B


 
 I
 
 ELSIE MAG DON.
 
 ELSIE MAGOON 
 
 OR 
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE IN THE HOLLOW. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. FRANCES DANA GAGE. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 1867.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by 
 
 MRS. V. D. GAGE, 
 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 District of New Jersey.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 of 
 
 I COMMEND MY HUMBLE VOLUME, WITH AN EARNEST 
 
 HOPE AND PRAYER, THAT HE WHO HEARS THE 
 
 RAVEN'S CRY AND MARKS THE SPARROW'S 
 
 FALL, MAY MAKE IT, IN THEIR 
 
 HANDS, A MEANS 
 
 OF GOOD. 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 2051119
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE story of Elsie Magoon was written some 
 years ago, at the request of a friend who was strug- 
 gling to aid the cause of Temperance on the borders 
 of the Mississippi. Believing then, as now, that no 
 fiction can be wrought by the imagination equal in 
 intensity of romance to the every-day realities of 
 common life, I collected a few incidents which were 
 stored in my memory, and wove them together with 
 a thread of narrative ; adding little to the facts, but 
 changing names and localities, lest the actors, or 
 their descendants, should be recognized by their 
 neighbors, even at this late day. 
 
 In the character of Elsie Magoon, I have en- 
 deavored to portray a true woman, filling her place 
 as wife, mother, and member of society. Such wives 
 and mothers are the great need of the age. 
 
 (Tii)
 
 ELSIE M AGO ON; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER 7. 
 
 MAYBE I ain't tired ! " said Richard Magoon, 
 as he threw himself down upon the threshold 
 of his log-cabin, one of the first warm days of April, 
 fanning himself vigorously with his straw hat and 
 wiping the perspiration from his brow. 
 
 " What have you been doing?" asked his wife, who 
 sat near, nursing a beautiful babe of a year old. 
 
 " Cutting timber in the Narrows." 
 
 " I thought you had cleared all the land you wished 
 to plant this year." 
 
 " So I have ; but I wanted some building-timber." 
 
 " Building-timber ! Now the barn and wood-shed, 
 the poultry-houses, and sheep-fold are built, you ought 
 to rest one season." 
 
 " I know ; but I am in debt. When I borrowed 
 that five hundred dollars of your step-father, I ex- 
 pected that I should have paid it off before this time ; 
 but I find that a debt is like a snow-ball, gathers as 
 it goes," and Richard cast his eye at the huge piles 
 
 (9)
 
 10 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 of snow that lay down in the yard ; slowly melting 
 beneath a spring sun. 
 
 "Yes, like a snow-ball it gathers," replied the wife, 
 " and like a snow-ball our means will melt away, and 
 leave us nothing, I'm afraid, by-and-by, to show for 
 all our years of privation and care." 
 
 "That's a fact, Elsie," and Richard sprang ner- 
 vously from his reclining posture, and fanned himself 
 more vigorously, " that 's a fact, and if I don't go 
 at something better than I 've been doing these years 
 past, I may as well quit, for I don't make the two ends 
 of the year meet, nohow." 
 
 " Oh ! you must not get discouraged, Richard. You 
 know we have got a great many things done that won't 
 be to do over again clearing and fencing, and put- 
 ting out the orchard, and building. The orchard is 
 beginning to bear; you have some nice stock coming 
 on; a fine flock of sheep ; and four colts that will soon 
 be fit for market, besides the old horses ; and such nice 
 fat hogs ! I am sure, Richard, you can begin to pay 
 something this fall, if you don't go to building any 
 more, to take " 
 
 " That's just what I want to build for, to help my- 
 self out of this fix ! I 've a thousand bushels of corn 
 on hand. Every neighbor has more than he can sell, 
 and it's all going to waste for want of a market. Old 
 Deacon Hill was along last week, and has been "ad vis- 
 ing me to build a 'Still-house/ and go to making 
 whiskey. We can't take the corn down the river, 
 and there's no sale here; but we can sell all the 
 whiskey we can make, at a good profit ; besides, the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 11 
 
 slop will fat my hogs ; and so I can turn my farm and 
 labor into cash quicker, than in any other way. I 
 just made up my mind I'd do it, and we've got the 
 logs nearly all ready." 
 
