans of strong liquor
which have been poured down the throats of her loyal
subjects as a libation to the gods on her behalf. Under the
guidance of the chairman, the whole company went through
\
p
"success of the yoek and netherborough railway.
Page 51.
THE RKI), RED WINE.
S«
this too customary tom-foolery, in which Tom Fool is
outdone in his own pecuUar province : and every individual
toast-drinker becomes a momentary candidate for the cap
and bells. That, at any rate, was old Aaron Brigham's
estimate of the matter. Returning from "Zion" chapel
that night, where he had been attending the weekly
prayer-meeting — that was his mode of celebrating the
"great day" — somebody asked him jocosely if he would not
like to drink the Queen's health at the banquet then
proceeding.
" I wish the Queen health, long life, and as much
prosperity as is good for her, wi' all my heart," said Aaron ;
" an' what's mair, I pray for it ; but how ony sane body can
* drink ' it, I can't understand ; an' specially to drink it i'
that that's knocked both kings an' queens over like nine-pins
before they've lived oot half their days, an' is doin' the same
wi' thousands o' their subjects until the whole land, from
end to end, is becoming like the Potter's Field, a field o'
blood ! It's all a device o' the devil to mek drinkin' patriotic
an' respectable. Wine is just aboot the most profitable part
of his stock-i'-trade, an' toast drinking, as folks call it, is one
of his sample-traps for securin' big orders."
The toast of the evening, however, was " Success to the
York and Netherborough Railway." Of course, wonderful
things were said of it, and wonderful prophecies were
ventured concerning it, and everybody agreed that
Netherborough was now on the high road to prosperity.
" Richard Bardsley, Esquire," was the name coupled with
this toast. It is wonderful what a crop of esquires grow up
suddenly, like mushrooms, on occasions of this sort.
Richard, or, rather, Dick Bardsley — for that was his
working-name — was none other than the elder brother in the
firm of drysalters to which I have already referred. He and
his brother Walter did not get on very well together. The
elder regarded the younger as somewhat priggish, to use his
s*
THE RED, RED WINE.
own slangy mode of speech. Richard was, as we have said,
over fond of a "social glass," and Walter's staunch cold
water principles and practice were a tacit reproof that galled
him a good deal. He felt that the opportunity had come to
turn ihe tables on the teetotaler.
" I am glad, Mr. Chairman, that you have called for a
bumper in honour of the toast to which I am proud to
respond," said he, at the close of his brief speech. " The
railway itself may well be regarded as a bumper, for I am
persuaded that it will be a full cup, brimful of prosperity to
our town ; and even at the risk of a little confusion of
metaphors, I will add that it will bump adversity, hard times,
and bad trade clean out of Netherborough ! "
It need hardly be said that this extravagant prophecy was
greeted with uproarious cheers, especially when it is
remembered that the "red, red wine," had by this time
reddened the faces, quickened the pulses, heated the blood,
and muddled the brains of the majority.
" It is surely a fitting thing, Mr. Chairman," continued
Richard Bardsley, " that so exhilarating a sentiment should
be drunk in champagne ; that monarch among wines which
has been called 'crown of the vineyard,' just as that
generous liquor, port, has been called its ' cardinal.' I have
noticed that one gentleman in this present company has
thought water to be gotid enough for the drinking of toasts
on this occasion ; aye, even that of Her Gracious Majesty
the Queen !
" I don't agree with him ! I am persuaded that none of us
will agree with him ; and, indeed, I, for one, protest against
such a mockery of ancient rule and usage, and such a
breach of good fellowship. We initiate to day the best
stroke of fortune that has ever come to Netherborough ; the
railway has the best chairman to be found in England ; we
have joined in the best dinner that was ever served at
the ' Netherborough Arms ; ' we are in the btst of spirits as
I?
THE RED, RED WINE.
53
one that the
and that
IS
!
I?
to the future of our town, and I say for
occasion is worthy of the best of liquor,
champagne ! "
This ready and taking style of speech hit the exhilarate!
guests exactly. A tempest of cheers, inebriated or. ;s,
greeted the orator as he resumed his seat, and a chorus of
voices were heard saying, "and so say we all !"
Young Walter Bardsley was a good deal disconcerted. It
was, indeed, a very unpleasant predicament for him to bv,
placed in. He was probably the youngest man in the room,
except Cuthbert Hayes, who had stolen in after the banquet
to hear the speeches. Walter knew that the eyes of the
whole company were turned upon him, the one well-known
abstainer there. He knew that he had turned suddenly
white, and had then blushed like a school-boy. But he
kept his fingers on the tumbler of water he had been
sipping, and in a little while self-mastery stilled his nervej,
and brought a smile to his face, which showed that he
meant to stand by his colours, come what might !
In a little while an unexpected opportunity came to him
of replying to the onslaught of his brother Dick. In the
absence of the gentleman who had been appointed to
"speak to the toast"— "The Trade of the Town," that
office was charged upon " Mr. Walter Bardsley ! " Thio
suggestion had been made to the chairman by Mr. Norwood
Hayes, who was a dear lover of fair-play. He had resolved
that the young man should have the opportunity of giving
his elder brother a Rowland for his Oliver.
The young abstainer rose to his feet. He was a little
nervous. This was the second time he had been taken by
surprise, and he had a little difficulty in bracing himself for
the task before him. He was a good speaker, quite
exceptional in that respect in the Mechanics' Institute of
Netherborough, and was said to be a good second even to
his mentor and model, Mr, Norwood Hayes. He spoke of
!
54
THE RET), RED WINE.
Ill
the various trades that were carried on in the town, and
testified to the warmth and genuineness of his interest in
the prosperity of his native place. He got fairly hold of
his audience by his play upon the fact that he was a town
lad, engaged in the trade of the town ; then he put his
heart into the work. He pictured in glowing terms what
his dear native place might be as to its homes, its morality,
its comfort, its prosperity, and then concluded as follows :
" That is what Netherborough might be, like Jerusalem
of old, a joy and a delight. But 2vi7/ it be ? What magic
power can work the glorious change? Our renowned
chairman has been called the great magician of his day,
but does he wield the conjuror's wand that can lift the
'curse of Netherborough,' and brighten its streets and
lanes and alleys with glad and happy life?" (Here the
railway monarch shook his head). " He himself says, No.
Will the new railway bring such Arcadian happiness to the
town we love ? It may do something for our material
prosperity — will do, I do not doubt, but what will be the
real gain of that, if the physical and social conditions of the
people are not improved ?
" No, I tell you," continued the young orator, " every
material force you may bring to bear on Netherborough,
will fail to put an end to its crime, its ignorance, its poverty,
its squalor, and its shame, until you banish the bottle and
put a ban upon the beer-barrel ; until you expel the
licensed drink-shops from the town they are bringing to
ruin, and until it is found that this" — here he lifted up his
tumbler filled to the brim with water — " is the des/ liquor in
the world, — the true, sparkling gift of God ; and in it, and
in it only, I drink to a sober Netherborough and * the trade
of the town ! ' "
Some of the guests cheered the speech uproariously ; but
then they were so far dulled and dazed with liquor that
they did not perceive the drift of Walter's speech, and
\
THE RED, RED WINE.
55
would have given uproarious cheers for anything;, their own
dispatch by the common hangman, say, or a proposal to
make a bonfire of the " Netherborough Arms." Others
received it in the sullen silence of dismay ; and others,
such as Dr. Medway, Reuben Stanford, and Richard
Bardsley contented themselves with loud shouts of " No,
no ! " " Nonsense," and short laughs in which they dubbed
the speaker tacitly as a fanatic and a fool.
Lord Seaton put up his eye-glass, twirled the corner of his
incipient moustache, and whispered to the Vicar on his
right, " a dangerous fellah, that — ah — one of those Chartists
— ah, wears a white hat, I expect, and — and all that, don't
you knew."
The Vicar smiled — it's so convenient, that, for who can
tell what a smile may mean ? It is a handy non-commital
kind of response. In this way the good man avoided any
condemnation of the heroic Walter, which his conscience
forbade him to do ; and avoided also any approval which
his preference for the conventionalities and usages of social
life would certainly have prompted him to give.
There was one fine young fellow present who gazed upon
Walter Lardsley, as he took his seat, with undisguised
admiration and that was the son of Mr. Norwood Hayes.
When Walter happened to turn his eyes in the direction of
Cuthbert Hayes, he was greeted with a succession of nods,
accompanied by a gleam of the eyes and a smile on the face
which said as plain as could be, " You are a hero, and
you are right ! "
Just at that moment Cuthbert heard his father's voice.
He was speaking to Mr. Dunwell, the minister at Zion
Chapel, who was retiring, as was also the Vicar, from the
evening's proceedings. Probably that much was owing to
Walter's honest and courageous witness for the truth. Mr.
Dunwell had said something to Mr. Hayes in passing, to the
effect that Walter had at any rate the courage of his opinion.
.■^
IP
ICSSSSSmmm
ijHiniTirBij
im
T
56
THE RED, RED WINE.
" Yes," said Mr. Norwood Hayes, " Walter's a splendid
fellow," and this is what Cuthbert overheard — " if he would
only be a little less fanatical, drop his teetotal fad, and go in
for teaching the virtues of a manly self-control, he would
arrive at the same ends by far less extravagant and indeed
impossible means."
'* Just so," said Mr. Dunwell, and passed out into the
night.
Cuthbert drooped his head and thought the matter over.
He said to himself,
" Father condemns Walter's cold water principles. He
ought to know. I think he knows everything." As he
spoke he looked at his father, and noticed that the wine in
his glass had neither increased nor lessened during the last
hour. There he sat as self-contained and as thoroughly
master of himself as he was at his own breakfast table that
morning — all because he was a '* man who was king of
himself."
Cuthbert, in the first warmth of his feelings had intended
to go to Walter, shake him warmly by the hand and say,
" I will join you, Walter, and stand beside you under the
cold water flag." But now he scarcely thought he would.
He dearly wanted to be as good and strong a man as his
father, and he would have spurned the idea that anybody
could be better. Like his sister Alice, he was proud of him.
Father did not abstain, then why should he ? Father
dearly liked Walter, but he thought him a fanatic. He did
not want his father, of all people, to think him one. Then
again, Mr. Dunwell said, "Just so," to his father's views
about it. "No," he said, rousing himself from his
cogitations, "I'll remain as I am, able to take care of
myself."
His father and his pastor led him to that decision.
Poor Cuthbert Hayes ! On that subject I cannot just
now trust my pen to write, or my mind to dictate, Wait
THE RED, RED WINE.
57
awhile, I shall calm down a little by-and-by. His father
and his pastor ! The minister and the deacon ! And both
of them good men, earnest, honest, kindly, and true !
Walter Bardsley's speech had raised such a hubbub that
Mr. Huddleston, the chairman, was glad to create a
diversion by calling the next toast.
And so the night went on. Songs were called for,
bacchanalian diUies having the preference ; glasses were
constantly refilled, the cigars were handed lOund, and, as an
old author says, " reason set to reeling in odd contortions."
Finally somebody suggested " The Ladies," though there
were none there. Then " Stanford ! " " Stanford ! " " Stan-
ford ! " was noisily called on to respond. The " handsome
Vet," whose day's drinking, after well nigh a month's
abstinence, began in the company of the worthy Vicar and
Norwood Hayes, could, by this time hardly stand upright
on his feet. As he stood or tried to stand, by the aid
afforded him by the table, Reuben Stanford who was always
said to " look every inch a man," looked every inch a sot.
He murmured out a few incoherent sentences ; and then
the poor fool, self-made by favour of his comrades, had a
sudden inspiration —
" Gen'omen ! " said he, " I'm goin' to vencha 'pose a toast
—'The belle of Neth'bro,' Miss Jennie—"
Then up sprung Dick Bardsley, and rushing forward, he
angrily pulled the demented speaker backward on the floor.
In drunken rage Stanford struck right and left, and Bardsley
was ready enough to retaliate. Everybody rose, some to
mingle in the fray, and others to leave the room, and still
others to gather into a corner and dispose themselves to
continue the "evening's entertainment !" Mr. Huddleston,
whose somewhat expansive features always had a certain
flavour of rubicundity, carried his face, which, as the song
says of the " blood-red flag or England," did " most terrific
burn," from the scene and he was followed by Lord Seaton,
58
THE RED, RED WINE.
who was glad to hold by his Majesty's coat-tail as a sort of
personal protection. In his case, immoderate indulgence
only had the effect of rendering him more imbecile and
harmless than was his wont ; that, however, is a condition
difficult to imagine or to understand. By two's and three's
the guests of the evening reeled out into the streets, and
more or less noisily sought their homes, ,which many of
them failed to find, and so abode in the street all night.
So ended the dinner — that celebrated an epoch in the
history of Netherborough. Ended, did it ? Alas, not yet !
CHAPTER VIII.
WHILE the selected few in Netherborough were
dining and drinking, neither well nor wisely, the
lower orders — how much lower? — were equally busy,
according to their limits, on Netherborough Green. The
bountiful supply of roast beef and bread was disposed of
rapidly, and several bulky barrels of strong beer were soon
exhausted of their contents. Fresh supplies were continually
forthcoming, for the liberal wiseacres, who had provided
this questionable gift, were resolved that there should be no
stint.
For awhile all went on peaceably and pleasantly. Those
who knew when they had had enough or thought they did,
strolled off for a walk in the green lanes ; or gathered in
knots at the street corners, to discuss the new railway in
general, and the events of the day in particular. Some
few retired to their homes and busied themselves with their
own affairs, striving to make up for the loss of the brief
holiday they had stolen earlier in the day.
The worthy vicar, thoughtful man, appealed to the men
who had charge of the ale-barrels, not to serve out the
liquor to boys and girls, but as the custodians themselves
were soon too merry to be wise, the well-meant check was of
small value. A legal prohibition of the saturnalia would
have been a surer safeguard; but Mr. Bartley, like the
average Briton of to-day, was content to hope for the best
when the gate was set wide open to the worst, and the way
was all down hill !
In the course of the evening, contingents of farm lads and
M
"'^-"""■•^"■'^fefi' - -
6o
THE RED, RED WINE.
lasses, farmers' sons, ar.d others from the neighbouring
villages, joined the roysterers o*'! the Green. At length,
the scene that the rising moon looked down upon might
well have led her to " fill the horn " no more, for that
process as carried on by the mundane fools upon the Green
was an uttermost scandal and disgrace. The stage of mild
and good-tempered elevation was soon passed ; that of
boisterous hilarity and rough-and-tumble horseplay suc-
ceeded. Passionate quarrels, reckless mischief, and the
mad pranks of drunken license followed.
An epoch in the history of Netherborough ! The out-
come of that now long-distant day was mourning and
misery and shame which not only left their mark behind
them, but are themselves in evidence at Netherborough at
this day. The iron highway is now in operation ; it stretches
its sinuous length along the plains and valleys, and the iron
horse has been careering noisily by the Green at Nether-
borough for full fifty years. But the dreadful horseman.
Care, on his coal-black steed, has ridden with a hardness
quite as ruthless, quite as constant, from that day to this.
The knell-like clink of those cruel hoofs is heard to-day in
sorrowful echoes by Netherborough households who date a
life-grief from " the turning of the first sod !"
And yet at this day, the banquet and the beer ; the " red,
red wine," "the barrel on the tap," are the Englishman's
established and favourite method of paying honours to a
hero, or of celebrating some great deed or day ; and drinking
healths and proposing " toasts " is still a fashionable foolery !
The devil's game is being played within more decent limits,
»♦: is true, but for that result we have to thank the steady
and heroic perseverance of the patriots, who, like Walter
Bardsley, have borne the Temperance Banner into the
heart of the enemy's camp.
When Aaron Brigham reached his own little rose-
embowered cottage on the Spaldon Road, he found his
THE RED, RED WINE.
6i
supper, a basin of boiled milk and bread, awaiting him.
That peculiarity in his diet had most likely much to do in
bringing him to such a ripe old age.
''Solid suppers are sappers," the old man used to say,
" an' like a mowthard," by which he meant a mole, " they
do their work i' t' dark, an' t' mischiefs only seen by the
heaps of soil they leave behint 'em, just like new graves in a
chotchyard."
Esther Harland was anxiously awaiting him, for not only
was the milk cooling fast, but the hurly-burly in the town
made her apprehensive that Aaron's non-appearance at his
usual time was because some harm had befallen him.
"O, Aaron," said she, "wheriver ha' yo' been? Your
bread an' milk's been waitin' for you, I don't know hoo
long ; and warm milk that's well-nigh cold is a'most as
tasteless as warm water. Bless me ! hoo wet you are ! Is
the dew fallin' ? Why, your hair's as wet as a dish-cloot.
Let me put it in t' oven for you."
" Bless the woman ! " replied Aaron, with a smile and a
twinkle ; " what for ? You'll ha' to put my head in with it.
I'd do a'most anything to oblige yo', Hetty, but I must draw
the line somewhere — "
" Ho'd your noise, you dear owd silly, I meant yer
bread an' milk, not yer hair," said Esther, with a laugh,
which showed that the air was clear again. " I was
frightened that something had happened to yo'."
" Something would ha' happened to me if you'd got my
hair an' what it grows upon into the oven "
Hereupon Esther took his hat and stick out of his hand,
patted his bald crown in mock punishment, and placed his
milk before him, laughing heartily, as she answered :
" Nay ; I'm ower glad to see yo' back safe an' soond, to
put yo' onywhere but in your owd armchair. Noo then,
put your supper inside you, an' tell us what you've seen an'
heard."
69
THE RED, RED WINE.
On Aaron's face a shadow fell. Before the <^poon had
reached his lips it was lowered again.
" Esther, my gell, I've seen a fejther run away from his
own bairn, and I've heard a bairn cryin' its sweet little heart
oot wi' a grief that'll kill her some o' these days." The old
man's voice faltered, and tears that do not readily come to
the eyes of age trickled down his cheeks.
" Esther," he continued, " I wish you would go an' see
lahtle Kitty Smart. I don't expect her fcyther'll go nigh her
to-night. He's dead drunk i' Smith's coach-house. I got
Jack Kelby an' another to carry him there, an' there he'll
stay, I expect, till mornin'."
"What made yo' meddle wi' him?" said Esther, sharply.
*' He's nowt no better than a hog. Let him lie where he
tum'les. He isn't worth lifting up." Aaron said nothing,
but he sighed heavily.
"What's that for?" quoth Esther, who had a very
tender regard for the old man for all her occasional
asperities.
*' I'se thinkin', Hetty. What would ha' become o' me,
if I'd been left to lie where I fell ? "
"You? Don't talk such nonsense. Vou niver tum'led
so low as that, an' — "
" Mebbe not; but who kept me from it, Hetty? I was
no mair worth liftin' up than any other sinner.
'Twas mercy all, immense an' free,
An' O my (lod, it foond oot me.'
" Hetty ! I'm boond to meddle wi' Tom Smart for the
sake o' three folk — three different folks," continued Aaron,
speaking with low emphasis.
" Who's them ? " said Esther, curiously, but not
grammatically.
" Why, for the sake o' my dear lahtle Kitty, my
sweetheart ; bless her ! I love the little lassie mair than I
THE RED, RED WINE.
«3
can tell yo', an' for her sake I'll do my best to save Tom
Smart.
"An' who else's?" said Esther again, with a grudge
against Lindley Murray.
" For the sake o' my Lord an' Maister, Jesus Christ," said
Aaron, reverently. " He came to litt us all up, low as we
had tum'led. He spent His life i' liftin' the vilest an' the
worst, an* he lifted up a prayin' thief as he was dyin', an'
took him with Him — up yonder — where I'm expectin' to
go when He chooses to lift me up."
The old man bowed his white head in silence. Esther
Harland, good soul, knew she sat in the presence of one
who did not need to be lifted much higher to reach the
throne. Almost mechanically she asked, "And for whose
sake besides ? "
'■^ For my own!" said the old man, suddenly raising his
head to look — not Esther only- -but the whole world in the
face ; " I'll neither be a traitor to Jesus, nor a murderer o'
my brother, nor will I put i' peril my own immortal soul.
So long as I can call Him my Redeemer, I'll try to redeem
somebody. So long as the Hand that bears the nail-prints
reaches doon to lift me, this hand o' mine shall reach doon
to lift my fallen neighbour, an' if" — here he paused, and
looked upon the hard and horny palm, and on the fingers
crooked with years of toil — " if it be needful that the nails
should be driven here before Tom Smart can be lifted, I'm
riddy ! "
Leaving the old man to himself awhile, Esther Harland
made haste to Smart's cottage to see if she could make
matters lighter for little Kitty and the children. If she had
met with Tom Smart lying in the street, aye, or in the ditch,
I think she would have lifted him up for somebody's sake.
A few days after that great day of the feast, the scholars,
teachers, and friends of the vSunday School connected with
Zion Chapel, had their annual feast. Tea and cake were
64
THE RED, RED WINE.
provided, and all those delicacies which make public teas in
the East Riding so famous, and in a field on the Spaldon
Road the happy party held high holiday. The heat of the
summer sun was modified by the thin white clouds which
sailed slowly along the blue sky ; clouds which after all were
so filmy that they could not make it other than a sunny day.
The light and balmy breeze that drove the clouds along
served only to make the weather more delightful, and, as
Aaron Hrigham said, with a heart as young as the merry
youngsters in their play, it was as if the day had been
"made o' purpose," as indeed it was to such a child-like
faith in Providence as his.
Among those who presided at the feast itself none looked
fairer, none put on a more cheerful guise, none were more
popular with the young folks, than Jennie Bardsley. She
seemed to be the life and soul of the whole proceedings.
Her very presence was regarded as the guarantee of a happy
and successful day. The bevy of girls who formed her own
Bible-class half worshipped their teacher, and vied with each
other as to which should be her most effective helper in
attending to the wants and supplying the amusements of
the smaller children, whose appetites for both seemed to be
m inverse ratio to their size.
It would not be putting the least strain upon the truth to
say that Jennie Bardsley whs beautiful ; I should hesitate to
call her handsome. I suppose she would not have passed
scatheless under the severe criticisms of scientific judges if
every individual feature was judged alone, but no candid
observer could look upon her face, lighted up as it was
with the true woman's soul that dwelt behind it, without
admiration, and none could know her without adding these
to their confidence and esteem. She was seen at her best,
perhaps, when surrounded by her youthful companions ; a
girl among girls, and yet a teacher to be looked up to,
and to be loved. Her summer-hued, small-patterned, ancj
I't'
I
THE RED, RED WINE.
6S
simple "print" dress, set off her tall form to perfection, and
the broad-brimmed summer hat that partially hid her wealth
of brown hair, and veiled her dark eyes from the sunlight,
gave her an added attraction ; and there were many in the
gala-field that day who doubted whether " the handsome
Vet," handsome as he was, and popular, deserved to be the
owner of so fair a prize.
The fair and merry Jennie had a joke for everybody, and
her genial manners and ready speech gave quite a cheery
cue that everybody seemed impelled to follow. When the
tea was over, who but she must ui^anise the games, deal out
the skipping-ropes, the hoops, the battledores and shuttle-
cocks, or bind the eyes of those who groped, amid shouts
and laughter, in blind man's buff. And she was equal to
the occasion. There were those present, however, who
thought, and thought rightly, that she was exercising great
self-repression. At times, when she was taken unawares,
there stole over her pleasant face an anxious look, a look of
pain, and at times of positive fear, as if she were under the
influence of some sad foreboding, and tremblingly asked,
"What next?"
The worthy pastor of Zion Chapel, Mr. Dunwell, an
observant man, had seen this so often in the course of the
afternoon, that he felt impelled, with kind intent, as a
pastor might well do, to speak to her on the subject.
" Miss Bardsley," he said, in a low and sympathetic tone
when no one was near, " I'm afraid you carry a heartache
to-day, under all your pleasant seeming. Can a true friend
help you to bear it ? "
Jennie raised her eyes, which were at once filled with
tears, and instantly replied,
"You are right, Mr. Dunwell. Thank you for your
thought of me. To tell the truth, I'm sad and miserable
on account of — "
Here she paused suddenly, and looked in the pastor's face.
66
THE RED, RED WINE.
A veil seemed to fall over her tearful eyes, giving a certain
expression of distrust — no, not exactly that, say rather of
reserve, to her bonnie face, ** Forgive me," she said in a
voice that had a mournful cadence in it, " I'd rather not
tell you. Still I tiiank you."
Here a swarm of little ones out of the infant class
gathered round her skirts, and under cover of their impor-
tunity, she turned away. What thought was it that flashed
on the mind of Jennie Bardsley, and intercepted the con-
fidence she had begun ? What was it she saw, or thought
she saw, in the pastor's kindly face that thrust back into her
heart all the numbing ache that she thought to lessen by
submitting it to the wholesome and soothing touch of a
minister of God ? IVAaf was it /
^
CHAPTER IX.
WHEN Reuben Stanford, the "handsome Vet.," was
removed from the " Netherborough Arms " to his
own lodgings on the night of the great banquet, he was
all but helpless with drink, excitement, and the sore
handling he had brought upon himself in the scuffle that
followed his rude and unseasonable "toast." The next day
he could not leave his bed Had he even been able, he
would not for very shame's sake. His whole system,
physical, mental, moral, was taking vengeance on him for
yesternight's sin and folly. His head v -s dull and stupid,
and ached so that he felt scarcely sane. His mind and
memory were in a daze, and the more he struggled to
realise the miserable facts, the more he called himself a
coward and a fool.
He vainly tried to take the cup of tea and the slice of
dry toast his landlady had supplied him with. Without his
knowledge she sent for the doctor, perfectly persuaded in
her own mind that her lodger was seriously ill. Had Dr.
Marcus Medway been his usual medical attendant, Mrs.
Crouch would never have summoned him unless under
orders so to do. That notable, or rather, notorious,
individual would most certainly have prescribed for him " a
hair of the dog that bit him " — a strange fashion, surely, of
treating the rabies of strong drink !
Dr. Julius Preston, a young and clever surgeon, who had
but lately taken up his abode in Netherborough, was a man
of another spirit. He ordered his patient to bed, put an
absolute embargo on alcohol in any form, and gave him to
^
/M,
68
THE RED, RED WINE.
i ;
understand that he might be up and about in a day or two
if he would do as he was told.
Reub'^a Stanford was not submissive. He was a refrac-
tory patient, and so it came to pass that on the day of the
school feast he was " not at all himself," to quote his own
way of putting it. As he was paying scant attention to the
late breakfast Mrs. Crouch had prepared for him, a special
messenger came to summon him to Horton Hall. Squire
Langley's favourite riding mare had met with an accident,
and the presence of the Vet. was instantly required.
"You surely don't think of going, sir, do you?" said
his landlady, a motherly body, for whom he had much
regard.
" I must go," he said, beginning at once to attire himself
for his journey.
Scarcely had she left the room, fully aware that further
entreaty would be vain, than Stanford helped himself to a
** stiffish " glass of brandy and soda, a prescription which he
had found useful when he had been " all to pieces," as he
called it, after special indulgence. He knew that it would
" pull him together," and bring him up to his normal level
for a while. Without pause he swallowed the " ruinous
restorer," and soon felt himself to be " quite another man."
As he paused in the hall to put on his spurs, Mrs.
Crouch again appeared, and noting that his hand shook as
he buckled the spur-straps to his heel, ventured one more
remonstrance.
" Mr. Stanford," said she, " I'm sure you ought not to go.
Dr. Preston wouldn't let you, if he knew."
" Dr. Preston couldn't help himself any more than I
can," — then noticing her really anxious face, he continued :
" Don't trouble, Mrs. Crouch. There's no help for it,
and, indeed, I feel that a smart ride will do me good.
Squire Langley is far too valuable a patron for a young man
like me to lose. I'm all right ; and if I wasn't," he con-
I
THE RED, RED WINE.
69
tinued, with a laugh that had no ring in it, " needs must,
you know, when Old Somebody drives."
"Old Somebody, as you call him," said candid Mrs.
Crouch, " hasn't any need to drive you, Mr. Stanford. You
gallop his way on your own accord. O, sir ! when will you
stop ? "
"When I get there, I suppose," he said, half angrily, half
despairingly, and turning on his heel repaired to the
"Griffin," where his horse was stabled. He paused at the
door, however, to fling back a kindly look at his anxious
landlady, for he had ever a kindly heart. That look became
a treasured memory for many and many a day.
In the yard of the " Grififin " Inn, P.euben Stanford's
beautiful black mare stood pawing the ground restlessly,
and requiring all the firmness of the ostler's hand to hold it
in. Reuben was proud of his steed, and well he might be,
for Dark Lady, as he called her, was quite a local celebrity,
not only for the uncommon beauty of her form and gait,
but for her remarkable powers of speed. There was ever a
good understanding between the mare and her master, and
it would be hard to say which of them loved the other best.
" Good morning, Marcell," said P.euben to the landlord,
who came out to give him greeting. " Dark Lady seems
rather lively this morning."
"Why, yes, and small wonder. She hasn't been out of
the yard for some days. What's been wrong wi' you ?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Reuben, in a tone that implied
disgust with the whole subject. " Seedy, I suppose. I've
been confounded queer. Just come and alter this curb for
me, my hand shakes."
"O, we'll soon put all that right," said Marcell. "Your
nerves just want steadying a bit. You haven't got over the
banquet yet, I expect. Ha, ha, ha !"
"Yes, that's about the truth of it," said Stanford, too
vexed with himself to laugh. " I wish I had been a
/i
76
THE RED, RED WINE.
hundred miles away," and so saying he threw himself into
the saddle with rhat sort of action that seems designed to
come a reckless cropper on the other side. Of all the
miserables that ever ask the question, " Is life worth
living ? " I think a toper with a conscience after a hard
bout of drinking is the man who is most warranted in
saying ** No I''
** Stop a minute," said Marcell, and hasting into the
house, he speedily returned with a glass of liquor in his
hand.
" Here, Stanford," said he, " here's a drop of * special ' for
you. It's seven years old if it's a day. It's as mild as milk.
There's not a headache in a hogshead of it. Drink it off.
It'll do you good!"
** It'll do you good." Take it for all in all, this is
probably the most popular lie that the higher civilisation,
aided by the religion of goodwill to man, as commonly
interpreted, has ever yet produced. Frc the burglar o'
nights who proffers a jorum of gin to a brou r knight of the
jimmy, with a big swear to recommend it, to the pious host
who proffers a glass of " red, red wine " to the minister who
has just returned from service, and is supposed to need a
pick-me-up, *' It'll do you good " is the favourite lie of the
classes and the masses in this land of ours. It is the only
quack medicine in the world where the doctor and the
patient take the physic together, look each other in the face
benevolently, and say, "Your health !"
The handsome animal that Stanford bestrode, as if glad
to feel her master's weight, and eager for a scamper, arched
her graceful neck, champed her bit, and pawed the ground,
longing to be off and away. The ride did Reuben good.
He felt better as the milestones passed. As D.si: T.adj
cantered with him over the springy turf, arvl urder the
shady elms, and over the undulating slopes of Hor'v>r. Pai ,
as the music of the birds, and the hum Oi che beta amo'sg
t 'i
\ 1
I i
i!
V
if
THE RED, RED WINE.
7'
the limes, and the pleasant ripple of the beck fell upon his
ears ; as he bared his head that the balmy summer wind
might work its will among his curly locks, and breathe its
grateful incense on his brow ; as all the glad possibilities of
youth, and strength, and life, crowned with the love of a
true woman, rose before him in present vision, the question,
"Is life worth living?" resolved itself into a grand imper-
tinence, the ruling pessimism of a fool. The blood was
warm in his veins, the light was bright in his eye, and the
exuberant spirit within him found vent in song
! i
SiWOiUl JfiJ^ UIOS
INSTITUTE.
CHAPTER X.
\ :
II
SQUIRE LANGLEY was a man with a hobby, and his
hobby was horses and dogs. When matters went
well with them, those about him could get on very well with
him. If, as on the present occasion, harm should come
to any of his four-footed favourites, he raged around like
the proverbial bear with the sore hiad.
" What's amiss, squire ? " said Reuben, as he handed the
reins of Dark Lady to the groom who was waiting to take
charge of her. Squire Langley was stridmg across the
stable-yard ; he always did stride when he was in a temper,
and always, as now, carried his thick ivory-handled cane on
his shoulder, as if it were a spade or a pitchfork.
Whenever it was so hoisted, those who knew him best took
care to keep well out of his reach.
*' Amiss ?" growled the squire. " Why, that two-legged ass
of mine, Ralph Fenwick, 's thrown my riding mare down the
bank by Jingleton Gate, and lamed her for life, and spoiled
her beauty into the bargain. The confounded idiot."
"What, Creole?" said Reuben, sympathetically, fon he
knew the horse and its value. *' What a pity ! How did it
happen?"
By this time they were at the door of the "loose-box,"
in which the injured animal had been placed.
" Happen !" roared the Squire, flinging wide the door as
though he would like to fling it at the head of the offending
Fenwick. " Why, as most accidents of that kind do happen
— in these parts at any rate. I gave the fellows a barrel oi
treble X to drink the health of the new railway — the sodden
THE RED, RED WINE.
73
idiots have been bewitched ever since. I've stopped the
tap, but it seems they've turned another on somewhere else.
The only comfort I have is that Fenwick is mauled as bad
as the mare. He's gotten a face with as many lines and
colours on it as there is on a county map, and he won't be
able to see out of one of his eyes for a month of Sundays.
Serve him right. Now then, mare ! Wo, my pet ! There,
Stanford, what do you think of a sight like that?"
Creole certainly was a pitiful sight to see. Her beautiful
hide was filled with chalk dust, and clothed here and there
with the mire of the ditch into which she had fallen. It ap-
peared that the squire had seen the mare crawling in
limping fashion along the park road, and led by Fenwick,
whose zeal on the " health " of the new railway had lost him
his wits. No sooner did that hapless lover of strong beer
catch sight of the burly squire striding across the park in
his seven-leagued boots, with his cane ominously hoisted to
his shoulder, than he took to his heels and ran as if for dear
life, leaving the mare behind him. Creole would not allow
anyone but Fenwick to handle her, and so the squire would
not have her meddled with until the "vet." came.
Reuben Stanford, like every Jiian that is a man, had a
kindly sympathy for dumb animals, and, what is far less
usual, had the faculty of almost instant fascination. A few
quiet words, a gentle touch, a full look in the eyes, and a
little gentle stroking of the nostrils, were sufficient to win
from the trembling mare a little whinny of content, and
the "handsome vet." had her completely at his will., With
his own hands he tenderly and carefully washed and
smoothed her ruffled coat. Then he set himself to find
the seat of injury, that which made the horse dead lame ;
and all the while the squire watched him in silent admira-
tion of his dexterity and skill. A severe sprain of the
fetlock was evidently the most serious feature of the case ;
soothing oils were applied, appropriate bandages were
74
THE RED, RED WINE.
employed, and at last the mare gave another whinny of
relief and thanks, rubbing her nose against Reuben's cheek
to emphasise her gratitude.
"There, squire," said he, "I think you'll find that the
mare is neither injured for life nor robbed of any of her
beauty. I'll just give the groom one or two directions, and
in a few days you will find she'll be as right as a trivet."
"That's all right, then," said the squire heartily. "I'm
uncommon glad it's no worse," and in token of his keen
satisfaction, his ivory handled cane was lowered to its
normal position, and he turned to go to the hall.
Reubei. Stanford, having hunted the groom up, for he,
like a sensible fellow, had thought it best to keep out of the
squire's way as much as possible, gave him full instructions
as to the treatment the mare required, and then made as
though he would have mounted his horse and straightway
made off home.
" What, man," said the squire, " you're not going to rush
off in that fashion, are you ? Come in with me and have a
glass of sherry and a biscuit ; I should like to hear of the
grand doings you had at Netherborough yesterday — come
along."
Reuben Stanford held back. " No, thanks. Squire,"
said he in a half-hearted fashion, for he felt that he had had
quite as much sherry as was good for him for some time to
come, and yet his exertions had told on him a bit, and
perhaps the proffered sherry would act as a pick-me-up and
pull him together again. "I'm not altogether up to tlie
mark to-day — "
"Nay, nay; hang it man! We'll bring you up to the
mark all right. Besides, we must drink success to the new
railway — come along."
Of course he came aloiK, for alcohol sat>s the moral
stamitwi of its votaries, and robs them oi that noblest
attribute ot manhooii, sel:-control.
I
1
I
THE RED, RED WINE.
75
The Squire was genial and in his happiest mood, Mrs.
Langley was as hospitable as could possibly be, and the
sherry was excellent.
"It has been so long in my cellar," said the Squire,
"that it may well be called venerable. Help yourself,
Stanford, let it die, as is fitting, of a good old age," and
laughing merrily at his own wit, he pushed the decanter to
his "friend."
The sun was already painting the western sky with
evening splendours when " the handsome vet." remounted
his black mare and commenced his homeward journey.
This time, however, the fresh air and the pleasant motion
of riding did not refresh the hapless rider. Once again he
was strongly under the influence of liquor, and had he not
been a skilled rider whose horsemanship had become almost
automatical, Dark Lady would have been dangerously
startled by his unsteadiness. As it was, she was nervous
and ill at ease. For some miles, however, the home journey
was safely prosecuted ; the square squat tower of Nether-
borough Church was well in view, and Dark Lady's
comfortable visions of stable rest drew forth her fine going
powers to the full. Reuben Stanford was drowsy, and sat
swaying in his saddle ; he was bending forward as he rode,
and the mare on rounding the last familiar curve threw up
her head in wanton wilfulness of pleasure, and drove her
rider's hat upon his brow. Reuben Stanford was hot
tempered. When he was in his cups he was readily aroused
to passion. On the impulse of the moment he brought his
short riding whip smartly down on the offending head.
Like an arrow from a bow the startled animal shot ahead,
and literally bolted from under her unwary rider.
Reuben Stanford feU like a log, and the next instant the
staring upturned eyes of a dead man were gazing stonily
into the evening sky.
All that day the bairns had been laughing and romping
.TV jj«i<.i^&i fe ^{. .-^iisii rcit-iJ^ -J
76
THE RED, RED WINE.
as only children can, and to them, surely, the big occasion
would be a happy memory. But now, as the evening shades
were falling, even the quicksilver nature of youth began to
tire and flag, and the elder and more thoughtful ones
noticed that their beloved teacher was tired too. Jennie
Bardsley had been the life and soul of the children's treat,
and though for her, oppressed as she was with a strange sad
sense of ill impending, there was but little pleasure, yet all
the more she tried to make the hours of childhood happy,
and threw herself with a greater heartiness into the spirit of
the day, if haply she might find relief from* the overhanging
dread of the unknown.
It was yet too early to put an end > the day's festivities,
and, though tired, the excited child, en, like Oliver Twist,
"asked for more."
"There now, children, I am going to sit down a little bit
and get my breath, I declare you've nearly run my feet off!"
And so saying, she threw herself upon a pile of shawls and
rugs, and taking ofif her hat, wiped her face and fanned
herself, and in fun gasped hard for breath. ,
"Oh, don't! teacher, we're not half tired yet!" cried
the younger tyrants, in chorus, amid ripples of
laughter.
" Yes, teacher, you shall," cried the more thoughtful few.
"You're tired. Miss Bardsley, aren't you?"
" Yes, dears, I am rather, but I tell you what I'll do : if
you like, I'll tell you a story."
" Oh, that will be nice ! " exclaimed young and old alike.
That was even better than the games she had run away
from, and in a little while a whole bevy of wee bairns, and
lads and lasses of an older growth, were disposed around
her waiting to hear the story. But there was no story told
that evening.
" Well, now, what shall it be about ? Shall it be a fajry
story ? Shall I try to make you laugh or cry ? No, I won't
THE RED, RED WINE.
77
do that — there are too many sad stories in this world with-
out making any up, aren't there ? I'll tell you a nice bright
one, and we'll begin in the aear old-fashioned way : ' Once
upon a time — ' "
" Miss Bardsley, you are wanted at the gale."
The speaker was the superintendent of her own Sunday
School. He always wore a smile when he spoke to her,
but now he only just beckoned her fro.ii the border of her
little audience. His voice quivered with emotion, and his
eyes were moist with tears, though the good o.J man's grey
head was bowed all the time, as though 'le dare not look
his gentle well-loved teacher in the face.
The brooding fear and sorrow which had overshadowed
Jennie all the day settled down upon her heart. She
tottered as she rose, and had to steady herself by putting
her hand on the shoulder of one of her girls. Casting her
eyes round the field and towards the gate half vacantly, she
became conscious that many eyes were looking at her.
The night settled down black around her, the sky was gone
from her view. Leaning on the shoulder of Mr. Fenton,
she said, almost inaudibly, for her voice refused her bidding
— " Oh, Mr. Fenton ! my darling is dead ! " and fell in a
huddled heap on the ground.
Tenderly, tearfully, lovingly, Jennie Bardsley was carried
home. Dark Lady had come to her stable at the inn, rider-
less ; instant search had been made ; they had found the
body of the ill-starred vet. lying as he fell ; and her brothers,
coming to tell her the sad news, had judged it better to get
her away from the children first. Alas ! she had quickly
divined it, and it was long before the facts could be revealed.
For a long time the stricken girl hovered 'twixt life and
death, constantly watched and tended by her close com-
panion, Alice Hayes, who, indeed, would hardly leave her
friend's side ; and long before her sad, sweet face, white
and thin, was seen again outside her shadowed
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)
1.0
■" B-IA il
22
I.I
Ui
140
I
ii
2.0
\A5 III 1.4
1.6
- 6'
^J> ^>
^
sS^.
/.<
o
/
Photographic
Sciences
Corporation
23 WIST MAIN STRUT
WiBSTER.N.Y. MSM
(716)872-4503
^>^
'^
5r . ^^
^
;V
^
78
THE RED, RED WINE.
chamber, all that was mortal of Reuben Stanford was
laid beneath a spreading elm in Netherborough
churchyard.
Think you that heartbreaks such as these are rarely met
with ? What then of the constant chronic heartbreaks of
the drunkard's wife and bairns ?
CUAPTER XI.
I
THE children's treat was over, and even for them the
memory of that happy day was clouded with sorrow,
though the sorrow was another's, and though many of them
were too young to understand its full and bitter meaning.
True, the treat had not been greatly shortened, for the
night was darketiing round when a darker night fell on thejl^'
sweet soul of Jenny Bardsley. The' children were marched
in awe-struck silence — a strange, weird silence, when
children are stiicken dumb — back to the Temperance Hall.
The tea that had been provided for them was hardly
touched, and finally a few words were said by two or three
of the genthmen who were interested in the proceedings of
the day.
The kindly vicar could only refer condolingly to the
event that had brought the day to so sad a close, and asked
them all to pray for those who had so suddenly been
bereaved.
The inquest was held at the Head Inn, because, forsooth,
there was not proper convenience any other where. And
so in death young Stanford lay in the place where he had
often poured out libations to the very god to whom he fell a
victim. It is but fitting that the sacrifice should be laid
upon the shrine, and Moloch, at his worst, never claimed as
many victims as does the genial god of wine.
All knew the ghastly facts, witnesses, jurymen, and
coroner, and the lyi»g verdict they brought in was
"Accidental death." 'Twas murder most foul, and, the
more's the pity, the murder was practically committed in
So
THE RED, RED WINE.
the house of his friend. No single word was uttered by the
jury, no single sentence by the coroner, to hint that this
fine, manly, clever, winsome, promising young fellow had
been done to death, murdered, by alcohol, and that land-
lord, comrades, squire, custom, and government were all
"accessories before the fact."
In due time the Sabbath arrived, and there was a larger
congregation than usual at the parish church, for the vicar's
intention was generally known. As a rule, the vicar was
not very particular in the preparation of his sermons, nor
had he any very scrupulous ideas about the necessity of
their being his own. He considered he did all that was
necessary if he talked for some fifteen minutes at most on any
proper and orthodox subject. An inspiration was a thing
he knew nothing ?.t all about. As for making anybody
uncomfortable, this was a thing he would never have
thought of for a minute ; he was far too kind-hearted !
This very limited idea of his duty he performed in that
"state of life to which it had pleased God to call him,"
with unfailing regularity. Beyond this he professed to be
nothing more nor less than an English gentleman.
On this occasion, however, the kind-hearted vicar was
himself deeply touched. He had a great liking for the
clever, brilliant young vet., and, in common with everybody
else in Netherborough, was greatly attached to Jennie
Bardsley. The suddenness of Stanford's death had im-
pressed him greatly, and there was quite an unusual spirit
of reverence in the church as he gave out his text that
Sunday : " What 1 say unto you, I say unto all, watch !"
With a loving hand he sketched the career, the abilities,
the bright prospects of the dead man Spoke of the great
number in Netherborough who in the course of nature had
expected to reach "that bourne from which no traveller
returns," while yet the course of Reuben's life was but half
run. But the angel of God had called him home suddenly
■|
4
Ja« . '
' ?
THE RED, RED WINE.
81
without warning, as if to emphasise to those surviving the
lesson taught by his text, for " In the midst of Ufe we are
in death." He said that the whole town would mourn his
loss, and he said right. He concluded his discourse by
warning them all to be ready when the Mastf^r came.
The vicar knew all the facts of the case, and there was
not a member of his congregation of maturer years but
knew them too, and yet he never referred in a single word
to the dread destroyer that had wrought his ruin, nor lifted
a finger in condemnation of those who had partnership
before God in the assas.sination of this youth of promise,
and the heart-break that brought sweet Jennie Bardsley to
the very borders of the grave.
Of course there were mild a.id whispered references to
the procuring cause of Reuben Stanford's untimely end,
nods and knowing looks and inuendos, anything and every-
thing but the honest truth.
Mr. Norwood Hayes had his pastor — the pastor of Zion
Chapel — to supper some time afterwards.
"What a sad end that wa" of poor Stanfcd's," said Mr.
Dunwell, the pastor. " I declare I have no jeen so upset
and distressed for a long time." And there is not a doubt
he meant every word he said.
Mr. Dunwell was a man of very considerable powers of
mind, more than usually eloquent, even among eloquent men,
a master of humour and of pathos^ the life and soul of any
social or family circle to which he had an entrance. As a
preacher he was effective, and could have been more so had
he used his powers to the full. Indeed, he was second to
none in the pulpits of the neighbourhood, and on the
platform he was second to few.
'* Yes," said Mr. Norwood Hayes, " he was a fine fellow,
was Stanford, and a good fellow ; a man with a clever head
and a kind heart, a man that meant well, and who was no
one's enemy but his own."
\j«;-
n^^.k ■^>\ u-
82
THE RED, RED WINE.
One of the biggest lies this that the devil ever coined,
and Shakespeare knew better when he makes Polonius
advise Laertes, —
" To thine own self he true,
And it must follow as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.'*
It is equally true that he that is not true to himself, his
higher nature and his God, is false to every man, for '* no
man liveth to himself alone," and the influence we have on
those around us can neither be measured nor computed.
" What Stanford wanted," continued Mr. Norwood Hayes,
"was stamina, moral stamina, you know. Didn't know
when to stop, his social gifts were great, as everybody knows,
and of course that brought extra temptations, though to be
sure I don't see why it should myself. A man should use
self-control in everything, that is true temperance, of which
the apostle wrote so highly, and then, of course thai would
be included."
" Yes, quite so ; cjuite so, by that, you refer to his weakness
for—"
"Yes, yes, to be sure, we all know poor Stanford's weak-
ness — but let's be to his faults a little blind, for one must
speak nothing but good of the dead. Besides, we none of
us have room to boast, ' let him that thinketh he standeth,'
and so on, )ou know what I mean."
" Yes," said Mr. Dunwell, " I quite understand."
Walter Bardsley sat the while strangely indignant that what
seemed to him so weighty a matter should be treated so
lightly, and had it been any other than Norwood Hayes, he
would have taken up the cudgels there and then. Even as
it was, he could not but remark hurriedly, and somewhat
shame-facedly, " It seems to me that our duty to our
neighbour is to help him to use self-control, arid not to put
it to the strain."
^-UMllBt. \:
.■'dM'
4s2
t'-3S.T'
I >
THE RED, RED WINE.
83
Norwood Hayes, however, was not to be tempted to take
up the gauntlet.
" That's it, that's it, exactly," said he, " set a good example
of strength and self-command, and don't b^ everlastingly
pressing a man. It is foolish at the best, and with weak-
minded men it is absolutely criminal. I declare, I get quite
vexed with people. ' Now do take a little more, Mr. A.'
' Let me fill up your glass, Mr. B.' ' You've had such a
little drop, Mr. C " And Mr. Hayes could not have been
more emphatic if he had been Father Mathew, Neal Dow,
and J. B. Gough rolled into one. " However," he con-
tinued, with a sigh of relief, " let's change the subject.
Have another cigar, Dunwell ? What'U you have to drink
with it ? Try a glass of sherry ? "
" No, thank you, I don't think it's a good plan to change
your liquor."
'* Oh ! all right ! No compulsion at my house. There's
the v/hiskey by you, help yourself." And the worthy pasto
did as he was told.
Walter Bardsley looked on, and his brow contracted as
though he thought the minister was doing wrong. The
wonder is that he did not frown at Norwood Hayes, but
then, it must be remembered that Mr. Norwood Hayes was
the subject of Walter Bardsley's hero-worship, and he re-
garded him as a veritable Bayard, a " knight without fear
and without reproach."
" By the way, what's this I hear about Huddleston the
Great?" said Mr. Dunwell, sipping from his glass, and
sending the curling smoke aloft by way of introduction to
the new theme.
And the bruised and battered body of their comrade in
many a " social " lay stark and cold in its grave beneath the
elm-tree; while on the sofa in her shadowed chamber
lies the form of Jennie Bardsley. Her white face is
turned to the wall, as she sighs and whispers the
^ "jf, .'.
84
THE RED, RED WINE.
name of Reuben, and finds no tears to ease her aching
heart.
No wonder that Walter Bardsley, despite his reverence for
the father of his Alice, was glad to ask permission to
retire.
As he walked homeward through the quiet streets, he
overtook old Aaron Brigham.
'* Hallo ! Aaron," said he " it's not usual to see you
parading the streets of Netherborough at this time of night."
"No," said the old man, "I don't much matter it noo
that m* poor old eyes fail me, ah've been ti' see Tom
Smart."
"What's the mat^^er with him?" said Walter. "Is
he ill?"
" 111 ! Aye, marry ! John Barleycorn's broken his head
for him, and mauled him considerably, and his bairns are
half-starved, thanks to d tonning o' t' fost sod."
•' Aye me ! I'm sorry to hear that, Aaron. I thought he
was keeping straight too, now, but the turning of that first
sod will have more to answer for than poor Tom Smart."
" Well, mebbe t' tonning o' t' sod wasn't so mich t' blame
as t' tonning o* the beer-barrel taps and them as does it ;
may God forgive 'em."
" Right you are, Aaron, I much doubt that had it not
been for* that unlucky business, poor Reuben Stanford
would have been a living man this day. And there at Mr.
Hayes they have just been saying that he was * nobody's
enemy but his own.' "
" What ! " said Aaron, " and what sort of a friend then
has he been to Jennie Bardsley, God bless her ? "
" Not much of a one for a certainty. One thing is
certain, Aaron, we must do our best to beat the drink, or it
will half empty Netherborough."
" Ah say, Mr. Walter, give us yer hand."
He laid it in the hard rough palm of the old man.
' i
'■^:.i.
I
u
tHE RED, RED WINE.
85
Aaron took off his hat, and standing with his white head
ancovered, he said :
" There's nobbut a few of us in Netherborough to fight
the drink devil, Walter Bardsley, will you stand fast ? "
" Aye, that I will."
" God bless thee, m' lad, and trust to Him, and not to
Norwood Hayes'*
i
r
r,tf.i^'ir\x:A^
CHAPTKR Xn.
AARON'S words concerning the mischief that had
befallen Tommy Smart were by no means meta-
phorical. There is a well-known sayin*' to the effect that
a special Providence takes charge of children and drunkards.
As regards the children, I believe it with all my heart, but
as to the drunkards — well, there is a Providence, and a
special one for that matter, that looks after all men — we
should be in parlous straits were it not so, but for all that
the saying is to all intents and purposes an unadulterated
lie, coined by the same hand that says, " It will do you
good," and for the selfsame purpose. I suppose it is
intended to give courage to those who, having drunk more
than their heads can stand, are persuaded to take "just
another," because it v;ill be all right anyhow. The only
providence there is in the whole business is contained in
the liquor itself, a sort of anaesthetic which for the time
being deadens a man's consciousness of pain, and hides from
him the loss of his manhood, but both the sense of pain
and the sense of loss come back with redoubled force as the
aching brain yields once more to the sway of reason.
This lying providence, born of the devil, had done but
badly by Tommy Smart, and for many weeks after the
pandemonium on Netherborough Green, he was confined a
close prisoner in his own home, if so hig^ a title can be
rightly given to the squalid and miserable quarters in which
he lay. Tommy was a man of very extravagant tastes in
one direction — that of the "Red Cow," and as this
indulgence cost him the greater part of what he earned, and
fi
THE RED, RED WINE.
87
at the same time altogether precluded the possibility of his
getting more, it can hardly be expected that his dwelling
should be other than it was, beggarly and bare, a type and
pattern of the holes and hovels in which the worshippers of
the drink-god live — and die.
There was no furniture in it, for the ghosts of l)roken
chairs, the scraggy remnant of a table, the heaps of rags and
shavings that passed for beds, and some few relics of the
time when his rooftree knew a mistress, and \v:a bairns a
mother, can certainly not be dignified with the name. His
little house, one of a terrace standing back from the main
street in a yard, was well enough; and one or two of the
neighbours, who took a bit of pride in their homes, mana^^ed
to make bonnie pictures of their domains, though they were
poor enough, good faith ; and there was even a bit of
garden ground attached to each tenancy, just down by the
beck side ; but Tommy Smart's garden was a fair counter-
part of Tommy Smart's home, and in it, as in the garden
of Watt's sluggard, one might have seen the thorns and the
thistles grow broader and higher.
All this was a natural consequence of Tommy Smart's
extravagance, for he was obliged to pinch himself in the
matter of expenditure in oil other things, that the flow of
liquor might have but little stint. Nor would this have
mattered so much if he alone had been affected by the
operation. In that case he might have so far pinched
himself as to have pinched himself out of existence, and he
would have been neither mourned nor missed, nor would
any living soul have been the worse for it. Sad and
sorrowful a thing it is to say, but as absolutely true as it is
sad and sorrowful. "
There was a time, not so very long ago either, when Tom
(not Tommy) Smart was, as his name suggests, as smart
and likely a young fellow as could be found in all the
Riding. Never a ploughman could turn a straighter furrow.
Jafd
8d
THE RED, RED WINE.
Never a waggoner could better handle a team of horses.
Never a harvester could mow a wider or a cleaner swathe.
In those days Tom was (juite an object of competition
among the farmers, every one of whom was ready to hire
him at the highest wage.
At that time he was the only son of his mother, and she
a widow, and everybody admired the diligent and loving
way in which he did more than his duty to her, if that be
possible, and filled her life with gladness and her eyes with
smiles, until the reaper, whose name is Death, gathered her
in the sweep of His sickle for the Harvest Home on high.
Everybody, too, congratulated Ada Norris, housemaid at
the farmhouse where he himself was emploved, when, some-
time later, he married her, and housed her in a cosy cottage,
rented from his master; and they prophesied abounding
happiness and prosperity to the young couple, and said they
wouldn't wonder a bit if in a little while they had a farm of
their own. Aye, and if they could have had an occasional
peep into the ever-expanding stocking in which the young
folk's savings were stored, the prophets might have made
even bolder predictions still.
In a very short time his employer. Farmer Wilkinson, of
Dulton Wjld, made him his foreman, and was profuse in
his promises to further his interests, for he genuinely
respected both him and his young wife. Under Tom's able
management the farm, always a good one, improved vastly.
The foreman's eye became almost as good as the master's,
and as a consequence there was no skulking or half-shod
work. Then came a tremendous harvest. The seasons
seemed to fall once again into their almanac order, and the
broad acres of Dulton Wold were a golden glory. In
securing this golden spoil, Tom's ability was manifest to all
comers, and by his able management he succeeded in
gathering every bushel of grain without confusion, waste of
time or labour, without accident, and so smartly as just
m
THE RED, RED WINE.
89
to avoid the break-up of the weather that ahnost immediately
followed. The stack-yard was i.evcr so full, the stacks were
never .so big and high, and Farmer Wilkinson resolved to
hold a harvest supper on a scale proportionate to the
splendour of his crops.
Farmer Wilkinson was, in his way, a religious man, and
though he felt conscious that he had through his agents
sown the grain and tended it, yet he also felt and
acknowledged that (lod it was who had given the increase ;
and so, in deep gratitude to the open-handed Providence
that had filled his barns and stored his granaries, he
gave everybody who cared to come the opportunity of
getting "gloriously drunk" — a privilege of which not a f(;w
availed themselves to the full. This was by no means an
exceptional thing then-a-day — this was the Harvest Home
of the Good Old Times, about which we hear such a lot of
sentimental twaddle. Hy-lhe-way, this Harvest Home has
not been vastly improved on in a good many places I could
mention up to this day.
In their alcoholic frenzy the revellers remarked vociferously
ihat they wouldn't go home till morning, till daylight did
appear. A good few of them didn't go home even then :
some because they couldn't, and others because they
preferred to adjourn to some adjacent hostelry licensed
to facilitate the transformation of the Queen's lieges into
brutes or devils, imbeciles or fools.
Now, Farmer Wilkinson declared that it was largely
owing to Tom's clever management and prompt activity
that the harvest had been so large and so safely gathered in.
So it naturally followed that Tom had to be made much of.
His health had to be drunk " with a three times three." The
most popular man of the evening, he had to drink with
everybody, and everybody had to drink with him. Tom
was ever a cheerful, genial, open-hearted soul, and so he
surrendered himself to the spirit of the occasion, and might
■iJSSi
iH
^mmm
90
THE RED, RED WINE.
have testified, as I have heard a workman boastingly testify
more than once, " I never was drunk in my life."
In such style the night wore on until some time after
midnight, when the thought of his sweet wile, Ada, silting
up for him alone, passed across his beer-befuddled brain.
Drunk as he was, the still small voice of conscience was not
altogether dead within him, and there can be no doubt that
he really loved his wife. With the serious air of beery
insanity he rose from among his "friends," staggered
out into the night, and reeled homeward. Once or twice he
fell, but managed to regain his feet, till at last, swerving as he
trod a raised pathway, he fell headlong into the ditch by its
side, and was content to rest there awhile in sweet repose,
until he had pulled himself together a bit for another effort,
taking in the situation as far as he was able, and cogitating
in serious imbecility as to the next best thing to do.
Presently he again essayed his homeward journey.
Crawling out of the ditch, he managed once more to find
his feet, and finally succeeded in reaching home. As he
fumbled for the latch the door was speedily opened, and,
staggering in, he propped himself against the papered wall
in the presence of his wife, wet, dirty, hatless, a semi-idiotic
stare in the eyes that bleared from under his mud-filled hair,
the only unclean thing in a place which all who saw it said
was " quite a picture of home delight."
VVas there any wonder that she was frightened of him ?
She started back at the unwelcome sight, putting her hands
up as if to ward off some impending evil, and saying, hardly
knowing what she said, " Keep off."
Then that cunning, cheerful, tricksy devil, alcohol, saw a
grand opportunity for a liitle " fun " (God save the mark !).
Inspired by the grand idea, Tom would clasp her in his
arms, and have a kis*-" of her. He smiled archly, bewitch-
ingly, winsome'y — so he thought ; in truth it was the most
repulsive ghastly leer.
THE RED, RED WINE.
91
Unsteadily he approached her, and the hand put forth to
stop him overbalanced him, and he IcU, only to spring up,
in the sudden madness of alcoholic frenzy, and strike her,
unmanned human as he was, on the face. She bounded,
almost beside herself, to the open door, and out into the
darkness, wandering the night through, and moaning to the
moaning wind the overpowering agony of her soul, not
daring io return to what was never more to be her happy
home, lest a worse thing might befall her.
When the daylight broadened into day, she ventured
timidly i.»ack again, and peered in through the still open
door. There was a muddy imprint on the papered wall,
and another where he had fallen en the clean-washed floor.
He himself was gone. For hours the unhappy woman sat
silent and tearless, the children playJng undisturbed upstairs
in bed, until at last kind-hearted Farmer Wilkinson came
himself to tell her that Tom was asleep in the barn, and
that he was "alright, only a bit dozy. He took a drop too
much, you know." Aye it was a drop too much, a drop
from manhood to a lower level than the beasts.
Ada Smart stood up before him, with a hard expression
in her red tearless eyes.
" All right ! John Wilkinson," said she with unutterable
scorn. " It's all wrong ! You and your harvest supper.
You've ruined my man, body and soul."
This is not fiction, it is sober fact.
The stricken woman's grief found relief in tears at this,
and Farmer Wilkinson thought it better to retire.
I do not wish to be unduly severe on Farmer Wilkinson.
He was neither worse nor better than his fellows. His
father and his grandfather, and their's before them, had
celebra'-ed the inflow of the "good gifts of God" by
the outflow of that other "good gift of God," the devil's
counterfeit, time out of mind. Why should he be better
than his forefathers? I don't suppose the question (f the
92
THE RED, RED WINE.
right and wrong of it ever entered his head. Besides, his
neighbours all did it, and the men expected it ; and
supposing that he, conscience-impelled, had provided coffee
or tea instead of beer, what would the world, his little world,
have said of him. They would undoubtedly have rated him
as a niggardly money-grubber, hardest taunt of all for an
English yeoman to upbear, and likely enough, sooner or
later, the night would have been made brilliant by the
incendiary fires of his blazing stackyard. In his way he
was a worthy man^ well respected, vicar's churchwarden,
and I know not what beside, and yet to his credit, be it
said, those words, " you have ruined my man," took much
of the sunshine out of the morning sky ; and as he passed
among the golden piles that filled his stackyard, he had
some fleeting thoughts as to their value when compared
with that of an immortal soul. He put them aside,
however, for he had seen many another in as bad a plight
as Tom Smart, even if he had not been somewhere near it
himself, and had no doubt that he would come round, and
be little, if aught, the worse for it.
The farmer's thoughts, were, however, badly at fault, for
from that day Tom Smart went down, down, down, till he
reached the state in which we find him ; and was referred
to by one and all, half-pityingly, half-sneeringly, as from a
conscious sense of superiority, as "Tommy Smart," no
longer honest Yorkshire Tom.
I can fancy some of my readers saying surely he could
nbt have sunk right down to the depths from that one fall,
and yet if you hr i thought on these things and studied
them as I have, yc i would have found that almost invariably
in a drunkard's life the sad result may be traced away back
to one prominent first step. It may be a single glass of
wine, or it may be the first carousal. The French have a
proverb which tells us that it is the first step that costs, and
this is just as true of the starting on a downward course as
\
il
THE RED, RED WINE.
93
on an upward. If the first stroke he half the battle, just as
surely is a man shamed but once ; the second step is easy,
and so it was with poor Tom Smart. Once he had lost his
manhood, he never seemed to hold up his head again. No
longer was he an example to the men beneath him ; no
longer could he reprove in them that of which he had been
guilty himself, and besides, had he not struck his wife ?
Shame and remorse drove him to "the dog (say rather
serpent) that bit him," and made him more and more a
slave. No longer could his master depend upon him, and
soon he had to seek another place ; and then there was no
competition for his services, and in his mortification he still
took refuge in the drink.
Pluckily his wife stood by him, in spite of the hate^'il
sympathies of gossiping neighbours, and strove to make a
man of him again. But it was of no avail. It seemed as
though he either would not, or could not, make an effort to
check himself. Constantly they moved, and constantly did
she try to nerve him to find a fresh place, and make another
stand. It was but useless. His appetite for drink became
a passion — the over-ruling passion of his life — and she,
unequal to the single-handed war with circumstance and
her husband's evil spirit, lost heart at length, and sank, first
to the level of a drunkard's wife, and then into the not
unwelcome grave, leaving four poor starving bairnies to face
the stern, hard world alone. I say alone advisedly, for the
father as a guardian and defender was worse than none.
Such is the " ower true " story of Tommy Smart up to
the time when his high enjoyment of the banquet on the
Netherborongh Green culminated in a free fight, and left
him the happy possessor of scars and bruises innumerable,
and a broken head.
CHAPTER XIII.
wmm
"A
ND not to Norwood Hayes." The words which had
fallen from the lips of Aaron Brigham when he and
Walter Bardsley had parted for the night had an unpleasant
effect on the mind of the young man. He was half in-
clined to fling a sharp sentence after the old patriarch, who
had turned off in the direction of his own* cottage as soon
as the words were spoken. He remembered, however, that
Aaron was an old man, and that it was not exactly his
place to rebuke grey hairs, especially when they are found
in the way of righteousness, as they certainly were in
Aaron's case. He felt a little hot, however, on the subject,
and if he did not feel at liberty to speak out to his aged
friend, he could speak out to himself, and he did.
" He has no right to talk about Mr. Hayes in that
fashion," said Walter "There are few men who merit such
a slur of suspicion and distrust less than he. There isn't
a man in Netherborough less likely to do me or anybody
else any harm. He's too good for that ; his principles and
character are on far too high a plane. He is so strong and
manly, so calmly capable and self-contained, and so royal in
his self-control, that he may well form an example for all
the young fellows in the town to follow ; and to warn them
of him is to do them damage, and him rank injustice into
the bargain. No, no, Aaron Brigham; you are allowing
prejudice to run away with your better judgment and your
sense of fairplay."
Then he fell into silent cogitation. His thoughts
reverted to the scene he had just left. Parson Dunwell
THE RED, RED WINE.
95
helping himself to a second tumbler of whiskey ; Mr.
Norwood Hayes leisurely sipping a glass of sherry as if he
were patronising it — doing it, indeed, to oblige the
sherry — so small was its influence over him, and hah-a-
dozen others following a similar course. He thought, too,
of the gap in the social circle, and of poor Reuben
Stanford, drink-slain, lying in his long, long sleep under
the churchyard elms, and of his own sweet sister battling
with her heart-break in the home on which the darkness as
of death had fallen. Then, in spite of himself, he felt his
hair creep and his blood curdle as he remembered how the
pastor had cooly turned from talking of the murdered man
who had been huddled away into a premature and dis-
honoured grave, to gossip about the Railway King, and to
drink the liquor that had killed their common friend !
Walter Bardsley sighed deeply. He could not make
things fit.
" Mr. Hayes isn't an abstainer," he said, heaving another
sigh, " I wish he was. But, there, I don't know. He
doesn't need it for his own safety ; and, as he says, an
example of splendid self-control must have an educational
influence on other people. Then, the man's got such a
kind heart and such an open hand, he would do anything
for anybody. I'm sure if he thought his becoming a total
abstainer would do more good to others, he would join our
feeble ranks at once, what ever people might say."
This latter thought gave \\ ;lter a little more content ;
and yet as he kept in his mind's eye the honoured form of
his "guide, philosopher, and friend," he sighed again, and
whispered with intense feeling and emphasis, " I do wish he
was one with all my heart."
I have good reason to believe that these pages will fall
inLo the hands of many a thousand reader who is as good
and true and self-controlled as Norwood Hayes, and
possibly as much in love with the doctrine of setting an
tX ■ A^
96
THE RED, RED WINE.
example of moderation and self-mastery. May I say to
each, with all the energy that deep conviction can inspire
me with, " I wish he were one with all my heart."
Still, again, the thoughts of Walter Bardsley clustered
round Mr. Hayes. He thought of Mrs. Hayes and her
secret weakness for '* strong waters," and wondered whether
her husband's absolute abstinence from the entire range of
devil-drugs would not help his weak-willed partner in life to
regain the womanhood that was fast going from her, and
free her from the habit which would surely be her death
and ruin at no distant date. Walter thought that the
strong man ought to try it, at any rate. By this he had
reached home, and as he put his hand upon the door latch,
he sighed again, and said, " Yes, I wish he was an
abstainer. My word ! What a power for good tl .at man
could be ! "
He was so impressed with this undoubted truth, and so
full of honest and honourable zeal for the cause of total
abstinence, that he actually had the idea of laying siege to
Mr. Hayes himself, and his young, strong, energetic first
love for what he rightly regarded as the cause of Christ and
man, made his heart beat high with courage and with hope.
Alas, he had then no just measure of the influence in
church and social life wielded by the excellent men, of
whom Mr. Norwood Hayes \ras a favourable type.
As was usual with him in those days, W^alter softly
opened the door of his sister's room as he passed upward to
his own. His love for her was very great, and his anxiety
intensely deep. She was awake ; had not yet, indeed,
retired to rest. She beckoned her brother to her side.
Poor Jennie ! Her pallid face and hollow eyes, the feeble
smile that came upon her white lips at the sight of Walter,
and the listless languoi of her mien, all conspired to tell
how greatly she had suffered, how heavy was the blow that
had befallen her, how icy cold was the leaden load that lay
THE RED, RED WINE.
97
around her heart. There are many, many forms of murder,^
but there are few that strike so hard, and so cruelly, and
so many, many innocents with the same weapon that lays
the victim low, as does the dagger cf strong drink.
"Well, Jennie, my dear," said Walter cheerily, "you are
looking just a wee bit better, I think. I do hope and
believe that you will get out to see the golden corn, before
the harvest lays it low."
" You speak as you hope, Walter dear, and not as you
feel," replied Jennie, on whom a settled melancholy
seemed to be fast falling. " I don't feel it ; and I scarce
know that I hope it. My life hasn't much of promise in it
now. My harvest is reaped ; and the crop O Walter,
Walter, what is to become of me ? "
" Promise ! Harvest ! " replied Walter, tenderly, yet
with unusual seriousness. "Jennie, darling, what do you
mean ? You must not speak as one of the foolish women.
I have been thinking very much about you lately, and I'm
going to talk to you in all the faithfulness of true and tendei
love. You are on the dow.i track, dear sister, in more
senses than one, and you must not only put on the brake,
but you must ask for the motive power that can draw you
onward and upward, further and higher than you ever
reached before."
Jennie slowly shook her head, and sighed as only they
can sigh who think they have buried their heart where the
graves are.
" Nay, nay, Jennie," said Walter, shaking his head, and
sighing in gentle banter and kindly persistency. " You are
a Christian, and an enlightened one, and life by you, and
such as you, is not to be held too cheaply. What promise
did you refer to ? Enjoyment? Pleasure? Quiel happiness?
The best and noblest and most serviceful life in the world,
Jennie, was His of whom it was said, * He pleased not Him-
self.' I think there is promise in your life of higher, better,
7
98
THE RED, RED WINE.
nobler, and more abounding service than you could ever
have reached had you become Reuben Stanford's wife ; aye,
let me say it, Jennie, even because of the dreadful stroke
that has made that impossible.
*' Dear sister, you have suffered a deadly blow at the hands
of a fell-destroyer. What about reprisals ? It is for you to
aim a deadly blow at him ; or, at any rate, to rescue those
you can reach from risking such heartaches as those that
torture you in these dark days. That large class of girls of
yours ; this drink cursed town of ours ; the growing lads
and lasses in their teens ; King Alcohol rampant every-
where, and the children and young folks left unwarned,
unfenced, undisciplined, to become the sport, the victims,
and then the tools of the cruelest tyrant that ever ground
the oppressed beneath his heel."
Here he paused. There was a few moments' silence.
Thoughtful Jennie, who was the possessor of an enlightened
conscience, said never a word. Walter rose, kissed his
sister tenderly, saying, as he bade her good-night, "Jennie,
dear sister, young Netherborough needs a heroine, and the
call has come to you. What will you do with it?"
Scarcely had Walter closed the door, than he felt a little
surprised at himself. He had not intended to say so much,
and to speak so strongly. He felt that the message had
been given to him, and that it would accomplish that
whereunto it was sent.
Jennie Bardsley sat far into the night, thinking, thinking,
thinking. Yes, she thought, the curse of Netherborough
tiad indeed dealt her a deadly blow. Her Reuben was a
splendid specimen of a man in physique, in intellect, in
jsefulness, in all that makes a man. And Reuben Stanford
jvas hers, her own, her treasure, and all the town said,
'* The knight is worthy, and the maiden sweet."
Strong drink, and nothing else or other, had stolen him
rl
:wMJK»/i ft ft '<Wl. » T-.ittrai
THE RED, RED WINE.
99
from her, robbed her of the first full-nieasured store of love
he gave to her, robbed her of himself, and in so doing had
plucked the sun from her sky, the summer from her year.
Strong drink had brought her a soul-sickness amounting to
an agony, prompting for ev r the one pathetic moan of
hopeless pain, " Let me die ! "
This destroying angel from the deeps had spread a thick,
black shadow over two homes at least, — that one where
Mrs. Stanford, Reuben's mother, sat in her widow's crape
and cap, moaning over her son, whose sad end had all but
brought her grey hairs in sorrow to the grave. ** O my
boy, my boy!" came from her lips in weary monotony,
long, long after the churchyard elms flung their shadows on
his grave. And on that other home where she, Jennie
Bardsley, was the treasure of the household, and where the
light of the hearth was chilling out, because the light of her
eyes were dulling, dimming, she had thought, into death.
Yes, she sat far into the night, thinking, thinking, think-
ing. She called to mind the records and the ravages of
this destroying angel in Netherborough, in her father's
family, her mothers, and this latter thought brought the
blush to her cheek, and the tears to her eye. Following in
her mind's eye the various streets of the town by house-
row, she gasped for breath as she noted the onslaught of
this insidious and compassionless foe. There were the
Richells, the Marvells, the PoUages, the Radleys. Oh,
dear ! It seemed to her that as in Egypt, in the day of its
most grievous plague, there was not a house in Nether-
borough where there was not, or had not been, one dead,
done to death, too, in shameful and terrible fashion, by this
demon of drink.
Such was the tenor of Jennie Bardsley's thoughts con-
cerning Netherborough. Alas, the curse of Netherborough
is the curse of every borough, every town, and nearly every
village in this Christian land of ours ; and yet the Christian
100
THE RED, RED WINE.
churches, as churches, can let the infernal shame go on,
and sing the Te deum, Benediction, and Doxology, without
any discords in the ear and with no choking in the throat !
" What can / do ? " said Jennie Bardsley to herself. I
d«>n't think she got gn answer to her question then; but
she got Foiuc'thing better as she sank upon her knees and
askdd of Ciud. She "heard the voice of the Lord, saying,
Whom shall I send? and who will go for us?" And she
said, " Here am I, send me."
That night Jennie Bardsley did not he awake, as she had
so often done, thinking sadly of the beloved sleeper beneaih
the elms. She slept well and soundly, as those may do
who have suddenly come to find that "life is worth living,"
because there is honest work to do, and wages to be had
ihat are gloriously worth the winning ; wages infmitely
better than any that can be paid in minted gold.
i
CHAPTER XIV,
THE next morning WaUer was ama/ed at the change
wrought in Jennie's appearance. She congratulated
him on the value of his prescription, and smilingly suggested
that a dose of his own medicine might do hmi good. Not
gradually, but even rapidly, did she recover her health and
strength ; and her spirits though, naturally enough, still
subdued, gained a certain cheerfulness which surprised and
pleased her friends. It was soon a matter of town talk.
'* How much better Miss Bardsley looks," was the common
exclamation. Some were generously delighted ; some said
they were, which, in this miserable fraud we call a
civilized country, is thought to be much the same thing.
Some genial souls, with that fine spirit and breadth of
nobleness which marks the average human, hazarded the
remark that the young lady " had got over her loss in fine
fashion, and no doubt would soon be engaged again."
This world is not good enough for exquisite creatures such
as these, and in common justi e to them we ought to ship
them off this poor planet, and to send them in search of a
home elsewhere.
Nevertheless, the welcome back to health and hope which
Netherborough gave to its favourite, Jennie Bardsley, was
very warm and very wide. She who had been a prisoner in
her own chamber for so many weeks nursing her sorrow,
was seen every day now in the streets and lanes, as if
resolved on getting back the wealth of cheeriness and vigour
which had been hers before her trouble came.
One of her favourite walks was the ]()leasant footpath ^long
-■•i^&iti-Wi:.!-
i02
tlll^. kttb, kEI) WINI^..
g
the Spuldon Road> and, of course, she had to pass and
repass the cosy cottage and pretty little garden where old
Aaron lirigham lived, a very bower, in which the good old
man could pass his days m peace. Old Aaron had been
more than sixty years a gardener ; head gardener for Squire
Langley most of the time ; and it was during that time of
diligent labour and careful economy that he had been
enabled to save up the little fortune which wos a suf-
ficiency in his old age. When he retired from Horton
Hall, he bought this little cottage and garden, and called it
" Lily Lodge." The lily was his favourite flower : but that
was not the reason why he decided on such an unusual
name. That was prompted by his unfailing and life-long
belief and trust in the providence of God.
"The Lord tells me to consider the lilies, that neither
spins, nor labours, an' yet they weear finer clooase then iver
Solomon did ; an* I reckon he was about as fine as any
peacock that his ships browt him. Onyway, the Lord's
cared for me, and I lives i' Lily Lodge to show that I lives i'
the gracious Providence o' God."
Of course, Aaron's long career as a gardener, together
with his child-like love for flowers, was sufficient to account
for the remarkable attractions of Lily Lodge and its sur-
roundings ; but to such minds and hearts as Jennie
Bardsley bore within her sweet youthhood, the main
attractions of the place were the rarer sweeter flowers of
goodness, simplicity, truth, jympathy, and godly wit and
humour. These bloomed through all the seasons in the
speech and life and character of the grand old puritan
patriarch, who had been himself cultivated by the Great
Husbandman for many a long and fruitful year.
So it was that Jennie Bardsley found herself at Aaron's
cottage during these days of convalescent walks, very often,
and found a hearty welcome every time. Esther Harland,
kind heart, would get her a cup of tea, or a glass of milk, i
,• -7'S-
TIIK RED, RED WINE.
»03
biscuit, or a niorsel of cake, and that and the little rest she
got made her walks aKjng the Spaldon foot-path (jiiite an
enjoyment ; and the talks, the golden talks, she called them,
that she had with Aaron were as great a refreshment to her
heart and mind.
Not many days after the brief but potent talk which her
brother Walter had had with her, she was slowly walking,
for she was but weak, in front of l.ily Lodge when she saw
the old man busy in his garden, tying his tall hollyhocks
to the stakes from which a brisk gale in the early morning
had torn them away. '1 he old man had not seen her out
before, and would not have seen her now, perhaps, but that
Esther, was in the garden hanging out the clothes, like the
one in the nursery rhyme.
"Why, Aaron!" she said, "there's Miss Bardsley —
Jennie Bardsley, going by. It's her ! It is, as sure as I'm
a born woman !"
** Nonsense, Esther," said Aaron, with his usual dry
humour. " If it's no surer then that, it can't be her ; can't
possibly, don't yo' see."
" Yes, it can ; an' it is," answered the housekeeper, still
following the unexpected vision with her eyes, and nodding
her head by way of emphasis. " It is, I tell yo', as sure as
I'm a born woman."
" All right, my lass ; but I tell you, that if it's no surer, it
isn't true at all."
*' Hoo can yo' be so obstropolous, Aaron," retorted Esther,
who had rather a liking for long words, of which, however,
she didn't generally understand the meanmg, or properly
manage the pronunciation.
" Why, noo," said Aaron, who was delighted at the news,
and meant to waylay Jennie. " Did yo' ever hear of a born
woman ? You were a born babby, Esther, my lass, an'
you are, or owt to be, a grown woman noo, but I doot,
mebbe, there's a good deal o' t' babby left yit, eh ? "
ytS^S^i ffP S Br^
104
THE RED, RED WINE.
'•« >
I
Hereupon, Esther, who had to be silent, by reason of the
two clothes-pegs she held in her teeth, menaced him with
the kitchen towel r\e was just about to fasten on the line,
and Aaron hid behind a hollyhock to avoid the dangerous
missile. Surely they said right in Netherborough, who
affirmed that *' Owd Aaron Brigham could be as boyish as
ever he was." And why not, I should like to know ?
People who live under the sign of the Lily, as Aaron did,
grow younger and not older, cheerier and not sadder, for
they revilise more and more, the idea of Child, Father,
Home !
Aaron Brigham was on the watch for Jennie Bardsley's
return from her walk. Esther was getting ready for their
expected guest, that woman's specific for all ailments, a good
cup of tea. In a little while the young lady was seated in
the old-fashioned, spindled armchair, which had done good
service for Aaron, and for his mother, for a century of y^^ars.
" Why, noo, this is grand," said Aaron, giving her a
welcome that could not be surpassed in warmth, "I thowt
the good Lord wad surely bring you oot o' the furnice in
His own good tahme. An' noo the tahme's cum or
cummin'. He alius said that He had summat special for
you to do, an' though He can very well do without us, ivery
sarvant of His is immortal till his work be done. Yours, I
think, is only just beginnin'."
Jennie was much impressed by the old man's words,
coming as they did so soon after the new consecration of
herself to the special mission to which she had set her hand ;
and coming from such a quarter, they gave emphatic
sanction to her purpose.
" Yes, Aaron," said Jeniiie, with a quiet smile, " I am
beginning to think so myself. A few days ago, I really did
think and feel that my work, if the poor, fitful, and
indefinite doings of my life can be called ' work,' was over ;
and I confess that I was selfish and thoughtless enough to
"WHV, NOO, THIS IS QRAXD," SAID AARON. —'^«{7'^ lO'>.
THE RED, RED WINE.
lo:
hope so. God has graciously shown me that I am not my
own, and that His servants must not only not shirk their
duty because of their own crouble, but find, in the trial
itself, new fitness and new help tor the better filling of
their place, and the better doing of the task assigned them."
" Hey, but that's a good word, Miss Bardsley," said the
old man, rubbing his hands in gladness. " It's the best
news I've heeared for a month o' Sundays ; better even than
your brother Walter's promise to stand fast an' fight the
curse o' Netherborough. A woman, you see, can do so
much mair, an' do it so much better, than a man. I
reckon," he said, speaking in an undertone, "that you'll
fight the same enemy."
" Yes, Aaron, and with the same weapons, the Sword of
the Spirit, which is the Word of God, and the sympathy of
a heart, bleeding from the strokes of the same dreadful foe."
"Thenk God! Thenk God! Wi' that Sword an' that
force to wield it, you'll be Deborah ower again. May the
good Lord go wi' yo' all the tahme."
When Jennie Bardsley left the roof of the aged patriarch
she felt much as if she had received, at the hands of one of
the Lord's prophets, a sign from heaven.
CHAPTER XV.
■■
I HAVE said that Tom Smart's home was beggarly and
bare. It had, however, one rare jewel in it, one dainty
piece of furniture that gave a glamour to the place, and
might well command the admiration of all who came to
know its peculiar beauty. I refer to little Kitty Smart. She
was the eldest of the children, and though only just seven
years of age^ was housekeeper to the establishment, and a
loving little mother to the rest of the small family.
Kitty was pale-faced and thin, but healthy enough in
constitution, and had she been well-nourished would have
been strong and hearty enough. That, however, alas and
alas, is a rare experience to a drunkard's child. Despite her
poor, torn garments, and the general frowsiness of her
appearance, Kitty was what the Yorkshire people call a
bonny bairn, and a certain winsomeness of mien and
manner won for her many a helpful plate of " morsels," and
many a dearly welcome penny to " keep house with," for
in that unchildlike fashion it was sure to be applied.
She had quite a wealth of curly brown hair on her well-
formed little head, and the dark brown eyes that looked at
you from beneath equally plentiful brows and lashes were
eloquent of strength of purpose and of strength of love.
The rest of her sweet little face was quite in keeping.
Without being beautiful she was bonnie, and, on the whole,
the latter is by far the best and most enduring in this work-
a-day world. She would, I think, have been accounted well
sized for her years. I am very well pleased at that, for
" heroines " are all either " tall and stately," or " short and
THE RED, RED WINE.
107
piquant," and as I know I have got here one of the truest
" heroines " that ever was, I am glad she has a stature of
her own.
Now, there was one person in Netherborough in whose
eyes little Kitty Smart was beautiful. He had fallen, as we
say, head over ears in love with her, and never a village
maiden had a more faithful swain than he. It is a well-
known adage that pity is akin to love, and it was out of
kindly Christian pity that Aaron Brigham first made
acquaintance with the small housekeeper of Tommy Smart's
establishment. He noticed with admiration and delight the
way in which she cared for her two little sisters and the still
" littler " brother, whom she called collectively " the
chilther." He undertook to teach her to read, to help her
in her household tasks, more especially to instruct her in
the truths of Jesus and His love.
Kitty was an ap*- and willing scholar ; she had a gentle
spirit, and a loving heart, as well as a bonnie face ; and so
it came to pass that her aged friend became her lover, and
as every true lover ought to have, he had the youthful
maiden's dearest affection as his greatest reward. She was
his "lahtle lassie," and he, by mutual agreement and
consent was her "gran'feyther." There was no blood
relationship between them, but the bond that bound them
was no less strong and true for that. I know that there is a
law to the effect that "a man may not marry his grand-
mother," and I suppose the same regulation of the rubric
would be a bar to any " hymeneal " bonds in the present
case, but, bless you, what has all that to do with such a
delightful tie as that which united the hearts of
*' gran'feyther " and " lahtle lassie ? " This was one of those
"marriages that are made in heaven," and although the
Book says that in heaven there is " neither marrying nor
giviiig in marriage," a case like this is an exception to the
rule, and in yo.der heaven far above us, Aaron Brigham
I I
I
ro8
THE RED, RED WINE.
and Kitty Smart, for they are both at home now, are still
bound by the same tie, still lovers, true as steel.
Poor little Kitty had a hard tihie of it all the weary days
and nights that her father was laid up with the manifold
injuries he hud received from Sir John IJarleycorn's agent?
on Netherborough Greer. He was cross and peevish, and
being deprived of beer, the only thing in the world he cared
for, he was restless, ill-tempered, and bad to manage or
control. At any rate, all this was true during the early part
of his unwilling imprisonment at home. During the last few
days, things changed wonderfully for the better.
I have said that beer was the only thing in the world that
Tommy Smart cared for. On second thoughts, I am com-
pelled to believe that in some small degree he did
appreciate the brave little maiden who was a true mother to
his children, and a long, long way the best friend he had in all
the world. For some days before he was thoroughly up and
about again, Kitty had noticed her father watching her with
a kindly look, and his voice was marked by a kindlier and
softer tone. The dear child began to have a flutter of hope
about the heart that he would be more like a father than all
the bad, sad, doleful days in which she had known the word
as somethinLf to be afraid of.
" Ah think Ah can get oot a bit te-day, Kitty," said her
father, who had, for some days past, been able to hobble
about the floor a bit by the aid of a stout stick. " It's nice
an' warm i' t' middle o' t' day. Ah think Ah can manage
it."
" I think yo' can't," said the little housekeeper. She
would have been dearly glad to get him out of the house for
a while, but she was afraid that his sojourn in the open air
would end in a visit to the " Blue Bell ; " the " Red Cow,"
his favourite haunt, was too far away — the " Blue Bell " was
dangerously near.
Poor Tommy looked so thoroughly disappointed, and
V
' i
THE RED, RED WINE.
109
witlal so mild and tractable, that Kitty was sorry for him,
and tried to find a middle course. A bright idea dawned
upon her.
" I'll tell yo' what we'll do, feyther, we'll ask Mrs. Consett
to let yo* walk up an' down their garden. I wish gran'-
feyther wad cum an' help yo'. I want to get t' weshin'
done, and there's little Jacky's pinny te mend, an' "
Tommy was smitten with a great pity for the poor bairn
of many cares, to whom he had shown such scant affection.
** Hang it, lahtle wench," said he, in a fit of tenderness,
looking at the child's pallid face, " let t' weshin' be, te tak'
its luck, an' cum thoo oot wi' me a bit, "that's a good lass. "
Kitty stared in great amazement. To be asked to go
out with " feyther," and to be pitied for having to work so
hard ; these were two things more astonishing than ever
entered into the experience of Goody Twoshoes, or than
Alice ever saw in Wonderland. She looked at him wist-
fully and sadly. He read her look aright, for he said,
readily,
" Ah'll cum back wi' tha', Kitty ; niver fear."
Kitty brightened up at once. The earthen bowl in
which the " weshin' " lay unfinished was put aside into a
corner. Polly, her next sister, who had scarcely seen six
summers, was put in charge of the house, and in a little
time the lame man and the valorous Kitty were slowly
sauntering on their neighbour's garden in the warm light of
the autumnal sun.
Mrs. Consett stood at her kitchen table gazing at her
visitors through the window. She was a woman of a kind
heart, but of very plain-spoken tongue, especially where
ne'er-do-wells like Tommy Smart were concerned. She
lifted her arm and shook her closed fist at the unconscious
sinner, and apostrophised him strongly under her breath.
" You born rascal, an' weeastrel, an' idiot fool ! You
don't desarve te own sitch a little jewel of a blessin' as that
no
THE RED, RED WINE.
I f
dear bairn. Ah reckon she's left her bit o' weshin' to give
you a bit o' sunshine. It's precious little sunshine you've
iver given her. Ah'll tell yo' what, you lumpin' lout, your
sunshine hadn't owt te be a thim'leful mair than your
weshin', an' ah reckon there isn't mony thim'lefuls o' that.
As for Kitty, bless the bairn, she owt te dance i' sunshine
as midges do i' summer."
Leaving her house by the front door, Mrs. Consett
slipped into Smart's cottage, lifted the big bowl on to a
crippled chair, and after a few well-used minutes, she had
finished the wash, and hung it on the string suspended
across the ceiling to dry.
Well done ! thrice well done, Mrs Consett ! We can
forgive you your honest candour of speech in the presence
of that bright bit of practical charity and neighbourly help.
It is a good deal better than the smooth-tongued courtesy
that lies with oily glibness, and has never a kindly deed to
make the smell of it less intolerable. Well done, Mrs.
Consett ! So do the kindly poor kindly help the poor ; and
the wealthy charities of the poor do leave the charities of
the wealthy long, long leagues behind. God bless you.
Widow Consett ! To you, and such as you, the Master
saith, " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of
these, ye have done it unto me."
Totnmy Smart had come out into the garden in a
softened mood. The influence of the warm sunshine was
as if it played on wax, — he melted more and more. His
hand was laid upon Kitty's shoulder, but he made his stick
his almost sole support ; that, too, was a piece of thought-
fulness born of his softened mood.
" i wad like yo' te leean hard, feyther, I can scarcely feel
yo'," said Kitty, and, as she spoke, she stood up all her
inches so that he might not have to stoop so low.
Her " feyther " thought, in his belter mood, how shame-
fully hard he had leaned on her; and how painfully
.*-"fe*''j. wil^-J.v.v—; -
anc
THE RED, RED WINE.
Ill
burdened she had been with cares she never ought to have
borne. And so his little maiden felt, every now and then,
her father press her shoulder with his fingers, as he might
have pressed her hand. At length he spoke what was in
his heart.
" Kitty, lass," said he.
"Yes, feyther," says Kitty, simply.
"Thoo hez a hard tahme on it."
" Yis, feyther, it is a bit bad to bide sumtahmes."
"Ah don't knoa hoo thoo manishes it."
"I gets help, daddv." It was a long time since that
child-name had come from Kitty's lips.
" Nut fre' me thoo dizn't. Ah sud be a good deal better
oot o thy road. Whea diz help tha'?"
A pair of dark brown eyes were lifted to meet his own
eyes swimming in a mist of tears. A pair of sweet little
lips quivered with emotion as they uttered softly, tremu-
lously, one sweet word, "Jesus !"
There was silence for a brief space. Tom Smart was
thinking. The operation was Uiifamiliar ; its processes were
slow ; its drift, had he put it into words, was this : " There's
no help for me."
In the silence, brave Kitty was thinking, too. She was
used to the process. She used to say sometimes when her
many cares were more than common, that she should think
" her little head off." Poor little Atlas ! All the weight of
the world of home pressing on her small shoulders ; and
as Tom Smart's conscience told him, a great deal more
besides.
Yes, ye ladies and gentlemen of England, you can drink
of the exhilarating cup that cheers and also inebriates, with
a light heart ; but perchance the first would taste less sweet,
and the latter feel less lightsome, if you thought how deadly
bitter is the cup, and how awfully heavy is the heart of a
drunkard's child. If you doubt it, go, I pray you, in quest
Z.,^\i
I 12
THE RED, RED WINE.
of one. I dare say you can find your quest within a stone's
throw from your window, for their name is legion — a legion
of the damned; doomed to a life-long hell by the solemn
edict of a Christian legislature, abetted and supported by the
Christian churches, who prate like parrots about the Father-
hood of God, the brotherhood of man, and the love of a
gentle Christ !
Those large, dark pleading eyes are wide open now, and
with a newly-kindled light in them, are lifted to her father's
downcast face. The head of the little maiden nestles a little
against his side :
" I say, daddie," said she, insinuatingly.
"What is it, Kitty?" replied her father, with quite un-
wonted tenderness in his tones.
" Do you want helpin'?"
'* Nowt can help me : neeather nowt nor nobody."
The words were a passionate and despairing cry — a wail
of hopeless regret.
" Yes, daddie, Jesus can."
" Mebbe He cud, but He weean't," said her father, as
one who feels himself cast out and cast off.
" Hev' yo' axed Him ? I does, every day."
"And whatdiz tha' say, Kitty?"
"I Says, *Oor F'ather, which art in heaven,' an' some-
tahmes,
* Gentle Jesus, meek an' mild,
Look upon a little child ;'
an' sumtahmes I says just nowt, but I thinks aboot Him an'
wants hard, an* gran'feyther says that Jesus hears that when
his chilther "
" Hey, Ah sudn't wanther but He diz, but Ah isn't His
child. Ah's nowt but a great big ^in "
"Whisht, daddie, whisht!" said the poor little maiden.
She would not hear him cpndemn himself to her,
sa.a;
u-'ifcr , •
.>.,•;*
=3s:
THE RED, RED WINE.
t»3
"If you ain't a little child, He knows you're little Kitty's
feyther, 'cos I've talked to Him ahoot yo'."
"Thoo hez!" said Tom, in amaze; "why, wheea tell'd
tha' te deea that?"
" Gran'feyther did," said Kitty : "and here he is!" As
she spoke, every line of her face was lighted up with joy.
And why not? When true lovers meet, after even a brief
absence, the happy flutter at the heart sends its glad signal
to the eyes. Kitty had heard the well-known sound of her
lover's feet on the garden walk, and stopped at once to
salute him. The old man stepped forward to greet his
" fair one " and to receive his reward in kind. Then he
gave his arm to the weary invalid.
He looked the younger of the two, this hale old veteran
of fourscore years, and lent real help to the reckles^ fool
who had ruined his own physical manhood to satisfy a
depraved taste. Aaron's observant and sympathetic eye
soon detected that Tommy Smart was in a strangely
softened and come-at-able mood of mind.
"Hey, Tommy!" said Aaron, heartily; "why, this is
summat like ! I'se glad to see yo' gettin' sum fresh air an'
sunshine. You'll get on all the better for it."
"Get on," said Smart, in a voice filled with discontent
and disgust about himself. " Ah don't think 't it's worth
while, Aaron. It wad be all the better, booath for myself
an' other foaks, if Ah cud manish to get off, an' let there be
an' end o' me."
Strange to say, Aaron heard these hard words with evident
delight. As he listened to such suicidal sort of talk, and
read the influence of some soft south wind on the speaker's
feelings, he felt half inclined to sing the Doxology there in
the middle of the garden walk.