 "Oh, Eichard! I wouldn't. A < Still-house ' is 
 always a dreadful thing in a neighborhood. Don't 
 you remember " 
 
 " It 'a no use talking, Elsie ! I must do that, or 
 worse. That debt has got to be paid, and I never can 
 do it by raising corn at ten cents a bushel, or feeding 
 pork for a cent-and-a-half a pound ; and that 's the 
 best I can do. Besides, T don't see what objection you 
 can have to a ( Still-house.' I shall see to it myself, 
 and keep it straight." 
 
 "Well, I don't know, Richard; you think so now, 
 but somehow, well, I don't know. But it seems 
 to me I would n't try it." She paused, as if she dared 
 not put into words the fear that fell upon her. 
 
 Poor Elsie Magoon ! how her pale cheek grew 
 paler, there in the moonlight, as she looked down 
 upon the noble form of her husband. Shadows wild 
 and fearful flitted before her shadows that made her 
 blood chill, and prompted her to press her babe closer 
 to her heart, shadows that made her tongue stammer, 
 and the thoughts to come and go, struggling for utter- 
 ance, and yet not to be spoken. 
 
 " Well, it 's no use arguing the matter. I see no 
 other chance to get out of a bad scrape. I have made 
 my bargain with Wright to do the coopering work, 
 and with Thompson to build the chimneys, and with 
 Samson to come and Bet it in operation, and do the
 
 12 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 millwright work for a horse-mill ; and it is to be com- 
 pleted by the fourth of July. I bought Crane's mill- 
 works, over on the creek. He was n't able to rebuild 
 his dam, after the fall rains washed it out. So I 've 
 nothing to do but put up the building and move over 
 the machinery and set it a-going ; and I want you to 
 get ready for a raising a week from to-morrow; it 
 will be a heavy job." 
 
 " Oh, Richard ! why did you not tell me about it 
 before you went so far?" 
 
 " Because I was determined to do it ; for, live this 
 way, pinched to death for means to get along, and 
 never having the satisfaction of saying, 1 1 owe no 
 man anything,' I won't ; so there 's ' the word with 
 the bark on';" and Richard rose with a bound, went 
 down to the gate, and with a loud voice called in his 
 sheep to the fold. 
 
 There were few finer-looking men in the land than 
 Richard Magoon. He was not what the novelist 
 would call a " handsome man," but his was a noble 
 splendor that attracted one more than beauty. Six 
 feet two inches he stood among men ; finely propor- 
 tioned, and full of athletic vigor. His face was florid, 
 yet free from freckles ; his eye of the kindliest gray, 
 his hair a dark brown, soft, curly, and brilliant as a 
 woman's ; his voice full and rich, yet sweet and sooth- 
 ing ; and a truer or kinder heart than Richard Ma- 
 goon's, never throbbed beneath a blue hunting-shirt 
 of a good-wife's spinning. While he leads his flock of 
 forty fat sheep to the ample log-fold, we will tell you 
 of Elsie, his wife, the heroine of our tale of the past.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 13 
 
 We have called her beautiful, and beautiful she 
 was, with her brilliant complexion, her deep blue 
 eyes, and flowing, auburn locks, and the radiance 
 of a loving soul, flooding every feature. 
 
 But it was not the beauty of Elsie Magoon, it 
 was her native good sense, her high morality, her 
 untiring patience and courage, which made her the 
 "bright, particular star" of the neighborhood; the 
 one sought after in all emergencies, for advice and 
 counsel, for aid and comfort, by the wives and mothers 
 whose fate had been cast, like hers, amid the trials and 
 privations of frontier life. 
 
 Both the farmer and his wife were natives of Massa- 
 chusetts, and had brought with them to their new 
 home the sterling virtues and indomitable force of 
 will and character, native to the air of their beloved 
 State. They were called "educated" people in those 
 times that is, they possessed a good knowledge of 
 the common English branches taught in the rude 
 school-houses which then dotted the hillsides and hol- 
 lows of New England ; and in which the stimulus of 
 birch generously supplied any deficiency in the mental 
 appetite; they used their mother-tongue without the 
 vulgarisms of phrase and pronunciation which so 
 often render the Yankee dialect in the mouth of the 
 untaught native, ludicrous to "ears polite." 
 