Little Kitty, relieved of her charge by Aaron's timely
visit, had hastened home to finish her washing. She stood
stock Still in astonishmentj and almost gasped for breath,
8
114
THE RED, RED WINE.
to find that her work had been done for her in her absence
by some kind Samaritan. When her small lieutenant,
Polly, had told the story of Mrs. Consett's visit, she naively
said,
" Bless her ; she's a good 'un. I know who put her up
to it."
Then speaking sofdy and slowly, she continued, " An'
He's a good un' ! Gran'feyther's right.
•Jesus helps nie, alius will,
I will trust in Jesus still.'"
Hereupon, Kitty entered again on her daily round, with a
grateful and even a hopeful heart throbbing in her breast :
hopeful, though so many things conspired to strike her with
despair.
How many sweet and noble little Kittys are " weeping,
O, my brothers ! " And wearily bearing grievous loads of
care and pain, and are crushed and slain outright, because
the drink traffic is petted and pampered by an unchristian
government in a so-called Christian land ?
And the pulpit : O how shy the pulpit is on this subject !
How unwilling to meddle with this murderous monstrosity !
And the Church, the Christiai: Church, which should be
the Greatheart of the children in presence of Giant Maul,
Giant Grim, and Giant Despair, can clink glasses and
exchange " healths " with the destroyer, although the hand
of wholesale child-murder, is crimson on its brow ! O.
shame I shame ! shame ! When the Lord maketh
inquisition for blood among those who are professedly
of his own household, can there be any sign of the Sacrifice
on their Hntels to save them from the Angel of Justice and
his avenging sword ?
Aaron Brigham was thankful to find that Tom Smart's
adamantine indifference had been fractured at last, and that
the arm that had dealt the blow was the Christ-endowed
I
V
i
j^Jsi 'i.'xM'
THE RED, RED WINE.
»»S
arm of a little child — his own " lahtle lassie," his helovoil
Kitty. Tom's passionate words of shame were music to
him ; and to his expression, '* It wad be better if I could
get off and let there be an end o' me," Aaron replied, as
they sauntered round the garden,
" Nay, marry, nay. All you want. Tommy, is to get off
the drink, an' get on to Jesus Christ, an' for you an' your
bairns to go to heaven tegither. Hey, man, that Kitty o'
thahne's a precious lahtle — "
" Ah knoa ! Ah knoa ! " said Tommy, unable to stand
any farther probing into a wound that was already very sore.
" Look yo' here, Aaron Brigham," he continued, lifting his
clenched hand, as if he would strike his own worthless self,
"Ah'll eeather mend mysen, or end mysen, or Ah'U tak*
mysen off a thoosand miles away."
" You mustn't do either one nor t' other," said Aaron,,
laying his hand kindly on Tom's arm. "You must get
Jesus to mend yo' ; an' you must be a co-worker with Him,
by signin' t' pledge, an holdin' on to it, in His strength.
Tom, owd friend, I beg an' pray o' yo', niver, niver, touch
another drop ! "
Quoth Tom Smart, as he paused a moment on the garden
walk :
" Wi' the help o' God and Kitty, Ah niver will."
If ever man meant it when he said it, Tommy Smart
meant it then. But the odds were desperately against him.
?Ji;^
-»&.
CHAPTER XVI.
THAT evening Mr. Norwood Hayes called in a friendly-
way, as his custom was, to spend an hour with Aaron
Brigham at Lily Lodge. Both these men could talk, and
talk well, and when they got together, each one knew and
felt that he had a listener that was worth talking to.
They had not been in conversation very long before
Old Aaron brought up the subject of Tom Smart.
The fact is that just then the old man could hardly bring
himself to think or talk about anything else but the poor^
weak, but penitent sot, and the poor white flower that
bloomed so wanly and yet winsomely in the thorny patch of
his desolated home.
" Fse gotten a bit o' hope," said Aaron, " that Tom.my
Smart's goin' te tak' a toon an' mend."
" A forlorn hope that, I should think," said Mr. Hayes,
who had repeatedly employed that luckless lover of the pot.
The connection had been severed again and again by Tom's
drinking bouts, and at last being tired of everlastingly
" taking him on," only to be as eternally paying him off again,
he had discharged him once for all.
" Varry likely," said Aaron, earnestly, " but you mustn't
forget that * forlorn hopes ' hev been the meeans o' showin'
more courage an' darin', an' o' makin' some o' the grandest
captur's an' gainin' some o' the grandest victories that ever
was gotten. I isn't going to sneak cot o' helpin' poor
I'ommy Smart because it's a forlorn hope. That's all the
mair reason why one should mak' a mair desperate effort.
I've nae doot that you'l! all come in an' clap your hands if
■^-. fi^..
■ '"3*5.;
" ^"f"
THE RED, RED WINE.
117
1 succeed, and say what a grand ihirg Christianity is te
work sitch wonders ! an' yet like t' Pharisees 'at Jesus
flogged wi' a wire whip, you niver helped it wi' one o' your
fingers. There's a deal o' varry cheap patronage o'
Christianity common just noo. But I tell yo', Mr. Hayes,
it is a good deal better to do well yourself, then to pat it on
the back when it is done, and say, * Well done ! ' "
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Norwood Hayes, who took Aaron's
hard hitting in very good part, as he always did. " I don't
want to undervalue the hope and patience, the courage and
effort that will have to be expended over so inveterate a
case as Tommy Smart's ; I was only expressing my very
strong doubt as to whether such an expenditure will not be
an absolute waste of time. I've done a great deal to help
the fellow out of the ditch myself, but he lies there still, and
will do so to the end of the chapter. That's my
opinion."
"Yes," said Aaron, rather slowly, "you hev', as you say,
done a good deal for Tommy Smart, booath in givin' him
work, an' forgivin' his faults, an' plyin' him wi' good advice.
God bless yo' for it, says I ; but when you say ' a good deal '
does that meean all yo' owt te ha' done ? Does it mean all
yo' could ha' done ? Is you an' me to be t' judges as to
whither oor 'good deal' is t' right deal? Tommy Smart
needs a good deal to save him, for he's varry far gone.
Noo you see your * good deal ' an' his * good deal ' differs a
good deal i' their dimensions. They say when John Wesley
was a little lad at home, his mother had a lot o' trubble to
drive a sartain lesson into him. His feyther interfered,
' Susanna,' said he, * why do yo' tell that lad that lesson
twenty times ower ?* ' Why,' she said, * because nineteen
times isn't enough.' Noo, Mr. Hayes, your * good deal ' 'at
you've done for Tommy Smart, an' I don't blame you, hez
stopped short at t* nineteent tahme. When t' woman i' t'
gospel lost her bit o' silver she swept an' sowt ' until she
I y
(i8
THE RED, RED WINE.
found if Tommy Smarts worth a good deal mair then a
piece d silver^ Mr. HayesP
"Look here, old friend," said Mr. Hayes, with a
courteous gesture and a laugh that had not much ring
in it. " If you use your * wire whip ' with such unmerciful
muscle, I shall have to run away. I do assure you that I
will gladly help you to rescue poor Smart, and I hope he
will be a little more set upon helping himself than he has
been."
" I hope he will," said Aaron, fixing his expressive and
undimmed grey eyes upon his companion ; " but I say, my
friend, don't you see that that is a "' forlorn hope ' for him.
What chance hez he? Hoo can he contend again the
drink-trade piuionised by law ? His enemies are legion ;
hoo can he fight 'em. Ha' yo' iver ta'en t' truble te coont
the number o' public hooses i' Netherboro'?"
" No," said Mr. Hayes, " I can't say I ever did. There
are too many, I've no doubt."
" Then it's tahme yo' did, sir ; an' seein' you're a foore-
most man i' t' toon, it's tahme yo' tried to mak' 'em fewer.
Now tick 'em off your ten fingers as I mention, one by one,
all the ' publ'cs ' that are let lowse like lions on this small
population of less than two thousand.
" Tom Smart lives i' Soo'gat', right at the town end. If
he gets work again wi' Farmer Barrass, up i' Northgat' right
at t'other end, he'll hev' to pass the oppen doors of a baker'fv
dozen of drink shops licensed by the law of England to trip
up Tommy Smart an' fling him on his back in the dike he's
just gotten oot with his bare life. Let's see noo —
" There's t' * Blue Bell ' to begin wi', just opposite his aun
hoose ; Black Bell I call it, for it's tollin' every day the passin'
bell for somebody. There's the * Barleycorn.' My word !
What crops an' harvest o' sin an' misery has sprung fre' that
devil's grain o' corn. There's t' * Red Lion,' at the corner,
seekin' whcm he may devour. There's t' 'Sportman's Arms,'
1^
THE RED, RED WINE.
119
«'»;
m
where the devil is the sportsman, gin, rum, beer, and
brandy, them's the dogs, and t' game is poor fools like
Tommy Smart, that are sure to get hunted down. There's
the * Grapes,' that calls itself an inn, an' thinks itself a peg
aboov' its brother pubs. But what's in a name ? A
drink-shop by ony other, wad smell as foul, and do the
devil's work as thoroughly. There's the * Half Moon,' which
is sign o' the half-lunatics that spend their time there.
There's t' * Cross Keys,' t' oppen t' gate o' poverty on one
hand, an' the door of death on t'other. There's a little
dram-shop called the * White Swan,' which is the only thing
white aboot it. There's the ' Grififin Inn.' Just the sign for a
drink-shop, ' Griffin ' is. It's all teeth and claws, with a
sting for a tongue, and another in its tail. It's a picthur to
the life o' the dragon Alcohol. Then there's the ' Star,' —
Lucifer, I expect, that wad bring doon a third part of Nether-
bro' to ruin. Opposite the toon-pump, the one spot where
you can get good liquor, there's the * Bay Horse.' I knoa
mair than one or two that it hez carried to the grave at a
gallop. There's the ' Red Cow ' : that's poor Tommy
Smart's favourite resort. He goes to get such milk as she
can cheat 'im wi' ; gets milked dry hisself. There's the
' Angel Inn,' — a fallen un, of course, and makin' others fall.
There's the * Dog and Duck.* That's the lan'lord an' tippler.
Poor Duck ! the dog generally finishes him, feathers an' all.
Then there's the * Black Swan ' : nae wunder it's black,
seein' the sort o' river it swims on. Noo, Mr. Hayes, hoo
monny ha' yo' ticked off?"
" Bless me ! " said Mr. Norwood Hayes, in much surprise,
" why, that is fifteen public houses ! "
'* Aye," said Aaron, his voice trembling with strong feeling,
" a public house to every six score o' the population. An'
men like Mr. Norwood Hayes are content to let the
murderous rapine go on unhindered. 'Christian' Cains
wear nae averted faces noo-a-days, because their brand is
•^.
:i^'.
lid
THE RED, RED WINE.
not on their broo, as it was on t' fost o' that name, only on
their conscience, an' * what the eye can't see the heart
doesn't grieve efter ; ' but it will both see an' sorrow some
day — some day, Mr. Hayes, — some day soon."
Mr. Norwood Hayes was silent. What was he to say ?
What cou/d he say ? Nothing ! What more can you say, —
you, the reader of these pages. For Aaron Brigham's public
house statistics of Netherborough are not fiction, they are
fact!
" Noo then," continued Aaron, after a brief pause, " Tom
Smart will have to pass all these places twice ivery day !
All with widely-open d jors ; most on 'em rank, even outside
the door, wi' the smell o' drink ; an' he wi' that awful cravin'
on him all the tahme ! The Christian magistrates o' Nether-
borough, and among them at least one Christian minister,
have deliberately licensed these mischief-makin' haunts !
They have given 'em leeave an' liberty, to catch, if they can,
an' to fling back this poor victim into the hell of sin an'
misery oot o' which the fingers of his own lahtle bairn hez
fetched him. Do yo' hear me ? " said the old man, his voice
rising in the intensity of his feelings. " They are licensed
to seize hold o' poor lahtle Kitty's fingers, an' untwine 'em
wi' their own brutal claws, an' send her feyther to death an'
ruin befoore her eyes ! O God, for this mad England that
such a thing can be !
" Noo, then, Mr. Hayes, if Tom Smart, who wants, poor
soul, to maister his deadly enemy, if he fails to run this
awful gauntlet, this desperate peril, an' dies a drunkard,
v/ho'U ha' murdered him ? Mebbe, when yo' see the
Reverend Abraham Clarkson, Justice of the Peace, you'll
ask him if his office is worth the price o' blood ! "
Alas, alas, not only at Netherborough is this thing true.
These man-traps, soul-traps — these torture mills for women
and little children are doing a roaring trade through all the
land. In the year but lately closed, nearly 140,000,000
9
THE RED, RED WINE.
131
pounds have been spent in that which is not only Nether
borough's but England's curse ! Yet the Churches of Jesus
Christ still trust in moral suasion to defeat their Satanic
mission, and in many, many cases, do not take much
trouble to persuade !
Yes, poor Tommy Smart has a hard task before him ; a
grim battle to fight ; a long, stern struggle to go through.
The one great hope lies in this, that dear old Aaron Brigham
has power with God, and never touches the evil thing him-
self; and in this, that Jesus knows that Tom is Kittfs
feyther^ and sMs talked to Him about him I
SjBJt^r
'»
CHAPTER XVII.
AT length Jennie Bardsley was able to resume her
labours in the Sunday School. The jubilation among
the girls of her class was subdued, for " teacher " bore the
tokens of the struggle through which she had passed, but it
was very genuine, for their love for her was great. On that
first Sabbath morning of her return to her much-loved
work, she accompanied her friend, Alice Hayes, to Zion
Chapel, and sat with her in the Hayes' pew. The service
was conducted as usual by the pastor, the Rev. Daniel
Dunwell, all except the giving out of the hymns, and reading
of the notices. These matters were left to the deacons, and
mainly to Mr. Norwood Hayes. By the way, one can hardly
call the giving out of notices as part of the service. They
are a very prominent and unwelcome interposition, and
could be spared both by the true worshippers and the
Worshipped.
Mr. Dunwell was, as I have already said, a preacher of
unusual ability, and wide popularity, tie was a man of
fair complexion ; he had no facial feature that struck you
definitely as noteworthy, and in this respect his face was an
index to his mental constitution, for that, too, wanted
definiteness ; it had in it a little too much of the willow, a
good deal too little of the oak. There was, however, a
singular combination in his expression of intelligence,
kindliness, seriousness, and humour.
If you looked at his face when in repose you saw certain
lines that puzzled you. What did they mean ? If something
serious was said, these lines gave him at once the look of a
^JwHRiJ^ '/
K^i
<"
THE RED, RED WINE.
123
man who does not think there is anything in the world
worth smiling at ; and you said, " O, that is what the lines
mean, is it." If something thoughtful or profound was
uttered, those lines instantly lent a look of intellectual
power to his face, and you felt that they were the index to
an unusually strong mind ; but if something mirthful or
jocose came to the front, those self-same lines gave an
expression to his face that made you laugh to look at it,
and set: you all agog for the exquisite humour that was sure
to follow. I knew this man, and wondered at him. A
more remarkable combination of Nestor and Yorick I
never saw.
Jennie Bardsley was greatly impressed by the sermon
Mr. Dunwell preached that morning. She felt as if it must
have been made and spoken purposely for her, and that it
was, indeed, a part of the call that had come to her from
God. God's calls to duty come to men and women in
many ways. I myself would fain be his messenger if I
may, and I will therefore report here something of what
Mr. Dunwell had said.
" And thou shalt be a biessing.^^ That was the text that
morning. " I hold," said the preacher, " that true religion
has its centre and life in the previous words, * / 7vill bless
thee,^ and that it has its circumference and activity in these
words, 'Thou shalt be a blessing.* Abraham received a
blessing from God, so he became a blessing to men. Out
of the first came the last. True religion is the death of
selfishness, and Christianity only fully fulfils its mission
when it destroys all aims and motives which are either
indifferent t© or opposed to the well-being of other people.
The Christian is his brother's keeper, and the more Christly
he is, the more he finds it a joy to fulfil that obligation.
" To the little band of men whom He had chosen out of
the world, the Master said, *Ye are the light of the world.*
He had kindled among them the glow of a living flame, not
r'
1=4
THE RED, RED WINE.
1
1
I
i
that they might pick their solitary way by the light of it —
not that they might sit around it, and say, *Aha, I am
warm,' but that men might see it and feel its power. It is
not enough to carry your light in a dark lantern, flash it out
on a Sunday, or on some special occasion, then withdraw it
as suddenly to leave blinking spectators rather more un-
certain as to your moral whereabouts than they were before.
*• I remember seeing," he continued, *' on a certain festive
occasion, a thousand men marching through the streets of a
great city, when the clock in the minster tower was chim-
ing the midnight hour. Neither moon nor stars appeared,
and the lamps along the streets were but as twinkling beads
of light that made but small impression on the dark
November air. But wherever that procession went, a clear,
full, and at times even brilliant, light illumined the streets
and houses, brought every carven statue into full relief, and
was flashed back from every window and every gilded sign.
" Every face, too, in the streets shone bright, every form
stood clear, and the dull, dark night, right up into the mid-
night gloom above, glowed as with the promise of the
morning, and turned the darkness to the light of day !
How was this? What wizard's work had made so great a
transformation scene? Every man that marched in that
procession carried a pitchpine torch ! Each torch flashed its
little measure of light upon the dark, and so conquered it !
** Now, it is given to every true Christian, not so much to
carry a torch as to be a torch. He himself is to be set
alight ; he is to move through the world's sad shadow-land,
a peripatetic illumination, showing the beauty of goodness,
and the tender love of Christ. It is not enough that you
are not a curse ; that you work no harm. The poisonous
Upas tree and the barren fig tree shall both be cast into the
fire. The captured rebel caught red-handed, and the
sentinel asleep at his post, are alike doomed to die. You
must be a blessing.
«pp
THE RED, RED WINE.
^25
" And, O, the joy of it ! In the Holy Land, says
tradition, there lived a man called Eliab, whom God had
blessed with much wealth. He was also cunning in the
v'isdom of the East. But all this could not bring peace to
his heart, or satisfaction to his mind. He was often full of
sorrow, and felt his life to be a burden that he would fain
lay dov^n. Then a man of God came to him, and showed
him an herb possessed of wonderful healing virtues. But
Eliab said, * What is that to me ? My body lacks not
health. It is my soul that is diseased. It were better for
me to die.* ' The herb will do thy heart good,' said the
man of God. ' Take it, and go and heal seven sick men
with it. TheUy if thou wilt, thou mayest die.'
*' Eliab listened to the voice of the man of God. He
took the wondrous herb, and went forth and sought sin and
misery in their hiding-places. He healed seven i 'ck
people. He rescued a man from a great peril. lie
prevented a young man from going forward on a harmful
venture. He brought smiles to the face of a tearful child.
He succoured the poor witii his riches. Then the man of
God came again to him and said, * Here is the herb of
death; now thou mayest die.' But Eliab said, *God forbid!
My souls longs no more for death ; for now only have I
discovered the joy of life.' "
Mr. Dunwell concluded his sermon by saying, " Every
Christian has that herb of life, and every Christian may have
that joy of life. In proportion as he is a blessing, he has a
blessing ; the approval of his conscience, the smile of his
God, the love of his kind, and the delight in doing good.
Like the sun his course shall be
' Right away down to the golden west
Eountiful, beautiful, blessing and blest.' **
This wholesome and generous doctrine, and the preacher's
happy way of putting it, made a great impression on Mr.
126
THE RED, RED WINE.
Dunwell's congregation ; and to Jennie Bardsley, especially,
they came as an apt and timely revelation.
As she left the chapel in company with her friend and
companion, Alice Hayes, Jennie could not forbear from
expressing her strong appreciation of the morning's dis-
course.
" Wasn't it beautiful, Alice ? And oh, how true ! " she
said.
"What? The sermon?" replied her friend. "Yes, it
was very good. I think I've heard Mr. Dunwell to greater
advantage, though."
"O, I think it was just splendid," responded Jennie
warmly, and then added slowly and seriously, "It was
indeed a word in season to me."
From this little episode it will be seen how much the
" advantage " of a sermon depends upon the hearer.
Many a " dry " discourse might have considerable unction
imparted to it if the vessel that received it had not been
itself so dry. The reception and subsequent development
of the seed depends upon the condition of the soil on which
it falls. Alice, it seems, had been swiftly rid of it.
Perhaps " the birds " came and picked it up as it fell. Mr.
Dunwell, you see, was scarcely to blame for that ; and I am
strongly of opinion that if all the blame that is now showered
upon the pulpit was righteously and judicially divided, the
hearers would have to bend their backs to carry their share
of it. But there, I am in the ranks of parsondom myself,
and my evidence may be regarded as suspicious.
CHAPTER XVIII.
" (^^ OOD morning, Miss Jennie," said Mr. Norwood
V_T Hayes, who had been too much engaged with his
diaconal duties to greet her at an earher moment, and now
joined them on his homeward way, " We are all delighted
to see you up and about again. The old chapel has never
looked like itself in your absence. We all thank God for
your return to health."
As usual, Mr. Hayes was hearty and genial ; winsome in
mien and manner. No wonder he was so greatly liked.
Jennie warmly appreciated his good feeling.
"Have you had a good time this morning?" Jennie
asked. " Alice doesn't seem to have been * hit in the right
place.'"
" Ha ! ha ! ha ! Perhaps she wasn't there," said Mr.
Hayes. "Alice has a peculiar faculty for disposing her
'seeming self in a decorous attitude in her pew, and then
making excursions with her natural self into the surround-
ing, or even into distant, countries. It's quite wonderful, I
assure you, how often and how far she can come and go
between the first prayer and the Benediction."
"All right, my honoured sir," quoth Miss Alice, in a
tone of warning, lifting a threatening finger, " wait until I
get you home. You'll get * hit in the right place.' There's
no doubt about that !"
Mr. Hayes evidently had a due regard to the possible
consequences, for he deprecated the idea of punishment,
and made timely surrender.
"Yes, Jennie, I had a good time," he said, returning to
/I
I
28
THE RED, RED WINE.
4 \
the question which had been put to him, "and so, I
suppose, had everybody, with the possible exception of
Alice the absent. Such a life as the pastor sketched for us
this morning is worth living. Whatever the carping critic
may say to the contrary, I endorse every word he said, and
have had my resolution confirmed and strengthened to be a
blessing. I have just been reading the life of that great
missionary pioneer and glorious evangelist, Adoniram
Judson. The poor Karens, amongst whom he used to
labour, called him by a sonorous word in their own
language, which signified Jesus Christ's man. By that title
he was recognised, alike among Christian converts and
heathen idolaters, throughout all the tribe. Jesus Christ's
man ! — there's no title like it in all the world !"
This was followed by silence — the silence that is golden.
Mr. Hayes spoke feelingly, and Jennie Bardsley felt its
force.
It was a bright and lovely Sabbath morning. The soft
and balmy breath of early autumn brought with it health
and freshness, and Jennie Bardsley was easily persuaded to
extend her walk to Alice's home on the Scanton Road.
She knew that Walter was sure to be there to help her
home again if she needed it. Mr. Dunwell had elected to
saunter in the same direction with his two you ger children,
whose enjoyment of " a walk with papa " could hardly be
expressed in words.
Of course, these also must cross Mr. Norwood Hayes*
hospitable threshold. It would indeed be difficult to do
otherwise, for there were few who could withstand that
gentleman's kindly courtesies. Mrs. Hayes had " one of
her headaches" that morning: that, at least, was Alice's
way of accounting for her non-appearance. The truth was
that she was laid upon what she called her "couch of
weakness" in a small parlour off the drawing-room, in
silent rebellion against prohibition principles, and trying to
,._.;v'afcisjk-,....
THE RED, RED WINE.
129
.,:
pass the weary hours on a mental diet of " Erminia the
Noble, and the Gipsy Eugene."
Alice, of course, had to act as hostess. Jennie Bardsley
was content to take a biscuit and a glass of water ; the
wants of Mr. Dunwell's bonnie children were met by a
slice or two of cake, or better still, a cheese-cake with
currants in ; and to restore Mr. Dunwell's exhausted
energies, after his arduous morning labours, the
resources of the sherry decanters were offered and
accepted.
Of course, Miss Alice could not leave her papa neglected.
His diaconal responsibilities wert; only second to those of
the pastor himself.
"What will _>»<?« take, papa?" said the waiting handmaid,
not at all in a whisper, or even in "softened tones and
voice subdued," though her mother, the victim of sumptuary
laws, was quite within hearing, and might well have called
out from her couch of weakness, " What's sauce for gander
might well be sauce for goose."
" O, I don't mind, my dear," was Mr. Norwood Hayes'
response to his daughter's question, spoken loftily and
indifferently, as if to make clear to all observers his entire
superiority to all things alcoholic. " I don't think I need
anything."
This was perfectly true both of pastor and deacon, but it
could not go unchallenged.
" O, no, that won't do," said Mr. Dunwell. " You must
not leave me to sip my wine alone. Take a glass of sherry
with me, at least for company."
For company ! And these two sane men. Christian men
men of stronger mental calibre than ordinary, couldn't aft*
through the ghastly sham !
** O, well, so be it," said Mr. Hayes, reaching forth to
take the gentle pick-me-up from his daughter's hand, much
as he would have taken a visiting card when told that
9
130
THE RED, RED VVlNE.
a strai.ger asked to speak with him. He did it "for
company."
Norwood Hayes ! If some hand could lift for you the
curtain that hides a distant and a dark to-morrow, would you
still for the sake of courtesy and good fellowship do as the
pastor does, for company ?
In a little while an addition is made to the little group.
Farmer Stipson, of Scanton Grange, was not only a good
customer, but a recognised acquaintance, and according to
Mr. Hayes, was ** one of the best fellows going, and if he
only had religion to give himself control, would be a splendid
soul."
"Good morning," said the farmer, as he entered the
room, making an inclusive bow to all and sundry, and
proceeding at once to " business."
" I sa 'j Hayes, I just want a word with you about that
new threshing machine. I was riding by — I've got a young
horse in training — and I thought this will save me a journey
to-morrow. Will you take my offer?"
" Excuse me, Mr. Stipson," said Mr. Hayes, " I never
transact business on a Sunday."
" Oh, nonsense," said Stipson, with a short laugh. " I'm
not going to pay you money to-day, or ought o' that sort.
Just a word '11 settle the thing, you know."
" It's the Lord's Day," said Mr. Hayes, seriously and
reverentially. " And I honour the fourth commandment,
as ind ed I would stek to honour the whole ten, and I
cannot speak to you on that subject. Business to-morrow,
if you please, and as much of it as you please."
The farmer rose ; be was a little nettled, evidently, and
was willing to leave without further speech on the subject.
" I'll ride over to the Gr.nce first thing in the mo*^ ling,"
said Mr. Hayes, as a secoii thought. "You woii c lote
any time then."
' O, well," said Stipson, still a little sore, and speaking a
.iJi.!.
THE RED, RED WINE.
131
little gruffly, "that may do, but I can't understand your
scruples "
'* Never mind it, now it's settled," said the deacon,
naturally anxious to conciliate a very valuable client of his
firm. " Here, have a glass of sherry before you go."
"No, thank you," said Stipson, speaking frankly and
brusquely as was usual with him. " I've been overrunning
the constable lately, and must pull up a bit."
" O, well," said Mr. Hayes, thinking of nothing at that
mon.snt but the desirability of putting the farmer into good
feeling after his rebuff. Such a purchase as the one in
hand meant large profits, and who can blame the shrewd
man of business for trying to secure them ? "A glass
won't harm you. It will give an edge to your appetite for
dinner." Then nodding towards Mr. Dunwell, pastor of
Zion chapel, he added, " You can't do better than follow a
good example."
" Very well," said Stipson, resuming his seat, "anything
to oblige," and tipping down the sherry t a gulp, he handed
the empty glass to be refilled.
Anything to oblige ! Even the risk of body and soul.
A second glass he was content to sip more leisurely, and he
became more conversational and at home.
" I'm glad,'' said he, turning to the pastor of Zion's,
"that you aren't one of them namby-pamby teetotalers,
Parson Dunwell. I can't abide 'em."
" No," said the pastor, not particularly happy to have the
complimer'. from that quarter, and taking up his hat as he
saw Stipson's glass again empty. " I prefer to let my
mc deration be known unto all men."
Mr. Dunwell emphasised the word " moderation " that he
might hint a caution and a rebuke. He and his two
children then retired. So did Jennie, saying to herself as
she trod the garden-path, what the pastor had said in his
sermon that morningt
i^2
THE RED, RED WINE.
" Every true Christian has that joy of life. In proportion
as he is a blessing, he has a blessing. O, Mr. Dunwell !"
here she sighed heavily, " how I wish you had refused that
glass of sherry ! "
Mr. Stipson, too, went forth from Mr. Norwood Hayes'
most hospitable roof, mounted the young horse he was
training, and turned his steps, not homeward as he first
intended, but towards Netherborough — they kept splendid
sherry at the " Griffin."
"You can't do better than follow a good example!"
When a few more revolving suns bring the Sabbath day
once more to Netherborough, what, I wonder, will Mr.
Norwood Hayes and his estimable pastor think of that?
L
:.*,:
"*» Kdlt-rf
CHAPTER XIX.
WHEN Farmer Stipson arrived at the " Griffin," he
found the private bar already occupied by some
half-dozen habituh, who had come to obtain their usual
Sunday morning dram, as the fitting finish to their Sunday
morning stroll, and the equally fitting preparation for their
Sunday dinner. After dinner, they will need a further dram
as "a digestive." That, however, will be self-administered
at their own home, and will superinduce the afternoon nap ;
and that will help them to get through the irksome Sunday
leisure, and bring more quickly round the evening hours.
Then the gracious 'doors of the "Griffin " will open to them
once again, and enable them, by the aid of pipe and glass,
to wile away the closing hours of the slow and leaden Sabbath
Day!
That is the way that a large portion of the good folks of
Netherborough spent their Sundays fifty years ago ; and that
is the way too many of them spend them now. Right
through and around this " civilised " and " Christian " land,
the public houses are a sort of licensed Sunday slaughter-
houses for the killing of time, and, alas ! for much other
kinds of killing too. Strange, is it not ? that these moral
shambles are open, and kept open under the special patron-
age of a Christian Government, when other doors, with
never a ghost of harm within, are closed, barred, and bolted
by Government edict, in order to " protect the sanctity of
the Lord's day ; " and stranger still, that the Church of the
Lord of the Sabbath can sing " psalms and hymns and
spiritual songs," with these open pest-houses thriving within
the vevy shadow of His house !
134.
THE RED, RED WINE.
Is the State, in this matter, most hypocrite or fool ? Are
the Churches ? The Rev. William Arthur visited Rome
in the dark days, when the bands of Papacy had not yet
been broken. " Sir," said the driver of a public vehicle, in
answer to a question, " God Almighty is tired of Rome ! "
Is not some such conclusion warranted concerning Christian
churches that can, and will, abide the existence of the
licensed drink-shops, and their open desecration of God's
and the people's day ?
"Good morning, Stipson. Why, we thought we'd lost
you. You haven't been here for a month o' Sundays.
What will you take ? "
The speaker was Dick Bardsley, the brother of young
Walter Bardsley, and the champion of champagne at the
great Netherborough fete.
" Morning," said Stipson, in his us'jal gruff and rough-and-
ready fashion — ^just now, perhaps, more gruff than ordinary.
" No, I haven't. The fact is, I haven't any business to be
here now."
Farmer Stipson was not in a good temper. He was
vexed with himself. He inwardly cursed himself for a fool,
and he had another silent curse to spare for Pastor Dunwell,
and another for Mr. Norwood Hayes, the two men who had
been the means of his coming there. He felt like taking
vengeance on himself for breaking his resolve. He knew
that he was now committed to another drinking bout, which,
in all probability, would be longer and heavier, because of
the longer interval since his last indulgence. Yet, even
now, had there been a restraining hand, and a kindly,
deterring voice to aid him, he might have made his escape.
O, if it might have been ! There was a loving and
faithful wife at home, who was even now watching for his
return — standing at the farmyard gate, and looking along
the sunny road with shaded eyes, and with anxious care
upon her comely face. There were four happy children
^;-
.. V
THE RED, RED WINfi.
i35
near her, now riding on the swinging gate, now racing across
the daisy-sprinkled paddock, now clustering round their
mother, who still stands watching, watching with anxious
face and shaded eyes.
" O, George, George, why don't you come ? " she says.
She might as well ask the stony sphynx, as propound her
question to the viewless air. Mr. Norwood Hayes, the ex-
cellent deacon of Zion's Chapel, might possibly fling a little
light upon his absence. Perhaps not, though. What had
he to do with it ?
O, if it might have been. But, no; every hand held
forth a tempting glass, and every voice was raised to bid him
stay.
" Nonsense, man," quoth Dr. Medway, who, having
finished his morning round among his patients, found a
change, after dispensing healing medicines to others, in
mixing deleterious doses for himself.
" Sit you down. Here, waiter, bring us a pint of sherry.
I'll pay the piper. Stipson, you're below par, my good
fellow, and that's the medicine I prescribe for you."
" There, now ! That's something like a prescription, that
is. Doctor, I feel a little below par myself. Just pass the
dose." The speaker this time was Lawyer Everett, Witty
Everett, they called him. He was a local celebrity, famous
as a pleader in county courts, and at quarter sessions ; clever
especially at " making the worse appear the better reason,"
capable, it is said, of proving black to be white, only a little
more so. Such moral abortions are plentiful as blackberries,
thanks to " the majesty of English law ! "
As Everett spoke, he looked with mock langour, and real
longing, at the decanter, which the doctor of the beetroot
visage and strawberry nose held in his hand.
This piece of taproom humour was greeted with general
laughter, in which Stipson joined. That was the littk oil
in which he slid down into acquiescence with his fate. He
M
^
^\
i
I
136
THE RED, RED VVL\E.
drank the sherry, which Medway ostentatiously placed with-
in his reach. O poor wife and mother, watching at the
farmyard gate with anxious face and shaded eyes, cease
your gazing, George will not come to-day !
The conversation in the bar-parlour soon turned on
politics. This is a topic held in much favour by topers
in general, and by toper-makers — brewers, publicans, etc.,
in particular. This may help to account for the beery
and blundering character of the legislation with which
this long-suffering land has been afflicted. It is a thing
to thank God for that the principles of temperance and
sobriety are fast permeating the councils and the councillors
of the nation, and that the vicious element, strong drink, as
a factor in English politics is a rapidly diminishing quantity.
There is, however, even now, a tremendous amount of
mischief done by the way in which Beer is under the patron-
age of the Bible — as represented by the national churches
of the land. That, too, thank God, is a weakening bond.
When the unclean thing is clean got rid of, the morning
stars will sing together, and the angels of God will shout for
joy 5
Now politics is a topic that has a good deal of tinder in
it ; and sherry, especially in its energetically doctored con-
dition, is replete with latent combustive forces. In the
clash and conflict of bar-room argument, the sparks fly
thick and fast. The brimstone element is abundantly
present when alcohol is to the fore, and the bar of the
" Griffin " was soon ablaze with strife.
Lawyer Everett, as was natural, could take any side ;
and could defend that in which he did not believe quite as
forcibly as that to which he had pledged his vote. You are
not to understand from this that the worthy solicitor was
bound in conscience to let his vote and his " principles "
keep company. That would be expecting too much of his
kind. In the bar-room of the " Griffin," that day, he took
i
THE RED, RED WINE.
137
it into his head to be a Liberal. Farmer Stipson, like most
farmers of the old school, was a stubborn Conservative.
He was a strong and active partisan, and a choleric one.
He was soon roused into a condition of feeling, in which he
lost his self-control. In this state he began to call for his
own supplies of liquor ; drinking without knowing it, and
rapidly reducing himself to a condition of absolute
incapability.
One by one his " friends," becoming aware of his otate,
took occasion to retire. The doctor had another patient to
see. The lawyer had to be home to an early dinner ; and
in this way, "they all, with one consent, began to make
excuse " for not staying to have responsible charge over the
comrade whom they had helped so eagerly to befool. They
say poverty makes us acquainted with strange bed-fellows,
and truly, strong drink makes its patrons acquainted with
strange comrades, chums, and friends ! " The trail of the
serpent is over them all." And so it came to pass that
before the bells of Nether borough called the burghers to
afternoon service in the church, this wretched victim of
" good fellowship," — heaven save the marl' ! — was maunder-
mg to himself about Peel and Wellington, Cobden and the
corn-laws, until he fell asleep, rolled helplessly over, and lay
like a log upon the parlour floor.
Thus he lay until Marvell, the landlord, appeared upon
the scene. He knew his customer of old, and had him
carried, as he had done many a time before, into a musty,
comfortless, private parlour, for the most part unused, and
placing him in a big, old-fashioned, and comfortless setee,
shut the door upon him, and left him to sleep off the effects
of the extravagant measure of liquors he had imbibed.
So the Sabbath afternoon wore slowly on. The " Griflfin,"
the " Netherborough Arms," and all the more reputable
"publics" enjoyed a season of comparative quiet, until the
evening hours should fill tap-room and bar with bibulous life
138
THE RED, RED WINE.
again. The bells chimed a strenuous and persistent
invitation to the citizens to go to church. Very few re-
sponded to the call. They were saving themselves for the
Bacchus-worship of the evening. The stir and hum of the
Sunday Schools were heard within the chapel doors. Quiet
folk were sauntering in their gardens, or sitting indoors, list-
lessly looking through the windows, or as listlessly turning
over the pages of a book they did not care to read. Of
course this was Sabbath-keeping, and Sabbath-breaking was
such an awful crime! In the low "pot-houses," as they
were locally called, thg " Blue Bell," the " Barleycorn," and
others of the same stamp, there was a little business doing,
for the poacher, and the loafer, and the gaol-bird, and the
beer-soaked fool who has his wages on him, at least all that
is left of it after Saturday's debauch — all these, together with
the poor, draggled, unwomaned women that consorted with
them, must have some place to go to, and here they are, ay,
and here they'll stay, reverend sirs, in spite of all the
chimings of church bells, until you shut up the "devil's
chapels," and fetch the worshippers of beer and bottle, by
force of a kindly hand upon their shoulder, into holier fanes
and a happier life.
This is Sunday at Netherborough ; the Sabbath, the day
of God ! And yonder in the clammy parlour of the
" Griffin," a lost man tosses and maunders, now foolishly,
now wildly, and now with unshaped curses on his parched
and blackened lips ! And yonder at the Grange, a comely
woman sits alone with eyes that are red with weeping, a face
that is white with a mortal sickness, a heart that is wrung
with an agony of fear.
To you, the Reverend Daniel Dunwell, and to you, Mr.
Norwood Hayes, I commend the study of these two " forms
and faces." To all the religious and decorous upholders of
"moderate-drinking" I commend them also, and I hope
of you, that the blood and tears of no more George Stipsons
THE RED, RED WINE.
139
and their broken-hearted wives shall stain the garments,
which you say is the robe of righteousness, with which you
are invested by the Christ of God !
When the shades of evening were gathered round, the
miserable Stipson came to be partially himself again. For
awhile he failed to realise where he was, or what had
happened to him. Then the whole horrible business of that
Sabbath morning came back to mind and lemory like a
lightning stroke. He felt a strange sensation, as of a blow
upon the head, a fainting, sinking feeling, as if he were
sliding down. An unspeakable despair gat hold upon him;
a conviction that was strong as certainty that his last
chance was gone : that he could never, never, never again
even try to elude the grasp of the demon that had gripped
his soul and life !
This lost man knew that if he had the drink there and
then, wine, beer, rum, gin, brandy, anything with alcohol in
it, he should seize it, gulp it, drain it, if even he should die
with the bottle at his lips ! Frightened, horrified, aghast,
he shouted, or rather, tried to shout, for the sound that
came between his lips was a shapeless noise, weird and in-
human, more terrible than any syllabled cry that could leave
the lips of man !
The awful clutch of paralysis had laid deadly hold upon
him ! Perhaps, nay, surely, a visitation of mercy this, that
rendered possible the saving of an immortal soul alive.
The noise he had made was heard without ; was heard
across the street; was heard by Landlord Marvr'l, busy at
that moment " putting things to rights," preparatory to the
brisk run of business which was aure to come when the chimes
of the church bells made musical the Sabbath eve ! The
landlord sent in haste for Dr. Medway, and that strong
advocate in the port-wine theory was commendably quick to
present his bloated visage upon the scene. Did some
tricksy spirit whisper in his ear, I wonder, as he looked
} !
t !
[40
THE RED, RED WINE.
Jipon the distressful and distorted features of the stricken
man. '* That is the result of your * prescription,' Doctor.
Before you gave it him you said he was below par.
i^octor Medway, what is his level now ? "
" Good heavens ! " cried the doctor, as he regarded the
paralysed farmer, " It's all over with that man. Marvell,"
he continued in a low tone, ** I would not answer for his
living another day. You had better send for his wife."
He stepped forward to take the doomed man's hand : but
.Stipson would none of it. So excited did he become, and
such a look of hate sat upon his face, that Medway, not un-
willingly, perhaps, left the room. Even in him, conscience
was not absolutely dead.
The news was soon spread abroad. Dick Bardsley told
his sister, and Jennie Bardsley, bent on the fulfilment of her
Divine commission " to be a blessing," was quickly at the
sick man's side. At once she took the management of the
case into her own hands : sent for Dr. Preston, a young
practitioner, of a new and better school, had the patient
removed to a quiet and darkened chamber, and then found
time to ask the question,
•' Dr. Preston, is he about to die ? "
" He may rally a little ; but he can't recover," was the
reply ; " it is only a question of days or even hours."
" His wife must be sent for," said Jennie. " Poor
woman ! What a message to send on the Lord's Day of
rest and peace ! Who will take it ? Can I do any good
here. Doctor ? "
" Not any. Miss Bardsley, that Mrs. Marvell can't attend
to." He had read her intention.
" Then I'll go myself," said Jennie, who thought, as she
went on her sad errand, of the grave beneath the yew trees,
where her own dead darling lay.
Mrs. Stipson had already settled in her own mind that her
husband had broken his new-made vows. She sat, bowed
THE RED, RED WINE.
Mi
down with grief and fearsome apprehension, waiting,
watching, with a sickness at the heart such, I think, as few
can feel as can the drunkard's wife. It cannot be said
that Jennie's news came upon her as a crushing surprise.
She had Hved for years on the edge and brink of such a
possibihty. Jennie told the sorrowful story as well and
tenderly as such sad stories can be told ; but she was
touched to the quick at sight of the dull, dark, blank look
that came upon the listener's face. She only said, " O
George, George ! My husband ! " and inquired of Jennie
if he was not already dead.
The stricken wife and mother twined herself dumbly
round the ministering angel who had come to soothe and
comfort her, and let her lead her how and where she would.
Mrs. Stipson hastened to her husband's side. Her self-
repression there was wonderful. Jennie Bardsley seemed
to impart to her her own inner calm and her strength of
soul.
When Jennie found that the evening service at Zion's
Chapel must be over, she asked the sick man if he would
like someone to pray with him. There was no doubt about
the answer. He could not speak in words, but the expres-
sion of his eager eyes said yes. Naturally, she sent for the
pastor of her own church, Mr Dunwell.
For a few moments Stipson did not seem to recognise
him. Then suddenly there came into his eyes a ste.ady
gaze fnd a kindling fire. He grew excited, and vainly
strove to rise. With an evident concentration of forces,
and a violence of effort that was pitiful to see, he managed
to voice one word, though indistinctly. It was this :
" Go ! "
Was the Reverend Daniel Dunwell, I wonder, conscious
of the reason why ? Why was he dismissed, this minister
of Christ, sharply dismissed by a man, a dying man, who
longed for the prayer of the righteous that availeth much,
r-
149
THE RED, RED WINE.
to help a poor sinner back to God ? Yet Daniel Dunwell
was a good man, tender and true !
That Sunday morning the pastor of Zion Chapel had
been complimented by Stipson across the decanter, because
he was not a " namby-pamby teetotaler." That Sunday
evening the dying drunkard will not have this Christian
minister to pray with him, because he had helped, all •* for
company " and " good fellowship," to push him down,
down to the first and second death 1
ii
CHAPTER XX.
AS a temporary relief from this sad and sorrowful and
o'er true incident, let us turn away a little to where
the shadows are not so dark, and where the atmosphere is
not heavy with the airs of grief, nor charged with clouds
of tears.
The construction of the York and Netherborough railway
was being pushed bravely on, and some of the more
sanguine prophets were strong in their opinion that before
another twelve months were over, the iron horse would be
coming along, like Joan's mare in the nursery tale, bringing
its tail behind it. •
Of course, the very process of cutting the line brought a
good deal of business to Netherborough, and a temporary
increase of population of navvies, and a still rougher class,
such as always follows in the wake of the armies of labour,
as of arrr ies of a far less unworthy and a far more destruc-
tive kind. One of the contractors took up his abode in the
town, and became quite a dignitary in the estimation of
the townspeople, who had never been accustomed to that
kind of thing. I really believe that he was regarded by
these simple provincials as a sort of personification of the
genius of the new railway, and his presence in the town
made it, more than ever, first a Netherborough and after
that a York concern.
Mr AUamore, the contractor, was a total abstainer, a rare
thing among his class in those days. The drink interest
did not reap much advantage from him, and he was not
popular among the fraternity of the barrel and the still.
rr-
'44
THE RED, RED WINE.
But all other interests were benefited, for he persuaded large
numbers of the navvies to follow his example, and they and
the tradesmen, too, found advantage in that.
" Take all your beer in the shape of beef, lads," I've
heard him say, when the weekly pay-day came round.
" If anybody asks you to ' stand treat,' the best thing you
can do is to retreat and leave them to stand by themselves.
Treat yourselves to a respectable Sunday suit. Treat your
wives to i^ nice bonnet and gown. Treat your bairns to a
bit of good shoe-leather, and a spell of good schooling.
And treat everybody that tries to get you to fool away your
hard-earned money in drink — treat them with plenty of cold
shoulder, and give them your full permission to come your
way no more."
Mr. Allamore and Walter Bardsley became close friends.
A sort of mission-hall was run up at the contractor's cost
and charge, and Walter found congenial employ in acting
as a missioner among the work people. He became almost
as popular with the men as Mr. Allamore himself, and in
Temperance work especially he did work of the best and
most enduring kind. Dear old Aaron Brigham, too, was
always a welcome visitor at the little mission-hall, and his
bref talks to the men, quaint and hearty, were, as ths men
themselves declared, as good "as apple-pie." Jennie
Bardsley and her brother star led a Sunday School, to which
men, wives, and children were all invited. It was a queer
business, but it has left its mark for good on lower Nether-
borough to this day.
*' If I'd a dozen helpers at my back like Walter Bardsley
and his sister," said Mr. Allamore one day to Mr. Norwood
Hayes, " I think we could almost kick John Barleycorn out
of Netherborough."
"But why should you?" asked that excellent gentleman.
He was well pleased to hear such high encomiums on his
son-in-law elect; but he could not approve of 3uch high-
THE RED, RED WINE.
145
handed measures against " Sir John " as Mr. Allamore
evidently had in view. "John Barleycorn is a jolly and
agreeable fellow enough, if you only tell him how far he
may go. If you let him take liberties with you, that's your
look-out, not his," and Mr. Hayes smiled at his own
pleasant way of putting it.
"Dear mel" said Mr. Allamore, drily. "Have you
many acquaintances of that sort ; fellows against whom you
have to keep guard to keep them from making a fool of
you, or even something worse? I should soon tell them
how far they might go ! I should say, ' Go to Jericho, and
don't come back !'
" But in your case, Mr. Hayes," continued the contractor,
" that is not the question. You can stop ypur * friends,'
Barleycorn, Juniper, Usquebaugh, Eau-de-Vie, and the rest of
your questionable cronies, excuse me, when you see that they
are not to be trusted. You can turn off the tap, and cork
the bottle with a firm hand, and you can, if you like, thank
God that you are not as other men. But what about those
* other men ' who cannot, and with whom these potent agents
work their ruinous will — what about them, Mr. Hayes?"