 The cabin of the Magoons, made of rough logs, 
 stood upon the banks of a beautiful stream in the 
 interior of Ohio, called by the aborigines " Wahoo." 
 It wound through a wide valley hemmed in on 
 either side by hills, having a rich soil, and a not 
 2
 
 14 ELSIE MAG ON; OK, 
 
 inhospitable climate. After the first settlement was 
 made, emigration began to pour rapidly in upon the 
 new colony, and the sound of the axe and the mill 
 grew every day more frightful to the timid denizens 
 of the forest, who had hitherto held undisputed sway 
 of its fastnesses and solitudes, except as the Indian 
 hunter now and then intruded upon them with the 
 twang of his bow, or the crack of his rifle. 
 
 Richard Magoon was twenty-eight years of age 
 his wife but twenty-four. They had taken the advice 
 of Dr. Franklin, and married early he at twenty- 
 one; she, in the girlish days of seventeen. Seven 
 years they had been toiling together on their farm. 
 The " old man," of whom the money was loaned, was 
 Elsie's step-father ; and the money thus loaned to the 
 husband of his dead wife's child, was money that had 
 belonged to the mother, the gift of her kind old 
 grandfather, but which had become the step-father's 
 by marriage ; and thus the money which the mother 
 would have given to her only daughter, and w r hich 
 could have been spared from the rich man's purse 
 and not have been missed, was only lent, at heavy 
 interest, to her husband, through the mother's earnest 
 intercession. Now that the mother was gone, the self- 
 ish man added interest to interest, making the burden 
 of his wife's children heavy and oppressive. 
 
 Elsie watched the receding form of her noble hus- 
 band till it was lost to her in the obscurity of the 
 night. Then, slowly rising from her chair, with a 
 deep sigh, she laid her sleeping babe in the rude 
 cradle, and, stooping over it, left a kiss upon its fair
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 15 
 
 brow, as she breathed forth a mother's anxious solici- 
 tude in the words, " God help thee, my poor child ! " 
 Why she spoke thus she could not tell ; or wherefore 
 the deep foreboding that had so suddenly shrouded 
 her spirit in gloom. 
 
 " Oh ! it is hard," said Elsie, as she turned away 
 from the cradle to light a candle from a glowing coal 
 upon the hearth; "hard to think that my mother 
 should toil as she did, thirty years in that house, that 
 was all hers, when he came there; that the money 
 grandfather meant for her children should become his. 
 Hard, that money, home, labor, all are now his, and 
 we must be so oppressed ; when, if she had owned any- 
 thing, or been anything but a slave, she would freely 
 have given me, her only child, this little portion. 
 Now, it will all go home, and all to his haughty 
 relatives. Well ! it can't be helped. But it seems to 
 me it 's very wrong." 
 
 Elsie picked up a coal with the tongs, blew it into 
 a blaze, and lighted her candle. Just then Richard 
 came in. Seeing her troubled look, and the tears 
 struggling in her lustrous eyes, he stepped up to her, 
 looking tenderly in her face, and said, " Don't be trou- 
 bled, Elsie ; all shall go right for your sake." 
 
 And the two sat down by their home-table, to chat 
 away the evening hour. For they obeyed the injunc- 
 tion of St. Paul ; he loved his wife even as himself; 
 and she " reverenced " her husband. Their days were 
 given to necessary toil, but their evenings to each 
 other.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 soft, clear April-weather, that had set the 
 J- bluebirds twittering, and brought out the violets 
 and anemones by the brook-side, and the sweat-drops 
 upon the brow of Richard Magoon, at the commence- 
 ment of our story, had passed away, ere the day came 
 for the raising of the " Still-house ; " and in its place 
 were cold, scowling skies, and bitter frost, covering 
 the earth with frozen sleet and snow. 
 
 " Had you not better put it off, Richard, for a few 
 days ? " asked Elsie, as she looked out at the cheerless 
 prospect. 
 
 "JSo; I could not send round word now; and half 
 of them would be here, in spite of my efforts, if I were 
 to try. Besides, Stillman raises his barn next Satur- 
 day, and the farmers are too busy to lose more than 
 one day in a week. It 's a bad day, and no mistake ; 
 but I must put up with it; there's no help for it 
 now." 
 
 " Where is Joe going with the horses ? " 
 
 " Down to the Ford," said Richard, looking every 
 way but at his wife, and working at his teeth ear- 
 nestly with a splinter. 
 
 " What for ? " asked Elsie, in a troubled voice. 
 
 Richard did not answer. At that moment Joe 
 emerged from the shed, with a keg that might have 
 
 held five gallons, and placed it in the wagon. 
 
 (16)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 17 
 
 " Richard," said Elsie, with a firm voice, laying her 
 hand impressively upon his shoulder, " don't do that. 
 It 's a cold day, and if you get whiskey among those 
 men, there will be trouble. You know what Truman, 
 and Smith, and Sheldon are. Why will you yield to 
 what you know is wrong, and run the risk of having 
 your own work spoiled, and perhaps somebody killed 
 or maimed for life. Oh ! it is terrible to give whiskey 
 to these men at raisings, it always " 
 
 "Well, Elsie, it's no use talking now. You've 
 opposed me from the first, every step I've taken. 
 I've trouble enough without so much opposition 
 from you. You know the men won't work without 
 whiskey, and it would be a great idea for me to ask 
 them here to help build a ( Still-house,' and then go 
 to preaching about their letting whiskey alone ! " 
 
 When one step toward wrong is taken, we must 
 either retrace it, or take the next. To stand still is 
 seldom possible. Richard had determine^ on doing 
 what his own conscience condemned, and he could not 
 bear that Elsie should prick his sensitiveness to the 
 quick, with truths against which he had no argument. 
 Elsie turned away with a sad heart. He had never 
 spoken so unkindly to her before. "She had opposed 
 him from the first." So she had. How could she do 
 otherwise, when she felt that only evil could come of 
 his plan ? And yet she must seem to acquiesce ; or, 
 at least learn to keep silence, and let the wrong go on, 
 lest she should arouse within her own household a 
 spirit of antagonism that would turn all the sweet 
 waters of life into bitterness. So with her customary 
 '2*
 
 18 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 light step, but a heavy heart, she turned to her work. 
 According to the usual customs on such occasions, 
 Elsie had asked the assistance of the wives of several 
 of her nearest neighbors in preparing the dinner and 
 supper, for the husbands who were to take part in 
 " the raising." And, as Richard turned to leave the 
 house, Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Sheldon appeared, and 
 received a neighborly welcome. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Sheldon Good morning, 
 Mrs. Smith. This is a disagreeable morning for you 
 to turn out. I hardly expected either of you. I 'm 
 sure I ought to be obliged to you for coming over." 
 
 " Well, you need n't be much obleeged to me, no- 
 how," said Mrs. Smith, a little, dapper woman, in a 
 home-made, butternut-colored linsey dress, and clean 
 blue-and-white checked apron of her own spinning. 
 "You may just thank my old man, for I'd never 
 come anigh to help raise a ' Still-house,' if he had n't 
 a-said I should. But he promised he 'd take me down 
 to the Ford next week, and let me sell my dried' 
 apples, and git some things for myself. You know 
 Judge Bryant let me dry all the windfalls me and the 
 children could tote, last fall ; and I 've kep' them all 
 winter, just 'cause I couldn't git to go down. He 
 says Miller is giving three-quarters of a dollar a 
 bushel now for real good ones; and I know there 
 ain't none better than mine." 
 
 " Why did n't you let Tom Gifford take 'em in the 
 fall?" asked Mrs. Sheldon. 
 
 " Well, just 'cause I could n't git 'em down." 
 
 " But Mr. Smith went down so often," said Elsie.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 19 
 
 "Yes, he went down nigh onto every day, and 
 could have taken 'em just as well as not ; but if he 
 had, not a red copper would I ever 'a' got ; and I 
 worked too hard for them there apples, to let him 
 drink 'em all up in whiskey, I tell you." 
 
 A cold chill swept over Elsie. 
 
 " Well, now we're here, set us to work ; we did n't 
 come over to set round," said Mrs. Sheldon. A pile 
 of squirrels and quails, which^Richard's unerring 
 rifle had brought down the day before, were to be 
 prepared for a pie ; a huge turkey lay by the door, 
 to be made ready for the workmen. Pies were to be 
 made, and bread prepared for the brick oven that was 
 being heated in the yard ; and soon the active hands 
 of the women were at work. 
 
 "When did you hear from Mrs. Truman?" said 
 Mrs. Sheldon, as the two sat by the fire, paring apples 
 for pies. 
 