"Why, as to that," replied Mr. Hayes, with the calm
assurance which so well became him, " I set them an
example of self-control, and silently preach to them the
possibility and the value of a manly mastery over all mere
sensualities. I let my rnoderation be known unto all men ;
and if the ' other men ' you talk about would do the same.
Sir John Barleycorn, against whom you have such a sturdy
grudge, would do them no harm."
" But," said Mr. Allamore, " you know well enough, Mr.
Hayes, what poor weak stuff human nature is, so far as
multitudes are concerned; what is to be done with the
pitiful crowds who cannot do the same, because of natural
weakness and the perpetual pressure of temptation ? Are
they to be left to their fate ?"
10
1
■
/]
' \
1
1
1
1 {
!
146
THE RED, RED WINE.
"Stuff and nonsense!" said Mr. Hayes. "Of course I
know all about the weakness of human nature; know it,
alas, not only by the teaching of the Bible and my own
observation, but by my own experience, too. But the grace
of God is free to all men. All may have it for the asking,
and they who have it have enough to master any temptation
whatsoever, drinking among the rest."
Mr. Allamore stood still, ana fixed his gaze earnestly,
nay, sternly, on the face of Mr. Hayes, who looked some-
what surprised.
" Look here, my friend," said the contractor, with much
warmth, " I think that form of words is used by Christian
people, as they elect to be called, a great deal too freely,
and that it falls far too glibly from their tongues. Far be it
from me to speak slightly or irreverently of the 'grace of
God :' it is poor humanity's life and hope. I do not make
profession of Christianity in the sense in which you feel
free to do so, but I have profound faith in the 'grace of
God ' as the means of lifting our mean manhood up to a
better and nobler life. But all the same, I think it is high
time that we were hearing a good deal more about f/ie grace
of man!"
"That's true," said Mr. Norwood Hayes, who, as I have
already said, was far too finely tuned to truth and right not
to endorse the telling sentence, though it did discount
his own position. " That's true," he said. " I'm with you
there with all my heart, but it won't do as a substitute for
grace divine."
" Nobody wants it to," said Mr. Allamore, who was often
a little impatient under orthodox platitudes presented in
conventional forms. " I'm content that God shall have the
sole handling of His own grace, and am certain that He
does not intend that it shall relieve me one iota from the
right use of mine to my brother man. You remember the
ower true words of poor Burns, who fell a victim to the
IIIH JMIMiriii JfiiM
THE RED, RED WINE.
f47
want of man's grace and the superabundance of man's
selfishness —
' Man's inhumanity to man,
Makes countless thousands mourn,'
Well, according to my poor thinking, man's kind humanity
to man would make countless thousands glad, and the
grace of that humanity ought to go from you and me to
them that need it, whether the 'grace of God' be there
or no. I will not allow you to shirk your own responsi-
l)ilities as a brother of men— ^none the less if they are weak
brothers — by relegating them to the 'grace of God.' If
every man were an isolated unit, then each would be
utterly dependent :;n the — I will not use the sorely abused
and hackneyed phrase any more ; — and I'm bound to say it
would be a mighty poor world : that's my opinion."
" In the main, I heartily agree with you, Mr. Allamore,
and, indeed, you shall find me a willing helper in any plan
for the moral and social elevation of your employees "
'* Nay, nay, don't let us leave the point in hand," said
Mr. Allamore, with a conciliatory smile on his earnest face.
" We are dealing just now with the macter of a Christian's
personal responsibiliiy in the matter of strong drink. It
seems lo me that God's plan is to help man, save man, lift
man, gla. ien man Oy man : and if the kindly * grace ' of a
man like ) 'U can stoop to do and to be what a weaker and
a worse ma i ought to do and be, then your stoop shall be
his staff, and he shall find your high level by reason of the
moral ' lift ' you let down to reach his low one. It is of
little use standing on the hill-top and telling the lame man
at the bottom to come up where you are. You nmst go
down into the valley, Mr. Hayes, and help him up ! "
Mr. Norwood Hayes was silenced, if not convinced. No
doubt he could have found material for effective reply, for
he was clever at debate and a master at " fence ; ' but he
wa» good and true, and as he saw the contractor's
I
I
1^
!
i!
T48
The RtiD, RED WINE.
beneficient soul gleaming through his eyes, and his
sympathetic enthusiasm of (and for) humanity vibrating in
his voice, he had not the heart to do other than coincide.
That is the fashion the best people in the churches treat
the temperance reformers with still. They "respect our
motives " within certain limits ; they believe we do a " great
amount of good," and they would not for the world
interfere to stop us, etc., etc., but as for themselves, why,
they have the grace of God, and other people can have it
for the asking, and — God save Bacchus !
Mr. Norwood Hayes was not convinced. The citadel of
high morality, girt around with the defensive moat of social
conventionalities, was not to be captured in that fashion.
Long and patient siege was likely to be equally in vain. It
will be captured, I think, some day, but if so, it will be
stormed into surrender, and great will be the fall of it. As
yet, however, Mr. Norwood Hayes is strong, and on this
question has perfect confidence in the judgment and
position of Norwood Hayes.
Still, that gentleman was provided with much food for
thought, strong food, too, as he turned his steps homeward.
That sentence of Mr. AUamore's, about the "grace of man,"
was not to be easily dismissed as a mere truism. He could
truthfully say that he was not destitute of the attribute in
question. There were few men in Netherborough who had
a kindlier heart. His practical charities were numerous and
unostentatious, and his labours in what the churches call
" work for the Lord," was full of self-sacrifice and cheerful
self-devotion.
But this particular development of the grace of man, this
giving up even of his own religious excellencies, this dimming
of his own light as a moral beacon — this was new to him,
and he was not prepared to fall in with it.
"No, no," he said, at last, as he neared his home at
Throstle's Nest, and heaving a deep sigh, which showed how
THE RED, RED WINE.
149
fixed and absorbed his thoughts had been. " No, no, friend
AUamore, let a man be a man, and let him, by his manliness,
show to everybody what a man can be. The Scriptural
virtue is not Abstinence, it is Temperance. Nazarites are
all very well, if they feel specially called upon to take the
vows ; I'll not interfere with them. But, a whole nation of
Nazarites ! That can hardly be conceived, and would most
certainly be a state of things, not by any means to be
desired."
;ai^..
ir
m
CHAPTER XXI.
HAVING arrived at this most pleasant and comfortable
conclusion, he arrived also at his most pleasant and
comfortable home. Most pleasant and comfortable : that
was a just description of the Throstle's Nest, or would have
been, but for one certainly not insignificant drawback — the
"couch of weakness" — and its occupant, his "partner in
life," who was in no sense a partner, and who was down in
the mire at the bottom of the hill, and he so high at the top !
Mr. Hayes found his handsome laddie, Cuthbert, retailing
some pleasant story to his sister, Alice. That light-hearted
maiden was so interested in the narration that she broke
ever and anon into merry laughter as it proceeded ; and
even from Mrs. Hayes' thin lips came a few feeble ripples,
which were a great advance on her usually languid smile.
No sooner did the lively Alice perceive the advent of her
father, than she laid her hand on Cuthbert's knee. "O
stop a little, Bertie," said she, " here's papa ! You must
tell him. Please begin again."
*' Well, what's in the wind now ?" said Mr. Hayes, giving
Cuthbcft help to retrace his steps as to the story telling.
" Nay, there's nothing in the wind that I know of," said
Bertie, " but there certainly has been something in the
water. Those two queer old cronies, George Gaffer and
Phil Lambert, had a funny experience last night, and I
happened to be there to see."
" All right, let's have the story," said his father, readily
enough ; and beginning at the beginning, which is the
reasonable way, Cuthbert related the moonlight adventure
of Messrs. Gaffer and Lambert.
THE RED, RED WINE.
ICI
"I suppose," said Bertie, "that the two comrades had
spent the evening at the * Black Swan,' the old topers, as
they have been in the habit of doing for many and many a
day, and had taken too much drink on board, which is their
bad old habit, too.
"When they left the 'Swan,' they were quite hilarious,
and sang, loud enough for half the town to hear, ' We won't
go home till morning, till daylight dulh appear.' Lt was a
splendid night. The moon was almost at the full, and only
here and there floated a white cloud on the face of the
bright, blue sky. They didn't feel like going home till
morning, and resolved to take a walk instead. They took
the field-path towards Godlington, and after long, arduous,
and devious efforts, they reached the border of the mill-dam,
which was full of water, flowing smoothly and brightly
beneath the smiling moon.
"I had been to Godlington," continued Cuthbert, "to
see a friend home " — here the narrator involuntarily blushed,
and naughty, knowing Alice smiled — "and on my return I
saw our two valiant boon-companions staggering, arm in
arm, along the bank of the mill-stream, and maundering
alcoholic nonsense of the most vacuous kind. Suddenly
Phil Lambert stopped, leaned his arm heavily on that of
his comrade, and pointing to the sheeny water, he said,
speaking thickly —
" ' I say, Geordie, my boy, let's walk on there. It's a
nice an' smooth bit o' foot-road that, ain't it?*
" As he spoke, he turned with a drunken wobble towards
the pool.
" ' No-non-sense, man,' said Geordie, who always
stammered when he was in his cups (and hiccups).
'Thoo mawn't walk there; it isn't seeafe.'
" Geordie himself was too far gone to explain further, but
he did his best to pull Gaffer in the opposite direction.
" * Seeafe ? it's as seeafe as the Bank of England,' said
tif
:| '■■■
152
THE RED, RED WINE.
!
Lambert. *An' hoo smooth an' clean it is! Come on wi'
tha' ! '
" In vain (leordie resisted. Caffer was strong and
rotund, a real heavy-weight, consisting mainly, however, of
the sodden obesity built up by beer. Lambert was thin and
short, and would have been dapper if drink had not made
him a semi-animated scarecrow instead. Hence he was at
the mercy of his comrade in a struggle of this kind. What
could he do ? A bright thought flashed across his brain.
" * Lo-lo-ok here, Phil ! ' said he, in well-feigned alarm,
and speaking in mock-solemn tones. *Ah tell tha' it's as
mitch as thy life's worth to gan on that sacred caus'y. It's
the Duke o' Debenham's private walk ! '
" Now we all know that Phil's a radical ; and Geordie's
well-meant device to keep his friend on solid ground failed
utterly.
" 'Blow the Duke o' Debenham !' shouted the pot-valiant
Phil. * Ah'se as good a man as he is, ony day,' and
gripping Caffer by the arms, he stepped recklessly on the
forbidden path, dra-^ging his comrade in with him. In a
moment they were splashing and floundering knee deep in
mud, and more than waist deep in water.
" My first impulse was to laugh loud and long ; but I
found the drunken simpletons were more helpless than
children, and in their vague eff"orts to sprawl to the bank
again they fell, face forward, into the pool. Constable
Harley had been watching them as well as I, and he and I
together fished them out at once. Had we not been at
hand, I don't believe that either of them could have saved
himself ; and certainly neither could have saved his friend.
Their queer baptism had a wonderingly sobering effect on
them, however, for they silently linked arms together, and
made tracks for home, dank and dripping like a couple of
scarecrows after a three days' rain !"
The close of Cuthbert's " funny " story was greeted with
THE RED, RED WINE.
153
a quartette of laughter, Cuthbert himself joining heartily
with the listeners three.
Yes, they laughed ! The English people, it is said, take
their pleasures sadly, but surely the people that can " find
fun " in the mad unreason of a drunken man must have a
wonderful talent for enjoyment. Yes, Mrs. Hayes laughed
in her washed-out way, and declared that the picture was
"too absurd," and yet she herself had, more than once or
twice, been the occasion of kitchen stories that had set the
servants' table in a roar.
Even Mr. Hayes laughed — laughed like a schoolboy —
and yet he had a wonderful reverence for " manliness " and
the "nobility of man." One would have thought it would
have made him sick at heart to hear how his friend Barley-
corn had sucked the manhood out of these idiotised
humans, as the vampire sucks the life-blood of such as lie
asleep ! And Alice laughed, and Cuthbert laughed ! Two
sane men had been robbed of their reason ; had become
little better than brainless fools ; had come to behave as
poor creatures do in lunatic asylums ; had all but choked
their lives out ; had all but thrust out their unshriven
souls unwanted before the presence of their Maker — and
the laughter was loud and long ! Verily, we English an a
wonderful people, and the " Christians " of that ilk — the
most wonderful of all !
At length, Mr. Hayes grew serious enough to extract his
" moral " from Cuthbert's well-told story. The smile upon
his face was followed by an expression of strong disgust,
mingled with a measure of contempt. Then he delivered
himself thus —
" Cuthbert, my son, Mr. AUamore thinks that one ought
to stoop to the level of a couple of drunken fools like
these in the hope that we may raise them to our own !
The way these teetotal cranks go on, insulting one's
common sense, is wonderful,"
tS4
THE RED, RED WINE.
Of course, just then, young Cuthbert's face wore disgust
and contempt in his expression, too. His father, Nc^rwood
Hayes, to come down to the Caffers, the Lamberts, the
Smarts ! Ridiculous !
O, Mr. Hayes ! Surely you, too, are inclined to walk on
an equally moonshiny and treacherous path ; but don't, for
God's sake, don't lead Cuthbert there ! He is not such a
walker on unstable elements as you
J
LAZY IDLERS AT CHURCH CORNERS. — Page 150,
r
^ CHAPTER XXII.
MY little heroine, Kitty Smart, had been having a
comparatively good time of it lately. Her poor
dnnk-sodden father had not only stayed away from the
public-house, but he had spent his days ai home when he
had no work to do, giving willing help to the overburdened
little housekeeper ; and had come home straight from his
daily labour when he had happened to meet with a job.
This latter was not often the case. As a labourer, Tom
Smart was at a discount. Everybody had lost confidence in
him. He had worn out the patience of everybody who had
at any time employed him, and it was only on occasions of
sudden pressure that employment came to him at all.
Hitherto, this state of things had not troubled him much.
He had been content to loaf around or to join the cluster
of lazy idlers at Church corner, and when a few stray
coppers came in his way, to adjourn to the " Red Cow,"
But now it was a great grief to him that he had no work
to do.
He had woke up to the fact that his children were in
rags, and were half-starved, and he was both ashamed and
sad at heart. The influence which little Kitty had gotten
over him during the days of his illness and convalescence
led him to long for a spell of honest labour that she and
"the chilther" might have, once again, a home that should
be something like a home.
One day, after he had walked many a weary mile in
quest of work, and had been repulsed wherever he had
applied, Tommy Smart came home tired and worn, utterly
dispirited and out of heart
i
1: .
156
THE RED, RED WINE.
I
it h
I
1'
1 1 .
i ;!
*' Kitty, my lass," said he, as he sank into the broken
chair, which was once a seat of comfort, and now scarce a
seat at all, " it's all up wi' ma. Ah've lost my chance, an'
t' work'us is the only spot fo' ma' to put me heead in.
Naebody '11 ha' ma. Ah wadn't mind, if it wasn't fo' thoo
an' t' bairp.a. Ah cud dee willin' aneeaf. I ha' nae right
to live, — out to see thoo pinin' away."
Tom Smart could say no more. He cried outright, and
his tears, unlike many maudlin torrents he had shed in his
cups, were the tears of honest feeling and bitter remorse.
Tender-hearted Kitty could stand a good deal ; did daily
stand up under a load that might well have crushed her :
but she could not stand her father's tears. She had just
disposed the two younger membeis of her family flock to
slumber in the little loft upstairs, and was busy mending a
rent in little Tommy's torn garments, when her quick ear
caught the sound of her father's sobs. Down went needle
and thread, and patch and thimble, and in a moment, two
little arms were clasped around his neck, a little rough head
of curly hair was pillowed on his shoulder, and a sweet little
voice was singing,
" Jesus helps us, alius will,
We will trust in Jesus still."
'* Daddy," she said, when her small song-message had
been given, and had fallen with strange effect upon poor
Smart's stormy mind, " Gran'feyther says that God '11 nivver
let me want for bread, 'cause I asks Him an' trusts Him
ivery day. An' I've been thinkin' that He'll niver let you
want bread neeather ; 'cos, don't you see, you shall alius
hev t' biggest l)it o' mahne ; an' you're axin' Him an' trustin'
noo, aren't yo, Daddy ? "
"I is, Kitty. I is," said her father. "I isn't worth it, but — "
"Yis, you are," said Kitty, stopping that kind of heresy,
with a kiss placed right upon the spot out of which it came,
" 'cos /is, an' I's only a lahde 'un."
J! :ji;j
TWO LITTLK ARMS WKKP; ri,ASI>KI) AKOl'M) HIS NECK.
—/'aye h'>i>.
I
\ f
! I
')i
il
vc
d ."->i
! (
m
H^ilHi
:
t t
I
^ '
•i
'A
iU
1
1
1
I 81 J
1
J
m
A,
THE RED, RED WINE.
>57
Kitty had hardly given utterance to this remarkable piece
of logic when that young lady's " true love " appeared upon
the scene. Aaron Brigham as a sweetheart was most
attentive and assiduous. Every other day, at least, saw him
hovering about the maiden's bower, and at some periods it
seemed as though he must " pay his addresses " every day,
and even oftener still than that.
I am not quite r.ure that good Esther Harland was not
inclined to be a little jealous of the little fairy in the
Sou'gate cottage. At any rate, the number and the con-
stancy of her master's visits were the subject of many a
strong remark.
"Seems to me," she said to him on one occasion, when
Aaron had told her to provide him with a little basket of
provisions, to take to " lahUe Kitty," " that you'd better tek
up your lodgin's at iahtle Kitty's. You wear oot as mitch
shoe-leather goin' an' comin' as would pay her for your
booard an' lodgin'. But mebbe she wouldn't tek yo' in for
fear she got ower mitch of a good thing."
"Tek me in, God bless 'er ! " said the aged lover, "my
Iahtle lassie would share her last crust with her doting old
man ; hut you see," he added with a twinkle, " Sir Johii
Barleycorn has had lodgings there a good while, an' where
he goes spongin' for bed an' board, there's precious little
left for them 'at teks him in. I think Tommy Smart's
inclined to kick the greedy impostor clean oot o' doors, an'
if he does, me an' Kitty '11 dance a minuet across Nether-
borough Green ! O, my little darling ! " exclaimed the old
man, rui)l)ing his hands at the picture of Kitty made happy,
" let me only live to see that day !
* And they call my true love, Kitty ;
And she's wise as well as witty ;
And she's good as uell as pretty ;
And O the best of all is —
My love loves me ! ' "
11 i
m
\ k
, jii
4i
mr"
I
ill
ill
nil
I5S
THE RED, kED WiNfi.
These lines from an old song the old lover positively
sang aloud in the hearing of Esther Harland ! So I think
she must have felt that it was no use interfering with old
Aaron and his Kitty ; he was evidently very far gone indeed !
The old man's visit on the evening I have referred to,
when Tom Smart's tears were being kissed away by his loyal
and loving little daughter, was doubly welcome. They
resolved themselves at once into a committee of three, on
the grand question of finding work for " feyther." An hour
passed, during which they had canvassed pretty well the
possibilities of labour through all the country-side ; but,
alas ! they could not find an open door for poor Tom
Smart. That arrant impostor and cheat, John Barleycorn,
is very popular, makes men strong to labour — so they say —
but he has a sneaking habit of getting men thrown out of
work, and keeping them in that condition, sans work, sans
wage, sans bread, sans everything, even beer i'^cluded !
"I hev it!" said old Aaron, at last, slap ^ his hand
upon his knee triumphantly, "we'll try Mr. AlLmore again,
at the new railway."
" It's nut a bit o' use," said Tom, shaking his head
dolefully. *• Ah've been tiv 'im an' asked him ower an'
ageean te tak' me on, but he says he weean't ; an' when he
says he weean't, he weeant : that's the soort o' chap Maister
Allamore is."
'^Yis, you've asked him," said Aaron, whose voice was full
of hope, "but Kitty hezn't asked him, an' I'm goin' to pin
my faith to Kitty, bless her, an' the kind Providence of
God."
Smart still shook his head. What could a bairn like
Kitty do? But if Aaron pinned his faith to Kitty, that
trustful and loving little maiden pinned he/ failh u)
"gran'feyther."
"If gran'feyther'll go wi' ma," she said, ' ih'll gu ,•>" ^x
'm. He 'veear't hurt ma, will he?"
THE RED, RED WINE.
159
Kitty's voice, and the shade of anxiety on her bonnie
face, betrayed a little fear.
" Hu't thoo 1 " said Aaron. " Mah poor bairn ! Kitty,
my sweetheart, thoo'U tek Allamore's heart by storm. We'll
go an' see him te-morrow mornin'. And noo that that's
settled, we'll kneel doon an' ask the Lord to go wiv us." It
was a poor place for prayer — the drunkard's home generally
IS — and Tom Smart did not exactly know whethc to sit, or
kneel, or stand up ; but there was a saint and an angel
there, and when a poor sinner has such companions, the
l)lace of prayer is apt to be the gate of heaven.
:VM.
I
i
I
t
'U
'i ? ■
! 1
■
1
,
j
■ ;
\\
li
'
'm
^ m
-.. umm
I III I
hi
/
CHAPTER XXIII
)'■!
H
MR. ALI.AMORE, the contractor, having paid his
early morning visit to "the works," which at that
time described a series of heavy chalk cuttings through the
wold hills, was just entering his house on the Lonsdale
Road when he was accosted by a little girl. At first he
thought it was a tiny old woman that stood before him, so
prematurely had care and hardship set their marks upon
her. She was accompanied by old Aaron Brigham, who
left her to tell her own story, and wisely so, while he stood
a little behind, ready to speak if he was appealed to.
" If yo' please, sir, will yo' let me speak to yo'?"
Kitty spoke with "bated breath," making a couple of low
curtsies to the " great railway man," by far the greatest man
that had ever risen on her small horizon.
Mr. Alia more rapidly concluded that he had to do with a
little tramp, and was about to dismiss her with a word, when
he found himself looking curiously into a pair of speaking
eyes that held him, and would not let him go.
" Why, why. Yes, my small lassie," he said. " What is
it you want to say to me?" While he spoke he felt that he
should have to do it whatever the request might be, for the
angel in that face could never be said Nay, least of all from
Mr. Allamore, who had great reverence for "the least of
these."
"If yo' please, sir, will yo' give feyther some work on t'
new railway ? He can't get nowt te do, an' J hevn't any
bred fo' t' chilther."
*' Why, who is your feyther? What's your name?" asked
Mr. Allamore, kindly. He was intensely touched with the
It
THE RED, RED WINE.
i6i
I
anxious pleading of those lustrous eyes, and that assumption
of responsibility for the children's bread.
Poor Kitty drooped her head upon her breast as she gave
her answer. She knew, alas ! too well in what bad estimate
the name was held. " Feyther's Tom Smart, sir."
Mr. AUamore shook his head ; but before he could open
his lips to speak accordingly, Kitty had laid her small
fingers on his arm, had lifted her speaking face to his, and
pleaded, in a voice that had in it an anxiety too deep for
tears —
" Feyther's tryin' so hard to be better, sir. He hezn't been
drinkin' for iver an' iver so long. Hez he, gran'feyther ?"
" Hallo, Aaron, is that you? Why, you are not this liltle
woman's grandfather, are you?"
" Nut be blood, I isn't ; but I is by love an' by the
Providence o' God. It's a comfort to the lahtle lassie to
call me gran'feyther ; an' she gets sitch a poor share o'
comforts o' ony sort, that she may call me all t' relations in
t' Prayer-book if it'll do her ony good. I might as well
admit it noo, as well as efter, that she's my lahtle sweet-
heart. God bless her. I love her dearly."
The glow and the smile that suddenly kindled in Kitty's
face as she put her small, rough, swollen hand into the old
man's palm was such -an elo(iuent response that Mr.
AUamore, though not used to the melting mood, felt his
eyes dimming as he said,
"And she loves you, Aaron, with a love that'll last till
death."
"Ay, and longer!" said Aaron Briglum ; then, turning
" an aside " for the contractor's pri\ ate ear, he said, " She's
a jewel, an' a gem, an' a d'mond, sir, .and so you'd say if
you knew all I knoa. She's Tom Smart's one hope under
God. I hope you'll listen to her."
"Well, but what about Smart? Do you honestly think
there's any chance of his reform ?'*
li
■J. .
■m
•I
i-
l62
THE RED, RED WINE.
'i'vl
** Yes," said the old man. " If he hez a fair chance ,
an' if good folks like you'll help him against hisself, I think
he may be saved even yet. That lahtle lassie of his," —
pointing to the "little mother" by his side, — "hez melted
his heart for him, an' he's under sitch good feelin's noo, that
I should be thankful if yo'd give him a chance."
" But I thought Smart was employed by Farmer Barrass.
Wouldn't it be better for him to take him on again ?"
*' If yo' please, sir," put in the anxious Kitty, " Farmer
Barrass said he didn't want feyther ony mair ; an' I wasn't
sorry, 'cos he nad to go by sae mony public-hooses to get
there, that — that — O — I wish there wasn't one i' all Nether-
borough, that I do !"
That, ladies and gentlemen, is the prohibition platform
favoured by every drunkard's child. Only give them the
'* local option vote," and they will soon make a clean sweep
of the liquor trade ! But " my faithful Lords and Com-
mons" have such a reverent regard for the liberty of the
subject that drunkard's wife and drunkard's child may
perish n shoals, so long as the drunkard has the glorious
freedo n of getting drunk and plenty of facilities for keep-
ing diunk so long as the noble freeman may like! My
Lords and (lentlemen ! Kitty Smart would give her heart's
blood to save her feyther ; she would, indeed. But she
shan't, shall she ? You'll take good care of that !
" If you'll let feyther work upo' your railway," continued
Kitty, opening her big, round eyes in prospective wonder-
ment of relief, "he wouldn't ha' to pass mair than one
public-hoose, an' he could run past the door and ha' done
wi' it ! Please, sir, tek feyther on, else what shall I do to
get 'm an' the childer bread?"
Mr. Allamore looked at the \kt\e pleader in pity and in
admiratioTL She did not reach much higher than bis knee,
and yet she was her father's protector and hope, the head
of the family, the "mother" of the threir smaller mortals
The red, red wine.
163
who had hut her to look to. Kitty read his silence as a
token of uncertainty and indecision. She clasped her little
hands, and lifted them before him.
"O, if yo' please, sir. (Iran'feyther, come an' help me!"
"Nay, nay, no need of that, my dear. I'll give your
father work, little maiden. Let him come as soon as he
likes; and, look here, there's half-a-crown for you to get the
children something good." So saying, he laid his hand on
the child's head, bade God bless her, and turned hastily
away.
Aaron Brigham followed him.
" Excuse me, sir," he said, " I should like another word
wi' yo'. Me an' Kitty's goin' to tek it i' turns to bring her
feyther an' fetch him ivery day, that is if yo' don't see ony
objection. And if yo' wadn't mind "
" You would like me to keep an eye on him myself. To
be sure I will, Aaron. I hope it will be the turning point
of his life. That child of his is a perfect treasure."
"Yes," replied Aaron, "I think she is a fulfilment o' the
Lord's prophecy, * A little child shall lead them.' At ony
rate, Kitty's leadin' her feyther, nut from drink only, but to
Jesus Hisself. O, Mr. AUamore, if it wasn't for t' public-
hooses, there wad be a chance of heaven eaven for poor,
lost Tom Smart ! But I'se sadly frightened they'll suck
him in."
On their way homeward, little Kitty was in high spirits.
She set to work, in true child fashion, to build castles in the
air at a tremendous rate. What she was go^ng to get for
"the childer;" how she was going to get the house nice
when she had a few shillings to spare ; how feyther had
promised to go to chapel with her when he got some tidier
clothes — all was told trippingly and delightsomely as if
music was distilling from her tongue. Kitty's sky was blu^
that day, from horizon up to zenith. Aaron Brigham h
self was infected by the hopeful atmosphere, and pic
I
s
!
it' ir
II ;
164
THE RED, RF^I) WINE.
to himself Torn Smart " sitting clothed and in his right
mind :"
At the corner of the Netherhorough (irocn they parted.
The aged lover took the smiling little maiden in his arms,
and kissed her, and then turned his steps to the Spaldon
Road, and the pleasant bowers of Lily Lodge, humming as
he went : —
" Set free from present sorrow
We cheerfully can say,
E'en let the unknown morrow
Brin^f with il what it may,
It can liring with it nothing.
But He will hear us thrr h,
Who gives the lilies clothin_^
Will clothe His children too."
CHAITER XXIV,
WHEN Kitty arrived at home, she found her father
absent, and for a moment her heart sank njthin
her. Her httle -.ister, however, was able to assure her that
Mr. Norwood Hayes had sent for feyther, to help to store a
load of hay that had come to Throstle's Ne^t, and that
feyther would be back soon. So our little, much-encum-
bered Martha, and her small lieutenant, made the bare
house as tidy as circumstances would allow, and the half-
crown was changed to provide father with a little relish when
he should come home to tea. This, however, did not
happen till the evening began to darken, for Alice Hayes
had found something else for him to do, and, ultimately,
when he did come, and found a cheery fire, and a fresh loaf
and a savoury hdoater, and some fragrant tea in the spoutless
tea-pot, he was overwhelmed with astonishment and delight.
And so was Kitty when feyther kissed her, and put mto her
hands a whole half-crown, which he had received in liberal
payment for the work he had done at Throstle's Nest.
After tea, the chilther were put to bed, and the small
lieutenant went along with them. Kitty and her father wure
alone. So she told him all that had happened in the inter
view with Mr. Allamore. Tom was silent. His eyes were
closed ; his chin drooped upon his breast. Kitty could
hardly understand it. By-and-by she saw the tears stealing
from under the closed eye-lids. She stole her wee hand into
his big, brown palm. He heaved a great sigh, and looking
at his little lassie, whom he valued now at something near
her worth, he said,
" Kitty, my lass, we raun pray."
I'
-f ? . 1
BM
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)
V.
«:*
4^
^
1.0
I.I
liim 125
|J0 "^^ li^H
■U 1^ |2.2
li° 12.0
Uf
11.25
1.4
m
1.6
6" -
_^^
^
0^
/.
^
7.
^^
7^
Photographic
Sciences
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80
(716) 873-4503
#
.^^
^X%
^S^>
:\
iV
\
ii
J-
i '!
I
1 66
THE RED, RED WINE.
I do not think that Tom was suggesting actual prayer
there and then. He was impressed with the greatness and
the value of the opportunity that had come to him by the
kindness of Mr. Allamore, and he was afraid of his own
weakness. So he had suggested that they must ask help
from God.
But Kitty was practical. Her religion was a thing of the
present, and she was never more in the humour for prayer
than she was there and then. So there and then she arose
from the little stool on which she had been sitting, waited
till her father rose, too, and then knelt by his side, her
small hand stil! lyin;^ in his willing palm.
" Say summat, Kitty," said Tom, who was not learned in
devotion.
Said Kitty, " Jesus, good Jesus, you does help poor little
Kitty. Help poor feyther an' all. Do, please ! Do ! do !
do!"
And Tom Smart said, " Amen ! " as well as he could for
the choking in his throat, and I don't think he could have
said anything better. The angels said of him, " Behoid, he
prays 1 "
And Tom Smart was helped. He went to " The Works '
on the morrow. Mr. Allamore spoke to him kindly, and'
put him on a job. He got through the day, and through
many days, with good success. He and his wages both
came home to Kitty ; and Kitty, bless her, sang about her
work.
Nobody was more highly delighted at the change which
had come to Tommy Smart than was Mr. Norwood Hayes.
In the course of a conversation with Walter Bardsley, his
son in-law elect, he said : " By the way, I'm glad to see that
man Smart manages to keep himself sober. Well, I'm glad
of it. He's a very decent fellow when he keeps away from
the drink. Now that's a case," he added, laying his hand
pn the arm of the young man, " where teetotalism is really
THE RED, RED WINE.
167
a good thing. You will do me the justice to own, Walter,
that I've never taken up a position in antagonism to total
abstinence. For those who need it, it is the most splendid
thing in the world, and Tom Smart could not possibly have
done a wiser thing except, indeed, to give his heart to God,
than to join the Temperance ranks. But, for those who do
not need it, say what you like, Walter, it is the abnegation
of self-rule. It is an acknowledgment of the total absence
of backbone. The power to say, * I will ' is one of the "lost
royal gifts of God ; and when it comes to this, that you've
got to sign your name in a book, or to be afraid to touch a
thing lest it becomes your master — well, I call it a cowardly
confession of weakness ; and the man that has to do it is a
mere mollusca, a gelatinous creature that can't stand with-
out leaning, and can't walk without wobbling. Now let me
put it this way, Walter, my boy, just for you to look at ii
fairly. Total abstinence is a good thing for Tom Smart,
therefore total abstinence is a good thing for — Norwood
Hayes"
No words of mine can describe the tone in which these
last words were said. The whole contemptible biography of
the drunken wastrel was compressed into the mere mention
of his name, so offensively worthless did it sound. On
the other hand, the way in which " Norwood Hayes " was
uttered, made the contrast so intense, that Walter positively
blushed to hear the two names linked together ; for, as I
have said before, Mr. Norwood Hayes was regarded as a
sort of demi-god in the estimation of younger men. Tom
Smart and Norwood Hayes ! Walter could not, would not,
in common sense and decency, bracket the two together !
This triumphant piece of logic silenced him. And the
same wretched sophistry on the part of highly moral and
religious people, who nevertheless call themselves *' miser-
able sinners" with more truth than they are aware of, is
used to make abstinence principles contemptible to this day
i68
THE RED, RED WINE.
One's comfort is that outsiders are beginning to see through
it, and are themselves helping on the cause.
I am sorry to have to say it, but I am sketching from
life, and must record the truth — Walter Bardsley's own
attitude as an abstainer did not seem so manly after he had
received that tremendous broadside — Tommy Smart and
Norwood Hayes. "Two men went up to the temple afiar*
to pray. '
Still, Mr. Hayes was delighted with the change which
had come to poor Smart, not only for his own sake, but that
of the little family dependent on him for l>read. He sent
to Aaron Brigham several bundles of clothing from
Throstle's Nest, with certain special pi^'s from Alice for
little Kitty, whom thoughtful Mr. Hayes reirieml)ered as
the "old man's darling." Mr. Allamore and kindly Jennie
Hardsley, too, helped to get the home of the Smarts a little
more ship-shape, and in the course of a little while, what
v.ith Tom's wages and the aid of sympathetic friends, our
sweet little Kitty was the proud mistress of a decent home,
and " the chilther " smiled upon their little mother in
clothing that did not make her cry to look upon ; the rags
were gone. Kitty was able now to bring her father to
chapel. He had always said, ever since he had come to a
better mind, at any rate, that he would go with her to
chapel if he had some decent clothes to go in. His first
purchase in this way was a pair of corduroy trousers, with a
jacket and vest of fustian, wonderfully adorned with " pearl
buttons " — navvy fashion, and I am glad to record that on
the first day he donned his new attire, he was a worshipper
on the " free seats " at Zion Chapel ; that old Aaron sat
beside him, and that beside him sat Kitty, in a neat little
frock, which Jennie Bardsley had conjured out of Alice
Hayes' silk spencer, and a pretty little straw hat that had
once sat on Jennie's fair brow, and had been " made over "
for the bonnie little maiden as good as new. I am not sure
THE RED RED WINE.
169
that Kitty heard much of Mr. DunwelVs sermon that
morning, but I am sure that she " had a good time," which
proves that good times at chapel do not always depend
upon the preacher. Note that well, my reverend friend in
the pulpit, and ditto, my critical friend in the pew.
In course of time, for I must now push on these " simple
annals of the poor," it was thought that Smart might well
become a member of the church at Zion. There was a
deep religious work going on in his heart and mind ; thanks
mainly to the little evangelist who had " talked te Jesus
aboot feyther." His period of probation was made
something longer than is usual, by way of prudent
precaution, but he passed through it with credit, and
definitely gained favour with the Church.
Of course there were some kind neighbours, mainly
" good people," who had " no faith in him ; " who had much
to say about the goodness which is " like the morning cloud
and the early dew ; "' who quite expected to see him return
" like a dog to his vomit, and the sow that was washed, to
her wallowing in the mire ;" who said, " Well, I hope he'll
keep his pledge, I'm sure, poor man, but there> one hasn't
much confidence in such case. '
Yes, there were these, plenty of them ; there always are,
more's the pity — good people, in their way, but it's the most
detestable way to be good in that has hitherto been
discovered ! When we see a poor sinner fighting des-
perately with his own familiar devil, let us give him a
cheer, and not damn him with faint praise ; and if, like
Bunyan's Christian, he gets flung on his back in the fight
with ApoUyon, don't say, " I was afraid he would fail ;" go
and seize the fallen man by the shoulder and help him up
again, and give the devil a buffet foV good comradeship.
And there were many who were not " good people," who
did their best to trip up the feet of Tom Smart, and to force
him back into the drink bondage from which, by a miracle,
J
%W'
170
THE RED, RED WINE.
he had escaped. O, but the way the drinkers do tempt
the drunkard is torturing in its cruelty and ghcstly in its
fatal influence ! On one occasion that I can well re-
member, some old cronies made a dead set at Tom as
he passed the doors of the " Red Lion." They held him
fast, and lifted a tankard of foaming treble X to his lips,
and held it there. He was coming from work, tired and
thirsty, and the temptation was terrible. Every nerve and
muscle of his mouth and throat, every organ of sensation
from lips to stomach wrought violently towards the inviting
draught, and poor Tom was on the brink of Tophet o»ice
ag?,in !
At that moment a little child cried out "feyther!"
Whose child it was, or what she wanted, he did not know ;
she was none of his. But none the less, she was God's
merciful messenger, that unwitting " babe and suckling," for
the cry reminded him of Kitty, and the thought of Kitty
brought to mind that she "talked to Jesus about feyther."
In a fit of desperation Tom suddenly struck out with his
doubled fist. He sent the tankard and its contents flying
like a bursten bombshell, and inflicted signal damage on the
face of the leading bully of the gang. I/e touched his no.se
tenderly, when he dared to touch it at all, for many a long
day!
With a rush that could not be checked, Tom escaped
from his captors, ran the length of Southgate with them
at his heels, and reached at last the threshold of his own
home. Here they would have continued the struggle, but
little Kitty came to the door and heard. She stepped in
front of her feyther, now gasping for breath and sore-bestead,
and lifting her rough little hardly -used hand in threatening
fashion, exclaimed,
" God ! Mak' 'em let me feyther be 1"
The enemy fled, and there lives at this day one who still
remembers the aspect of the " lahtle lassie " as she
vividly
aspect
i S
THE RED, RED WINE.
171
}
stood erect, inspired, beautiful, in the breach, with God
between her father and his deadly foes !
"God ! male' 'em let me feyther be !" That is the cry of
the drunkard's child against all the accursed workers of this
foul iniquity. " How long, O Lord, how long !"
The fact I have just recorded, and some similar ones,
were soon known. They won a great deal of sympathy for
Tom, and it was felt by Mr. Dunwell, the pastor, and the
Church at Zion, that the reformed drunkard, in his gallant
fight with sin, ought to have the help and the protection that
brotherhood in a Christian church can give. His Communion
tickets are duly furnished, and it may become the happy
privilege of the new member at " Zion " to go to the Lord's
Table with the loving guests of Jesus at the Feast of Life.
Ill
le
i
I!
i
CHAPTER XXV.
WE must now return to the sad episode of Farmer
Stipson. The sound of wedding bells is about to
float in the Netherborough air, and we had better get
the passing-bell hushed ere the merry melody falls upon
our ears.
For some days after the fatal seizu-' laid hold upon him,
Farmer Stipson lingered in the chill parlour of the "Griffin"
with no hope of life. He had rallied a little after his wife's
anival, and was even able to make himself understood ; but
he never more left the bed on which they laid him until the
grave was dug to receive him in the Scanton Churchyard.
There they laid him among his own kith and kin, for he had
come of an old stock.
That part of the village, God's-acre, which was shadowed
by three ancient elms, was quite a Stipson colony in that
small hamlet of the dead. There was scarcely one man of
the name that had been buried there who had not come to
his grave untimely, bereft of life by the manslayer, the
familiar demon of the house of Stipson — Strong Drink.
This last unfortunate victim of the Evil Spirit had been
making heroic efforts, giant efforts, for his wife and children's
sakes to break away from the craft of the were-wolf that
preyed upon his race. He might have won. His wife was
full of hope. He might ; but alas ! the deacon of a
Christian church put temptation in his vn.iv on the Sabbath
he professed to honour; and pointing to a Christian minister,
dallying with the wine-glass in his fingers, "You can't do
better than follow c. good example." The example was
:iLL...-
THE RED, RED WINE.
>73
o
5
followed, and a murdered man lies in a dishonoured grave ;
a weeping widow covers a broken heart with sombre crape ;
four child-orphans face the world with a taint in the blood
and a stain on their names ! " Shall we not do well on a
Sabbath Day!"
Some little while before Stipson passed away, he sent for
his four children. While they were being fetched, he made
his wife and Jenny Bardsley fully understand the design he
had in view. When the children arrived, Walter Bardsley
was present with his pledge-book. Aaron Brigham was
there to talk with God. Mamma explained to the wonder-
ing bairns what papa wanted them to do. The eldest, a
fine fellow of nine, was able to write his name, the other
three made a little cross, and the stricken father,
weeping hot tears, was evidently praying all the
while. He nodded to old Aaron, who knelt at the
signal, all the little party, except the sick man,
kneeling too.
"They've signed t' pledge. Lord, for their feyther's sake ;
may they grow up to keep it an' honour it for their own.
May they get mony to join 'em for the Saviour's sake.
Help 'em to grow up to love an' follow Thee. May their
feyther look down from his home in heaven to see 'em good
an' safe an' happy, till they join him there. Amen, Lord.
Amen. So be it ! And so it will be. George Stipson, you
may die in peace."
The erring and repentant man did die in peace, for of all
the great forgivers, and tender friends, Jesus, the sinner's
Friend, is the tenderest and the greatest. The widowed
mother held true and faithful to her trust. The taste of
alcoholic liquors never touched the pure palate of her
children. The curse of strong drink never had the chance
to work its woeful spell around their lives. Farmer Stipson,
the innocent boy George who signed that child-pledge, now
grey with years, but strong and hale as a yeoman ought to
ii*.
'74
THE RED, RED WINE.
be, is a life-long abstainer, and so are all the healthy happy
children that round his table grow.
O, ye fathers ! ye mothers ! ye who love your children as
only parents may ! turn this home-blight out of sight and
reach for ever. Never give it place at your table; never
give it shelter beneath your roof; and your children, and
your children's children shall rise up to call you b'essed !
Poor Walter Bardsley ! It was your pledge-book that
received that name, those crosses, the mother's name, that
gave holy sanction to the children's vow. How glad and
tender was your heart t.at day ! How full of holy purposes
for God and man when you pressed that night the pillow
whereon you slept ! But why should I say ** poor Walter,"
then ? and especially when the jocund wedding-bells fill the
autumn air with merry mufic, because the sweet and dainty
Alice Hayes is now all your own ! Ah, why, indeed ?
The balmy and golden October days were still lingering
round the harvest-fields of Netherborough, now denuded of
their waving wealth, when the Netherborough Gazette
announced, in the stilted English of the time, that — " Our
respected and popular young townsman, Mr. Walter
Bardsley, is, we understand, abOut to lead to the hymeneal
altar Miss Alice Hayes, the beautiful and highly-accom-
plished daughter of one of our foremost and most highly-
esteemed citizens, Mr. Norwood Hayes. We need scarcely
say that Netherborough has only one voice on this
auspicious occasion, and that voice says loudly, heartily,
repeatedly, 'Long life and happiness to the youthful pair.*"
The provincial poet, whose astounding effusions found an
honoured place in the poet's corner of the Gazette, went
into rhythmic ecstacies twenty stanzas long, which, having
regard for my readers, I forbear to quote.
I have not time nor space, and I may as well own it,
nor talents, to describe the wedding, or to do justice to all
the bright events that marked the wedding-day. When it is
1 s
THE RElA RED WINE.
175
remembered, however, that the happy father of the bride,
Mr. Norwood Hayes, had the thing in hand, it will he fully
understood that in all respects the '* function " — that is the
fashionable word now, I believe — was elaborate, nesthetic,
imposing 1 Mr. Hayes was not the man to do anything by
halves.
Alice certainly did look splendid, and I know a lady who
has just filled up the new census paper, who remembers the
wedding, and she says that ** the sun never shone on a
bonnier bride than Alice Hayes." I am not clear about
that myself. I think I know of one other that the sun
shone on who could give Alice a point or two, and win.
However, that's neither here nor there ; the dear, sweet
lassie in her bridal veil and orange blossom was justly
admired by all beholders ; and everybody called Walter
Bardsley a proud and happy man, whose wondrous fortune
had won him such a wife !
I need scarcely say that Mr. Norwood Hayes was in his
element on that auspicious day, and that he performed the
part of master of the ceremonies so well that one might
think he had been " brought up to it."
I cannot report that the blonde lady in the much-be-
ribboned cap, who sat to the left of the bride at the wedding
breakfast, succeeded in making any strong impression that
day. Yes she did, twice. Once when she expressed her
warm opinion that one of the best things about a good
wedding was the abundance of champagne it brought to
the table, not for show, but for use ! and again in the after
part of the dav, when it was found desirable to conduct her
to her private apartments, on the ground that " one of her
dreadful headaches had come on !"
While the Netherborough bells were ringing out the
wedding chimes ; while the Netherborough celebrated brass
band was playing the wedding-march, and sundry other
wedding music ; while yards and yards of broad white
176
THE RED, RED WINE.
ribbon were being run for by local racers in the Scanton
I^ne, the wedding breakfast was being held on a scale
worthy of the dainty Throstle's Nest and of Mr. Norwood
Hayes, and that is saying much, as my readers have come
full well to know.
Mark you, I am recording here the things that I do
know, and I tell you that "the wedding breakfast, at
Throstle's Nest, when Walter Bardslcy and Alice Hayes
were wed," is remembered at this day by some who were
present, and one there is, at any rate, who declares that she
" may have been at a nicer, but never at a grander, wedding-
breakfast than that was." I might as well say that I am of
the same opinion, except that instead of " may have," it
should be "has." Surely I ought to know, for wasn't I
there to see?
To say that the young bridegroom, Walter Bardsley, was
in high spirits, is to put it just about as mildly as the truth
will bear, and so elated over the capture he had made, that
whether he was in the body or out of the body, he scarce
could tell ; one thing he knew — that Alice Hayes was his
wife, and that Norwood Hayes had become his father.
The toasts at the wedding-breakfast, for even Mr. Hayes
was slave enough to keep the idiotic foolery agoing, were
numerous ; and those who proposed, and those who
seconded, did their parts exceedingly well. Specially did
the Reverend Daniel Dunwell acquit himself when he
proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom.
He spoke warmly, as well he might, of the young
bridegroom's many excellencies, and declared him to be
emphatically a boon to Netherborough, and one of its most
rising men. It was true, he said, that Walter had a crocket
or two which he was a little too much inclined to ride hard,
but " no doubt," he said, " he will either ride them to death,
and so have done with them, or his charming young wife
will draw him out of the saddle and find him a seat in a
! J
THE RED, RKD WINR
m
\\
happier place, at her own side. As to his fair partner u)
hfe, who, I dare say, thou^h always beautiful, never looked
so beautiful as she does to-day, she will soon induce him \o
put these crochets away, as he has already put away all
other childish things. One of the fairest and most hopeful
prophecies of their happy future is to be found in this, that
th^y both know something of the bettering and brighti-ninii
influence of true religion (O, Reverend Daniel), and ///<//
will secure them a fair bree/e and a blue sky, as they sail
together the sea of life. And if now and then storms should
arise and tempests prevail, that, and the love they bear eacli
other, will enable them to outride them all and glide at last
into the fair havens we all hope to win. God grant it ! I
propose — 'The bride and bridegroom !*"
Then everybody present arose, and said, '* The bride and
bridegroom I " for which, as the expression of their gootj
wishes, they may be forgiven ; and everybody lifted a glass
to their lips, and drunk something, for which each one <jf
them, except for custom's patronage, mi;^ht well have said,
with Dogberry, " Write me down an ass."
Then the bridegroom arose to respond. He was agitated,
nervous, and not by any means, just then, the " good
impromptu speaker " he was known to be in general.
Nevertheless, he managed to say something of what was in
his heart ; making no reference to the rub at his teetotal
crotchet ; but confining himself mainly to his sense of the
value of the prize he had won. In conclusion he earnestly,
and a little too gushingly, affirmed, that in striving to be
worthy of his "peerless wife," he should anticipate her
every wish, and ungrudgingly work her will rather than his
own, " that is to say in the few instances in which their wills
should not be one."
From this last quotation from his wedding-speech, many
of my readers will doubtless come to the conclusion that
Walter Bardsley was not a very wise man — eh ? Perhaps
12
..Js^-.
i7»
THE RED, RED WINE.
m
I
I
not, but I should like to know what you said, Mr. Critic,
when the oranpe flowers were nodding at your side, and the
wedding-cake :)se like Mount Blanc before your eyes, and
your responsive speech was dribbling from your quaking
lips — equal, if not superior, nonsense, I'll be bound ! Let
all this, however, be as it r..jy, the happy party at Throstle's
Nest approved of Walter Bardsley's pledge of obedient
love, and when he sat down, the cheers that rose from all
and sundry might well make " the welkin ring."
iiJim'
L.jvac3c:<» ..4.
CHAPTER XXVI.
i! '
BY-AND-BYE, as the wedding-feast proceeded, it
became Walter's duty to propose a toast, the
health of Mr. and Mrs. Norwood Hayes, his new parents-
in-law. Here, Walter was much more at home. It is true
that he did not say much about the lady in this case. He
could not very well make bricks without straw. To the few
words he did say, that interesting but retiring lady listened
with bland smiles, playing the while with the empty
champagne glass which she dearly wanted to see filled
again, and which, if she had been permitted, she would
have emptied again in her own honour with alacrity and
delight. Turning to the subject of his father-in-law, Walter
felt no such restrictions. If ever Walter Bardsley loved,
honoured, reverenced Norwood Hayes, he did so that day.
He spoke what was in his heart, and so he spoke feelingly,
gratefully, and well. He declared that for years past he
had sought to form his own character on the model of the
father of his winsome wife. " And now," said he, in
conclusion, " I shall have her counsel and a^d in making
the study of that character more thorough, and as I dearly
hope, of making that likeness more perfect and complete.
With my whole heart I propose this toast, and ask you to
receive it in like fashion — * Mr. and Mrs. Norw — ' "
"What! in water?'"
The speaker who had thus interrupted the warm-hearted
and impulsive young bridegroom was hi,^ own brother Dick ;
and the amount of surprise and disgusi and ashamedness
that the elder brother managed to croT/d into the three
i
i8o
THK RED, RED WINE.
short words might well have upset the nerves of a stronger
man than Walter, and on a less exciting occasion than that
of making a wedding-speech.
" No, no ; oh, no," came from the lips of the entire
company. Temperance principles were not strong in those
days, and, least of all, in Netherborough. The utterance
of that strong, reproachful, and deprecating negative dis-
played a unanimity which showed Walter that he stocv'.
alone.
"Well," Walter thought to himself, *• I can stand alone,"
and lifting his champagne glass filled with water from the
well, he said aloud,
" Yes, in water. I am — "
The sentence was never finished. While Mr. Hayes was
toying with his glass, with a smile that said as plain as plain
could be, " What a small matter to dispute about," the
charming Alice, Walter's winsome bride, looking really
bewitching in her bridal robes, arose to her feet, and with a
bright, loving, free smile of utmost and assured confidence,
took Walter's glass of water from his hand, and presented
him instead with a bumper of champagne, saying, as she
could say it,
" Dear husband^ for father's sake and mine."
Then she lifted those soft blue eyes of hers, with their
silent love-depths surging to his own, and waited. The
cheers that greeted what they called Alice's "little love-
trick " brought a couple of rosebuds to her cheeks. All
this, and the word husband^ now first spoken by the lips of
his darling, compelled him to give way. He took the
champagne, kissed her in return for it, and, unfamiliar with
the ethics of toast-drinking, drank it off at a single draught !
It may well be doubted whether the cheers that greeted
him were ever so loud, so lusty, as those which approved
him then. The fall of an avalanche that buries a village
and smothers out happy lives, makes thunder adown the
J
THE RED, RED WINE.
i8i
valley, and on that dark day the fall of a man made
fearful noise ; fearful, dreadful, for i^ came from the lips of
men and women who cheered to see him fall.
Mr. Norwood Hayes responded to the toast when silence
was at last obtained. He spoke of Walter most lovingly,
no senior could speak with heartier appreciation of a
junior than he did of the young man who, as he said, " had
crept into Throstle's Nest, and had come to be beloved by
him as dearly as any of the brood." Then he went on to
say, " I am proud to call the bridegroom of the day my
son, my dear son, my beloved son, a relationship which he
and my own brave, bright boy, Cuthbert, shall share and share
alike. I am prouder of him now than ever — now that he
drops all anti-social crotchets, and chooses to stand before
the world in the strength of independent manhood, loyal to
the true law of life, the supreme kinglii.ess of self-control.
I predict for my son and daughter a happy and prosperous
future, and I do this not only because I have faith in their
love for each other, and their ability to make their way in
life, but because i know them to be possessors of the grace
of God in Christ Jesus, and I, for one, oelieve that to be
the best guarantee for a prosperous and happy career. I
pray, God bless ihem ! And may God bless us every one ! "
Of course, all this was greeted with immense applause.
And yet, I think, there was greater applause in the halls
of " devils damned " that morning, that a bride should lead
her newly-wedded husband to break his vow, and that a
father, and he the highly-respected deacon of a Christian
Church, should speak in language c** warm approval of the
perilous and ignominious deed !
Walter Bardsley listened for the happy chiming of the
wedding-bells — he loved the belis of Netherborough — but
they had suddenly become silent, strangely silent, and an
awful stillness fell upon his own soul. He looked upon the
face of his sister, Jennie, and read an unnamed horror
^i
m
i, i|
I
s? i
^11
I
I
i
,'fti.«£*
l83
THE RED, RED WINE.
1 ^1
PI
there. Her face was as white as a shroud, and her dark,
expressive eyes seemed to blaze upon him with apprehension
and alarm. Then he remembered how his father and his
brother had been slain by the insidious murderer whom he
had now made friends with, and how, for generations, the
same death-dealer had been the hereditary enemy of his
house. He remembered how good old Aaron Brigham had
bared his white head before him, and said, "Walter
Bardsley, will you stand firm ? " and he had said, speaking
as in the sight of God, ** I will ! " And now — ! He
wondered now whether he should ever, ever, ever hear the
chiming of the bells again ! Perhaps this looks like writing
for a moral. It is the handwriting of Truth : and on the
face of Jennie Bardsley, and in the sad silence of the bells,
that seemed as though they could not fling out their music
to prophesy a lie, Walter read the Mene, Tekel, Upharsin,
that told him of a weighing in the balance and a kingdom
lost!
The after part of the proceedings interested him no more.
In due time his young brother-in-law, Cuthbert Hayes, rose
to respond to the toast of "The Bridesmaids." Young,
handsome, ready-tongued, and witty, the stalwart Cuthbert
looked every inch a man. He too, made a pleasant joke of
Walter's prompt obedience to the wishes of his wife. " He
has given splendid hostage," said he, " for the loyalty of his
love and devotion in leaping from his hobby at my sister's
loving call. The young ladies, charming maidens every
one of them, have seen and heard, and each in turn will
exercise the sweet, decisive authority over their captive but
honoured and happy slaves. When that time comes — as
the immortal Gilpin says, 'May I be there to see.'"
Yes, he looked a bright, brave youth f;hat sunny autumn
morning, did Cuthbert Hayes ; but what meant the
heightened colour in his cheek? What meant the
unnatural fire in his eye? What meant the little unsteadi-
.i!tA^ ■ 'Miu.
f
THE RED, RED WINE.
183
ness in his voice? And how was it that Dick Bardsley
whispered to Mr. Dunwell, who sat near him,
" Bertie hasn't waited for his wife's orders on the subject.
I'm afraid she will have to put the stopper on instead of
drawing out the cork."
And what, O what, made him laugh and wink as he said
it, as though it was an amusing joke ! Mr. Dunwell, let us
give him credit for it, shook his head and sighed.
On the young bridegroom a great horror had fallen, a
horror thickened in its darkness by the contemplation of
Cuthbert's over-excited state. As soon as he decorously
could he went out, and like sinning Peter, he wept bitterly.
He was so deeply distressed that he became downright ill.
He felt that his condition was such as must strike a chill
through all the guests at the grand marriage feast. He tried
to "pull himself together," and was alarmed and ashamed
to find that it could not be done !
The guests had retired to the drawing-room. He stole
away awhile from all. He was ill, miserable, desperate,
self-condemned. Suddenly he rushed back to the forsaken
feast, seized a half-empty champagne bottle, poured out a
tumbler-full and drank it off, and then felt better, felt strong,
felt manly, like his father-in-law, felt that he could hold up
his head and defy the world ! O wondrous power of
alcohol to make the coward brave !
Now it so happened that the Reverend Daniel Dunwell
had left his pocket handkerchief behind him when he left
the breakfast-t :ble. He returned to find it, and found aiso
the bridegroom with the tumbler at his lips. Then did he
sorrow that Dick Bardsley had objected to Walter's drinking
to the toasts in water. He said to himself, " What a pity
Dick interfered." But he did not say, " What a shame the
young man's pastor did not help hirn to stand firmly to his
guns 1 "
Then did the genial minister withdraw in silence, and, let
iilii
f
I'
1 84
THE RED, RED WINE.
: i
asj
us hope, with some degree of shame ; but, why, oh why, did
he not, there and then, lay his hand on his young friend's
shoulder and say, " Walter, for the love of God, get back to
your first position and renew your vow ?" Why ? Because
his own attitude on the drink question demandeo silence,
silence even though doom and death were at the door.
O, reverend brethren, who stand in Christ's stead, suffer
a repentant brother to press this thought home, the thought
of the paralysis of power that comes by the indulgence, how-
ever moderate, in that which makes a poor brother to offend,
to his own eternal detriment and loss.
Let me be just to Daniel Dun well. He was a fine fellow,
a good man in the malformed shape in which social custom,
religious allowance, and conventional usage had moulded
him, a mould which, more than any open enmity to Christ,
hinders the work, undoes the labou/, and damns the efforts
of the Christian Church to-day ;
During the after part of the day, when Walter Bardsley
and his happy wife had left for Scarborough, for at "the
queen of watering-places " they had decided to spend the
honeymoon, Mr. Norwood Hayes and Mr. Dunwell were
walking in the pretty park like grounds of Throstle's Nest,
enjoying each of them a post-prandial cigar. They were mtt
by Jennie Bardsley, who was sauntering alone in self-com-
muning spirit, with a deathly pallor, born of some great
trouble-shock, upon her face.
Mr. Hayes, as usual, greeted her with smiling courtesy
and a pleasant joke.
" Well, friend Jennie," said he, " of course, you expended
a bag of rice and a slipper on the young folks as they went
away ?"
But Jennie was in no jesting mood just then. She
stopped in the middle of the pathway, and like the Ancient
Mariner, " held them with her eye."
" Mr. Hayes," she said, "what slew Reuben Stanford?"
• V'. -••
..\i^M-',''.t,..
THE RED, RED WINE.
i8>
" Nay, nay, do not call up things sorrowful to-day. It
was strong drink, I suppose."
He spoke a little brusquely for him, and would have
passed on.
" Mr. Dunwell," she asked agaisi, in tones that might not
be pooh-poohed, ** What was it that slew Farmer Stipson ?"
"Strong drink, no doubt," said the minister, who was
always candid and straightforward.
" Yes," she said, lifting her finger to give force to her
strong words, and speaking as Deborah, the prophetess,
might be supposed to do : "Yes ; and strong drink will slay
Walter Bardsley ; thanks to his pastor, and to him who has
been his guide, philosopher, and friend."
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Hayes, testily; "no croaking on
a v/edding-day." He spoke ofif-handish, but there was an
unwonted furrowing of his brow.
And what did the excellent pastor say ?
Mr. Dunwell called to mind what he had seen in the
dining-room that moriiing, and said, NoTHir^G I
p ^
■1
CHAPTER XXVII.
WHILE the merry wedding guests at Throstle's Nest
— for it must not be supposed that Walter
Bardsley's broken vow interfered at all with their delight
— were celebrating the happy event by games and dance
and song, our good old friend, and as I hope our favourite,
Aaron Brigham, was quite otherwise engaged.
The old man had been invited to the wedding, and there
is no doubt that he would have received the warmest kind of
welcome, for Aaron was held in highest honour and esteem.
Being "found in the way of righteousness," his white head
was " a crown of glory," and would have been accounted, in
any Netherborough household, a halo in whose brightness it
were pleasant and good to sit.
But Aaron could not be induced to accept the invitation.
"There isn't a soul i' Netherborough that wishes the
young pair a better wish than I do, or that prays mair
fervently that the good Lord will bless 'em, an' mak' 'em a
blessing all the days o' their lives. But I'se expectin' that
you'll be hevin' all sorts o' wine, an' champagne, an' sperrits
upo' t' table. I can't be a party to ony sitch a miserable
start at t' beginnin' o' married life, Mr. Hayes : an' Fse a bit
surprised that young Walter '11 stand it. I think he wadn't
if it was onywhere else ; but he hez a notion that Mr-
Norwood Hayes is aboot perfect, an' can't mek a mistake.
I trust an' pray he may'nt live to find oot that he^s made one,
an' that a dreadful big 'un. I'se sorry to say No, Mr. Hayes ;
but I'se foorced to respect my conscience, an' I can't go
again it, no, not eaven for your sweet lassie, the bonnie
bride. And, noo, hoo's Mrs. Hayes?"
THE RED, RED WINE.
187
The old man blushed like a schoolboy, old as he was, as
soon as the v/ords were spoken, for he had only intended a
courteous inquiry, and, lo ! he had aptly opened the door of
tb** closet where the skeleton at Throstle's Nest was kept.
Mr. Hayes answered, rather shortly for him, that she was
"only poorl" " expressed his regret at the old man's refusal,
and turned away. O, that particular kind of skeleton !
How many, many homes are compelled to give the grim
inmate house room !
Mr. Hayes was a good deal disturbed in mind.
That last unintentional fling back of the closet door, made
his standing ground a little shaky, and to him that was
most unpleasant. He was constrained to turn back, for a
helpful second-thought had come to him.
" I say, Aaron," he said, " I don't want to interfere too
much with your prejudices, but I do think you might give
way on this point. You may surely do what your Divine
Master and mine thought it no harm to do. He was not
only the Guest at a marriage feast where wine was provided,
but he actually supplied them with abundance of it when
the stock ran short. What can you say to that."
"What can I say?" said Aaron, drily, "why, I can say
this, that if this was Galilee, an' Jesus was t' chief Guest,
an' t' wine was t' same soort, an' t* best wine was made i' t'
same way, an' He gav' orders to 'serve it out,' I might
mebbe tek' some of it ; but I don't believe that He wad
wish me to drink, if I'd reyther nut, an' I'se mair than sure
that He wadn't ha' had it there at all if there was onybody
there that was perillin' body an' soul by drinkin' it — I ax
your pardon, Mr. Hayes, I do sincerely. I didn't mean
to—"
He said no more, but stood with bowed head and
blushing face, for he had " put his foot in it " a second time,
and Mr. Norwood Hayes had walked off towards Throstle's
Nest at the rate of a good four miles an hour I
I
H
,5Slk',V- .1'
1 88
THE RED, RED WINE.
On the evening of the wedding-day, Aaron Brigham, as I
have said, was otherwise engaged. On the morning of that
day he had met George ('affcr at the door of the church,
just before the wedding party had arrived.
" Mornin', Aaron," said the bibulous painter. "Then
you've come to see 'em worked off, ha' yo' ? There'll be
famous doin's at Throstle's Nest to-day. All t' toon'll hev
a lively time on it. Ah've given myself a holiday. It's a
poor heart that nivver rejoices, an' I respect both t' bride
an' bridegroom a good deal. Ah's bound te drink their
varry good health. Ha' yo' seen owt o' Phil Lambert ? "
"No, I ain't," said the old man, sadly, for he perceived
that painter and barber both were about to give themselves
up to a drunken spree. His heart was filled with pity for
the poor sodden pair of topers, and he longed with an eager
longing to put them on a better track. He had prayed for
them many a time and oft, and many a time and oft had
expostulated with them, singly and together. While Caffer
was telling him of his beery purpose, Aaron sighed a " God
help 'em ! " and straightway a new idea, and a new hope,
and a renewed purpose took possession of him. He knew
that the sot»^ish cronies were kindly disposed, warm-hearted
fellows enough when free from the influence of drink — I
think that most of the victims of intemperance are — and he
resolved once again to assault the citadel of appetite, and
capture and release the imprisoned man within ; to pluck
these brands from the burning. O, if it only might be !
" Might be ? It shall ! " said he, and there and then was
born in him that faith that
** Laughs at imiiossibilities
And cries, ' It shall be done ! ' "
And so when Caffer asked him if he had seen anything of
Phil Lambert, he replied,
" No, I ain't, but I've seen his wife, poor soul ! Cafifer, I
THE RED, RED WINE.
189
Icnoa that you've gotten u kind heart o' your own. I wish
you wad go wi' me efler t' wedding. You can do another
good fellow as good a turn, an' better then you ivver did i'
your life. Will yo' oblige ma ' ? "
" Ah wad do owt fo' iw/, Aaron, owd friend, same as
iverybody else i' Netherbro' wad, if they had the chance."
"Ah believe you wad, George. Ah believe you wad; if
nobbut you — but niver mind that. Ah'll wait fo' yo' at t*
chotch door."
The marriage service was very impressive and affecting.
The vicar put his heart into his work, and in a few well-
chosen words as an addendum to the ordinary ritual,
treated, not only the wedding-party, but the spectators, to a
display of feeling not too common on such occasions.
Old Aaron Brigham was delighted and thankful to
observe that the eyes of George Gaffer were well filled with
tears which he furtively wiped away. The two men met at
the church door, according to arrangement, and as they
sauntered along the churchyard path. Aaron said,
"They seem to be mekin' a happy start, them two young
folks, George. I'se hopeful that they'll be both comfortable
an' prosperous. It's rare thing for them that Walter's dead
again drink, now, isn't it?"
" Ah weean't deny it, Aaron. I isn't sitch a fool as not
to knoa. Drink's the devil, an* ruins iverything. Ah
knoa what's be; t if Ah don't do it. Ah nobbut wish
Ah did."
Caffer sighed heavily as he spoke, and Aaron — prayed.
As they approached the little barber's shop, a low and
mean looking abode, though it did stand in the market-
place, Caffer became slightly restive.
" Wheear are we goin' ? Ah don't want shavin'," said he,
with a faint smile at his own small joke,
" Mebbe not," replied the old man, just then in his most
genial mood. "The errand we've come on is to do a
I
I
i
4
Pk i
IQO
THE RED, RED WINE.
I
kindness for another, not for owt we want ourselves.
Come in."
Aaron turned in at the doorway underneath the barber's
pole, whose stripes of white and red, and whose gilded
knob sadly needed such brightening up as painter Caffer
could only supply, for Netherborough held (ieorge Caffer to
be "a splendid fellow at his trade," a knight of the brush
that all Yorkshire would " find it hard to beat."
Yes, the miserable captives of Alcohol are in the main
not only kindly and genial, but it will often be found that
they are in possession of more genius and greater skill than
their compeers in whatever trade or profession they may be,
so that society is robbed of its cleverest exponents by that
robber-in-chief, strong drink.
Aaron Brigham walked straight through the shop into the
small living-room, that lay to the right of it, and was
followed by Caffer, who did not feel much at home,
although he had, in days "lang syne," been there before.
That was while yet he and his crony, the barber, were
moderate drinkers, and both Lambert's home and his own
were bright and cosy, homes of peace and plenty, and
when a comely, well-clad wife and mother was the pride of
each.
The scene that greeted Caffer's shrinking gaze was of a
widely different sort. The room was clean. Susie Lambert
held by that relic of the old and happy times, and would
do, though she died on her knees with the pail by her side,
and the floor-cloth in her feeble hand. But the evidences
of the most sordid poverty and starvation were on every
hand. "Susie," as Caffer himself used to call her in
neighbourlike and familiar fashion in the old, respectable
days, was seated in an old arm-chair, her head reclining on
a pillow, and her face all but as white as it, for Susie must
have clean linen, that is to say, so far as she can have it at
all. There was nothing on the blank walls of the room
IL
THK RED, RED WINE.
191
except a coloured print or two, unfranied, and tacked on
with nails, which had been given to the children by their
teachers at the Sunday School. What little furniture there
was lelt was broken, and all but worthless, wretched relics
of hap[)ier times. 'I'here was no fire in the grate, though
the year was rapidly creeping on to chill November, and
Yorkshire folk are partial to a '* bit o' fire " pretty well all
the year round. On the table was a quartern loaf, a bit of
"dripping," a substitute for the butter that might not be
had, and a mug of tea, the gift of a neighbour, who knew
that Susie Lambert was " varry bad," which means that she
was ill, very ill indeed. Two or three children, also clean,
considering, but wan and thin, and little more than half
clad, were sitting on the floor, the eldest trying to keep
quiet a baby which was ioudly protesting in its own way
that it wanted food, and the others making play with a
couple of thread-reels and a bit of string, which, by the
wondrous alchemy of childhood, had been turned into a
couple of prancing steeds, and the ** reins," by which they
were held in fine control.
The sight was pitiful, most pitiful, and George Caffer,
who had just been talking with Aaron Hrigham of the happy
couple for whom the marriage bells were chiming, felt a
creeping feeling of horror stealing over him — and of shame.
" Why, Susie, my lass," he said, " I niver knew that things
was so bad as this wi' yo'. Hoo d'ye feel this mornin'?"
"Feel?" said the poor, despairing woman, "I don't feel;
I've gotten past it ; an' if it wasn't for t' bairns, nowt would
suit me sae weel as lay in' me down te dee."
"Nay, nay, nay!" said Caffer, with a burst of feeling,
" that can't be ; that shan't be. Ah'll— "
" How can it be helped, George Caffer, while you and
Phil spend half your time and all your money at the ' Black
Swan?' O, George, George 1 You were a good, kind fellow
once ; but I wish to God my husband had niver known yo',
^
192
THE RED, RED WINE.
! I
I !
i !
an' that you had niver darkened our door ! Ah'm goin te
dee, George Caffer," continued the excited woman, hfting uf
hsr two thin hands as if about to imprecate the judgment
of heaven, " and I call — "
"Stop, Susie, stop, Ah can't bide it}" said the scared
painter. " Ah's sorry an' 'sham'd. What can I do — "
" Do !" said tne woman, springing to her feet, and placing
her trembling hands on Gaffer's shoulder, " Ah'U tell yo'
what yo' can do." Here she dropped her voice to a hoarse
whisper: "You took my man Phil te t' 'Black Swan,' an,
this is what's come on it. Geotge Cajff^er, bring him out
again, an' Ah'U bless yo' on my bended knees !"
Susie Lambert could say no more, she sank all but
exhausted into her chair, with her questioning eyes fixed,
fixed like barbed hooks, on Gaffer's face. The look held
him, drew him. For one moment he made a pause.
"Speak, George, lad, an' save 'er life," said old Aaron,
who had been a silent observer, and a talker with God.
"Susie!" said Gaffer, and there was a look on his face
that had not been there for many a long year. " What you
ask me shall be done. Ah'U bring Phil oot o' t' * Black
Swan,' an' Ah'U keep him oot. Ah will, Susie, Ah will, owd
lass. Ah wiU by the help of God !"
"Cheer up, Mrs. Lambert," chimed in the delighted
Aaron, " I've faith i' George, I'll help him all I can, an' you
an' me both on us knoa hoo to ask of God." Here he put
a little money on the table, quietly, promised to send his
housekeeper, Esther, to her help, and left the room. Caffer
had seen the coin secretly laid upon the table, and his heart
went out to the old man in love and honour. He hac but
one coin, half-a-crown in his own pocket, but it quietly went
to bear the old man's shilling company. It was intended
for the day's carousals, but its course was graciously diverted,
and the " Black Swan " that had known him for many a
wasted year, was doomed to know him no more for ever !
THE RED, RED WINE.
'93
" I think you can save poor Susie's life, friend Caffer. I
think you can save Phil, poor fellow, both body and soul."
But Cafr^.- had become strangely quiet. Not one word
did he say. Aaron pressed him a little.
" Don't yo' think sae, George?" he said, gently and per-
suasively, Cafifer stood still, and said, as he looked anxiously
at his venerable companion,
" But hoo sail Ah save myself, Aaron ? There's the rub.
Ah niver thowt about that till Ah lost sight o' poor Susie
Lambert's white feeace. Ah wad if Ah could, but — "
"Could !" said Aaron, laughing lightly, as if in the fulness
of a great confider.ce, but quite as well aware as Caffcr of the
difficulties in the way. " Could ! Of course you can. You
an' the Lord God Almighty can do that, George, my boy, an'
a good deal more. I should like to help you at it, an' I've
just thowt of a way. Lily Lodge wants paintin' badly, both
ootside an' in. I been thinkin' o' hevin' it done for a year
or two back. It'll want two cooats o' paint at leeast, mebbe
three. Noo I'll give the job to yo', an' I'll feed an' sleep
you while it's done. We can agree aboot that when we
settle aboot wages. Or I can feed yo' an' yo' can sleep at
your oan hoose. My Esther can mek' yo' as mitch tea an'
coffee as yo' like, or you can ha' milk — owt that I can get
yo" but beer or ony of its relations. They'll niver come into
Lily Lodge until Good Friday falls on Ash Wednesday, an'
nut then."
Wonderful was the relief, wonderful the light that came
on the poor toper's face. Everybody had *• given him up."
It is wonderful how many Christian people there are who do
that in the case of confirmed and inveterate drunkards.
They profess to believe in the limitless power of prayer, in
the mighty possibilities of faith, in the wonderful *' Whatso-
evers " that fell from the lips of Jesus Christ, ind yet they
"give him up" — that poor, lost, nerveless slave of alcohol,
after one or two defeated efforts to break the chains that
13
194
THE RED, RED WINE.
i'.l
bind him. Surely this is a libel on their religion, and is
only calculated to proclaim upon the house-top that their
profession, as in the case of Peter Bell's promise, is " that
and nothing more."
Here, in Aaron Brigham, true man of God, and friend of
man, he found not counsel only or faith in him, but help —
help that was to be sustained help ; and that's where the
impulsive and short-lived effort; vo rescue the drunkard, fail ;
they are not continuous in their cost and labour, '* It's of no
use, you know." The shepherd tracked the sinful, wander-
ing, and bedraggled sheep '* until he found it," and that was
how he came to bring it home.
1
mmm'
I A
CHAPTER XXVIII.
SO Aaron was minded to keep his hand on Caffer, and
even if the painting of Lily Lodge is done without
permanent effect upon the man, he will find some way of
keeping up the siege until the citadel is captured, and the
" strong man armed " expelled for ever. Yes, Gaffer's soul
was all alive with hope ; his heart throbbed with a new life ;
his face bore the glow of a high resolve.
"Aaron Brigham," said he, grasping him by the hand,
" by the mercy of God and you, I'm a saved man !"
" God grant it," said Aaron Brigham, and the angels said,
"Amen!"
•• When sail Ah begin ?" said Caffer.
" Why, just noo, to be sure, things '11 want cleanin' doon
before you put t' paint on. Let's get to work at once."
Nothing loath, the painter went with him to Lily Lodge,
and was soon at work with pail and soap and scrubbing
brush, preparing the woodwork for its first coat of paint.
Esther Harland was told to provide him with something to
drink, and then, as soon as he well could, Aaron Brigham
went in search of Phil Lambert, on whom he had designs of
a similar sort. He could not help smiling at the thought
that as he had captured Caffer by the bait of Phil Lambert's
possible salvation, and of his wife's recovered health and
happiness, so he would try to save I^mbert by holding out
the same inducement. Caffer might be rescued from the
drunkard's fate if Phil Lambert v;ould join him, Aaron
Brigham, in this holy hunt for the emancipation of a soul.
That was the way he meant to put it. As he paced the
ilf
196
THE RED, RED WINE.
Spaldon Road towards the little shop in the market-place
with its variegated pole, the prayers of the good man were
neither few nor feeble that in this mission also God might
be with him.
The barber was not at home ; he very seldom was.
"Ha' you ony idea where I shall drop on to him?" he
asked the eldest girl, who was standing at the shop-door
with the restless baby in her arms.
" I expect you'll niver miss 'im if yo' call at the * Black
Swan '" she said. '* Feyther's there a good deal mair then
he's here. Ah wish he'd stop there, that I do."
As she spoke, the girl, who was very pretty, some twelve
years of age, perhaps, frowned and nodded her head, as
much as to affirm that whether he stopped there or not, if
she had her will he should never darken the doors of home
any more.
" He's killin' poor mother," she said, " Ah can see her
sinkin' ivery day," and here the poor lassie's anger gave way
to grief, and she burst into tears.
"There's hope for your feyther, Nelly. Be patient.
Help your mother, she'll get better. There's a good time
comin' for you all." What could she do but smile on the
old man ? Smiles are the blossoms of the Kindness Plant.
A casual inquiry elicited the information from a person
wh*'m the old man met, that Phil Lambert had been seen
near his old haunt, the " Black Swan." Aaron Brigham
followed at full speed, so anxious was he to intercept and
capture his longed-for prize before he entered the open
'door. Aaron was a sight to see. His long and silky white
hair w?s streaming in the morning's breeze under pressure
of the pace at which he walked ; and the vigorous strides,
that showed how thoroughly his heart was in his errand,
might well have done credit to threescore years rather than
fourscore years and four.
But it was not to be. No sooner did the old man catch
j i Ji.illlhi i WIT II
THE RED, RED WINE.
197
sight of the swinging sign, than he perceived the thirsty
barber on the threshold ; in another instant he was lost to
view. Aaron hardly knew what to do, and felt half inclined
to retrace his steps. If the liquor were already lifted to the
toper's lips, farewell hope, for Phil left no heel-taps from his
*' morning pint."
But Aaron had taken in a large access of faith and
courage that morning, and breathing out a new {)rayer to
Him who had charged him with the godly errand, he
pressed forward, and for the first time for many a year,
found himself inside a public-house. Fortunately for the
old man's purpose, Stubbs, the landlord, was in a grievous
temper. His frowning brows and flashing eyes wjre bent
upon the luckless barber, who was standing limp and help-
less, and quite dumbfounded, in presence of a long, long
array of chalk-marks, which represented Lambert's formid-
able unpaid score.
*' Look here, Lambert," said the irate landlord, " Ah've
had quite plenty o' this, an Ah's goin' to put the stopper
on. Nae mair brass, nae mair beer. Do yo' hear that,
yo' raskil? Look at them chalk-marks standin' up one
aside t' other, like a regiment of soldiers, an' ivery one on
'em says, * StumpJ up or stump oot !' "
" Stump oot, Phil, stump oot, my lad," said Aaron, laying
a kindly hand on the barber's shoulder, "an' I'll stump
along wi' yo'. An' if you'll tek' my advice, you'll niver
stump in again. Come along !"
Lambert was wrathful, and had not Aaron Brigham been
present, I think there would have been passionate fisticuffs,
for the barber was pugnacious ; but the old man's influence
was all for peace, and his hand was permitted to rest upon
the half-lifted arm. Lambert looked at him steadily,
silently, reverently. He looked on Stnbbs, d "H read in
his grey eyes nothing but anger and contempt. He drew
himself up to his full height, and said, with an emphatic
!
tgS
THE RED, RED WINE.
nod, "Good-bye, Nat Stubhs. Ah'U darken your doors
uae mair."
Without another word he folloved Aaron into the street.
What a change had come across the man's features !
Resolve was carven in every wrinkle ; it seemed to weld his
lip'j together, and burn in either eye. When they reached
the middle of the street, he stood looking at the swinging
sign. For more than twenty years he had carried all his
hard earnings to the nest of that evil bird, and now the
bare-faced Boniface, whom he had enriched, had — well, the
fact is, Phil Lambert had received a revelation. He looked
at the bird of evil omen bedizened with its chain of gold ;
he took off his hat to it ; he bent his head almost to the
ground in low obeisance, and then as silently turned away.
'•The last time, Phil?" inquired old Aaron, fairly
trembling with anxiety.
^^ And the last g/ass, Aaron., so help me, God! That's
my vow, old man, an' that's my prayer !"
"Amen !" shouted Aaron, loud enough for all the street
to hear ; and rubbing his hands together with glad excite-
ment. Aaron was a happy man that morning. Whether
he was in the body or out of it, he scarce could tell.
" Do you knoa," continued Aaron Brigham, " that I was
comin' to the ' Black Swan ' for you. The Lord sent me
jist at t' proper tahme."
"For me?" said Phil. "An' what for?" He had no
words to spare that morning ; he was bent on deeds.
"I want yo' to help me to secure George CafTer, Phil
Lambert. George hez made up his mind to turn teetotal,
an' if I can get you to give your owd crony a lift i' t' right
direction, yo' can do for him what nobody else can. What
Caffer needs is not so much good resolution as backbone.
If you'll say no for h.m, he'll say it for hisself."
"All right," said Phil, "Ah can say no for both on us."
And he did 1
THE RED, RED WINE.
199
Before taking his usual mid-morning walk to see his
sweetheart, Aaron went home to Lily Lodge to make his
observations there. Caffer had made a start, and the scour-
ing and cleanmg process had begun. The painter was
enjoying a cup of coffee, prepared for him by the hands of
Esther Harland, and his face was more calm and tranquil
than it had been for many a day.
Caffer gave the old man a comforting assurance that he
was " all right . an' meant to keep so ;" and when he was
told of Lambert's quarrel with Landlord Stubbs, he
expressed his strong intention to "keep the two away from
each other.
No
more ' Black Swan ' for me and Phil,
Aaron," said Caffer. " I'll see to that."
In this way the charm was working. As the old man
passed the barber's shop, on his way to Kitty's, Phil was in
his shirt-sleeves, busily cleaning the bow-windows, a process
which brought out the shopkeepers of the market-place to
exchange nods and looks and whispers of surprise. Just
three words did the barber say as he suspended operations
while Aaron passed, but that was all the good old man
cared to hear.
"Niver nae mair!" said he; and Aaron bounded by the
little parlour window like a school-boy, and thought of Susie,
and the brighter page in her sad life history begun that day.
Lawyer Everett was crossing the street to that cobwebby
den of his he called his office.
" Morning, Aaron," said he, accosting the old man.
''You look absurdly happy this morning. One would think
that ii was you who had been married to-day. What's up?"
"Married? Nay; but I've been meddlin' in a couple
o' cases o' divoorce," said Aaron, with quite a ripple of
pleasant laughter, " an' that's something mair i' your line,
isn't it, Lawyer Everett?"
"What do you mean?" said the solicitor, who possibly
thought a client was in sight, " who's tired of bondrge now ?'*
f
200
THE RED, RED WINE.
" Why, George Caffer an' Phil Lambert hev said good-bye
to the * Black Swan,* an' I've been witness to the deed o'
separation. If yo' can get me a job o' t' same sort, ai /'
' Griffin Inn.^ yo' qan male' me happier still, an' for auld
acquaintance sake, I'll do it for nowt."
From all this it will be seen that the old patriarch was
quite a man of war that morning, that the smell of battle
was on him, and that he was ready to do exploits 1
CHAPTER XXIX.
I THINK it likely enough that during his long life Aaron
Brigham had never walked the streets of Nethe'-horough
with a lighter heart than on that crisp and golden autumn
morning, when his steps were directed to the reformed and
hanpy home of his " lahtle lassie ;" when Painter Caffer and
Barber Lambert had become the captives of his good sword,
and while yet the chimes of Walter Bardsley's wedding-bells
were making music in his ear.
There was quite a wealth of tenderness in the old man's
tone as he accosted his little sweetheart. It seemed to him
as though his soul had received an access of loving-kindness
and goodwill to all and sundry, and as if he must go forth
on an extended mission as the knight-errant of Christ Jesus.
That kind oi thing grows by what it feeds on, and the grand
old saint dearly felt like getting half Netherborough in his
beneficent embrace.
'* Good mornin'," Kitty, said the old man, lifting the little
lady into his arms that he might hug her as a lover should.
" Then you ain't been to the weddin' this mornin'. I
should ha' thowt yo' couldn't ha' kept away. They say all
women like a weddin', an' that means lahtle women as well
as grown un's." The old man laughed heartily at his own
humour, and Kitty archly replied : —
" No, / ain't been, gran'feyther, but you hev, ain't yo' ?
Why, you look as happy as as if you'd gone an' been an'
gotten married yourself," said the merry little maiden. Still
she kissed him as though she had a right to him for all that.
" What, me^ my little sweetheart ? Me go an' marry
i
?^i^';^«Si4.;:^-.V.Ti eii'A'— ^.ylL■J^!
m
t
202
THE RED, RED WINE.
onybody but n.y labile lassie,, an' be happy ? Come, come
Kitty, you can't think that ! Hoo can yo* be sae cruel ?
I 00k you here, Miss Catherine Smart, I'd better tek' up my
hat an'—"
" Hush, this minnit !" Then two little hands were closely
pressed on the old man's mouth, and then two liule lips
were glued thereto instead ; th*^ dreadful injustice was
condoned, and the course of true love did run smooth
again.
"Ah let the chilther go te see t' weddin'," explained
Kitty. " Ah thowt it wad please 'em ; an feyther tore his
jersey yesterday, so Ah got a bit o' quiet tab me te mend it.
But," continued she, viewing the torn garment with a
discontented eye as she held it in her hands, " Ah dizn't get
on with it ; it's o'kard soort o' stuff te sew, yo' see."
" Hey, that it is," said the sympathetic Aaron, eyeing
Kitty's bungling attempt at repairs ; " but I'll tell yo* what,
little woman, you've done your best, an' angels can dae nae
mair then that. Just lap it up fo' me in a bit o' paper, an'
I'll tek' it to Esther Harland. She'll put it to rights in a
jiffey."
Aaron was more than repaid by the grateful smile that
lightened up the child's anxious face. Once again the long,
white, silken hair was streaming in the breeze, as the devoted
lover sped along the street on an errand of help and comfort
for a little child — " one of these little ones " — of whom the
Christ takes special note, and for whose sake the benedictions
fall. Aaron's heart was attuned to the chiming of the bells,
and the golden sunshine was over all.
Alas, alas, a bolt fell out of the blue ; thunder boomed
from a clear sky, and on the happy servant of his kind, a
great, great sorrow fell. Later in the day he was again met
by Lawyer Everett. He had just brought his purple
features ou: o^ the doorway of the " Griffin," with an addi-
tional glow upon them, in honour, he said, of the wedding
I
ii
"what do yo' MEAN, EVERETT?" SAID THE OLD MAN."
Page 2Q3.
THi: RED, RED WINE.
203
day. He greeted Aaron Brigham with a coarse aiul
triumphant chuckle. The time had come for a tremendous
retort to the old man's hmt about tne " Gritfin."
" Ha, ha, ha ! " laughed he. " What do you think of
your pattern young man now? His young wife's j.ot
him inlo leading strings at once, like a sensiMe
woman, and Walter Hardsley's teetotal fad is a burst
bubble ! ''
'' What do yo' mean, Everett ? ' said the old man. His
heart beat fast, and he felt sick and faint.
"Mean? Why I mean that the wise and wilful Walter
has pledged his father-in-law in champagne ; has left the
ranks of the cold water lunatics and showed himself a man !
Hasn't he, Dick?"
This question was addressed to Dick Bardsley, who had
followed him out of the *' Griffin," and who still wore the
wedding favour pinned upon his cc*at.
" Hey, marry, Alice has done the trick for him. I hope
to see him jolly well drunk within a month of Sundays.
He's got the Bardsley drought on him ; and I shall never
be pestered with his confounded advice. If he ever saw me
enjoying my glass, he always looked sour enough to curdle
new milk. I shall get my liquor in comfort now, and have
a new comrade to go on the booze with. Come in, Aaron,
you can't do better than follow a good example. It's a poor
heart that never rejoices. I'll stand treat — "
But Aaron Brigham had silently departed. The sunshine
had darkened out of his sky ; the warmth that had glowed so
pleasantly round his heart, had given place to a chill, numb
heaviness, and the long deep-drawn sighs that rose from his
heaving breast, told the wordless story of the exceeding
bitter sorrow of his soul.
How he found his way to Lily Lodge he knew not. As he
crossed the threshold of its trellised porch, his wan, white
face, so ghostly and so sad, elicited a scream from Esther
ii
204
THE RED, RED WINE.
Harland, who thought her master stricken, and feared the
worst.
"Why, Aaron !" she said, touched to the quick at the
sight of his great grief. "Whatever is the matter wi' yo'?"
She was only just in time to guide his swerving footsteps
to the old arm-chair in the chimney corner. With a groan
that made the good housekeeper's flesh creep, the old man
placed his two arms upon the little table, laid his head*
thereon, and abandoned himself to a very tremour and
passion of tears.
Tears do not come readily to the eyes of the old, and
there are few sights mere distressing than the heart-break of
bending age weeping out its agony, with no words to tell the
tale. O, if Walter Bardsley could only have seen that
sight ; if only that poor, foolish bride Alice, could have
looked on that strange vision ; surely, if even Mr. Norwood
Hayes had taken in that harrowing scene, the young man's
reckless plunge, so lightly made, and so glibly applauded,
mi^ht have aroused a terror of apprehension, alarm, and
strong remorse.
For awhile, Esther Harland could but look on in silence,
dropping companion tears, and laying her hand gently on
his good, grey head. Then the customary self-command
came back to him.
" Esther, my lass, Fse better now," he said, " But I feel
as though I've a'most had my death-blow ! Walter Bardsley's
brokken his pledge on his weddin' day. 'I'he ' Bardsley
drought ' '11 rush 'im to his grave at a gallop, an' that sweet
Alice hez bargained for a blighted life, an' a brokken heart !"
"Nay, nay, owd friend. You mawn't prophecy sae bad
as that," said Esther. " It's mebbe nobbut a sudden slip.
Ah dare say he'll sign again, noo that he's manied You'll
ha' te pray for him."
"Pray for him !" said Aaron, bringing down his clenched
hand on the table, " Ah could gi' my poor aud life for the
THE RED, RED \VL\E.
205
lad. Poor, poor Walter ! Would God I had died for
thee !"
He rose to his feet, walked unassisted to his bedroom,
closed the door behind him, locked it promptly, and
Esther Harland knew, by that well-known token, that he
had gone to talk with God ; had gone to struggle, like the
wrestler by ' the brook Jabbock, for the life and soul of
Walter Bardsley ! When he caine forth from the place
he was as one transfigured, and the much-relieved Esther
knew that his grief was restrained, that his hope was
kindled, and that his soul was strong.
Then a strange thing happened. George Gaffer had come
in to get his supper after the labours of the day, and Phil
Lambert had turned in of set purpose to speak a cheery
word to his comrade, and to report himself to Aaron with a
repetition of that " Niver nae mair," which had made music
that morning in the old man's ears. And even while yet
the pleasant little inte view was being held, Tom Smart and
dear little maid Kitty, came along to fetch the m.ended
jersey, and save gran'feyther an evening walk. Tom's
answer to Aaron's inquiry as to his welfare, was a calm,
contented, re-assuring smile ; and as the old man noted
how much little Kitty's face and fortune had improved since
•' feyther turned teetotal," a great wave of thankfulness swept
over the old man s soul. Gaffer, and Lambert, and Smart,
and Kitty — the good Lord had gathered them round to
cheer and comfort him ; and Walter Bardsley, by the help of
God, should becom.e, despite the old man's fear, the prey,
for Christ's sake, of his bow and his spear !
Heart up, old warrior ! The conflict will be long, will be
disheartening, but the good old Jacob who can wrestle, has
power v;ith God, and will prevail J
i
CHAPTER XXX.
WHILE Aaron Brigham was letting fall hot tears for
Walter Bardsley's sore betrayal of his trust, the
young bridegroom was speeding along by special coach to
Scarborough with his fair bride beside h'm. But how
utterly the gladsomeness of that journey h«.j been dis-
counted ! He is trying, like a man, like a lover, like a
husband, to make the time pass blithely and delight-
somely for the maiden he so longs to love and cherish.
He has been a perfect Samson in his capacity for making
others happy. He has ever been the joy of every holiday,
the soul of every pleasure-party, and the spring of every
social delight, but, Samson though he is, he fails utterly
now. His locks are shorn.
Poor Walter ! He keeps starting up out of long spells of
silence, and forces himself to be gay. He sings short staves
of a wedding song, fills his vision with the fair fe,- -nres of
his bride, his own, his beloved one, and enfolds he; .;• his
heart. Then suddenly his face turns white and his sc' is
sick within him. Conscience flings him on the rack, his
manhood turns round upon him and wliispers, " Coward !"
Then his thoughts fly for ease and refuge to his father-
in-law, the soul of Christian honour, the knight without
reproach, and hungrily looks for all the advantages that
must come of being his son, his comrade, his confidant, and
friend. Yet he is chagrined, vexed, worried to find how
little all that comes to as a set-off" against the damning fact
that he has broken a life-long pledge, has dishonoured
himself, has shamed the few and faithful Abdiels, temperance
THE RED, RED WINE.
207
Abdiels, who held their own against the contempt and
laughter of the crowd, and has grieved the Christ who had
received his vow.
No wonder that Jennie Bardsley, left behind in Nether-
borough, thinks of her brother, her bridegroom brother, with
sorrow and distress : that she feels sick at heart for Walters
sake, wears cheeks that are ghost-like at a wedding-feast,
and steals away in the moonlight to kneel by the grave of
her slaughtered lover, the handsome Reuben Stanford.
" O, Walter, Walter," she groaned, " would God you had
never been born !"
But it may be asked, why did not Walter Bardsley hasten
to set himself right at once? As soon as the iron of
remorse and the goad of conviction had entered his soul, why
did he not retrace his steps and take his pledge anew ? Ay,
why indeed ?
The questioner shows but little knowledge of the forces
that were arrayed against any such a line of action. How
could he so soon discount the " for my sake " that came from
the loving lips of his trustful wife ? What could he say to
his estimable father-in-lav/, who had publicly congratulated,
him on joining the noble ranks of those whose "real
temperance " did not need the crutches of a pledge to keep it
up? What could he say to the church with whom he
worshipped, who never had any sympathy with his
" teetotal fad," and who would congratulate him on being
a "better fellow than ever?"
No, no, no, from the beginning until now it has been far
easier to break than to re-unite again : and Walter Bardsley
was content to nurse the " good intention " to be an
abstainer again "sometime" — that treacherous, and de-
lusive no time whi^'h tolls from the belfry of Nevermore !
Walter Bardsley had been laid flat on his back in a
sudden scuffle with Apollyon, and his sword had flown
out of his hand. Will he ever grasp the hilt again ? Will
<i
2o8
THE RED, RED, WINE.
he ever more stand upright upon his feet? Of one
thing you may he sure : that the Christian church with
which he is allied, " not bei)ig in Javour of exfrenies" will not
hasten to lend him a helping hand. If Walter Bardsley
remains a moderate drinker, the church at Zion would
condemn his taking the pledge again; and if "things
should grow serious," and the hereditary drink appetite
should overthrow him, then the help of "Zion" will
perhaps be proffered — and perhaps not, — and all these
" king's men " cannot set the fallen one up again ! " Poor
fellow: it's all over with him !" That is the way the devil
f.ssists Zion to play the fool — that is how he paralyses
her strong right hand. Walter Bardsley, now that he has
become an erring weakling, is distinctly less likely to
recover his footing because he is a member of a Christian
church. The best thing he can do in order to sprmg back
to his manly position on the drink question — the best
for himself and for ethers — is to give the Church the go-by,
and ask only of the Christ. 'Tis true, 'tis pity ; pity "tis,
'tis true !