 " I was down there last night, and she 's mighty 
 bad, I tell you. Oh ! but it 's dreadful to live with 
 that man. Her face is all black, and her back is that 
 lame she can't turn herself in her bed, where he beat 
 her." 
 
 " He beat her ! Why, I heard she fell down the 
 steps." 
 
 " Yes, that 's what she told ; but Sally told me that 
 Truman come home high, and went to whipping little 
 John ; and she took his part, and then he fell on her 
 and beat her pretty nigh to death, and would V killed 
 her, if Sally hadn't thrown a blanket over his head, 
 till Mrs. Truman ran into the smoke-house and locked
 
 20 ELSIE MAGOON; OR, 
 
 herself in, and he did n't know where she'd gone ; so 
 he just swore hisself to sleep, and then she come in 
 and got into bed ; and she 's not been out since, poor 
 thing!" 
 
 " Oh ! what a dreadful thing this l Still-house ' 
 will be," said Mrs. Sheldon, leaning over and whis- 
 pering to her neighbor, with a shake of the head. 
 
 " It will be just that ; and if I was Elsie Magoon, 
 I 'd put a stop to it." 
 
 "She can't do it, Mrs. Smith. That Richard 
 Magoon has an awful will of his own ; and it 's my 
 'pinion that, if she was to say much, he 'd be setter 
 in his way than he is now. She 's mightily troubled 
 I can see that in her looks ; but we mus'n't let on 
 it will make her more so; and, dear knows, she's 
 feeling bad enough ! " 
 
 Thus the women chatted on in an undertone. The 
 forenoon passed ; a capital dinner graced the humble 
 board. The wind had softened, the sun came out; 
 and the ice and snow fell from the logs, leaving them 
 in a slippery and dangerous condition. 
 
 Thirty men had gathered for the work. They 
 were men, for the most part, of strong hands and 
 willing hearts, and the work went on with straight- 
 forward regularity. Log after log was rolled up, not- 
 withstanding their bad condition, by the main strength 
 of bones and muscles. No machinery helped their 
 weary labors ; and when Elsie sounded the horn for 
 dinner, the building was up to the second story, and 
 all counted it a good job done. 
 
 As they gathered to dinner, it was easy to be seen
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 21 
 
 that a part of the company were merrier than the 
 natural flow of spirits would induce. Smith, Shel- 
 don, and Truman, especially, were in a high state of 
 exhilaration. They were among the stoutest men in 
 the township big, brawny, sensual, and proud of 
 their physical proportions ; and in the rude sports of 
 the backwoods always first. At the raisings too, they 
 did the work of giants, and their prowess and strength 
 were rewarded by a double portion of what, in those 
 days, was esteemed the greatest "treat" that could be 
 bestowed' the favorite whiskey-punch, or egg-nog. 
 
 Smifli and Sheldon were not habitual drunkards, 
 although they were occasionally found " the worse for 
 liquor." But Truman, the giant of the trio, had of 
 late become a daily victim to the fearful habit, and 
 the sun seldom went down upon him a sober man. 
 At dinner, he was uproarious in his fun, and laughed, 
 talked, sung, shouted, and kept the table in a roar of 
 mirth. 
 
 " That Truman is as drunk as a fool," said Mrs. 
 Smith to Elsie, as they were cutting up the pies at a 
 side-table ; " and, between you and I, Smith is as 
 high as a cat's back. Oh! there'll be awful times 
 afore night, for when Truman is so, he always wants 
 to fight." 
 
 Elsie's lip quivered, but she choked down her 
 emotion, and went on with her work. 
 
 "Hurrah, boys!" shouted Truman. "Don't eat 
 all day. Three cheers for Mrs. Magoon's pies, and 
 then come along." 
 
 The cheers, loud and long, were given, and fell
 
 22 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 upon Elsie's ear like an insult. To think that she 
 should be cheered by a set of noisy topers ! 
 
 The afternoon wore on. "With every tier of logs 
 their work became harder, their nerves and muscles 
 more weary ; and large draughts were made by many 
 of the party from the keg, in the hope of gaining the 
 needed vigor 
 
 About four o'clock a dispute arose, as to the com- 
 parative strength of Truman and a new-coder in 
 the neighborhood, named Scott. A wrestling match 
 was proposed. In vain Richard begged them not to 
 spend their force in fun, and insisted that both were 
 strong, and had done well ; but sides were taken for 
 both parties, and all hands stood still to see the 
 contest. 
 