Mr. AUamore, the contractor, true social reformer that he
was, was bitterly grieved and disappointed at the loss of his
"right hand man." Of course, the news of Walter
Bardsley's sudden declension from the temperance plat-
form, spread through Netherborough in a very short space
of time. The various landlords of the liquor shops saw
gifts and graces in him that they had never discerned in
him before ; the usual habitues of the bar-rooms, tap-rooms,
and " parlours " had many an extra glass in honour of so
notable an accession from the slender ranks of Nether-
borough abstainers.
It was well for George Caffer and Phil Lambert that
Aaron Brigham had laid his hand on the two roystering
boon companions on the very morning of the young man's
wedding day. It was well for them, that both men held
THE TIED, RED WINE.
209
fast their vow ; the painter faithfully toiling at Lily Lodge,
the barber true to his motto, " Never nae main"
Most assuredly, the two topers would else have found
prompt and sufficient reason for going "on the spree," and
for taking a full week to do it in. The former would have
allowed his paints to dry up in their pots, and his brushes
to stiffen on their shelves, and would have left his last job
of work half done, [the flatter would have laid by his razor
and his lather brush, and compelled Her Majesty's lieges
to wear a rough and stubbly beard well-nigh a fortnight old,
before his hand was again in trim to use his perilous tool in
safety.
The rejoicing was general. Walter had come boluly
over from the ranks of milk-sops and water-babies ; had
joined the ranks of the free and independents, like Dr.
Medway, of the port wine visage. Lawyer Everett, of the
purple features, Ned Oxtoby the drunken blacksmith, and
"gen'lemen, Chrish'un genTmen, Hke Mish'r Nor'od
Hayes."
Probably there was no one in all Netherborough who
was more delighted over Walter's change of front than his
own brother, his elder brother, Richard. To him it was a
matter of downright triumph and satisfaction. How
strange this was ! How shockingly strange ! Dick Bardsley's
father had perished miserably, with constitution wrecked
and shattered, and with his once strong, active mind
reduced to helpless vacuity while yet the years of middle
life were barely reached, and certainly not nearly
passed.
He was not what is conventionally called a drunkard.
He did not roll about the streets ; never was so overcome
with liquor as to be unable to walk along the High Street ;
but he drank strong waters — rum, mainly, I believe — drank
steadily and constantly. He gradually increased in the
quantity of the dose, gradually increased in times and
14
f H
2tO
THE RED, RED WINE.
•^
• 1
seasons, until, strange to say, he seemed to live mainly on
the thing that was killing him.
At last he succumbed because there was more rum than
corpuscles in his vitiated blood. The brain matter in his
skull had so decayed that reason ebbed away long months
before his death. I know where his grave is, and 1
know how scared I felt when, as an impressionable lad,
with some sensitiveness of conscience, and moral
training, I read the words, the lying words, that a
hypocrital conventional Christianity thought it decent
to put upon his gravestone in the Netherborough
churchyard —
•• To take him hence God thought it best {
We huiiihly bow to His behest."
The shameless cant of it was awful to me. " God thought
it best ;" and yet he deliberately destroyed himself! He
called to the grave of his own accord, and struggled through
the mire of low sensuality to get there. And this was " His
behest ! " If he had taken prussic acid, the moral sense of
the community would have been so shocked as to demand
the erasure of the blasphemy ; but he only took rum, so
Christian consistency was content to hold its bieath a
moment, and let the awful libel on Almighty goodness and
wisdom pass.
Such was the end of Harvey Bardsley.; and yet his eldest
son finds subject of rejoicing in the fact that the youngest
on has suddenly broken the vow of a lifetime ; has entered
on the perilous course which may lead him to the dreadful
goal his father reached — a goal of shame and death ! How
can such rejoicing be accounted for ?
In this way. Richard himself was far on the way his
erring father trod. He was himself withm the folds of the
constrictor that had hugged him to his death, and his
brother Walter's total abstinence was a daily condemnation
m
THE RED, RED WINE.
211
and rebuke. Now, however, Walter's condemnation counts
for nothing : he can drink as well as other people, and
Richard finds in him no longer a tacit check on his
road to ruin, but an excuse for boldly travelling
thereon.
"Walter is everybody's favourite. Walter is one of the
longest-headed fellows in Netherborough. Walter takes his
glass, so why mayn't I ? "
This is the way that Dick Bardsley argued, and this is the
way many argue to their own hurt and damage to this day,
I do not hesitate to say that this Miausible sort of argument
in the family, in society, in comradeship, in Church fellow-
ship, is tremendously prevalent, and is productive of terrible
results.
One night sweet Jennie Bardsley felt impelled to speak
to Dick, in sisterly love and candour, on his besetting sm.
He was, as usual, the worse for drink.
"O Dick, Dick!" said she, in wailing tones of pitiful
entreaty, " How can you, how dare you sin so foully against
yourself, so wickedly against God ? "
"O bother?" was the characteristic reply. "One can't
always put the stopper on at the right moment. It's a poor
heart that never rejoices, and if one does happen to draw
bridle a little over late, still 1 don't want to be any wiser or
better than Walter, or Mr. Dunwell, or Norwood
Hayes."
That was her brother Dick's reply ; and that reply is
either said or thought by thousands who are confirmed in
their self-indulgence, and grooved more fixedly on ruin by
the example of men and women who are held to be better
than themselves.
Father, what about your son ? Friend, what about your
comrade? Minister, what about the many who look up to
you ? The sheep who hear and note and follow ? If that
be the influence you are having on any one in your cure of
i
i-
'i|
\
r
212
THE RED, RED WINE.
souls, I say it solemnly, it would be better that you should
die ! You will be asked about Abel, your brother ; and if
there is blood upon your garment, you must ber^r the brand
upon your brow. " Deliver me from blood^^uiltiness, O
God of my salvation."
d
if
d
CHAPTER XXXI.
AND so it came to pass, as I have said, that Richard
Bardsley was exultant, and he and iialf-a-dozen boon
companions hatched an evil plot in the malignant lightness
of their hearts.
Mr. Allamore had spoken in strong condemnation and
deep regret of \Valter Bardsley's act of " treason '" as he
called it, to the cause of true philanthropy. Dick Bardsley
heard of it, and declared with a curse that he would be
revenged on the "snivelling canter" for what he had
said.
He suggested to a handful of his comrades, in the parlour
of the " Griffin," that they should join to '* stand treat " to
the navvies of Netherborough ; giving them plentiful rounds
of beer to drink the health of Walter Bardsley and his bride.
The invitation was given to the men as uiey came out of
the contractor's Sunday meeting held in the plank building,
by sending messages to the various " gangers," and in every
other way that was likely to insure a general response.
A little way out of Netherborough, and near the works of
the new railway, there was a low beer-shop called " The
Navvies' Delight."
A special license had been applied for, "for the con-
venience of the men," and two or three squires, and one or
two brewers, and one or two clergymen, acting as Justices
of the Peace, did hereby initiate a course of disorder,
quarrel, and open vice to which Netherborough, bad as it
was, had hitherto been a stranger. After church hours — O,
the piety of the liquor laws ! — the Sunday evenings were now
214
THE RED, RED WINE.
i
doubly desecrated by the drunken revels that shamed the
Sabbath in and around " The Navvies' Delight"
One Sunday evening a rowdy gang of navvies, supplied
with strong ale by Dick Bardsley and his confederates,
reeled out from "The Navvies' Delight," and met the
congregation which was just leaving the service at the
Mission-room. The retiring worshippers were greeted with
shouts of laughter and insulting jeers. Some of them, not
remarkable for their self-control, were not slow in making
reprisals. Stones were thrown, blows were given ; hooting
and hustling fanned the fury of the fray, and led to a riot
of menacing dimensions.
In vain did Mr. Allamore and his colleagues strive to
allay the storm. He was fain to drag Jennie Bardsley out
of the throng. The passions of the drink-excited navvies
became murderous ; and one gigantic fellow, named Asplin,
distinguished himself by his reckless brutality. He had
had a quarrel with a young carpenter, a quarrel of old
standing ; and he seemed to pick him out for special fight.
The big barrow-man, half crazed with beer, had knocked
down and brutally kicked a lad who crossed his way. The
young carpenter, roused to indignant fury, struck the fellow
a stinging blow in the face. In another moment the navvy
dashed forward with an awful oath ; the flash of a long
knife-blade was seen in the twilight, a cry and a groan
overtopped all sounds, a quivering human frame lay face
upward on the highway, and the soil around was red with
blood !
" Murder !" The cry was a shriek, keen and dreadful.
It would not die out, it held on, an undying echo, and
made the twilight tremble. It arose from the lips of the
young wife, now the stricken widow, of the murdered man.
They had sat together at the mission-service, had sung
together the praises of the Lord of the Sabbath. They
were together now, he, stark dead upon the ground, with his
THE RED, RED WINE.
2»5
white face turned up to the darkening heavens ; she, lying
heart-broken across his body, with no words upon her wan,
white lips. How do I know this ? I saw the stare of the
dead man as he was carried home. I was young then : I
can see it now.
The drunken navvy, Richard Asplin, who had done his
comrade to death by the knife, was arrested, and in due
time was taken before the magistrates — the magistrates to
whom Netherborough was indebted for that ennobling and
beneficient institution, "The Navvies' Delight!" The
Clergyman, j.p., the Brewer, j.p., the Squire, j.p., who had
shares in the brewery, committed the manslayer to York
Castle for trial at the next assizes, and each one of them
used some strong language, for the behoof of the general
public, on the "Growing use of the knife," and said no
single word against the use of the drink that made the
owner of the knife a murderer !
The coroner's inquest was held, of course, at the
" Netherborough Arms," for alike the fount and stream of
British law and justice, so far as crime is concerned, smells
of alcohol all the way and all the time ; and Mr. Richard
Bardsley, that "citizen of credit and renown," was foreman
of the jury, surely a fitting leader of the twelve good men
and true !
Such evidence was adduced of malice, in the shape of
previous threats, and at least one assault, that the jury
brought in a verdict of wilful murder, and for that crime,
and more, perhaps, because of the common " use of the
knife " that disgraced that period, Richard Asplin was tried
for his life, found guilty, and sentenced to death.
There are those living to-day, I dare say, who heard the
learned judge's summing-up, and who remember with what
power and pathos his lordship spoke of the ruinous con-
sequences of alcoholic indulgence.
" If it were not for this fell destroyer," he said, " this foe
s'raj...-i»-;' . j^.
1-
i ^
216
THE RED, RED WINE.
li
to life and morals, this enemy to liealth and thrift and
order, this all-inclusive maker of crime, our vocation would
be gone, and pauperism, crime, madness, and misery would
largely vanish from the land."
My lords, the judges, have been favouring us periodically
for many years with official deliverances of this kind.
They have been diligently copied into the various temper-
ance organs. Even the principal newspapers, whose
protection and advocacy of the sacred rights of the liquor
traffic is one of their most astounding methods of " promot-
ing and conserving public morality," have repeated and
sermonised on these judicial gems of wisdom and truth !
But what of the judges themselves ? Have their lordships
drunk one jorum of punch the less ? ^ ve they consumed
one magnum of port or of champagne less at the assize
dinner, after they have condemned a runkard to the
hangman's noose, and preached their pious homily against
the ruinous results of strong drink ? Which of them all has
become a leader in the patriotic fight against the drink-devil ?
Which of them are even in the rank and file of the '* leagued
foes of Britain's direst curse?" Have any of the judges
believed on Him who denied Himself even unto death to
lessen human misery, and minimise human sin ?
My lords and Mr. Justices ! A plain word in your ears,
if you please. You had surely better restrain your virtuous
indignation, and cut short your hypocritical diatribes against
Drink, or stop your personal patronage of the fiend of the
vat and still, or you must be content to hear the con-
temptuous comment which Goldsmith has made classical —
Fudge !
In those days, the scaffold was openly reared in sight of
all the people, for the education of a beery and brutal mob.
On the morning of the execution, poor Asplin, apparently
penitent, and certainly sober, made a little speech, after the
custom of the times, and hoped "that all you good people
;*,..„.. \
THE RED, RED WINE.
217
will take warning of my misfortune, and give up the drink
that has brought me here."
You see his testimony was much the same in meaning as
that of my lord the judge, and was probably of equal or a little
superior value. In all likelihood if Richard Asplin could
have been reprieved from the scaffold he would have
repaired, as soon as convenient, to the " Navvies' Delight,"
or to some other beer-shop, to celebrate his escape in the
fashion provided and protected by British law !
That, of course, could not be. Those in authority had
far too much virtuous regard for the lives of honest citizens,
so they swung the life out of him, broke the neck of him,
and burie* . him in ground accursed within the precincts of
the gaol. Then when "justice" had been done, they were
content to let the demon who had prompted him to murder,
run amuck through all the land, licensed to breed and train
a succession of Richard Asplins to keep the gallows busy,
and the gaols supplied.
It may seem to the reader that the episode of Richard
Asplin has but little to do with the story, but let them
remember that the story as a story is a secondary matter,
and to fight England's curse with facts is my first. Let
them remember also that Walter Bardsley's ill-starred lapse
on his wedding-day was answerable for his brother Dick's
resolve to " stand treat " to the navvies, and to be even with
Mr. Allamore. The diversified action and results of alcohol
are infinitely numerous, but the trail of tlie serpent is over
them all, and much of it is blood-red ! Very !
i i
:.U
!l
CHAPTER XXXII.
i ;■
THERE was great rejoicing in the cottage of Tom
Smart. That reformed drunkard had now held on
his way on the lines of self-control so long and steadily that
those who " had hopes of him '' were getting quite sanguine,
and even those who shook their wise heads the most, and
most persistently prophesied the worst, were beginning to be
silenced. The ever kind and genial Mr. Norwood Hayes
was greatly interested in Tom's case, and his inquiries
concerning him were both numerous and sympathetic.
" Well, Aaron," he asked one evening, as the old man was
bound for Tom's poor, but vastly improved home, "how's
yoMX protege, Tom Smart, getting on?"
" Why, wonderfully weel, I think. I reckon it's the
hardest battle that he's iver had to fight, and the way he's
winnin' it and howding his own is capital, fair capital ; that's
what it is. As you sa}-, he's a prodigy, for iverybody's
surprised at him."
It will be seen that Aaron Brigham, being illiterately
learned, did not fully appreciate the French word which
Mr. Hayes had introduced into his inquiry. I should not
have put it in myself, if he had not done so. I have small
sympathy with the too numerous story-tellers of our day
v;ho find honest English insufficient for them. Mr. Hayes
smiled good-humouredly, and accepLed Aaron's interpreta-
tion.
"V*i ■' " he said, "I'm sure we're all immensely glad for
himself, and deeply grateful to God for the change that has
come to him. I do hope it will continue."
. • . .a:
THE RED, RED WINE.
219
*' I think it will," said the old man. '* There's a few on
us that's prayin' for him, an', as far as we can, that's givin' t*
poor fellow a helpin' hand."
" Yes, I'm praying for him, too," said Mr. Hayes, not at
all willing to be left out of the "few" who were Tom's
active friends. " But how about giving him a helping
hand ? It is he for himself in this case, you know. You
can't abstain for him, can you ?"
" O yes, you can," said Aaron, with an emphatic nod.
'• * I won't drink while you don't drink,' " said Aaron, " * for
love's sake,' hez kept two folks sober for a life-tahme, an'
thoosands o' poor weak brothers is findin' t' strength in it
ivery day ! "
" There's limits to oor ability to help 'em, nae doot," the
old man continued ; " but, as I've said, we can go withoot
drink ourselves, an' we can give 'em a cheerin' word. It's
nae use sayin' ' Don't thoo drink, Tom Smart ; it's at thee
peril if thoo does. I takes a little drop myself, an' I knoa
that its varry good and pleasant, but thoo musn't touch it.'
Mr. Hayes, I sh( ild be doonright 'sham'd o' myself to talk
like that. Tom's likely to do as I do when he won't do
what I say, an' so doin' and sayin' shall keep company.
When t' followers o' Christ follc.v that plan, I think they'll
follow Him ' fully,' as the Bible says. As it is," said Aaron,
looking the deacon squarely in the face, "a good mony of
'em isn't within sight of Him, an' I doot He won't knoa 'em
when they want to scrape closer acquaintance with Him an'
find t' door shut."
Here, for more reasons than one, the conversation
ended.
Yes, there was rejoicing in the cottage of Tom Smart.
By dint of strict economy and close hoarding of Tom's
wages, Kitty had been able to put " the chilther " into trim,
not in bits and remnants, but in new material from head to
heel ; and to-morrow being Sunday, they were to wear the
m
n
\'¥^ />!'
r
220
THE RED, RED WINE.
if fi '■
I
i
new hats and boots that had hitherto been an impossible
purchase. Besides this, Tom himself was to don a new
Sunday suit. Tt had just come in from the tailor's, and
Kitty was in the act of untying the precious parcel when her
father came in from work, tired enough, for his toil was
hard. But, tired as he was, there was light in his eye, and
even an exultant look upon his face.
He was accompanied by that true friend of the family,
Aaron Brigham, who had overtaken him after leaving Mr.
Norwood Hayes with a thing or two to think about.
" Cum wi' me," Tom said. *' Ah reckon you was
comin' if t' truth was knoan." Here he lifted up a neatly
tied parcel which he held in his hand, as if to excite the
old man's curiosity, and prompt a leading question.
" What's tha' gotten there, Tom ? " said Aaron, as they
walked homeward.
*' Ha, ha ! " laughed Tom, as he shook his head, which
evidently had something in it, " * Tellin's knowin,' owd
friend. It's sum mat for Kitiy, sae you mun ax her yerself
when we get whooam."
The two men found the cottage clean and tidy, though
there was quite a Saturday night air about it, as though
things were being got ready for the Sabbath's pause and
peace.
" Hellow, feyther ! What ha' yo' gotten there ? " asked
Kitty, as she turned to give him her customary kiss. That,
by the way, was an institution that dated back from the
signing of the Temperance pledge.
" Why, how sud Ah knoa, Kitty," said Tom, with quite
an odd little laugh, as he put the parcel carefully down on a
chair. " It's gotten yoor neeam on it, soe thoo can finnd it
oot for theesen."
By this time the three " chilther " were gathered round the
chair, stretching curious fingers towards the unwonted
sight, and the face of gran'feyther, evincing much curiosity,
I
THE RED, RED WINE.
221
was bending over them. Tom had subsided into his
arm-chair, and began to unlace his big, heavy boots, quite
unconcernedly, as though the matter was no business of
his.
Kitty paused a moment, uncertain as to whether she was
to finish the unwrapping of the parcel she was at, or
whether she should turn aside and explore the new mystery
which had come to hand, and which had her name on it
" Let's see what's in it," said little Tommy, a very small,
but amusingly perfect, copy of T. S., senior, and that
decided her.
In a few moments she found that the parcel contained
two lesser parcels. In one of these was a pair of boots ; a
nice pair of strong useful boots, but neat and dapper, mind
you, as if the purchaser had had Sunday wear in his eye
when he bought them.
" O my ! " said Poliy, the small lieutenant before referred
to. " Kitty's gotten a pair o' boots just like we hev, only
nicer. I is glad."
Polly didn't know much about grammar, but her sisterly
joy was quite independent of all that sort of thing, and
there was the ring of real pleasure in every word. The
fact that boots had already come for all but Kitty had been
quite a thorn in her sisterly side, and had taken half the
glamour of her own new boots away.
By and-by all of Tom Smart's admiring children gave
voice together, and so did gran'feyther, and so did Kitty ;
only Tom kept silent, bending over his boots, but with a
peep from his watchful eyes !
'* My word, but that is nice !"
It was. There was a unanimous concensus of opmion on
that subject. It was a pretty little hat, trimmed with dark
red ribbons and gimp to match. Nothing must do but she
must put it on. Then nothing must do but there must be
kisses all round, and Polly sidled up at once to begin the
;,-JtL!. ,
rrnr
223
THE RED, RED WINE.
operation. But Kitty, speechless with pleasure, glanced
at feyther, and read his secret on his face. She put Polly
gently aside, lifted her father's face with a hand on either
cheek. She drew it under the shadow of the new hat, and
kissed him again and again and again. So Tom Smart was
rewarded for his dainty, delicate, loving little act of
thoughtfulness, and was beyond measure glad.
Of course, Polly's privilege came next, and chubby
Tommy's, and the little one, whose name I am not quite
clear about. I need not say that the white-haired lover
took the opportunity to get his wee lover in his arms, and I
am afraid he took a most unconscionable toll. But they do
say, you know, " that all's fair in love and war," and if ever
mortal man was in love just then, it was Aaron Brigham,
and. the shadow of that bewitching little hat and the still
more bewitching face beneath it, might well make Aaron
Brigham make the most of his opportunity.
" God bless tha', my lahtle lassie, God bless tha', an' God
bless thy feyther an' all!" said he; then turning to Tom
Smart, " Tom, my lad, it was a grand day when thoo put
thy pen to paper, an' put sitch sunshine into Kitty's life ! "
Now, the next day was Communion Sunday, and for the
first time as a disciple of the Lord Jesus, Tom Smart was to
join those whom He had called into His family to " do
in remembrance " that which should " show forth the Lord's
death until he come," to engage in that solemn service
which every true-hearted Christian believer ought surely to
regard as the highest and holiest of all the privileges of the
Christian Church.
•* Hail, sacred feast which Jesus makes,
Rich banquet of His flesh and blood !
Thrice happy he who here partakes
That sacred stream, that heavenly food."
,=!iii»tyfcii«^r.':
i
CHAPTER XXXIIL
THE Sabbath dawned bright and fair and beautiful, one
of those mellow and balmy mornings which give
a golden aspect to the slowly-fading year. All the members
of the Smart family were up and about full early that morning,
for they were determined to be " at chapel " in good time.
Modest and thoughtful Kitty was especially anxious that
they should not have to carry their new hats into their
customary seat after the congregation had all assembled ;
for most certainly she was not one of that too numerous
host of so-called " worshippers " whose principal errand to
church is to see, and especially to be seen.
Perhaps she had half a fear that the strange circumstance
that they had hats at all might call forth curious observation.
Suffice it to say that they were in their places beforehand,
and received a smiHng welcome and a kindly nod of recogni-
tion from Kitty's teacher, Jennie Bardsley, who sat in a pew
just within the chapel, while they, of course, were sitting in
the seats provided for the poor — the '* Free Seats " as they
are called, where those sit who have but thin purses, or who
carry no pouch at all. The time will come soon, let us
hope, when this scandalous cultivation and maintenance of
the caste abomination will cease to discredit and disgrace
the houses built for God.
In the vestry of " Zion Chapel " that morning, there was
a little extra bustle going on. It was Communion Sunday,
and special preparation had to be made. The brightly
burnished silver flagon had to be filled with port wine, and a
second bottle had to be uncorked to provide for a possible
ml
w
224
THE RED, RED WINE.
f-
extra attendance on account of the splendid morning.
Strange, is it not, that a mere change of weather can thin
the attendance of loyal lovers of the Christ at the Royal
board at which He sits dispensing the feast of love ? I think
He is less grieved in spirit by the open enmity or declared
indifference of strangers, than by this base desertion of his
patronising and frigid friends ! The fragrance and aroma of
the port wine, the bouquet^ as Mr. Norwood Hayes called it,
pervaded the little room. Not a deacon, nor an official
of any sort entered it without sniffing and smelling, as who
should say, " Not much adulteration about that, I reckon."
Mr. Fenton, the superintendent, said, as he had uaid a
good dozen times before,
"It's a famous advantage to our sick poor, Mr. Hayes, that
you have the charge of the wine supply. It must be a real
God-send to them to have such wine supplied to them in
their need. I should not care for the responsibility myself.
There's so much stuff in the market palmed off as wine
which is positively deleterious — poison in fact, if the truth
was known."
"You're right, Mr. Fenton," said Mr. Lyno, a brother
deacon, whose ability to speak on the subject was
experimentally won, " and it's not only the sick poor that
finds the advantage of it, but it's everybody that sips it as
the cup goes round. I often wonder that some folks I know
don't take an extra gulp, seeing their taste lies a little that
way ; and, indeed, I expect they do, for the monthly supply
has hard work to hold out sometimes. I was going to say,
'Small blame to them,' with such wine as that to tempt
them."
" Well," said Mr. Norwood Hayes, a little loftily, for he
enjoyed the compliment and felt its truthfulness, "I have
always said that sacramental wine is devoted to the highest,
holiest, and most honourable use to which the juice of the
grape can be put in all the world ; and, therefore, that it
THE RED, RED WINE.
225
should always be of the best brand, and very highest quality
that intelligence can select, or that money can procur^:;. Of
course, such wine is quite beyond the . reach of a rural
church with an exchequer such as ours. For that reason I
am only too glad to make this matter my own special charge,
to buy the wine when I stock my own cellar, and to present
it as a personal thankoffering to Him in whose loving
service it is to be empfoyed."
Of course "the brethren" felt that this was a kindly and
thoughtful act on the part of Mr. Hayes, and so far as
object and motive were concerned, so right heartily do I.
Mr. Dunwell, the pastor, was in excellent trim that
morning, and had prepared an admirable sermon as an
introduction to the still more profitable service that was to
follow. Its " delivery," as the good folks called it, was, as
usual, some said even more than usual, effective and
impressive. He put, as his habit was, the truth, the real
truth, before his people in such a fashion as to win the
judgment and touch of the heart. Speaking directly to
those who were about to gather around the Lord's Table, he
preached from those tender memorial words of John
concerning Jesus, " Having loved His own which were in
th6 world. He loved them to the end " (John xiii. i.)
I can only quote briefly. " You are kept in the world for
a high and noble purpose. The world holds Christ in dis-
honour, and gives His glory to another. True religion is
disparaged, Christ's honour is assailed, and His name is
discredited, even in the house of His friends. The Saviour
was His own answer to His traducers while He lived on
earth. ' Which of you convinceth Me of sin ? ' He said,
and silence was the only possible reply. Christ is now
ascended into heaven. He has given His spotless fame,
His beautiful character. His high pretentions, in the keeping
of His Church and people. You are in the world to
represent Jesus I You bear his name. You wear His
15
f
226
THE RED, RED WINE.
robes. You reflect His image. Your holy duty is to bear
that name without dishonour, to wear that robe williout a
stain^ and to see to it that the image you reflect is not
distorted, but a perfect likeness of the Man you love and
serve. When Jesus prayed to the Father for His disciples,
He said, 'The glory which Thou hast given Me, I have
given them, that the world may know that Thou hast sent
Me.' "
After dealing in this way with the solemn responsibilities
of the Christian as the representatives of the Pattern Man,
the pastor proceeded to impress his hearers with a deeper
sense of their duty to their neighbours " in the world."
They were not to live to themselves alone. They were to
delight in the helping, uplifting, saving, guarding others —
especially the tempted and fallen, " the iveak and those who
were easily overt hrotvn."
" You are to labour," he said, " for the world's well-being,
and especially for the good of those who lie prone and piti-
ful at your own door. * Go work,' said the Master, your
Master, mind you, ' and as ye go, preach, saying, The king-
dom of God is at hand. Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers,
raise the dead, cast out devils, freely ye have received, freely
give.'
' Such our whole employment be,
Works of faith and charity ;
Works of love on man bestowed,
Secret intercourse with God.'"
Then Mr. Dunwell addressed himself to speak of the
" love to the end," which is ensured to the faithful soldier of
the Cross. In this strain, for I must quote no more, the
worthy pastor continued for a little more than the regulation
forty mmutes, for, indeed, and of a truth, he was stirred in
his own soul.
There was no doubt that the fact that Tom Smart was
" sitting clothed and in his right mind," and was about to
THE RED, RED WINE.
227
sit down with them at the Lord's table, had great influence
on him, as indeed it would on any rightly-constituted mind.
Everybody felt that the service was a most gracious and
elevating time.
Tom Smart sat, melted and humble, wondering whether
he should ever be able to live like Jesus. His heart warmed
and his blood tingled through his veins as he thought that
he might be able to ^ave some poor sinner, as Kitty and
Aaron Brigham and Jesus had saved him.
During the brief interval which followed the ordinary
morning service, Kitty took the "chilther" home, passing
out of the lobby of the chapel with quite a little bit of
childish pride in the fact that " feyther " was counted worthy
to stay behind with the faithful few. And well she might,
for all that the change it represented meant to her and her
little household could scarcely be calculated by figures, or
described by words.
It will not be wondered at that Tom Smart felt a good
deal of trepidation at the venture he was about to make. I
do not envy the state of mind of either man or woman who
can thus commune for the first time with the Bread of Life
without being awed and melted at the prospect of a privilege
so high. The thought of tasting alcohol in such an attractive
form had not presented itself to him as being a daring and
unwise experiment. I wish it had ; but he felt himself
unworthy — oh, how utterly unworthy! — of this great honour,
to be the guest of Christ.
" Splendid sermon, Aaron, this morning ; don't you think
so? The pastor's at his best to-day, eh?"
The remark was made by Mr. Lyno, the deacon, as he
paused for a moment to speak to the old man between the
services. He was quite enthusiastic, and rubbed his hands
together, with a glow upon his face in which was mingled
admiration and delight.
" Ay," said Aaron Brigham, " he was fine, an' nae
/I,
I
228
THE RED, RED WINE.
mistake ; an' I'se delighted to see that you're at your best,
an' all, Mr. Lyno. We're all at cor best to-day, Thenk the
Lord for it ; but it is to-morrow when the strain comes on.
We're generally at oor second best o' Mondays, an' by t'
tahme Setterda' comes roound, I'se afeard there isn't mitch
* best ' aboot us. Noo how d' yo' account for that ?"
"Ah, yes !" replied Mr. Lyno, over whose face the cloud
of conventional contrition flitted, and from whose interior
regions an expressive sigh was called up, and passed on to
keep it company, " I'm afraid, you see, that the world steals
too much of our thought and time during the busy working
days, and so our Sunday frame of mind and sanctuar -
blessing don't stand wear and tear."
" I say, friend Lyno, isn't that rayther a cowardly way o'
puttin' it !" said the old patriarch, with his usual candour
" It's all varry well to say * the world steals,' an' sae to put
all t' blame on the thief. We owt to know by this tahme
what a cheatin' owd plunderer the 'world' is, an' it's a
mortal shame if we can't tak' care o' oor oan propa'ty,
especially when it's so vallyable an' precious as oors is.
But I'se dootful myself whether it is ' the world ' that's in
fault. Isn't it oorselves, friend Lyno, that tempts oorselves ?
On Sundays we put Jesus fost, an' if we're at oor best,
oorselves second. By the tahme Setterda' comes, it's not
only Number One, but nowt but him that — "
Mr. Lyno was possibly greatly grieved to tear himself
away from such suggestive talk, but he obeyed a call from
the vestry with great alacrity, and left wisdom to speak, as
it often does, to the thin air.
At length the second service was begun, and the «*iow-
white cloth that had covered the table, flagon, cups, and
bread, was removed. The senior deacon, Mr. Norwood
Hayes, began to fill the cups, pouring out the "choice
port " with a deft and accomplished hand. In another
instant the fumes of the wine — I beg Mr. Hayes' pardon,
V
t*."^
THE KE.J, RED WINE.
339
If
the bouquet — of the best that could be purchased, diffused
itself through all the sanctuary of God.
How was it, think you, that Jennie Bardsley quickly
turned her face, suddenly grown pale, to the place where
Tom Smart was sitting? How was it that the venerable
face of Aaron Brigham, with an anxious look thereon, was
turned in the same direction ? How was it that even Mr.
Hayes himself had a passing thought that the wine was
more than usually assertive in its smell that day? Mr.
Lyno, too, turned his eyes on Tom Smart, but then that,
perhaps, was only to see how such an exquisite wine must
regale the olfactories of one whose highest notions of bouquet
had been that of beer.
It was a solemn service. Mr. Dunwell was in one of
his most tender and pathetic moods. During his brief
preliminary address he held the little spiritual household as
under a spell, while he spoke of
" The wondrous love
The love of God lo me,
That brought the Saviour from above,
To die on Calvary."
Then the pastor offered prayer, " gave thanks " for the
precious provision of Divine grace, the gift of the Bread of
Life, the wine of God ; and asked a blessing on the simple
symbols that brought the Cross so nigh. The bread was
handed to the deacons, and carried round from pew to pew.
One deacon began his work at the pulpit end of either aisle,
another commenced his distribution near the door, and so
the whole area was eventually served. All this was done,
alike with the bread and the wine, in impressive silence. It
could hardly be that the least spiritually-minded communicant
present could fail to be stirred with the " solemn sweetness
of that mystery," while those who "closely walked with
God " were singing in their soul \-^
230 THE RED, RED WINE.
"Sweet the moments, rich in blessing,
Which before the Cross I spend.
Life, and health, and peace possessing
From the sinner's dying P'riend.
Here I'll sit, for ever viewing
Mercy's streams, in streams of blood.
Precious drops my soul bedewing.
Plead and claim my peace with God."
All went well until the wine was being carried round.
Then, as Tom Smart occupied the free seat on the side,
just within the door, Mr. Lyno presented to him the full cup.
Of course, that worthy man could not very well help fixing
his eyes on the new member, in order to note how such
unaccustomed nectar would be relished ; or was it a
prayerful interest in Tom, and the new life on which he had
begun ? Be that as it may, it came to pass that Mr. Lyno
was even more astonished than he had thought possible.
The full cup, which had been put into the hands of Tom
Smart, was a large cup, for the silver service was the gift of
Mr. Norwood Hayes, and he never did things in a small or
grudging way Tom took it into his two hands, and lifted
it steadily to nis lips. He inhaled the full strength of its
bouquet into his nostrils, and Tom Smart was practically
slain in the sanctuary of God.
At the instant his lips touched the red, red wine, the
" craving " with which every inveterate drinker is haunted,
as if, as is surely true, a devil were on his track, roused into
spasmodic action the muscles of his stomach, the glands of
his throat and mouth ; the despotic drink passion mastered
him, slew him, and the hideous deed was done/<?r him^ not
of himself, but by the church who enclosed him in their
membership to save him from the tyranny of alcohol, and
help him to live a Christian free man's life.
He held the cup with both hands, threw back his head,
without an intervening thought, and drained it to its latest
drop. Then came his first consciousness of any account-
: 'j^i^t-
^..■^l^'■.^J^.i. .^ .■«jfc9«J3i-
^:?.,..\fc. L
THE RED, RED WINE
231
ability for the deed. He uttered an exceeding great and
l)itter cry, a cry of horror and despair, dashed down the cup
upon the floor, rushed from the chapel, and ran as if for
dear life !
Jennie Bardsley was the first to realise the horrible truth,
the first to rush after him with a view, Ood help her, to
compel him to return. She knew, as no other knew, what
devil had entered into him through the medium of that
sacred cup. She was quickly followed by Aaron Brigham,
who was suddenly seized with an almost mortal terror, a
frenzy of fear for the soul and body of the man for whom he
had entertained such a strong and lively hope. Then
another, and another followed ; but it was of no avail. Tom
Smart had gone forth bareheaded from his place, and then
had disappeared ; disappeared as completely from all human
view as if the earth had suddenly opened and swallowed
im up ! Poor Tom Smart
m
*»
m
^
CHAPTER XXXIV.
YES, Tom Smart had disappeared. We have seen how
Satan's agent met him at the table of the Lord, and
how poor Tom was taken captive by his deadh'est foe. No
sooner did he rjush from the chapel, shocked and stricken,
than a mad delirium seized him. His system, deprived of
its accustomed alcohol, absorbed the poison with redoubled
energy, and the sudden rush into the open-air added to its
masterful effect.
The wine was of the best. Mr. Norwood Hayes took
care of that. Some Temperance reformers tell us that
most of the evils of drink arise from the doctored stuff
supplied to the drinker instead of the genuine article. It
may be 30, but I confess that I cannot see much to choose
between a pure poison and a doctored one ; and I cannot
but think that this kind of argument is only a sort of red
herring drawn across the path of total abolition. It is
poison in either case, and anyhow the effect on poor Tom
Smart was just as great as if the wine had never known the
juice of grapes.
Tom Smart's brain was on fire, and his conscience too :
between the two their owner was buffeted about without
consciousness of time or place. For some hours he must
have kept up the pace at which he sped from the chapel
door; running wildly, wandering aimlessly, a piece of
muscular machinery, impelled by some foreign and
masterful force, and subject neither to regulator nor
balance-wheel.
When he came to himself, or at least sufficiently so to
HI !1
P.4 I
THE RED, RED WINE.
233
V
understand his surroundings, the sun was setting, and he,
hatless and covered with mud, for there had been a sharp
thunderstorm in the course of the afternoon, was lying
spent and listless on the grass at the side of a rosd — what
road it was he did not know. It was but sio -1/ that
memory brought home to him a dim conscious* .^ss ol what
had happened. He lay thinking it out, struggling in t. dazed
wonder. Then he remembered the happy calm, the holy
joy of that first public confession of his new T Taster and
Lord, the smell of wine, that awful craving which no one
who has not felt it can even begin to realise, the spasmodic
gulp as the trembling hands held to his lips the flowing
bowl, no, not the flowing bowl, the wine-cup of the
Sacrament of Christ.
There broke in upon him at that instant a thought that
gripped him like a horror. To his bitter remorse, this
greater bitterness was added — an inarticulate fear that he
had committed the unpardonable sin, the sin against the
Holy Ghost for which there is no remission ! His brain
began to whirl — surely he was going mad. With a shiver,
produced as much by the chill of the evening as by the
thought that scared him, he sprang hurriedly to his feet, too
powerless under the pressure of that dread load cither to
sigh or cry, or utter even one protesting groan.
He stood aimless, uncertain, lost. He must go some-
where, anywhere, if only to escape the thoughts that were a
torment. He must go somewhere. But where? Home?
How can he? To loving little Kitty, and break her heart
by the very sight of him ? To the " chilther " who would
flee at his approach ? To old Aaron Brigham, that staunch,
kind friend, who had built hopes as high as heaven on him ?
To his old companions and his new ones ? How could he
face them r It was impossible.
All this time the alcohol and fever in his blood are doing
their foul work. His head seems as though it certainly will
1
'i:
■I
■P^
a
234
THE RED, RED WINE.
burst asunder. Every throb of his labouring and excited
heart drives the blood to his already over-heated brain, and at
last he is compelled to groan long and loudly, as the only
possible vent for the agony, mental and bodily, which
threatens a fatal end.
On he goes with unsteady limbs, walking deviously, and
yet as if for dear life, then staggering and pausing to get a
little control again. And then on again, on, on — but
whither? This lasts but a little while, for the fire in
him is burning high, and the fuel is low for such a rate
of combustion. He must have drink. The fire in his
blood consumes him.
The gathering twilight plays strange tricks with his
vision. The trees take awesome shapes ; grinning faces
jeer and mock at him from out the hedgerows. Al' things
on which the eye looks seem instinct with life, but it is
the life of hell. Unclean spirits whisper among themselves,
and laugh uproariously ; but make no noise. He cannot
hear what they say, but he knows just as well as if he did.
Yes, they are rejoicing that he is damned, and will become
one of them. At this he groans and shuts his eyes, only to
see them more clearly, and to realise their hideous shapes
more fully than before.
How can he endure it ? He must drink. Is there no
house near by ? Shall he never reach one ? The road is
getting rougher and rougher, and rises as he lifts his feet, and
sinks ap.ain when he would place them down.
The n^oon already sometime risen, gains power on the
setting of the sun, and glimmers on the surface of a weed-
grown but rush-mounted pool that holds picturesque
possession of an old marl pit lying open and unpro-
tected to the road. The glimmering light attracts him.
Stooping painfully to the water's edge, he bathes his
burning forehead ; the water is cool and pleasant, and so
still !
m^
IS
THE RED, RED VVINE.
i35
Why not quench the fires that consume him, and hide his
head from the gaze of those jeering phantoms, in those
peaceful and inviting depths ?
Do the thoughts of man, I wonder, leave their imprint
on the things surrounding him ? Had some other sorrow-
haunted human soul thought these thoughts in that
uncanny spot ? Who can tell ?
That fate, however, was not for Tom Smart. He must
have a drink first, and so, slightly refreshed by the bathing
of his heated brow, he once more hurried on ; on, still on —
but whither?
At length he saw the dim lights of a village in the
darkening distance, and, of course, he knew that there he
could get all he needed in the way of drink. Alas, there
are but few villages in which /kaf is not to be procured.
Even where the villagers themselves would fain be rid of
the evil thing, it is thrust upon them, and held there under
the protection of the power and majesty of British law ! A
village implies a "pub.," probably two, very likely three,
often enough four. There may possibly be no place of
worship — that is not held necessary — but the public-house
we have always with us to minister to the war>ts of man !
But, then, had he any money ?
Anxiously he groped in the pockets of his trousers,
though he seemed scarcely able to control his fingers, and
for a while his non-success in the eager search filled him
with dismay. Yes, at last. Oh ! — the joy of it ! — he felt a
coin ; alas, it was only one.
Carefully bringing it out to the light of the moon, he was
overjoyed to find that it was a shilling. He wondered
vaguely how that was. He had surely given up all his
money into Kitty's care. That had been the rule in these
later and better days ; the exception was in the case of the
purchase of his "lahtle hoosekeeper's " boots and hats.
Then he remembered. He had kept that shilling for the
1*'
fin
236
THE RED, RED WINE.
collection at his first Communion. It was a big sum for a
labouring-man like him to give, but then it was his first-
fruits, and first love hath a willing heart and an open hand.
The very first house he came to was a "pub." There
was a cluster of villagers drinking at the public bar. The
time for the church service was over ; and, after the worship
of God had been fitly protected from rivalry and invasion,
the worship of His rival had fair play. But poor Tom
Smart dared not join them. Hatless and mud-covered as
he was, he could not face either the looks or the questions
that were sure to be levelled at him.
Fortunately, the little room at the side was empty. A
feeble candle shed its dim light upon the gloom, and yet in
the gloom he sat, away from the neighbourhood of the
slender flame. Then he knocked lightly, uncertainly, on
the table, as if he shrank from summoning observant eyes.
He waited what to his scorching thirst seemed a long, lon;j;
time, and, in a sort of desperation born of his great
necessity, he knocked more loudly with the edge of the
consecrated shilling, soon to be sadly misapplied.
A girl of the house came in, in answer to his call, took
the shilling from the table where he had laid it — it was a
case in which "money first" was seen to be a prudent
precaution — asked him what he wanted, and disappeared.
She quickly returned, set down the brandy he had ordered,
together with the change, and rushed off again as rapidly as
before. Evidently she was none too much pleased with
this unwelcome interruption to her Sunday evening flirta-
tion. She took no notice whatever of Tom. Why should
she ? He, at any rate, was glad of it.
For one moment, only one, Tom Smart held the glass
between his eye and the light, then flung back his head,
drained the contents at a gulp, and left, feeling himself
'* another man."
t'HAPtER XXXV.
f
A: ' ■
)k
a
as
ith
•ta-
ild
IT was early on the following Tuesday, before yet thfe
morning light had begun to creep up the eastern sky,
that John Hodson, a small tenant farmer, on his way to the
Hull market with a load of vegetables, met with an adventure
— a thing that had not happened to him once in the twenty
years during which he had regularly, twice a week, taken his
load of vegetables, fruit, eggs, chickens, or whatever else
was in season, into Hull, as regularly returning the same
evening.
John was far more watchful travelling to market than he
was in returning, and, if truth must be told, he had more
than once spent the greater part of the night fast asleep in
his market cart, just outside his own farmyard gate, for
though his mare, which, I believe had been travelling the
road almost as long as he had, knew well enough how to
get home, yet she never quite mastered the art of opening
the gate. This, though I have read of its being done by an
equine pet, is rather more than could be expected of an
ordinary horse.
When going to market, however, John always walked
partly to relieve the load, and partly to keep himself awake.
Generally, he took up a position behind the spring cart,
grasping the back-board and so getting a bit of help, besides
being able, if so minded — and he generally was minded — to
snatch a quiet snooze, if not a full sleep, as he went on.
He was enjoying one of these stolen snoozes at the time
of the adventure, when the mare suddenly stopped. John
didn't. As a natural consequence, his nose came in some-
238
THE RED, RED WINE.
what violent contact with the edge of the back-board. This
woke him effectually. He was a good fellow, so he neither
swore nor thrashed his mare, as I am afraid a good many
would have done under similar circumstances. Instead of
this, he went round to his horse's head, patted her on the
neck, and asked what all the trouble was about.
"What's the matter now, Polly? Eh, lass?"
Polly didn't say anything, but she looked a good bit
frightened, and shy of the hedge on her near side, so John
proceeded to explore. The moon had set some time, and
as it was too dark to distinguish anything very clearly, he
struck a match, and after a little bother succeeded in light-
ing the tallow dip in his lanthorn, which he invariably carried
with him, and as invariably never used.
It was rather an eerie sensation that came over him, when,
by the aid of a light, he saw lying in the hedgerow what he
at first took to be the body of a murdered man. He was
nearer right than he knew, though the man was not then
dead, and though the agents of his undoing — who dispense
that "good creature of God," are not as yet — the more's the
pity — looked upon as murderers in English law.
A very slight inspection showed him that the man was
dying, though to John's thinking he was as near dead as
made very little difference. The thing that perplexed him
was what to do w'th his find. To a man of John Hodson's
build, leaving him where he was was out of the question.
So, after discussing various plans with his mare, he decided
at last to take him to the infirmary at Hull, if he could only
get assistance to lift him into the cart. He did not think
tli:2 jolting would do him any more harm than the wet grass,
and, besides, he could think of no better plan of dealing
with him.
He had not long arrived at this decision when up the
road came another market cart, the owner of which was well
known to him, and with his assistance Tom Smart, for he it
THE RED, RED WINE.
239
was, was carefully lifted into the cart, and made as c»)infort-
able as circumstances would permit.
The man was altogether unconscious, and only moaned
as he was lifted in the cart, and murmured *' Kitty." In
due time they arrived at the infirmary, and though it
happened to be very full at the time, they of course took
the patient in, after having obtained all the mformation
concerning him that John Hodson had to give, which, as
my readers know, was but ve:/ little.
It was a very sad little heart that beat in the bosom of
sweet little Kitty that Sabbath day, when she learnt from
the kindly lips of Jennie Bardsley that her father had gone
away. Jennie was greatly at a loss how to treat the matter,
but Kitty's anxious questioning look could not be evaded,
and so she explained to the bairn that her father had got
the drink craving on him again, and had gone away for a
short walk to try to master it, but he would be back soon,
she added, hopefully, nor did she for a minute doubt that
what she t:aid was true ; but Tom Smart never came back
to Netherborough again. She could not tell the child what
it was that had brought the craving on again, nor did Kitty
think to ask. She accepted Miss Bardsley's word, and took
consolation from the fact that he would be back again soon,
and meanwhile she would pray for him.
During the afternoon Jennie got some of her friends to
scour the neighbourhood, but no signs of the missing man
could be found. No one had seen him, and when evening
came and poor little Kitty began to lose hope, Jennie hardly
dared think as to what might have become of him.
Monday came and went and still no signs. Even
Norwood Hayes felt ill at ease, and had men out searching
the dykes and ditches, and enquiries were instituted in the
neighbouring villages, but it was all of no avail. And so
Tuesday passed and Wednesday. All the waters in the
district were fruitlessly dragged, even the dangerous wayside
ti j.)
[■'M
:1
J, l,
ni
^40
THE RED, RED WINE.
pond in which poor Tom Smart had laved his fever-stricken
brow, but of course, in vain. Mrs. Consett was very good
to her httle neigubour, but Kitty was not satisfied, and so
on Thursday, when she had got the "chilther" their
breakfast and prepared dinner for them, she put on her
new hat and i)oots and her little cloak, and went out
quietly, for fear Mrs. Consett should hear, telling the bairns
that she was going out to bring father home, and they were
quite content.
Later in the day, when Jennie Bardsley came in, as her
wont had been since Sunday, she was astonished and
troubled to find Kitty gone, almost as completely as her
father — but Kitty was in safe hands.
Kitty's idea of things was very vague — she was only a
little one, but she was bound to find her father, and she
was sure she could. These other people could not find
him because he was not their father, but she could — hadn't
she often found him before ?
As she passed up the street, she peered cautiously in at
th3 public-houses on her way, dreading, yet hoping, to find
him there, but she could see no signs of him. One or two
saw her and pitied her, and even the wife of one of the very
publicans who had done no little in times past towards
ruining her father's body and soul, could not repress a tear
as she caught sight of her poor, wan, troubled little face
peeping timidly through the temptingly swung door. After
leaving Netherborough she walked on and on till she was
well away from the town, and then she began to look out
for someone whom she might ask if they knew anything
about him.
One or two chance passers looked at her curiously, but
anxious as she was, she could not make up her mind to
speak to them, and she began to feel tired and disappointed,
and so, poor little soul, she sat down on a milestone and
began to cry.
THE RED, RED WINE.
Ut
" Hallo, little woman, what's the matter noo ? This'll
never do."
The voice was so cheery and pleasant that Kitty could
not help hut look up, and the face she saw was so pleasant
and cheerful too, that she had to smile through her tears.
" That's better, ma bairn. Noo what's all the trouble ? "
Kitty saw that the stranger who was speaking to he*-
must have got out of the trap that was standing on the road,
and therefore he might have come from somewhere where
her father was ; so she summoned up courage at last, and
ventured to ask him if he had seen her father,
"Why? hev you lost him, bairn ? What was he like?"
This was a poser to Kitty. She quite thought every-
body would know her father at once, and besides, now she
came to think of it, she couldn't for the life of her remember
what he was like.
"He was like — like feyther, that's all.'' said she, and the
stranger laughed a hearty, happy laugh, but Kitty was
rather offended.
" And what do they call you, little one ? ''
" Kitty — Kitty Smart, and father's name's Smart too, but
they call him Tom."
" Kitty, eh ? " and the stranger's face grew serious.
" And where do you live ? "
" At Netherborough."
" Well, I'm going to Netherborough to see the new line,
and so we'll go together, shall we ? "
Kitty was by no means loth, although she had not yet
succeeded in finding her father. On the way back the
stranger found out quite a lot about hev and her father, and
the result was that when they got to Netherborough he
went straight to Jennie Bardsley's home, and brought her
little runaway back to her safe and sound, greatly to her
delight. What is more, he told her all he knew about poor
Tom Smart, how he had found him unconscious, and hac
16
il
I' 4
M )i
m
■A '
H
Y
pli
Ih
i
!i
242
THE RED, RED WINE.
taken him to the Hull Infirmary, where he was then lying,
for, as my readers will readily have guessed, the stranger
was none other than John Hodson. And so you see Kitty
had been in safe hands, for are not God's hands safe ?
And she had found her father after all.
Jennie made arrangements to drive into Hull the nexi
day, taking Kitty with her. Of course she explained to tlu-
little one that her father was very ill, but even she was
surprised when she saw him.
They were readily admitted, for, as thoy told Jennie,
death was only a question of hours, and perhaps not that.
Poor Kitty, she was told she must be very quiet, but the
sight of her faf' r lying there was too much for her, and
she fell on the bedside, crying, •' Feyther, speak to me."
Tom opened his eyes, recognised her, and smiling weakly,
said, *' Ma bairn ;" and Kitty was half wild with joy.
When the doctor saw him a little later, he tried to cheer
him with thoughts of getting well, but Tom knew better.
" Noa, doctor, ah sail nivver be better, an' ah thenk God
for it."
Jennie knew what he meant ; he felt the only safe place
for him was by his Saviour's side. The fight with drink was
too much for him in this Christian land of ours, where at
every step is placed a pitfall to entrap the feet of the unwary.
He told Jennie very briefly what had happened to him
since the drinking of that fatal cup, as far as he could
remember, and then the nurse told them it would be better
to leave him and come again on the morrow. Tom smiled
sadly at that, and as he said good bye to Miss Bardsley, ho
got her to promise him to look after hi;: bairns. His leave
taking of Kitty is too sacred a thing for words.
On the morrow Tom Smart was dead. He had died in
the night as peacefully as a child falls asleep.
Jennie reproached herself somewhat that she had noi
spoken to him of Christ, but then how could she speak of
THE RED, RED WINE.
«43
Him to this victim of the travesty of the Supper of our
Lord. Aft. r all, she felt that Tom was right when he
thanked God that he should die.
It may seem to some of my readers that Tom Smart's sad
fall on the very threshold of church life is an iiiipossible
case. I have good reason to know that the same stumbling-
block that ground him to powder is sadly effective and often
fatal at this day.
There are many good Christian men and women who
regularly pass on the cup untasted as they "sit at Jesus'
feast of love." Very hard thoughts are entertained con-
cerning them, and very unkind words are spoken. But the
fact is that many of them dare not put their lips to it, lest
the sleeping devil of the past habit be aroused to their
destruction.
It is but a very short time ago that a reclaimed drunkard,
brought to Christ during a (iospel Mission at my own
church, gave me some proof of this. He remained behind
as a spectator at the Sunday evening communion service.
When the wine was poured out, he started to his feet and
left the chapel. The first smell of his dread enemy re-
kindled desire, and it was only by "leaving the temptation,"
and walking rapidly to and fro in the chapel grounds, that
he rid himself of its effects !
Think of it ! This was the symbol of the Wine of Life !
This was the emblem gf the blood that saves !
» ij
CHAPTER XXXVI.
IT is pleasant to turn to happier and more congenial
scenes. Lily Lodge, the cosy and attractive home of
the grand old patriarch, Aaron IJrigham, was bright with the
light of wax candles, for on this auspicious night, some few
days before poor Tom Smart's sad hap filled his aged heart
with sorrow, the ordinary gleam of the familiar " dip " was
not good enough for the occasion.
Lily Lodge was then the house of feasting ; that, standing
by itself, is not saying much, perhaps, for feasting is often
a very doleful business, but it was also a house of mirth.
Esther Harland had done her best, and that is saying much,
to provide a real downright genuine East Yorkshire tea. I
dare say that many of my readers have never enjoyed that
experience. Those who have will not hesitate to say, "I
have been there, and still would go," though they may
hesitate just a leeiie at finishing the quotation. But there
was an element in that feast that surpassed, in pleasantness
and joy-provoking quality, Esther Harland's wonderful
confections.
The fact is that George Cafifer and his wife, and Phil
Lambert and his wife, were Aaron Brigham's specially
invited guests that evening, and the " high tea " was held in
honour of the complete enfranchisement of the two cronies
from the thraldom of the " Black Swan," and their happy
riddance of the alcoholic demons which, like Sindbad's Old
Man of the Mountain, had sat upon their shoulders for
five-and-twenty dreadful years, and had all but choked the
life out of them by its cruel pressure on the throat.
THE RKT), RED WINE.
245
The painter had finished the beautifying of Aaron's liouse,
had put all his art and skill into the task, and had turned
out a bit of genuine teetotal work such as he had never
surpassed in his palmiest days. The way in which he had
"grained" the front door and the window shutters in
imitation oak, had become quite a wonderment to admiring
Netherborough, and had advertised alike his sobriety and
superior ability far and wide. As a consequence his
business had increased " by leaps and bounds," and already
he had been compelled to employ a journeyman, if not two.
The barber, true to his vow, "Niver nae mair," had
kept steadily to his shop, jnd with a hand (juite as steady as
his fidelity to the operating chair had gained the proud
position of smoother-general to half the adult chins in
Netherborough; while the surplus locks of the juvenile
Netherburghers strewed the floor of his shop like "leaves in
Valambrosa." Even Dr. iMedway was constrained to own
that his chestnut-wig was so skilfully manipulated that it sat
as close and felt as natural as if it were rooted in its place.
We must always except, however, those too numerous
occasions when it was dishevelled and dislodged by his
potent potations of port wine.
Two happier women than the cronies' wives it would be
hard to find through all the country side. Mrs. lambert,
especially, seemed almost re-juvenated, and the last trace of
the pallor and the sickness that seemed a sickness unto
death had gone from the once wasted and sorrow-stricken
face. And who was the tall, good-looking lassie that was
waiting at the table, and otherwise helping Esther Harland
in her onerous household duties, on that great day ? She
looks bonny enough and bright enough in all conscience,
and one glance at her is sufficient to show that her young
life is without a cloud.
This is the "maiden atl forlorn," ragged, miserable,
morose, and generally tired of all things, who snappishly
A^
«
246
THE RED, RED WINE.
expressed a wish to Aaron Brigham that her father, Phil
Lambert, would "go te t' 'Black Swan,* an' niver cum back
nae main" Now, it was her father who had said, " Niver
nae mair,*' and it was that which had wrought the happy
tranformation in the life and looks of "the drunkard's
child ! "
The face of dear old Aaron Brighim was a " study for
a painter ; " especially for that particular painter whose eyes
were bent on him, overflowing with admiration, gratitude,
and love. It was quite usual for Aaron's expressive face,
except when it was shadowed by somebody else's sorrow,
to wear "a light that never shone on sea or land," but that
night there was a radiance shining on it and from it that
glowed in every feature, and gilded his snow-white hair.
The conversation, both at the tea-table and afterwards,
was turned, chiefly by the old man himself, into a variety
of channels ; but it always trembled back, like the mariner's
needle to the north, to the subject of Aaron's happy inter-
ference with the business of the " Black Swan," and the
joyful change that had made that cheerful party possible.
"Why, I'se not disposed to say that I isn't desperate
glad 'at things hez turned oot as they hev," said the old
man, "but I'se quite willin' to hev nowt nae mair said
aboot it. I thenk the Lord 'at Ke put it i' my heart ; but
there, it's been there for mony a year, as it is i' the hearts
o' thoosands o' Christian folk. Like me, they see, an,
sorrow, an' wish, an' resolve to mend things, an', like me,
they're sadly apt to mek' that sarve ; an' even to tek' a bit
o' credit for hevin' sitch feelin's. But what's wanted is for
'em to do summat ; to mek' an effort, like ; not only to
wish, but to try, an' if a trial isn't successful, why then to
try and try till it is. You see, that plan carried oot by
ivery Christian wisher, will mek' ivery wisher a worker, an'
then the car o' Bacchus '11 niver ride i' front o' the chariot o'
Jesus ony mair. I'll tell you what it is ; the car o' Bacchus,
THE RED, RED WINE.
247
as they call it, will varry soon stop runnin' at all if t*
Christian churches o' this country unyoke theirselves, fling
off the harness, an' refuse to pull it another yard."
The whole party, from aged Aaron to the barber's bonnie
lassie, were agreed on this, and if not only local, but even
universal, prohibition had been put to the vote, it
would have been "passed unanimously and with
acclamation."
But then, you see, '.hey were of the psople, and as yet
the people have very little to do with the making of the
laws that regulate strong drink. We shall manage these
things better by-and-by.
The Temperance Society in Netherbotough was at a low
ebb. Its fortunes, never very rosy, had sunk at once after
Walter Bardsley's unhappy withdrawal. Aaron Brigham
was very anxious to do something to restore its fallen
fortunes ; and it was mainly with this object in view that he
invited his guests that evening.
Both Caffer and Lambert wjie capable talkers, and he
wisely judged that the witness of two such well-known
converts would be invaluable. Better still, 'Liza Lambert
volunteered to tell the story of her new life and her
regenerated home in the public ear. It was the rarest of
rare things in those days for women to take any public
platform, but if ever there was a subject on which woman
might well grow eloquent, and stir the English public with
convincing voice, it is the curse of intemperance and the
blighting influence of strong drink on English hearths and
in English homes ; and the just demand of English women
and children to be rid for ever of the shame and sorrow to
which it dooms them.
Eventually both the painter and the barber became
towers of strength to the unpopular cause; and by their
instrumentality quite a number of inveterate topers were
led to range themselves beneath the Temperance banner.
248
THE RED, RED WINE.
"If George Caffer and Phil Lambert can turn their h^ck
on beer, / can."
It is wonderful in how many, many instances that
argument led to the reclamation of those who had given
themselves up as lost ! While 'Liza Lambert's simple,
plaintive, touching story won converts to Temperance
principles on all hands and all sides.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
FOR some time past, young Cuthbert Hayes had been
having rather an easy time of it. It was true he
was supposed to be engaged in his father's business, but
this was only a pohte way of intimating that he was doing
nothing, for Mr. Norwood Hayes still had complete control
of his business affairs, and in the town of Netherborough,
though there was plenty of work for one head in the corn-
factor's business, there certainly was not enough to keep
two occupied. Of late, however, Norwood Hayes had had
serious thoughts of retiring from active participation in his
concern in order to give Cuthbert a chance, and very
probably, I think, with an eye to Parliamentary honours.
Before he took the final step, he was anxious that Cuthbert
should have some practical acquaintance with the business
other than Netherborough and his own office could supply.
Accordingly, he broached the subject one evening to his
son, suggesting that he should place him for a short time, at
any rate, with a friend of his, a large cornfactor in Hull.
Cuthbert, dazzled more with the idea of really being his
own master than with the prospect of gaining an insight
into his father's business, was only too willing.
Application was made to Mr. Nuncaster, the cornfactor
in question, and he, though he had no vacancy at the time,
agreed to take Cuthbert to oblige his old friend, Norwood
Hayes.
Norwood Hayes was, perhaps, willingly blind to the
downward course on which his son had already entered,
but he took the occasion of his son's departure to give him
f-
H
250
THE RED, RED WINE.
one of those manly expressions of his opinion which had so
captivated Walter Bardsley, and had, alas, practically led to
his discomfiture at the hands of his own hereditary foe- -
strong drink.
He spoke to him wisely and earnestly concerning the
many temptations thai beset a young man's footsteps in o
large town, and especially in a seaport town such as Hull
Incidentally he mentioned the dangers of intemperance, and
strongly impressed on him the folly of yielding to the
seductive influence of aUohol.
"I think you will bear nie out," «>aid he, "tha«^ I have
always set you an example of self restraint. There an
some weak-kneed souls who claim that the only safety lies
if) total abstinence, I cannot agree with them, for I think
that, a« a rule, Iherr self-assumed righteousness is in the
worst possible taste, and Jt is neither wise nor gentlemanly
to make one's self conspicuous, except when some great
principle is at stake, and even then I often think that more
j« gained, in the long run, by inostentatious silence than by
a Unni-moiitheA profession ( )ur own belief. Still it is
pohsible fo err on the other side, and if you feel that alcohol,
which should be a willing and pleasant servant, is becom
ing your master, I should certainly advise you to abstain
t-ntirely rather than give way to it. That, however, is a
contingency which I am sure is not likely to happen to n
son of mine."
Of course Cuthbert, though on the very brink of that
contingency which his father thought so remote, cordially
agreed with everything said, and, indeed, he expressed his
contempt of the feebly-fibred abstainer in even stronger
words than Norwood Hayes himself.
"Mr. Nuncaster." he continued, "is a Christian gentle-
man, a deacon at Cod Street Chaprl He has promised
me to look after you as if you wcic his ovvi! »^( uthbert did
not reli.sh this piece of information). Let
mf
I .. ,^_
':}! of you.
THE RED, RED WINE.
251
H':
therefore, if ever you should happen to get into any httle
trouble, as we are all liable to do, to make as great a
confidant of him as you would of me. I am sure he will
advise and guide you even better than I could."
And thus Norwood Hayes, having equipped his son's
bark with a balloon by way of an anchor, launched him out
upon the stormy waves of life. This, at best, risky
experiment meant to Cuthbert Hayes certain, speedy, and
total shipwreck.
Mr. Nuncaster did all that could be reasonably expected
of him for young Cuthbert. In the first place, he took
lodgings for him in a respectable part of the town, which
lodgings he vacated for more congenial quarters within a
month, as the landlady objected to the unconscionable
hours he kept. He also took a sitting for him at Cod
Street, which he occupied twice, and twice only ; and he
invited him up to dinner on a Sunday, but, as he enter-
tained him afterwards by going to sleep, this privilege was
soon dispensed with likewise.
In business matters he was equally considerate. As
young Hayes was only to be with them a short time, and,
indeed, had no need to be there at all, he did not bother
him by keeping him at the desk, but at once introduced
him to the brighter side of a cornfactor's life — the corn-
exchange, the bar of the " Double Locks " — the former the
place where business was ncunnally done, and the latter the
place where it was actiiaily transacted, over a friendly bottle
of wine or two, or more, as it happened. It really did not
take long to learn the corn business in those days ; it's just
about as simple even now. It is worked on the plan of
" setting a sprat to catch a whale." When you are buying,
you lay out the " sprat " on liquor, till you have made the
other man fool enough to let you have his corn at your own
price, and similarly when selling. When the bargain is
concluded, you have another drink to settle it.
li
252
THE RED, RED WINE.
Cuthbcrt was an apt pupil. Thougli he had at first
nothing to buy or sell, he nevertheless picked up the other
part of the business with wonderful facility, and when he
came to conduct some slight operations for his firm he was
an adept. Then he tried a speculation or two on his own
account with phenomenal success, and as a result turned up
at the office in the afternoon unequivocably drunk. Mr.
Nuncaster sent him home in a cab.
On the morrow he remonstrated with him. Cuthbert was
apologetic, and within the week was drunk again in office
hours. This time he had made a splendid bargain for the
firm, and somehow or other Mr. Nuncaster failed to observe
his young clerk's condition.
Of course Cuthbert got into a " capital set," so much so
that he almost forgot .vhat it was to rise without a splitting
headache in the morning, which could only be conquered
by a " hair of the dog that bit him."
Gradually he became conscious that the drink-habit was
mastering him, but still he was unable to shake himself free.
Then he made a fool of himself by getting thoroughly drunk
on one or two occasions before the bargain" was struck, and
so landing his firm in for two or three very poor things.
Thereupon his governor informed him that if this occurred
again he would have no further need of his services, and
for his father's sake he made a valiant effort to keep himself
straight, but the fatal bound had been passed, and he found
himself powerless to resist the craving for drink.
A*- last the crisis came, Mr. Nuncaster sent Cuthbert
home, and wrote to his father regretting that he had not
informed him of his son's weakness, for had he done so he
might then have been able to have avoided this unpleasant
occurrence. He was greatly sorry for it, but when, after
repeated warnings, Cuthbert persisted in appearing on the
Corn Exchange in a state of intoxication, it was no longer
possible to keep him, if only for the credit of the firm.
Hi
■{
' ^
AT THE OFFirE IN THE AFTERN'OON rNEQl'I VOCABI.V DRUNK.
Pagv 15;.
' ?^
IHE RED, RED WINE.
253
Cuthbert foUov/ed this letter to Netherhorough. When
he saw his father he informed him in a drunken serious
manner that he had thoroughly learnt the business.
Norwood Hayes did his best, when too late, to retrieve
his son. Cuthbert would have drink. The locks that
defied his mother were of no avail against him ; he broke
them open and helped himself. There were no homes for
inebriates then-a-day, but at last Norwood Mayes had to put
his son under a doctor's care, and the house he lived in had
iron bars across the windows, and the doors were kept
locked. Norwood Hayes was a broken, disappointed man,
but the lesson was almost learnt.
Young Cuthbert Hayes had but a short stay in Mr.
Nuncaster's office, though it was long enough to ruin him
body and soul. He had not been in Hull long at the time
of Tom Smart's breakdown and death, and though I have
followed him more particularly for a time, it must not be
considered that events at Netherhorough stood still.
i
fj
■ff
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
ONE of the annual events which most stirred the cahn
of Netherborough life into something like excite-
ment, was the Odd Fellows' Fkast. I put it down in
capitals for the sake of auld lang syne. To me," in the days
of childhood, it was nothing less than a red letter day.
There was no school that day, and as my schoolmaster was
of the strictly Rhadamanthus order, a whole day's holiday
made the " feast " as w< ' :ome as a gift from the gods.
Then there was the " great procession !" Three hundred
men adorned with blue sashes and rosettes, each sash
embroidered in gold thread with the symbol of the lodge,
and there were the officers in gleaming regalia. These all
marched along the Netherborough streets, headed by an
enormous silken flag, on which was painted the cosy home
of a thrifty Odd P'ellow, and the quaint device of the
" Royal Albert Lodge ;" while many smaller flags and
bannerets were carried by bearers placed at intervals on
the line of march.
The Netherborough celebrated brass band timed the
march to the strains of its resounding music, and I can
safely say that I have never heard more thrilling and
inspiring strains than those which fell upon my youthful ear
in those far off days, when pleasant sounds and sights had all
the glamour of youth upon them.
The importance of the festival and the crowds of holiday
makers made it worth the while for the vendors of nuts,
gingerbread, and other bilious edibles, to erect their stalls in
the market-place ; and there was also that which gave the
■■^■mhwhmBI
Ni
THE RED, RED WINE.
255
holiday an added glory, namely, pence in my usually
impecunious pocket, all for my spending on that drliLhtful
day. Do I not well to "gush" a little on this subject, and
to celebrate in capitals the Odd Fellows' feast.
After the members of the club had sufficiently per-
ambulated the town, and impressed the eyes of the citizens
with the external glories of Odd Fellowship, they returned
to the starting-place, the " Netherborough Arms." All the
monthly meetings of the club were held in that hospitable
hostelry, whose '* Arms " were al.v^ays open, in more senses
ttian one, to take them in.
The result of this absurd ana suicidal arrangement was
that many of the stone-blind members of the club expended
more money at the bar and in the lap room than the useful
economies of club-thrift amounted to. These ensured them
an allowance in time of sickness, and a grant at death, to
make the blow fall more lightly on the wid(;w and the
orphans left behind ! Thank God, that in these wiser days
that folly is abated. Friendly Societies, I believe, are com-
pelled to hold their " lodges " in better quarters, and that
financial leakage and stultifying folly is largely stopped.
Of course, " the trade " is an extensive loser, but the time is
coming, hasting, I would fain say, when the people of this
license-ridden England will come to a fairly unanimous
decision that the loss of '* the trade " will be a general gain.
Well, the annual feast of the Odd Fellows was held in
Netherborough, not a great while after poor Tom Smart had
fallen in his fight with Apollyon, in the place where, above
all others in this wide world, that Satanic spirit should surely
find no rest. After the annual business of the club was
transacted, a dinner was provided in the club-room of the
inn. Of course, much strong ale and still stronger liquors
were freely quaffed by all,and sundry ; toasts were honoured,
speeches were made, and social hilarity was the order of the
day.
Tl
S 1
■ ■♦
n-(|
Hii
^,
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET {MT-3)
1.0
l.i
12.8
m m
us
U
<- ..
*wut.
140
122
2.0
l.2||jU,,.6
«•
6"
►
%
<r,»
^;.
5r
%^^ ^
7
^.
#
Photographic
Sciences
Corporation
33 WIST MAIN STRiCT
WEBSTER, N.Y. I4S$0
(716) 872-4501
'''^.V
4'
5r . ^7"
s7^
z
'H
.<?
^
256
THE RED, RED WINE.
Of course, the leading magnates of the town were present
Dr. Medway of the purple countenance 'vas there as tne
club-doctor, and his younger rival as an invited guest.
Lawyer Everett was there as the club-solicitor ; and besides
other semi-officials, and honorary members, several invited
visitors from the town and neighbourhood. Among these
was Walter Bardsley and his yourjg brother-in-law, Cuthbert
Hayes. These two had been more than ever intimate as
companions and friends, and it was the subject of universal
remark in Netherborough that both of them had changed
during the brief space that had elapsed since Walter's
wedding-day.
Of course, the worthy vicar was a distinguished guest, as
was also the Rev. Daniel Dunwell, the excellent Noncon-
formist minister. His presence was always welcomed with
a triple round of cheers. His speeches were so sound and
sensible, so full of wit and humour, and his apt and timely
jokes and stories never failed to set the table in a roar.
Not but that on occasion Mr. Dunwell was most grave and
serious in his advice to the men of the club. He spoke
lovingly and well of the value of forethought, thrift, and
their kindred virtues, not forgetting, too, to speak of the
wisdom and necessity of insuring happy provision of the
world to come.
On this particular occasion, Mr. Dunwell excelled
himself. By his wonderful combination of pathos and
humour, he roused the company to a pitch of enthusiasm
not common to them, even when under the spell of his own
fascinating speech. All this was the more remarkable
because it was evident to everybody that Mr. Dunwell was
" not at all himself." He was wan and worried in appear-
ance, had dark rings about his sunken eyes, and the smiles
and general jauntiness that were more or less suitable to* the
occasion were evidently assumed, and maintained only by a
strong effort of the will. His more intimate friends had
THE RED, RED WINE.
257
'
noted this change in him for many days past, but only a
very few of them ascribed it to its real cause. The fact is
that Tom Smart's dreadful misadventure at the sacramental
service, and his mysterious disappearance, had fallen rn the
pastor of '* Zion " like a blow, and had brought him face to
face with questions such as he had never asked himself
before.
At the close of his address everybody seemed wishful to
take wine with him. He was ever courteous and genial,
and had not tne heart to disoblige. Little by little, and
quite unav/are of it all, he passed the bounds of moderation
and became flushed and "elevated." The red flag of
danger showed itself upon his face, but, alas ! he himself
could not read the warning. Others noted it ; some with a
wicked pleasure ; some with a degree of pain.
Mr. Norwood Hayes saw it, and was grieved ! he saw it
develop and was angry. He was led, at length, to look at
him steadily with a view to catch his eye, his own eye being
filled with meaning and rebuke. His friend and pastor,
however, was too obfuscated to readily read the warning.
When he did perceive it, he intimated his intention to retire.
This was greeted by a protest so strong, so universal, that
he sank again upon his seat with a foolish smile upon his
handsome face.
Meanwhile Dr. Medway, the soaked and seasoned
medico, who avowed such faith in the medical virtues of
port wine, and who showed his faith by his works, alike in
his prescriptions and his practice, leaned towards Lawyer
Everett, his boon companion in many a revel, and
whispered to him. Everett professed, so far as religion was
concerned, to be an unbeliever, and never lost an oppor-
tunity of scoffing at or putting shame on those who held a
nobler creed. His eyes brightened at what the doctor had
said, and an evil smile came across his face. He nodded
his approval. Turning to his neighbour on the other side,
17
m
9
I'
258
THE RED, RED WINE.
who was i.o other than that pink of honour, Dick Bardsley,
he whispered in turn to him. The precious trio allied
themselves forthwith to devise and work out a piece of
devilry.
A little later on, Lawyer Everett rose to his feet and was
greeted with a round of cheers. He also wai a glib and
taking speaker, and had the ear of his audience at once.
Addressing the president of the evening, he said : " I
venture to express the hope, Mr. President, that you will
pardon the liberty I take in attempting to interfere with the
prescribed list of toasts on this occasion. I think, sir, that
when you hear the toast that I would propose, I shall have
your heartiest permission and approval." Here he paused,
looking to the chair inquiringly. The president nod:'-d a
gracious permission to proceed.
"We have had with us for many years at these annual
festivities," resumed the lawyer, " the presence of our
brilliant and eloquent friend and brother, if he will allow me
the honour of calling him so, the Rev. Daniel Dunwell."
Here there was vociferous applause. " I was quite sure,"
continued the speaker, "that the name would get that
unmistakable greeting. Well, I have heard the reverend
gentleman speak on many occasions, in many places, and
on many subjects, but I must say that I have never heard
him to such advantage, never felt so spellbound, never had
all that is best in me " (which was not much) " so roused
and strengthened, as by the lucid, lively, witty, pathetic,
humorous, beautiful, and brilliant speech we have heard
from his lips to-night. I am willing to bear all the
responsibility of this somewhat irregular toast, even to
the providing of sufficient champagne of the Nonpariel Brand
in which to do it honour. I would suggest that the gentle-
man whom we delight to honour, be given a little time
before he responds, seeh.j that he has been taken by
surprise. Fill your glasses, gentlemen, and let us ask the
^.
1
THE RED, RED WINE.
»59
president to lead us in drinking health, long life, and
prosperity to the Reverend Daniel Dunwell."
They all rose from their seats, "did full justice" to the
toast, and to the Nonpareil too, and joined thereafter in a
tumultuous cheer. Mr. Dunwell was taken by surprise, and
he was grateful for the pause provided for him before he
ventured to reply. Alas, he employed the time in seeking
inspiration from the flowing bowl, just as the plotters had
expected. Then he arose, and the precious trio who had
planned the shameful snare knew that the hour of their
triumph was at hand.
No sooner had he risen than he dropped again into his
seat. Again he made the effort to stand upon his feet, and
leaning both hands upon the table, he lifted up his face.
And what a face ! His hair was 'in disorder, his eyes were
dull and heavy, and his eyelids couM not succeed in their
struggle to keep unshut ; his features were red and swollen,
and his mouth was unable to shape itself to utter the
incoherencies he aimed at. He swayed from side to side
mumbled a few sounds of unintelligible drivel, and then
literally slid down in a huddled heap upon his chair !
A great silence filled the room ! A sile ce of surprise ;
a silence of disgust ; a silence of sorrow .nd dismay ; a
silence of exultation and delight.
Then Mr. Norwood Hayes announced that Mr. Dunwell
had been taken ill, and opening a side door close by the
end of the raised table where the president sat surrounded
by the leading guests, he and another succeeded in getting
him removed.
The whispered interpretation of the supposed " illnesf- "
given to his comrades by Dr. Medway in this cruel and vile
plot, was sufficiently expressive ; and, alas ! was also more
than sufficiently true. " He's as drunk as a lord !" said he,
with an exultant chuckle, that revealed the baseness of the
man. The kindly intentioned effort of Mr. Hayes and a
f
1 1
t i
1
! 260
THE RED,
RED
WINE.
few other staunch friends to
theory on the general public
strange conduct at the club
impose
as the
feast.
and urge the
cause of Mr.
did something
"illness"
Dunwell's
to check
the tide of feeling that was setting fast against the unhappy
man, but bolh he and they felt that his career at Nether-
borough was all but ended ; and, so far as he was concerned,
he was more than willing that this should be. The story of
this fall is terrible in the telling. Such deeds of death and
doom must of a certainty wring the hearts of our attendant
angels, and weigh down the mighty soul of that Intercessor
whom we ignore.
The idea must not be entertained for one moment that
Daniel Dunwell had been anything other than a Christian
man, a true disciple of Jesus Christ in everything that
made his life worthy and ^seful, except in his attitude on
the drink question. In defence of that position he had the
support of popular custom, common wont and usage, and
the conventional Christianity which refuses to regard the
grim destroyer of soul and body as a forbidden thing.
Since that memorable Communion Service which ended
so desperately for poor TorYi Smart, Mr. Dunwell had never
been himself. Crushed down by an overwhelming sense of
the utter collapse of all hope for the poor reformed
drunkard, now that his feei' had been tripped up in the very
sanctuary of Christ, he had for weeks past found himself
unequal to the preparation of his sermons. He groaned in
bitterness of soul to feel that he could not do it without a
stimulus kVom the decanter, and yet he hated himself the
more for his confession of weakness, this acknowledgment
of bonds that he could not break.
How he wrestled with the prince of the power of the air
in his quiet study will never be known until the day when
all things are revealed ; hut that he did so wrestle, I am as
certain as that he was utterly vanquished in the fight.
There are those living at this day who can witness to the
L.
THE RED, RED WINE.
261
■^1
evidences he bore of that parlous struggle in his harassed
and careworn face. During those last clouded weeks of his
Neiherborough career, he could never rid himself of the
picture of poor Smart. The whole sad scene was burnt in
upon his heart and brain. Many a time he would return
from a weary, heartless service which was no balm to him,
but gall and bitterness, as he did on the night of poor
Smart's fall, to enter his study, lock the door, fling himself
on his couch, and groan aloud.
Then he would beat the sofa on which he lay, face down-
ward, with his clenched hand, and sigh and groan and weep
hot tears in the bitterness of his soul. Then, worn, weary,
spent, despairful — then what? A glass or two of spirits
from the decanter, which was kept so handy, and he was
able to "pull himself together" again, and attempt life's
duties, duties which had been a sacred delight, but which
were now — O, the slavery of it ! — a heart-break to him ; a
doleful, mechanical grinding at the mill !
One Sunday night, Mr. Norwood Hayes came to fetch
him to the house of God, for it was very late. He had to
force the door of his study, and there, seated at his table,
with his head lying on the table, was the pastor, helplessly
asleep and drunk.
Mr. Hayes explained to the gatheped congregation — it was
significantly small — that the pastor was too ill to conduct
the service, and, therefore, that none could be held. He
could have conducted it himself; there were others present
who could hcve done the same ; but he knew, they knew,
everybody knew, what the pastor's " illness " meant, and fitly
enough, silence best befitted the place and time.
Poor Dunwell ! From that sad day the course of this
servant of God was one of swift decline. He speedily sank
out of sight, and was at length whelmed in the surging deep.
Some sorrowed over him, pitied him, loved him still ; some
sternly condemned him, and protested against the weakness
§1
.'wS^' ^i.'''>'.lSs.,..'!4*-^' ■
^
1
I
262
THE RED, RED WINE.
of will that slid him down to ruin ; and some, ay, many,
made him the topic of pot house conversation, made fun of
the " drunken parson," and laughed at and cursed " religion "
and " Christianity," and once more crucified the loving, th'i
holy, and the beautiful Christ !
And this was the work of Strong Drink ! the work of the
evil spirit which is favoured by the patronage of the
Christian people, and which, then as now, is working in
pulpit and in pew, as well as on the crowd without, desolation,
damnation, and woe ! O, but it is awful ! When will the
Christian churches arise in banded action and strong resolve,
to expel from their sacred circles, utterly and for ever, this
king of all the devils. Strong Drink ?
" Some sternly condemned him." Yes, and among the
rest, Mr. Norwood Hayes. In his heart he despised this
man, made in the image of God, brought a little lower than
tht beasts. Yet it was at that good man's bounteous and
hospitable table tJiat he had been largely trained to travel
to the land of darkness, and the moon of night. Did no
thought of compunction enter his mind, I wonder? Perhaps
not yet. True, another victim has fallen on the road
bestrewed with dead men's bones ; but that made his own
steadfast standing all the more noteworthy, and likely
enough raised him highly in his own esteem. But the
awakening was coming
L
CHAPTER XXXIX.
AS is, alas, too common with country Congregationalism,
the church once without a pastor must have remained
without one indefinitely, and would have done so doubtless,
had it not been for Aaron Brigham. As it was, they had
supply after supply, and each preacher knew that he was
practically preaching a trial sermon, and did his best, but the
church, perhaps prostrated by the sad event that had led to
the old pastor's retirement, more probably, judging from the
general course of events in such cases, prostrate with apathy,
could not make up its mind to invite any of them. The
objections to many of them were weak, but as there was not
much enthusiasm in favour of any given supply, they were
strong enough to prevent a call.
Our old friend, Aaron Brigham, did not usually interfere
much in matters of church government, but the sid mishaps
I have chronicled had stirred the old man to the depths,
and partly 'rf.uenced by the shilly-shallying which seemed
about to doom the church to go pastorless through time,
partly in hopes of getting some earnest leader for the sadly-
wrecked temperance work in place of Walter Bardsley, he
made up his mind that some minister should be asked to
preach who would speak to the people with no uncertain
sound on the sin of intemperance, the perils of strong drink,
and the duty of the church in the matter. It was at a
church meeting that the good old man delivered his mind
upon the subject.
" Why don't yo' ax somebody te cum an' preach that'll
tell us all wer duty to wer neighbour. There isn't a week
if
■k
'I
!
::tev,,:
s64
THE RED, RED WINE.
i' t' year, nor a day i' t' week, that Netherborough isn't
disgraced wi' what gans on i' the public-hooses, an' them
ootside on 'em, let alooan t' mischief that's done i' fooak's
houses. Ah tell yo' wer chotchyard is gettin' fair glutted
wi' them 'at's fallen through Strang drink, and there's nowt
but weepin' an' sorrowm', an' rags an' misery, whereivver
the ugly thing finds hoose-room. Ah sud think 'at this
chotch, at any rate, hes cause te wakken up on this subject.
We've lost yan o' the finest men that God ever called te
preeach the (»ospel o' love an' marcy, an' if we ho'd wer
voice aboot it, the varry stecans '11 cry out ageean us. Ah's
sorry te ha' te speak so warmly, but An can't an' Ah weean't
be still. Iniquity and misery run down wer streets like
watter, an' meeast on it comes oot o' t' bottle and barrel, an*
if the Lord's chotch dhzn't set aboot puttin' a stop te it. Ah
tell yo' what, the Lord '11 seean put a stop te //. Ah
propooase that we hev a temperance minister, an' let's ask
him to tell us all that's in his heart aboot the evil sperrit
that's robbin' the Lord of His own bairns, an' thrustin' 'em
oot into darkness an' the grave, an' sendin' 'em te hell
straight from the varry hoose o' God. Ma poor awd heead
is bowed doon wi' sheeame, an' me heart's a'most brokken
te see wer members racin' te ruin, an' helpin' other fooaks
te ruin an' all."
The old man spoke with such fervour and feeling that
the meeting was deeply impressed. Jeannie Bardsley rose
up instantly to second the motion. Mr. Norwood Hayes
made some slight attempt to throw cold water on the
proposal, little thinking of the shock that was in store for
him. This brought the kindly soul to her feet again. A
rush of feeling came to her aid —
*"* To-day," said she, " I've been to the churchyard to weep,
as I have wept before, by the grave of my buried love;
and oh, how many graves there are all round him of those
whom I know were slain by strong drink | I look on that
^
THE RED, RED WINE.
265
empty pulpit, aid I can scarce speak for the choking in n>y
throat. There's scarce a house in Netherhorough that
hasn't a dark shadow on the hearthstone made by drink.
Oh, it does seem to me that the town is being filled with
lamentation, mourning, and woe. Where are the young
men gone who were with us in church communion ? You'll
find some of them at this moment at the bar of the
' Dragon,' or the taproom of the * Netherborough Arms.'
Something must be done, and that right quickly, or the
judgment of God, which has smitten us so heavily, will
smite us again. Let us stand up and entreat the Lord that
this plague may be stayed."
The speaker sank exhausted with her impassioned
appeal, hid her face in her hands, and wept.
Seated in a pew a little way behind his sister sat Walter
Bardsley and his young wife. It is not very long since
these two were married, but it has been long enough to
take the roses out of the cheeks of one and transfer them
in parody to those of the other, for Walter Bardsley was on a
genuine down grade, and the young wife was reaping in fear
and sorrow some earnests of the harvest she went a-sowing
on her bridal morn.
As soon as his sister ceased speaking, Walter sprang to
his feet, and said loudly and impulsively, as if he feared the
impulse would pass off —
"I, too, desire to support the motion. There was a
time, not so long back, when I could gladly have led such a
movement myself, and found a righteous joy in pushing it
to an issue. As it is," — and the very spirit of despair
seemed to inspire his words,- -" I myself am being pushed
to an issue by the devil, who has had home and shelter in
our church long enough. What the climax will be I dare
not think. Would to God I had never — "
He had spoken hotly and hastily — had spoken as though
each word was a whip with which he was lashing himself.
r
'fe i
%
■V:^x;...
266
THE RED, RED WINE.
Suddenly he remembered that at every word, with tenfold
force, he was also lashing the trembling woman at his side.
He loved her dearly ; so he said no more, but left his seat
and silently retired. Poor Walter ! Heart and mind and
conscience were all alive and quick within him — all the
more forceful that he had knowingly silenced their voice
with wine. Is he saved, or will the cunning devil silence
the voice of warning, and once again lure him into the fatal
track ? He is full of remorse and anguish ; but the
alcoholic inheritance has its roots in his very vitals, and its
hand upon his throat ; and, gentle though he seems, there
is no more relentless, unrelaxing fiend in hell. It had .slain
half, or more than half, in the household in which he was
born, and he felt it was slaying him.
There was a silence in the place — a silence that might
be felt. The measure of the feeling that prevailed may be
understood when I say that Norwood Hayes sal with a face
pale and bloodless, stunned, as though an unseen hand had
dealt him a giant blow. There was no further discussion —
there hardly could be ; the motion was passed without a
dissentient voice. It was finally arranged that a minister
from Hull, a well-known but comparatively youthful
temperance advocate, who had up to now not accepted any
pastorate, but had confined himself to temperance work,
should be invited to uplift the flag of total abstinence —
unique event ! — within the walls of the house of God.
A better man for the purpose they could not have
happed on. The Rev. Edwin Hallowes believed that
Abstinence was a part and parcel of practical Christianity.
He did not believe in it as a good thing that might with
advantage be tacked on to Christianity, but to him it was a
part, and an essential part. Indeed, according to his idea,
and it is undoubtedly the right one, whatever thing is
wholly good must from its very nature and the nature of
Christ Himself, be of the essence of Christianity. Ar^other
.:jJh.'
i^kJfer
■1
THE RED, RED, WINE.
267
good point about the man was tliat he never descended to
bandy words and arguments with those who by this means
try to shield themselves from the accusations, not of the
Temperance speaker, but their own conscience. The point
does not arise whether Christ drank fermented wine two
thousand years ago in Ciahlee. This is the question that
Hallowes drove home. If Christ Uved here and now, what
would His course of action be? There is but one answer,
and the young evangelist knew that that question fairly
answered, decided the matter.
Not only on the Temperance question, but on every
other question, this was a favourite formula of his, and
though it has no direct bearing on my story, still so good a
one is it, that I would fain impress it on my readers' minds
as a guide at every meeting of the roads. Sometimes it
really seems that either of the two ways is right. It never
is so, but it seems to be. Then is the time to ask the
question, "What would Jesus do?" and there is no longer
any mistake as to which is right.
It happened that Mr. Hallowes was engaged two or three
Sundays deep, and was, therefore, unable to occupy the
Netherborough pulpit for that length of time. Neverthe-
less, arrangements were made that he should preach on the
first vacant Sunday he had. Just two weeks before that
date, Cuthbert Hayes, having *' "earnt business," returned to
his father's house.
The morning sermon was a powerful discourse on the
duty and the privilege of Christian self-sacrifice. It was
one sustained home-thrust, and some who heard it visibly
shrank through the acuteness of their mental pain.
Speaking of the duty of every Christian to abstain from
strong drink, he said, after he had painted in strong colours
the evil doings of the liquor fiend : —
" Is this indictment true ? Then what has a Christian,
that is, a Christ's man, to do with this accursed thins?
2^^
The REt), RED WINE.
Can a man touch pitch and not be defiled ? Can the body
of Christ receive into it and assimilate the perilous stuff
from which the Head of the body would have turned His
pure lips away? It is ue that drink has poisoned the
blood of the unborn babe, doomed from its first cry to be
the bond-slave of alcohol — but it tastes good ! It is true
that noble youth, with the stamp of : anhood on its brow,
is wrecked and shattered and broken in the very morning of
his days — but it is pleasant to the taste ! It is true that it
has prostituted fair maidenhood to a career of shame, and a
grave before girlhood's years are past — but it is an enjoyable
beverage ! It is true that it has shattered manhood, killed
character, quenched the fires of genius, hurled noble
reputations into fathomless inire. covered grey hairs with
grimmest shame, and broken hearts almost angelic in their
power of faith and love. It has done all this, and dug
hells of fire and agony, that may neither be bottomed nor
gauged — but it is a refreshing thing to quaff, leaves quite a
glow behind it, gives a filip to jaded nerves, and adds an
impulse of cheer to the social board !
• So fill up the glass, and lei ihe wine pass,
And joy in the juice of the vine ;
If others go wrong, as they stumble along,
Why, that is no business of mine.'
" And this is the conventional Christ's man ! This ! This !
This I This is he who hath heard the call of the Master !
He of the thorn-crown ! He of the wounded hands and
side ! And as the gentle Jesus moves on with bleeding
feet, trampling over mountains, bleak and bare, to seek and
save the lost, with an anxious love that surges to a heart-
break, He says to the Christian, ' Follow Me.' and this is
the way he does it!"
The influence of the sermor was immense. Not a soul
present but what was stirred to its very depths, and
doubtless h&d he so desired, Mr. Hallowes might then and
THE RED, RED WINE.
369
the»e have gained many of those present as soldiers in the
Holy War. But he had another plan. He was not content
witli the possibility of gaining one or two where he might
haply gain all, and powerful as his morning's discourse bad
been, he had reserved himself for a supremer effort,
and a more direct appeal, at night. Aaron Brigham was m
ecstacies.
"Thet's preaching noo," said he, "naebody can slink
away an spy 'at it was t' thing for 'is next deear naybour.
There's nae misteeake aboot it, hit ivery yan o' us, and it's
boond te deea good.
■4
i
I
1
CHAPTER XL.
BUT how shall I describe tlie evening sermon ? Tt was
a veritable masterpiece, and had a powerful influence
for good, because the preacher put his soul into his
words.
He took for his ten he twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth
verses of Mark nine, aiiu graphically described the scene at
the foot of Mount Her m on, the gathered crowd, the demon-
tormented boy, the distracted father, and the baffled
disciples. Up on the hill top the favoured three were
witnessing the glcry of the Master, and Peter, like many a
Christian of to-day, felt that it was good to be there, though
all the time in the vale below, devils were playing their lawless
pranks without restraint. " Too many Christians," said the
preacher, " are content to be on the mountain alone with
God, while the world, of which they are the salt, goes on its
unimpeded way to corruption.
" Down the mountain side comes the Saviour, but what a
humiliating and heart-breaking picture it was that met His
sight. A scene of triumphant infidelity and defeated truth ;
a picture, more shame to us who bear His name, painted in
standing and staring colours all around us at this present
day ! British youth, writhing and pining under the spell of
legions of djstroying devils, a grief-stricken army of
despairing fat ers, heart-broken mothers, and shame-smitten
friends appealing to the Christian forces of the church to
' Cafet them out ' — and we cannot ! An atheistic unbelief
laughs aloud, and the laughter is echoed from an exultant
hell." '
i
THE RED, RED WINE.
27 T
Then in loving, sympathetic words he described how the
Man of Sorrow vanquished the devil in the boy, and
presented him a living soul once again to his father.
" There may be many demons," continued the preacher,
" but surely the chief of them all is the demon Drink, and
truly the description here given applies to him in every way.
He was a 'foul spirit.' That by common consent is a
description of the drink fiend as it wrecks and ruins the
lives of those of whom it has become possessed. How a
• foul spirit * in one case can be an angel of light in another
is beyond my ken.
"It was a 'dumb' spirit; and is not this? It is secret,
silent, insiduous in its approach upon its victim, who hears
no warning, detects no narm. The rattle-snake springs its
rattle ere it curves to strike ; but all unknown, unnoted, the
dumb devil creeps amid family socialities, friendly gatherings,
and public festivities — secret and silent as the grave it
designs to fill. The victim becomes dumb too, and
indulges his new-found craving in the silence of secrecy.
" Deaf it was ; and is not this deaf? Never an ear has it
for the cries and pleadings of the reluctant victim, or the
tears of the wife, the mother, the child. The piteous cry,
• Come home ! ' only wakes the vacuous laughter of the
bar-room ; for all are deaf, stone deaf, and reason,
friendship, pity, anger, law, and even love, shall speak in
vain to the deaf, dumb devil of Strong Drink !
" ' Wheresoever he taketh him.' The victim is at his
power ; every succeeding step is downward, and at every
step the subtle coils are tightening round the victim of the
demon Drink. There * may be ' sufficient resistance to
snap the damning spell. But will you risk the
your lad on that fine-spun thread of ' may be,'
open gulf of a likelier * shall be ' lies underneath
wood Hayes hung his head, and a tear-drop gliste
eye. Just what had he done — he knew it,— and
272
THE RED, RED WINE.
had broken. Enticement first, and then compulsion. The
devil taketh him and hurries him down the fatal steeps,
though the victim knows that the dead are there, and his
feet* take hold on hell.