 Scott was a broad-shouldered, active fellow, sober, 
 and many years the junior of Truman, who was al- 
 ready staggering with liquor. The trial of strength 
 did not last an instant ; with quick energy and action, 
 Scott lifted his antagonist off his feet and laid him 
 prostrate, while a loud shout of triumph went up 
 from one side, and a hiss of derision from the other. 
 In a moment Truman was on his feet, and, with 
 clenched fist, glaring eyes, and the maddened fury of 
 a maniac, pitched upon Scott, who stood with his 
 back to him, and with one blow felled him to the 
 ground. A melee ensued, and, for a few moments, 
 the fight seemed to become general. But, luckily, 
 there were sober ones enough to quell the tumult and 
 command peace. 
 
 Truman and Scott went back to their work reluc-
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 23 
 
 tantly, Truman muttering, that " he 'd fix him before 
 night." 
 
 The building was nearly finished the last heavy 
 log was being rolled up ; all hands were striving to 
 do their utmost. The loud "heave ho" cheered them. 
 "Stick to it, boys! up with her! there she goes! 
 heave ho ! once more, my hearties ! " One effort more 
 would have laid the ponderous log in its place. One 
 effort more, and the walls of the 'Still-house' would 
 have been completed. At that critical moment, when 
 every nerve was strained, and every hand doing its 
 best, the heavy lever of Truman slipped from its 
 place and fell with its whole weight upon the hands 
 of his next neighbor, who let go his hold with a cry 
 of pain. The log began to slide. There was not 
 force enough to sustain it. Eyes were turned aside 
 to see what was the matter ; the equilibrium was lost, 
 and in an instant down it came, crushing all in its 
 way. 
 
 " Out of the way, boys ! " shouted the foreman, and, 
 springing to the right and left, all escaped but one. 
 Scott, the young giant, the bold, athletic fanner, who, 
 seeing the danger, strove to avert it to the last, found 
 it impossible to get away, and was crushed beneath 
 the ponderous weight. It was but the work of a 
 moment to extricate him, but it was too late. One 
 shriek of pain, one gasp of fearful agony, and the 
 eyes rolled back, the lips quivered, the tongue spoke 
 the words, "Mary wife," and all was still. 
 
 "Good God !" exclaimed Richard, "he is dead." 
 
 " Yes, by G d!" said Truman, "and it's just what
 
 :-: ELSIE M AGO OX; OB, 
 
 I meant to do. The impudent devil has got his pay ! 
 I knew he 'd hold on to the last, and I let go my hold 
 on purpose to " 
 
 "To kill us all, you villain!" cried Richard, 
 seizing him by the throat and hurling him out of the 
 way, while he rushed to the aid of those who were 
 lifting the crushed body from beneath the logs. The 
 excitement was terrible, and while the calmer among 
 diem were making a rude bed of boughs on which to 
 lay the body yet quivering with death-throes, the 
 more impulsive were for lynching Truman upon the 
 spot. Curses, groans, and prayers were mingled in 
 tflyi confusion. A messenger had run to the house of 
 Magoon for camphor and bandages, and, bursting in 
 among the women, cried out, "Scott is killed ; a log 
 Ml and crushed him ; he did n't live a minute : Smith's 
 hands are broken to pieces; give me rags and camphor, 
 quick!" 
 
 * Scott lived upon the adjoining farm, which he was 
 just clearing, and his young wife had come over to 
 help Elsie in getting supper. With a wild shriek 
 she flew to the scene of disaster, threw herself upon 
 'the mangled body, and pressed her bloodless cheek 
 upon his. 
 
 "He is not dead no! no! he shall not die. 
 Harry! Oh, my husband! Good God! Do some- 
 thing far him! Oh, can't he be helped! Who did it ? 
 What did it? Oh, Harry, Harry, speak to me once 
 oh! just once!" 
 
 She could not believe him dead; and her terror, 
 her despair, filled every eye with tears, and every
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 25 
 
 heart with anguish. Elsie came and stood beside 
 her, pale as marble, but with tearless eyes. One look 
 she gave to Richard, as she took the hand of poor 
 Mary in hers ; she spoke no words ; but, " your own 
 work spoiled and somebody killed or maimed for life," 
 sounded in his ears like words of doom. Smith's 
 hands were fearfully crushed ; the bones in his right 
 hand were laid bare of flesh, and broken in three or 
 four places, and the cords and sinews severed at the 
 wrist. " Maimed for life," and he the father of a 
 large family ! Scott was dead, and Truman what 
 would become of him ? All this passed, in an instant, 
 in review before him, and he groaned aloud. 
 