" * Dasheth him down ' : the sight is too common ;
'foameth, gnasheth, grindeth his teeth': not half strong
enough, a picture of delirium ; and then * he pineth away ' —
for when the fierce, unholy stimulus is away, there
is collapse, the nerveless, quaking limb, the devious
step, the hesitating foot, the face all blotched or
sallow.
"Again, 'How long ago is it since this came to him?'
' Of a child.' I have seen a mother give it to her babe,
and the bright young folk around the dinner table have
become acquainted with it there." And again Norwood
Hayes groaned in spirit, for that was where Cuthbert had
first learnt to drink — from his father's glass.
" It hath cast him into the fire or water. Is not that
true to life? How many accidents have you had in
Netherborough that you cannot trace to drink ? Few, I
am certain, though I do not know the town.
" Now, look for a moment at this haggard father, whose
cheeks are blistered with a ceaseless rain of tears. The
foul spirit did that, too, and if you and I could go to that
home from whence the lad had come, we should see a
home circle blasted by that one master sorrow. I'll match
it and surpass it in a thousand English homes to-night ;
ay, and in not a few in Netherborough. * Have com-
passion on us.' Us, do you hear. When the devil struck
that lad, he struck the father a heavier blow ! Said a mother
to me when I asked to see her husband, all ignorant of what
had fallen on them, ' He's ill in bed, and so is Hannah,
and I'm as ill as they. O sir, our boy, our boy !' and she
burst into a passion of tears. ' Our boy,* as she called him,
was in gaol on a charge of manslaughter, committed in a
"^ !l
THE RED, RED WINL.
273
J
drunken brawl. True, ' he dasheth him down,' and dasheth
down innocent others in agony and shame."
Norwood Hayes felt that he answered to all of Mr.
Hallowes' description, save and except that he was hirr,self
not innocent. The preacher continued :
"•Come out of him,' said Jesus, 'enter no more into
him,' and out he came. There was no moderate treatment
of the foul spirit here, though the command meant a mighty
tussle for the bo) . He did not say, ' Come partially out ;
nor yet, 'Take up less room ;' nor yet * Restrain yourself a
little.' He said, ' Come out.' He didn't say, ' Come back
occasionally,' ' Visit him on birthdays and social re-unions,
and public festivals.' No, He said, ' Enter no more into
him.' That was a teetotal deliverance, and when you have
foul spirits to deal with, that is the only prescription that
meets the case.
" I have spoken of the attitude of the Christian Church
upon this subject. It will bear further study. Here in
England the Church stands in the presence of this Demon
Drink, and philanthropy, policy, patriotism, and humanity,
ay, and the very victims themselves, cry aloud to Christianity
to * Cast him out.' We declare ourselves the representatives
of Jesus. Indeed we are a good deal jealous of any rivals
in the field, and yet the cry comes to us and we are forced
to own our inability. We cannot cast him out. Why?
"'This kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.'
Here is the reason. Our prayer is a myth. Forms of words
are not prayer whether formal or extempore. Prayer is
labour, and how many of us labour to cast him out ?
Fasting is denying, fasting is self-sacrifice, fasting means
giving up for Christ and the giving up for others. Alcohol
beats the churches, because the churches are in league with
alcohol, and till we expel him from the land he curses and
defiles, we cannot cast him out."
Then followed £^n impassioned personal appeal. To
|8
I I
274
THE RED, RED WINE.
those that were strong for the sake of others, to those that
were weak for their own. " Some, I am sure, within these
four walls are in danger, more firmly in the drink fiend's
grasp than even you know. May not my voice to-night be as
a message from Christ Himself to save you from a downfall
such as appals the very thoughts ?" He finished with an
appeal to the young, and then stepping to the Communion-
table, he laid his private pledge-book on it.
"Who is on the Lord's side?" said he. "Let him here
and now enroll himself a soldier of the Christ — the enemy
of the devil, and that grimmest of all devils, strong drink."
A moment's pause, and then J^orwood Hayes stepped
forward, signed his name with a strong, firm hand, and
turning to the congregation, he said with broken voice and
bowed head :
"I have been wrong. May God forgive me."
Dear old Aaron was bound to say, " Praise the Lord !'
and even Netherborough nonconformity was, for that
occasion only, too much wrought up to be shocked.
Norwood Hayes was instantly followed by his son-in-law,
Walter Bardsley. Mr. Hayes had taken his seat again. He
looked on for a moment in strong surprise, and then bowing
his head in his hands, he prayed for the young man to whom
he had given his well-loved daughter. Prayed that he
might be saved from the fate that had overtaken Cuthbert,
and through his doing.
" Father, help me," said Walter, as he touched him and
passed on. And every word went like a dagger to his
father's heart.
Full fifty pledges were taken at the table, and so ended
the day in which fair temperance first found her place in
that sanctuary of God.
As a natural result of this splendid Temperance revival,
a unanimous call was given to Edwin Hallowes to the
pastorate of Netherborough Congregational Church. The
*■■ '"i. .■
THE RED, RED WINE.
275
young Temperance evangelist had learnt something of the
state of Netherborough, and felt that there was a big work
to be done ; therefore, though he had not up to then taken
the idea of a settled pastorate into consideration, he felt
that the call was the ordering of God's providence, and
under the circumstances he decided to accept it, much to
the delight of Jennie Bardsley, old Aaron Brigham, and
Walter. To the two first it was an evidence of increased
spiritual vitality ; to the last it was as the olive branch of
hope, for it is wonderful how our weak human nature, when
worsted in a fight, looks for and gains help from the stalwart
fibre of a manly mind.
CHAPTER XLI.
EDWIN HALLOWES made it a sine qua non of his
acceptance of the pastorate, however, that he should
have an absolutely "free hand" in Temperance matters,
and this, though it was objected to by one or two, on the
grounds that his "rabid" Temperance opinions might offend
some of the members, was eventually conceded. It is need-
less to say that those who objected, objected solely for the
sake of others, at least they said so. Of course the matter,
whichever way it was decided, would not affect them. This
is the general plan of the carpers, and the moral drags on
the advancing wheels of the Gospel, their objections are
invariably made on behalf of some third persons, who rarely,
if ever, put in their appearance.
The first use Edwin Hallowes made of his powers was to
abolish fermented wine, once and for ever, from the Lord's
table, substituting in its place the pure, unfermented juice
of the grape, which there is no question was the beverage in
which the first communion was celebrated. Norwood
Hayes made no objection whatever to the change. The
soul-sickening object lesson which poor Tom Smart had
given him, had altogether indisposed him for such a course
of proceeding. But in spite of Tom Smart's sad fall, there
were one or two who covertly resented the change. One
in particular thought that the unfermented grape-juice was
by no means so palatable as the wine. When the new
pastor heard of this, he was, naturally, somewhat disgusted
that any so-called Christian should balance a question of
^aste against the possibly loss of a humj^n soul. The next
THE RED, RED WINE.
277
time he met this member, he attacked him straightforwardly
about the matter, and though not given to that keen-edged
weapon, sarcasm, he felt that the occasion justified it.
" Sir," said he, "if ihe sacrament of dying love be to you
but a question of palate, would it not be advisable to
substitute cake for the piece of * y bread ? It would doubt-
less be far pleasanter ! " To which there was no answer.
Others, badly affected by the despondent earth-spirit,
while they quite agreed that the step taken was right and
good, could, nevertheless, not refrain from looking with
misgiving upon what the financial result might be. This
spirit, paltry as it may seem, is one of the most common
with which a pastor has to contend, and one of the hardest
to overcome. Faith to believe that God can do everything,
is so strong, while faith to believe that He can^ and will, do
the very thing in question, is so lamentably weak.
Strong in the God-given sense of right, and strong in the
large influx of spiritual power which had come to the Church
with his advent, Edwin Hallowes went his onward way,
turning for his purpose neither right nor left ; for none of
these things moved him, and while, on the one hand, the
church increased in numbers and power, on the other, the
only adverse result was an absolute blessing, this was the
secession of a member of " the trade " to the Anglican fold,
the gentleman, in fact, who had found the unfermented
grape-juice unpalatable.
His next step was to re-organise the Band of Hope, for he
well knew the immense power of habit, power for good if the
habit be good, power for evil if it be evil. " As the twig is
bent the tree is inclined," and when solid wood is formed
no power in nature can bend it straight. So with man, no
power in nature can straighten a twisted character, though,
thank God, if we are but willing, Grace can and does work
the moral miracle.
But, to my thinking, Edwin Hallowes set a fashion in
278
THE RED, RED WINE.
Bands of Hope which it would have been well had we
followed it to this very day. He included all agvjs in it.
By this means he bridged the gap between youth and man-
hood, that fatal gap, in which the churches of to-day lose so
many of their best and brightest. In this he was greatly
aided by the move old Aaron Brigham had already made in
thir direction, and his new converts were straightway
marir.halled into the fighting regiment. No difficulty was
found in making these different sections coalesce, for the
instruction given to the children was equally serviceable to
the grown-up folks, and, indeed, was all the more appreciated
in that the simple, straightforward language used made
everything plain and easily understood. As for the enter-
tainments, these were grand successes, for the youngsters
enjoyed them much, all the more that they themselves
took part in them, and the oldsters were delighted to see the
young ones pleased.
Beside this the new pastor went in for aggressive temper-
ance work, finances to the contrary notwithstanding, and
with such good effect that within two years five of the
public-houses in Netherborough were driven to close their
doors. Unfortunately, though the devil was hard hit, there
was still a heavy harvest for him to reap, the outcome of the
long and busy sowing season previous.
It must not be thought, either, that this revolution took
place unhindered. "The trade" and its supporters, beer-be-
fuddled and otherwise, took good care of that. For a time
it showed an immense amount of pluck and strength of
character for any of the farm hands or small tradesmen to
side boldly with the " cold water " men, and not moral pluck
only, for some of the arguments ust 1 took the form of
brick-bats and rotten eggs. One most convincing argument
on the part of the rowdies was for a time to get "gloriously
drunk,*' and then go and smash the chapel windows and the
windows of such " cold water " men as were handy. This
THE RED, RED WINE.
279
plan, however, did not always work, for when men are
"gloriously drunk" their power of discrimination is not
generally to be relied on, and on more tljan one occasion
the windows of some friends of " the trade "' were smashed
in mistake. The plan was finally put a stop to when one
individual, in the excess of his beer-given ardour went and
demolished the finest of the three stained glass windows in
the church.
By no means the least in this anti- temperance movement
were the Vicar ana Dr. Medway. Thank God the drunken
clergyman is now a thing of the past ; would that I could
say the same of the non-abstaining parson, and the drunken
medico is a rara avis. Here let me dismiss these two.
They are not important characters, and my story runs on
without them.
Within the two years I have mentioned. Dr. Medway was
one morning found dead in his bed. The usual inquest was
held ; the verdict on this occas'.on was " Death from
apoplexy." The medical men know more on such subjects
than I do, and it may have been strictly true, and yet for all
that it was a lie. Any of those now living in his native
town who knew him when they were youngsters will give
you a truer verdict, " Drank himself to death." That is the
unvarnished truth, medical testimony and the jury's verdict
to the contrary notwithstanding. He was put to bed dead
drunk. In the morning he was not drunk, but he was dead.
The vicar was killed in the hunting field through his
horse falling on him. In this instance the catastrophe
did not happen through the immediate agency of drink.
Whether the accident would have occurred had his hand
not been unsteadied by constant drinking I cannot say ; he
was, however, certainly not under the influence of liquor at
the time.
Singular to relate, Edwin Hallowes' right hand man in all
the work hg undertook was a woman — Jennie Bardsley, of
»l,
'I
t
28o
THE RED, RED WINE.
course. Her heart and soul was in the fight against that
arch-traitor that had already robhed her of her lover and
her nearer relatives, and which was not yet satiated, but
demanded another, though she knew it not.
Kitty Smart was now living with her. After her father's
death, it had been arranged between her and Norwood
Hayes that the little mother and " the chilther " should be
saved from the unjust and unlawful ignominy of the work-
house. It had seemed to both of them that they, as
members of the Congregational Church, were, in great
measure, responsible for the children's double orphanhood,
and so it was decided, much to Kitty's delight, that she
should take up her quarters with Miss Bardsley, in order
that she might be thoroughly trained in the art and mystery
of domestic affairs. Nor was much difficulty experienced
in persuading kindly Mrs. Consett to undertake for the
other children till such time as they could be launched
on the world on their own account, their maintenance
during that period being guaranteed by Norwood
Hayes.
One would surely think that after all the varied ex-
periences that Norwood Hayes had had of the power and
curse of drink, it would not have been difficult for him to
have kept the pledge he had taken under such strong
emotion. Still another witness had been added to the
testimony against the drink, for his wife, the mother of
Cuthbert and Alice, had just died, a maudlin drink-made
idiot. She, too, might have been saved had Norwood
Hayes, from the outset of their married lives, despised the
strength that was in him, and not the weakness that was in
her.
The last years of her life were a misery to herself and
everybody else who had aught to do with her, and there are
hundreds of folk in like case to-day. Our asylums are
largely filled with self-made cases of insanity, but there are
. .kC^^-^.i;k-i
''^.■iAtkk'r..
,fS«.
THE RKD, RED WINE.
381
twice as many who, outside their friendly walls, only act
the part of skeleton in some family or household.
Besides this, Cuthberl was under restraint. True, there
wac a hope that the drink habit might eventually be broken,
and he be restored to sanity and his friends, but if so, surely
this was all the more reason that Norwood Hayes should
observe his vow with all the more rigid austerity. But ever
since the days of Paul, ay, and before his time, it has been
hard for us to kick against the pricks. Fortunate for
Norwood Hayes was it that the goad was in the hands of
God, but for that he must have fallen in spite of his better
Mature and determination.
f
CHAPTER XLII.
THE culminating point in the history of Netherborough
had arrived.
After much delay and no little anxiety on the part of the
promoters, the new railway, which was confidently expected
to work such wonders, was at last completed. York at
length was in communication with Netherborough, and so
its position as the leading town of the shire was secured to
it for a further span, and the possibility of a career of
unimagined splendour was thus opened up to ancient
Eboracum.
Important as had been the inception of the design and
the tnrning of the first sod, the actual completion of the
undertaking was so much more important an event that the
Netherburghers were at their wit's-end to devise a fitting
commemoration that should proportionately outmatch the
initial ceremony, and do full justice to this far more
auspicious occasion. The pyrotechnic skill of Brook or
Pain had not then been heard of, or doubtless something
astounding in the way of novel fireworks would have been
forthcoming. As it was, the Netherburghers had to be
content with a tnr-barrel.
In one especial point did this celebration differ from the
previous one. On the urgent advice of Norwood Hayes,
the free and festive beer-barrel was omitted from the
programme ; this, in he eyes of a few droughty souls, made
the second ceremony far less imposing than the first, but it
was certainly far better for everybody concerned. It was
through Mr. Hayes, too, that the principal actors in the
THE RED, RED WINE.
283
I i
*
scene partook of luncheon, instead of an evening banquet.
Mr. Hayes hoped by this means to avoid a train of ghastly
incidents similar to those that had occurred on the previous
occasion.
Of course Huddlestone, the railway king, played the
most prominent part in the proceedings, and as a set-off to
the absence of free beer, as many of the inhabitants as cared
to avail themselves of the privilege, were given a free ride
to the neighbouring town of Brocklesbank and back. The
more highly favoured travelling in the same train as the
railway king.
Among the rest, old Aaron Bi igham, in the character of
the " oldest inhabitant," received special honours. He was
introduced to Mr. Huddlestone himself, and after much
persuasion he was induced to perform the iqitial journey in
the great man's company.
Huddlestone was a genial, good-hearted fellow, and he
was greatly interested in the winsome old man, whose
quaint remarks, all the quainter perhaps in that he was by
no means sure as to what the outcome of the — to him —
dangerous experiment would be, created great amusement
among the guests.
The rate at which the t»"ain moved, some twenty miles an
hour at most, was to him something extraordinary, and when
Mr. Huddlestone at length asked him, " Well, Mr. Brigham,
and what do you think of railway travel ?" he answered in
his broad East Riding doric, " Weel, sir, it seeams te me
thet it is a reear and grand reeate te gan te hivven at, bud
it mun be a parlous bizness if t' rod lees t'other way ;" and
I doubt not that to Aaron the latter seemed the likelier
similitude of the two.
It was quite hard work to find accommodation for the
crowd that came, and the trains were kept a going merrily
to the accompaniment of the engine whistles and the
blowing-off of steam. This continued ri^-iht from the time
.l'KUtKi-jX.>7 K.' .
2^4
THfe RED, RED WiNE.
of opening, up to and during the partaking of luncheon by
the notables and chief inhabitants present.
Railway travel has a good deal altered since then, and
though at the time it was a standing wonder to the Nether-
burghers, they would be very much disgusted at the present
day if they had to make their journeys in third-class
carriages, furnished only with benches round *' sides, and
open to the sky above. The first-class carriages, too, looked
more like hybrid coaches, and differed almost as much from
the luxurious carriages of to-day as the third did.
Luncheon was provided in a big marquee, specially
provided for the occasion, and erected in the station-yard.
The chair was occupied by Mr. Huddleston, who was
supported by the Mayor of York, several directors of the
railway company, the chief of the landed proprietary,
Mr. Norwood Hayes, and many more of the prominent
inhabitants of Netherborough and Brocklesbank. Grace
was duly said, and the luncheon commenced.
Norwood Hayes, true to the pledge he had so solemnly
taken, abstained from partaking of any alcoholic liquors, of
which there was a plentiful supply, during the course of the
luncheon. He was, however, greatly perturbed in mind as
to what he should do when the toast list was reached.
There was no doubt in his inmost soul as to what was the
best and most manly thing for him to do, and perhaps the
question would not have arisen had it not been for the fact
that he had been chosen to propose " Success to the new
railway." He heartily wished now that the honour had
fallen upon somebody else, for the great majority of those
at the head table knew nothing of his change of views nor
the course of events that had led to that change, but at the
same time they knew him well, and knew above all else the
uncompromising position he adopted on the superiority of
self-restraint ; under the circumstances it would surely look
very paltry, he thought, to introduce the vexed question of
..t&.'tfh.
' i
THE RED, RED WINE.
285
V:
teetotalism on so happy an occasion as the present, for his
refusal to drink his own especial toast in wine must
inevitably do that, and he was sure nothing would be
gained by it, and he would only make himself look
ridiculous, as Walter had done before. And yet ; he had
iaken the pledge, and he was conscious that throughout the
luncheon he had been, and was, the object of the closest
scrutiny on the part of his son-in-law, Walter Bardsley. He
felt that Walter had followed his example in scrupulously
abstaining from intoxicants, and more, he felt on his present
course of action might, in all probability, rest the future ol
his son-in-law, and the happiness of his girl. Nevertheless,
under these very circumstances, struggle as he might, he
was certain that he should be worsted in the fight. The
course of his former life, the character he had sought to
establish and maintain, the good opinion of his fellow men,
that more than almost any other thing he craved, all were
driving him irresistibly to commit a wrong, whose con
sequences might reach out far away beyond the grave.
But how could h2 help himself, he asked. That was
where he made the mistake. He could not help himself
His only help must come from above.
The Chairman had already proposed the usual patriotic
and loyal toast, in as neat an'^ well-chosen terms as it was
possible to use, in dealing with that hackneyed and wayworn
subject, and the eyes of the guests, after consulting the toas:
list, were already ber'inning to fix themselves on Norwood
Hayes, and still the struggle went on within him.
Before him stood the wine-glass — empty.
" And now, ladies and gentlemen, it is my very pleasant
duty," said the Chairman, "to call .on Norwood Hayes,
Esq., to propose the toast of the occasion, * Success to the
new railway.' I am quite sure, ladies and gentlemen, you
will receive Mr. Norwood Hayes with acclamation, both on
account of his own personal merits, and on account of the
286
THE RED, RED WINE.
importance of the toast which he has to submit." And he
looked, as Norwood Hayes thought, significantly at the
empty wine-glass, as turning towards him, he called on
" Mr. Norwood Hayes."
The victory was lost and won. The very devils laughed
in anticipation of their triumph, and a quiver passed over
Walter Bardsley's face as he saw Norwood Hayes rise, reach
for a bottle of wine that stood handy — it was only claret,
and prepare to fill the glass that stood before him.
"Surely not in claret, Mr. Hayes," said the chairman.
"Some more generous wine than that is befitting the
occasion."
But neither in claret nor in any other wine was that toast
destined to be drunk that day.
Just at the moment when Norwood Hayes stood with the
claret bottle poised in his hand, half undecided as to
whether he might not just as well be " hung for a sheep as a
lamb ;" just as Walter Bardsley had realised that one of his
most needed props, a man of self-control, was giving way
before his very eyes ; just as the assembled company were
preparing to do full justice to the noteworthy toast that was
about to be proposed ; just then the proceedings were
brought to an abrupt and unlooked-for termination.
Norwood Hayes was saved from breaking his vow, saved
from yielding, in ictual demonstration, to the devil, not by
his vaunted self-control, that was conspicuous, if ever any-
thing was, by its absence, but by a chance ! a hap ! a circum-
stance ! In spite of the bitter teaching he had already
received, the lesson was not yet thoroughly learnt. Another
awful manifestation of the drink-fiend's power was needed to
drive it home.
As he stood, a picture of weak-kneed vacillation, a cry of
such awe-inspiring horror rose frorrrthe crowd assembled
in the station-yard outside, as blanched the faces of most of
tiiOae present, some of which were already deeply flushed
THE RED, RED WINE.
287
with the volatile fumes of wine, and sent that unspeakable,
undefmable thrill of fear through the hearts of all. Some-
thing had happened.
What was it ? No one thought now of the all-important
toast that was about to be drunk. For a moment or two,
that seemed an hour long, men looked at one another as if
they would read the dreaded message in their companions'
fear-marked faces. For that length of time the decorum of
conventionality kept them in their places, and then, as no
one came to bring the desired news, they all, with one
accord, rose, deserted the festive scene, and made their way
into the open, not knowing, hardly daring to think, what
awaited them.
The first thing that met their gaze was a crowd
gathered round and about the gates at the level-crossing,
just beyond the station. On the outskirts were
women weeping hysterically, and children, hardly knowing
what had happened, stunned with the general sense of
horror.
A way was at once made for Mr. Huddlestone and those
with him, amongst whom were Norwood Hayes and Walter
Bardsley. Some of the onlookers looked half reproachfully
at the railway king, as if they would have said, " See what
your new railway has brought us !" but surely Mr. Huddle-
stone was not to blame, though I think he felt the
misfortune as much as any present.
Passing rapidly on to the lines, they were confronted with
a ghastly sight. On the down rails lay the body of a horse,
crushed and mangled into a shapeless mass, almost beyond
recognition. It lay in a pool of blood, and rails and gates
and everything around were marked and sprinkled with its
life-blood. Just beyond, a little crowd stood round a dying
or dead man, over whom a graceful girl was stooping, doin;,
her best to support him, but it was of no avail. At a glance
Walter Bardsley recognised his sister, Jennie ; another
11
>M
THK RED, RED WtNK.
glance revealed the fact that the dying man was his erring
brother, Dick.
"There's been an accident," said Mr. Muddlestone in an
undertone, as they made their way to the side of the dying
man.
" I 'bought as much, but how it has come about is more
than I ciin v'^onceive. The gates are shut, and I gave most
stringent orders that every care should be exercised. Still
it's no time to find out how it's happened. It has
happened. Do you know who the man is?" he added,
turning to Walter.
" Yes. He's my brother."
"Your brother ! And who is that with him ?"
"She is my sister."
The tone was matter of fact, but Mr. Huddlestone knew
enough of human nature to know that his young com-
panion s heart was breaking. He knew how the accident
had happened, though no one had told him. Drink, and
drink only, could have done it. How narrow the bounds
that kept him from such a state he alone knew, but his
thoughts were lujt for himself only nor chiefly. Alas, poor
Dick, and sadder still, alas, poor Jennie.
Mr. Huddlestone said nothing in reply, but Dick felt his
sympathy, perhaps all the more that he made no formal,
feelingless parade of it. Instead, he showed it. He took
charge of affairs. Sent for the doctor. Not daring to
move the injured man till he arrived. Saw that the half-
dazed station men kept back the crowd. Sent one fot
brandy and water. It was about the worst thing he could
hnve done, but nobody knew or cared to know better then,
and in any case it did no harm this time, for Dick would
never tQUch it again. The doctor happened to be sober,
but all that he could do was to tell them the sufferer was
dead.
Tenderly and reverently they bore the crushed body to
THE RED, RED WINE.
289
the house of Mr. Norwood Hayes. Death, even when his
victim is "but a drunkard," has a majesty all his own,
besides, the hearts of all the rugged town folk went out in
wondrous sympathy to the sorrowing, suffering girl that
followed on.
They did not finish the toast list that day ; did not even
re-enter the marquee, and the free trains ceased running —
there would have been no one to ride had they continued —
and so the day that was to have been the most brilliant in
the history of Netherborough, finished under the sobering
influence of the shadow of death.
In the house of Mr. Norwood Hayes the shadow settled ;
and how could it be lifted? How could the Christian
hope find an abiding place there? What think ye, ye
brothers and sisters and husbands and wives and parents,
on whose example the welfare of an immortal soul may
rest ? As surely as the blood of Abel cried to an upright
God against the manslayer Cain, so surely shall the blood
of drink's myriad victims cry out against those that have
led them to the grave, and think you that God will hold
you guiltless, you who have implanted the drink habit in
your unborn babes, or you who, standing firm yourselves on
treacherous grounds, have lured your brethren to their
deaths ? Be not deceived. God is not mocked, and where
the sin is, there will the suffering be. " Whatsoever ye sow,
that shall ye also reap."
CHAPTER XLIII.
HOW did it all happen? Walter Bardsley was right
enough. Drink, and drink only, was to blame.
Dick Bardsley had been spending th« morning at a neigh-
bouring village. He was always a welcome guest at the
wayside inn, for he could pay his way like a man, and was
good for drinks round should occasion require it. What it
was that had called him there I do not quite know, but he
had expressed his determination not to be present at the
luncheon to see his brother and his father-in-law make fools
of themselves. This was his way of describing their
refraining from alcoholic beverages, and of course he was
unaware of the noble way in which Norwood Hayes nearly,
very nearly, succeeded in making a fool of himself in good
earnest, but in a way that would have delighted Dick.
He did not miss the luncheon much, however, for there
was plenty of similar stuff to that which was provided in
the marquee to be obtained where he was, and he did
obtain it to some purpose. First with one comer and then
with another he occupied the public bar all the morning
drinking " success to the new railway," in a far more
" generous " liquor than claret.
Most of his companions stated it to be their intention to
walk into Netherborough to have a look at the trains, and
haply to dare the dangers of a ride to Brocklesbank.
Most suggested to him tha-t he should go too, and so, when
after a bit he found himself deserted, and could get no
other folk to come and drink with him, he decided he
would go and have a ride.
Unfortunately, his horse had been standing saddled and
THE RED, RED WINE.
291
bridled, or otherwise he would have had to have stayed
where he was, for he was in such a state that he could
certainly neither have saddled the horse himself, or have
walked in, and there was nobody else left in the village to
do it for him. As it was, when he had once got into the
saddle he was fairly safe, and perhaps, under ordinary cir-
cumstsnces, might have landed home all right. As it was,
he managed well enough till he got within sight of the
station at Netherborough, and then he was disgusted and
annoyed to find that those miserable, new fangled gates were
shut against him. He worked himself up into a drunken
rage at what he ev'.Jently regarded as a personal insult to
himself, vented his spleen on his horse, put him at the gate,
and leapt it just as a train from Brocklesbank was coming
into the station. The horse stumbled on the iron rails, just
recovered himself, was struck by the incoming train, and
was killed on the spot, while Dick was hurled violently back
against the gate he had just leapt, and fell, a crpsbed and
dying mass.
Jennie Bardsley, who was among the interested spectators
at the opening ceremony, and who had since been watching
the trains and their loads of laughing lads and lasses (for the
youngsters took most advantage of the free rides), witnessed
the whole accident ; and she who had lost her lover at the
turning of the first sod, had now lost her brother at the
completion of the line, and through the self-same instrumen-
tality.
Pain can be so great that it cannot be felt. So with
Jennie Bardsley — the mental anguish and horror was too
great to affect her then. Instantly she made her way to her
brother, and the crowd that had at once gathered round,
immediately gave way to her in pitying silence. Gently she
raised her brother's head and wiped his forehead with her
handkerchief. But Dick did not recognise her: he died
without a sigh.
292
THE RED, RED WINE.
At last Norwood Hayes had found out that after all his
boasted strength was the most utter and absolute weakness.
At last the lesson had been learnt ; the lesson that takes
such a lot of learning by every one of us — " When I am
weak, then am I strong." His own vacillation at the
luncheon table was a revelation to him of himself. All these
years he had thought, genuinely enough too, that he knew
somewhat of the love of God. And yet his knowledge of
the Father was but ignorance, deacon though he was, for he
had not till then got the very initial step towards a know-
ledge of God, for he did not even know himself. He had
thought himself complete master of himself. He had
thought his word as good as his bond. If there was one
thing he prided himself on it was his upright, manly, con-
sistent character. To him the plan of salvation was an
altogether excellent thing — for other people, those who
needed it. He had never entertained the thought that he
could possibly be anything but a good husband and father,
and, if the truth must be told, had looked on his wife's
affliction and his son's fall as trials altogether unmerited, but
something on a par to the trials of Job.
No man properly appreciates the life-boat till he's drown-
ing. No man thoroughly comprehends the value of the
physician till he is deadly sick, and knows it : and so no one
can realise the greatness of God till he understands his
own littleness. No one can realise the love and tender
compassion of the Christ, the Sin-bearer, till he understands
himself to be a sinner, and in peril of his life. Then, when
he sees himself unclean, and then only does he rightly value
the services of the Great Physician, and plunging unquestion-
ing into the fountain opened for all uncleanness become once
again as a little child. True is it, the first step towards
knowing God is to know ourselves.
Norwood Hayes, through the mercy of his God, had at
last attained to that knowledge. In humbleness of heart he
THE RED, RED WINE.
293
confessed his sin to his Father, in and Christ, his Saviour,
found all he needed both for time and for eternity. In his
new-found strength in weakness, he unbosomed himself first
to Jennie Bardsley, and then to Walter and his daughter
Alice, and not content with that, he also unburdened his
mind to Edwin Hallowes, the young soldier of Christ. A
change had indeed come over Norwood Hayes, the righteous,
once in his own esteem, righteous now in the righteousness
of Christ. To his pastor he expressed a desire to confess
what but for the sad death of Dick Bardsley would have been
his fall, what he himself would have was a fall as real as if
the deed had actually been consummated. But before
Edwin Hallowes would acquiesce in this design, he bade his
deacon examine himself in the presence of his God to see
that no unworthy remnants of false pride were urging him to
the deed, no earth-born desire to reinstate himseh* in his
own good graces. And Norwood Hayes accepted the ad-
monition in the brotherly spirit it was given, and having
communed with his own soul, still persisted in his
design.
Accordingly, at the close of the next Sunday evening
service, the pastor told the congregation that their deacon,
Mr. Norwood Hayes, had something he desired to say to
them, and Norwood Hayes rose, and in humble and yet
manly fashion told the whole truth, and neither hid nor
coloured anything. Told how, in his own strength, he had
fought tho battle and been routed, horse and foot, before
the legions of the devil, and, better still, told how that he at
last had truly found his Saviour, and how, in His strength,
he intended thenceforth, until his dying hour, to fight the
battle for his God.
The pastor, quick to seize an opportunity for the service
of his Master, proclaimed a prayer-meeting. Everybody
stayed. The pleasures of God's house for that night, at
any rate, eclipsed the calls of supper, and such a season of
< <
291
THE RED, RED WINE.
refresh ing followed as surpassed any in the memory of
them all.
Of course, old Aaron Brigham prayed, or rather, he
praised, and Jennie, amid sobs of mingled joy and sorrow,
and Walter Bardsley, the true Walter as we knew him
before the fatal step was taken. Even George Caffer and
Phil Lambert found it in their hearts to speak with God
before His people and many more, and as the congregation
went home that night, there was not one of them all but felt
that it had been good for them to have been there, for they
had met God face to face.
This, surely, must better be described as the culminating
point in the history of Netherborough rather than the sad,
sad opening of the new railway, for the influence of this
day's work was felt for long in the little town. Norwood
Hayes, in alliance with his God, became, indeed, a power
for good, and for a time, at any rate, the temperance move-
ment grew and prospered at an unprecedented rate.
CHAPTER XMV.
IT only remains for me to gather together the loose
threads and leave them ship-shape in case I should
ever be tempted to take them up again.
With the advent of the Rev. Edwin Hallowes and the
firm stand taken by Norwood Hayes, a new era came to
Netherborough. For a few years old Aaron Brigham par-
ticipated in the grand work done, and then quietly, like a
warrior taking his rest, he lay him down and fell on sleep.
Like Simeon, having seen the salvation of the Lord, he was
able with him to say with thankful mind, " Now lettest Thou
Thy servant uepart in peace." And peaceful, indeed, was
the passing away of the dear old patriarch's soul.
Kitty, dear little Kitty, was happy as the day was long
with Jennie Bardsley, and continued so some while after
this story concludes. But seeing, as I hinted before, that I
may possibly resume my pen, and seeing that if I do, Kitty
will be one of my chief characters, I shall refrain from
spoiling the flavour of the new story by anticipating, and so
my readers must for the present rest content with what they
know of Kitty and the ** chilther."
And so the days and weeks and months passed on, and
the tide of events flowed more evenly in their accustomed
channels, as is their wont in our villages and towns when the
current is undisturbed by the adverse influence of the drink-
spirit. As long as Edwin Hallowes remained in Nether-
borough, his power was held in check by the watchful care
of the young pastor, though it was more even than he could
do to altogether overcome his strong antagonist. Neverthe-
296
THE RED, RED WINE.
less by constantly, but not unduly, hammering away, and
more especially by reason of the care he took in training
and educating the young, a solid Temperance foundation
was laid, the results of which, unknown maybe to man,
have, I doubt not, reached down to this very day.
Norwood Hayes, strong in his new-found strength, held
loyally to his pledge, and by his earnest support of Mr.
Hallowes, did his best to retrieve the harm he had done in
the past. Indeed, had it not been for him I think that
Walter Bardsley would have fallen under the family curse.
Ab it was, he had one or two very narrow escapes, which
he felt incapacitated him from taking up the prominent
position on the public platform that he had done before the
fall, but he made up for this by the manner in which he
aided bis pastor in training the young. He had always had
a great influence with boys, and this he used to the utmost
in persuading them to join the Temperance ranks. Not
only did he find assistance in his father-in-law, but his sister
and his wife — for Alice Bardsley became as strict a
teetotaler as Jennie herself — stood by him and helped him
to maintain the tremendous fight. Nevertheless, on his
death-bed he thanked God that he had nad no children to
whom he might have bequeathed the awful love of drink.
Some two years after Cuthbert's enforced retirement, he
was discharged from the asylum cured, but Norwood Hayes
knew full well that only by the greatest care could he hope
to save his son from the influence of the drink that had so
nearly been his ruin. You may be sure that that care was
exercised. His father kept him by him and so watched
over him while he lived, that Cuthbert was thereafter able
to stand by himself, though a temptation to which his son
almost yielded came from a most unexpected quarter.
It happened that a special effort was being made to
awaken interest in foreign missions, and to this end the
Congregational Union was willing to send deputations to
THE RED, RED WINE.
297
any churches that were willing to receive them. Application
was made by the church at Netherborough, and one of
the missionaries home on furlough was sent to uphold the
mission cause in accordance with the church's wishes. As
was customary, Norwood Hayes provided a home for the
visitor, who, I am sorry to say, was one of those gentlemen
who, sincerely enough, I make no question, considered it
unsafe to travel without a flask of brandy. He also
believed that a little stimulant was a decided aid to
digestion.
After dinner, when he went to get ready hr the evening
meeting, he took the opportunity of taking a mouthful of
brandy and water. The spare bedroom was next to
Cuthbert's and it happened that the missionary had left his
room before Cuthbert was ready. When the young fellow
came to leave his room and pass the partly open door of the
visitor's bed-chamber, his attention was arrested by a slight
but characteristic odour of brandy *hat proceeded from it.
Turning, he caught sight of the flask which had un-
fortunately been left standing on the dressing table, and the
next minute, against his very will, he had entered the room.
He knew he had no right there, he knew he was most
likely going straight to his doom, and yet the smell of the
vile stuff had so aroused the latent devil in him, that he
could not help himself.
With the cunning that seems imseparable from the
drink-craving, he gently put the door to behind him, and
the next minute had the fatal brandy-flask in his possession.
Fortunately Norwood Hayes had seen him enter the room,
thinking first that he was but speaking to their visitor, but
when he heard no \oices and saw his son closing the door
behind him, he immediately suspected something was
wrong, and rapidly crossing the landing he opened the
bedroom door to see Cuthbert with the brandy flask in his
hand.
298
THE RED, RED WINE.
The young fellow started guiltily, and dropped the flask
back on the dressing table. His father affected not to see
it.
" Mr. Henson has gone downstairs. You had better go
and help him on with his coat."
Cuthbert made no remonstrance nor attempt to explain
matters. He was perfectly aware that his father understood
the situation. When he had gone downstairs, Norwood
Hayes took possession of the flask, shuddering to think of
his lad's narrow escape. Later, he found an opportunity of
returning it to its owner with apologies, and an earnest
request that he would see that it did not again get out of
his possession.
"I have ;'ood reasons for my apparently unjustifiable
conduct," he added, " which I hope you will not ask me to
give."
Mr. Henson felt half inclined to be indignant, but
somehow or other he concluded not to be. Nevertheless,
it was a great relief all round when, on the next day, he
took his departure in company with his travelling
companion.
Edwin Hallowes was not long in discovering the true
worth of his efficient co-worker, Jennie Bardsley. He was
not long, either, in deciding that Jennie was in every way
fitted to be a minister's wife. Intimately associated with
her in all manner of good work, this is not to be wondered
at. But for some time he made no open avowal of his
admiration. This was partly due to the fact that he was
fully aware of her sad history, and did not feel justified in
forcing what might prove to be unwelcome advances, and
partly because Jennie never gave him any encouragement.
After some time had elapsed, however, Edwin Hallowes
decided not to lose a prize for lack of asking, and
accordingly he put the matter straight before her from his
point of view, and offered her marriage.
THE RED, RED WINE.
«99
The young pastor was loved by all who knew him, and
Jennie felt honoured by his choice, and while she thought
that she could make him a good wife, she would not accept
him under any misapprehension. Accordingly, she insisted
on giving him a full account of her life history, and then,
after stating that though she respected him highly, and
liked him more than any other, yet she could not pretend
to the passion of love ; she left the answer to him.
Edwin Hallowes' answer was " Yes."
So they were quietly married ; and here let me say in
passing, that though they have been blessed with many
children, yet from that day to this not one drop of alcohol
has entered their house, nor have any of their children
tasted it in their lives. In this instance, therefore, was the
curse of the T3ardsleys broken.
As might well have been expected, Edwin Hallowes did
not long remain pastor of Netherborough. Our country
churches suffer from the way in which the l)igger towns
rapidly absorb the men of more than average power, not
always, indeed not often, to their advantage, and frequently
to the great injury of the churches left, for the time being,
pastorless. But though Edwin Hallowes received more
than one call, he would accept none until he could
conscientiously feel that the work he could do for
Netherborough was done. Then he felt, and felt rightly,
that a new man might be able to improve on his work, and
he was free to seek a fresh field of labour.
It was a fixed thing, however, that once a year he should
re-visit his old flock, and as he never failed to preach at
least one temperance sermon, it came to be regarded as an
annual temperance festival.
CHAPTER XLV.
MY story is for the present ended ; a story the chief
characters of which, and the main incidents, are
drawn from my own personal experience. Some of the
pictures are drawn in as strong colours as I can command,
and yet they are not half powerful enough. No tongue or
pen can depict forcibly enough the horrors of this world-
curse, and yet Christian men and women, ay, indeed, the
Christian Church as a whole, is content to "let the sleeping
dog lie." Most noble policy ! Could I but hope that I had
roused some slight interest in this question among the
churches, I should indeed be thankful. Was not Solomon
the wise right when he said, " Wine is a mocker ? " Yes,
indeed, but wine is a mocker in many more senses t^an
one.
Not only does it mock its victims by promising pleasure
and substituting pain, by promising strength and giving
weakness, by promising satisfaction and giving in its place
an insatiable craving, but it mocks the parents' hopes, the
children's cry for bread, the wife's sad yearning for fellowship
and love.
A mocker ? Yes ; it mocks our country till the beer-
guzzling, spirit-swilling Englishman becomes a byeword
among the nations, a reproach to our subject tribes, whom
we regard as uncivilised and barbarian. It promises a
tremendous revenue, and our political wise-acres and
Ijudget-jugglers believe it, or pretend they do. If our
liquor-licenses are withdrawn, where will our national
mcome and our defences be? And all the while the
I
THE RED, RED WINE.
301
"mocker" is draining our national resources by our work-
houses, our lunatic asylums, and our gaols, to say nothing
of the idle hands, hands worse than idle, the damaged
credit, and the unproductive manufactories that strong
drink provides — galore. And even if it were not so, better
far for us to be defenceless than to be defended by the
devil ; better be without an income than derive it from a
traffic in the souls and bodies of our fellow-men. Think
you God compounds with sin for a percentage of the
profits? How then can those who call Him Father?
Wine is a mocker ! Ay, and it mocks the churches.
It discredits our professions of purity and unselfishness,
paralyses our efforts to promote sobriety and the religion of
Christ, steals our youth, decimates our membership, and,
like the waters of Lethe, it dulls the moral senses of those
who, if wide awake, would proclaim war to the knife against
this rampant foe of God-man, whose Canaanitish foot
befouls and desecrates the very soil of Zion, the so-called
holy city of our God. Will the churches ever rise to their
high calling in Christ Jesus? Will they ever break away
from the trammels that at present bind them hand and
foot?
It mocks the earnest worker who, like his Lord and
Master, would seek and save the lost. His prayers and
pains, his toil and sacrifice, are worse than useless.
Impressions are made for good; repentance is evident;
reform begins ; and on his knees the toiler of mercy thanks
God, and takes courage. Then comes the ''mocker" —
" moving himself aright," and swift as thought draws the
half-rescued slave away, to sell body and soul and birth-righi
for a mess of liquor.
O, alcohol, child of the devil, when will the churches,
whose very first and foremost business it ought to be, arise
in the strength of the holy Nazarene, and drive thee from
the land ?
'
302 THE RED, RED WINE.
**Oh, you who can speak, is a subject your guest ?
Here's one rings its pathos from orphans distressed,
From hearts that are breaking while beer-glasses clink.
With eloquence plead then — ' Down, down with the drink !'
"Oh, you who can write, for a theme do you seek ?
Here's one upon which tongue and pen may both speak,
With hundreds of thousands on jeopardy's brink,
Write, in letters of fire — * Down, down with the drink \'
" Down with the shame of it !
All bear the blame of it.
Who's not the worse of it?
Knows not the curse of it?
Your hearts all on fire
With holiest ire,
Cry louder and higher,
• Down, down with the drink !**
i
xi.:^:i
CANAD IAN COPYRIGHT EDITIO N OF
THE POPUL AR S TORIE S OP
ANNIE §. SWAN.
A BITTER DEBT. A Tale of the Black Countiy- •
THE 0ATE3 OF EDEN. A Story of Endeavor. ....
ST. VEDA'S ; or, THE PEARL OF ORR'S HAVEN. • • -
SHEILA.
BRIAR AND PALM. A Study of Circumstances and InfluenoeB.
MAITLAND OF LAURIESTON.
AYRES OF STUDLEIOH.
WHO SHALL SERVE"
THE GUINEA STAMP. A Tale of Modern Glasgow. •
A LOST IDEAL.
ELIZABETH OLEN, M.B.
• 1.25
1.00
1.00
l.UO
1.00
1.00
l.OO
l.OO
1.00
1.00
1.00
75 Centii.
CARLOWRIE; or, AMONQ LOTHIAN
FOLK.
A VEXED INHERITANCE.
60 Cents.
ALDERSTDE. A Border Story of
Seventy Years Ago.
COURTSHIP AND BIARRIAQE. AND
THE GENX'LE ART OF HOME-
MAKINQ.
A FOOLISH MARRIAGE. A Story of
Edinburgh Student-Life.
50 Cents.
DORIS CEEYNE. A Story of a
Noble Life.
HAZELL ft SONS, EREWERS.
WRONGS RIGHTED.
TWICE TRIED.
AIRLIE'S MISSION, 35 Cents.
50 Cents.
SHADOWED LIVES.
SECRET PANEL.
MISTAKEN, & MARION FORSYTH.
THOMAS DRYBURGH'S DREAM, ft
MISS BAXTER'S BEQUEST.
SUNDERED HEARTS.
ROBERT MARTIN'S LESSON.
ACROSS HER PATH.
DOROTHEA KIRKE ; or, FREE TO
SERVE.
A DIVIDED HOUSE : A STUDY FROM
LIFE.
URSULA VIVIAN, THE SISTER-
MOTHER.
A BACHELOR IN SEARCH OF A
WIFE, AND ROGER MAR-
CHAM'S WARD.
FOR SALE BY ALL B00K8ELLE1IS.
WILLIAM BRIGGS,
Publisher,
29-33 Richmond St. West ... - J^orOlltO.
^1
t
"^.
j^-'*-
SO!ftE RECEHT \SSV\ES.
;■*
'r
:#
".
A Veteran of 1812. By Mary Agnes FitzOil)lx)ti
Oape Breton, Historic, Picturesque and Descriptive.
By John M. Ciow
Birds of Ontario. By Thomas Mcllwraith
Pearls and Pebbles ; or, Notes of an Old Naturalist.
By Mrs. Cathaiine Parr Traill With Biograpliical
Sketch by Mary Agnes Kitz( !ibl)on
The Life and Times of Major-General Sir Isaac
Brock. By I). B. Read, Q.C
The History of British Columbia. From its Earliest
Discovery to the Present Time. By i* lexander Begg.
China and its People. By W. H. Withrow, D.I)
The Native Races of North America. By W. H.
Withrow, D.D
Japan, the Land of the Morning. By Rev. J. W.
Saunby , B. A
Motley: Verses Grave and Gay. By ,). W. Bengough.
Illustrated by the Author
Forest, Lake and Prairie ; Twenty Years of Frontier
Life in Western Canada — l!S42-(i'2. By Rev. John
McDougall
The Catholic Church in the Niagara Peninsula. By
Rev. Dean Harris
Etchings from a Parsonage Veranda. By Mrs. K.
.Jetfers (iraham. Illustrated by J. W. Bengough . . .
Lion the Mastiff. By A. (i. Savigny
The Red, Red Wine. By J. Jackson Wray. Illustrated.
Old Man Savarin and Other Stories. By Edward
%\ 00
8 00
2 00
1 no
1 50
.3 GO
1 00
75
1 00
1 00
1 00
2 00
1 00
50
1 00
William Thomson I 00
•,6 ;
WILLIAM BRICiGH, Publisher,
29-33 Richmond St. West, Toronto.
Montreal : C. W. COATES. Halifax : S. F. Huestis.
/?
3 00
2 00
1
50
1
50
3
00
1
00
75
I
00
1
00
1
00
2
00
1
00
50
1
00
I 00
' -v
'J'^'^*
*"• *'
* ,* .\
4* ^<
;c^
<-*j "&. .
^*-
is
v>^
• '* " \
' 'A--
t ^i:.
, i,»
'-«'r^'
A '
.1?*
VI*'
t'''./-?
12^1