 Mary clung to her husband until, from the violence 
 of her grief, she fell in convulsions beside him, and 
 was carried away in the arms of the men, and laid 
 upon the bed in Richard's cabin. 
 
 Elsie sat all night by the moaning young wife, who 
 talked and prayed, and prayed and sung, until, worn 
 and exhausted, she slept, only to awake to a more 
 fearful consciousness of her bereavement. 
 
 " Elsie," said Richard, as the crimson glow began 
 .to show in the east, "let me sit and watch by Mary, 
 and you go to bed. You will be sick with your hard 
 day's work, watching, and excitement." 
 
 "Oh ! Richard, promise me promise me that you 
 will go no further with that ' Still-house.' Give it 
 up, and we may get over all this ; go on, and this will 
 be but the beginning of an end which we cannot 
 see." And she threw herself sobbing upon his bo- 
 som, and rested her weary head upon his shoulder, 
 3
 
 26 . ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 her stern self-control all gone at the sound of his 
 kind words. 
 
 " It has been a terrible day, Elsie ; but then I don't 
 see as it was my fault, particularly. Everybody uses 
 whiskey, and you can't keep such men as Truman ^ 
 from drinking ; and when they drink, they 're not to ^ 
 be trusted. We might have a thousand raisings, and 
 not have such another accident." 
 
 " Harry ! Harry ! Harry ! " shrieked Mary, waking 
 from her sleep. " They said he was killed crushed 
 under the log ! " And she attempted to leap from the 
 bed. They flew to the side of the poor maniac, and 
 were making unsuccessful efforts to quiet her, when 
 old " Granny Hall," the Indian " doctor-woman," as 
 she was called, who, without the learning, had more 
 native skill in disease than many a diplomaed M.D. 
 of our times, came in, sent by a neighbor who had 
 a superstitious faith in her power over all the " ills 
 that flesh is heir to." 
 
 If force of muscle could give one such power, she 
 might, without fear of contradiction, lay claim to it; 
 for she was a woman of proportions so huge as to 
 afflict with fear all timid folk. Although called the 
 Indian Doctor-woman, it w r as not because the blood 
 of that race was in her veins, but because having been 
 carried off in her youth from a frontier settlement,*' 
 she had learned during her seven years captivity 
 among them, all the secrets of the medical art in their ^ 
 rude hands ; and there was no root or tree of the 
 forest whose medicinal virtues were unknown to her. 
 The hardy life of these childrerrof Nature had brought
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 27 
 
 to its fullest development the frame of the robust 
 maiden. Day and night, storm and sunshine, were 
 alike to her; nothing appalled, everything seemed to 
 nourish and strengthen her ; and now, going her 
 rounds before the day had fairly dawned, she had 
 found herself in the neighborhood of this fearful 
 disaster, news of which had travelled on the wings 
 of the winds, from neighbor to neigbhor. 
 
 In reply to her knock upon the outer door, Ihey had 
 bid her " come in," and her large figure now loomed 
 up in the early morning twilight, until she looked 
 powerful enough to be some Genius of the Forest, 
 coming to lift the fearful burden of suffering from 
 their shoulders. 
 
 " Lord bless me ! Elsie Magoon, what's the matter 
 here?" 
 
 " Oh, Granny ! we're glad to see you. Pray give 
 this poor thing something to put her to sleep, she 
 raves so ! " 
 
 " That I will, honey, in no time ; " and without 
 further ceremony the old woman drew a tin cup from 
 a capacious leathern pocket which hung at her side, 
 rakfd over the dying coals upon the hearth, and 
 forthwith set a handful of leaves steeping. Then she 
 joined Elsie at the bedside, and laying her great, cool 
 palm upon the fevered brow, seemed as if by magic, 
 to still its torture. 
 
 The decoction was soon administered, and when 
 Mary had sunk into quiet slumber, the old woman 
 insisted on being left in care of her, while Elsie 
 should rest. "Now, honey," said the rough but
 
 28 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 kindly voice, "you just go lie down, or you'll be 
 where she is 'fore you knows it; go right 'long, 
 Granny knows." 
 
 Too feeble to resist, and too miserable to care to 
 oppose the well-meant command, Elsie threw herself 
 upon a couch. But not to sleep. Scene after scene 
 of that fearful drama, with many others supplied from 
 the dreaded future by her kindled imagination, passed 
 in vivid detail before her. Nothing seemed too hor- 
 rible to follow with logical certainty upon this open- 
 ing scene of horror. Next to her own Richard, 
 young Scott had been the pride of the settlement. 
 And now he lay dead; and that fatal "Still-house" 
 had been consecrated to its evil work at the outset by 
 the best blood of the neighborhood. 
 
 Reader, did you ever live in a frontier settlement ? 
 Did you ever hear the howl of the wolf upon the 
 hills, or the shrill scream of the panther in the forest, 
 and sally out, rifle in hand, with your dog at your 
 heels, to hunt out the wild intruders upon your 
 grounds, or to guard your precious sheepfold from 
 the foe? Have you ever started with affright, and 
 felt your blood chilling in your veins, as the warning 
 of the rattle-snake by your path, reminded you that 
 your legs were unbooted, and the enemy near by in 
 ambush? Did you ever hear the fearful cry of " Child 
 lost!" in the wood; or any of those things which 
 startle the heart, and call out the sympathies of neigh- 
 bor for neighbor, friend for friend, in a new country 
 a forest home? 
 
 If you have, you will know, better than any one
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 2d 
 
 can describe to you, the deep interest in each other's 
 welfare which is felt in a neighborhood of new set- 
 tlers. Mutual danger makes mutual ties of interest. 
 Neighbors widely scattered, exposed to common and 
 various perils, cannot afford to be indifferent to each 
 other's fate; and thus become by force of circum- 
 stances, the best and most steadfast friends. 
 
 It has been said that " we never thoroughly hate 
 one whom we thoroughly know; and thus it is that 
 in new neighborhoods and countries, assistance is 
 rendered with an unselfish, impulsive cheerfulness, 
 which you seldom find in the changed circumstances 
 of after-years. 
 3*
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 E left Truman in the hands of the crowd, 
 which for a while seemed determined to satisfy 
 its anger by dealing with him in the most summary 
 manner. Many cried, " Hang him ! " others, more 
 humane, insisted upon tying him, and whipping him 
 "within an inch of his life." But Richard, who felt 
 that evil enough had been done already, and that 
 Truman's assertion that he had let the log slip pur- 
 posely, had been only a drunkard's boast, per- 
 suaded them to release him. 
 
 This allayed the madman's fury, and as he stag- 
 gered homeward, he blubbered and wept like a child 
 over the horrible accidents of the day. His wife was 
 never the sweetest-tempered, and the tale, that Tru- 
 man had purposely let the log fall, had reached her 
 ears before he made his appearance, and created in 
 her turbulent bosom a terrible tempest. Naturally 
 nervous and excitable, full of energy and fire, taught 
 by precept and example to scold and storm when 
 things went awry, she was in no mood now to lead 
 her besotted husband into a calmer and better state of 
 mind. Her married life and its manifold trials 
 ' such as they must ever be to woman in the home of a 
 drunkard had done nothing to soften or sweeten 
 her temper ; and the pert, exacting girl had become 
 the uncompromising termagant, at forty. 
 
 (30)
 
 THE OLD 'STILL-HOUSE. 31 
 
 Poor Truman had been in a state of repentance, 
 for the last mile, on the road home. Mad he was, 
 when the log slipped mad with whiskey ready to 
 rejoice over the fearful work ; but the sight of that 
 poor wife, and her wild, frantic woe, had pierced his 
 soul, and wakened its remorse. 
 
 The long road home, the coming twilight, and re- 
 turning reason, left him subject to the good angels 
 for a little time, and he wept and prayed, as he strode 
 along through the darkening forest. 
 
 But as he reached the stile, and half climbed, half 
 rolled himself over, Nancy caught sight of him, and j 
 began Jier attack in such a way as threw him on the 
 defensive at once, and ^scattered his good resolves as 
 the tree throws off its leaves at the touch of an 
 October frost. 
 
 " Now," began she, " now you 've gone and done 
 it, have ye ? " 
 
 "Gone and done what, you old wild-cat?" 
 
 " Yes, I should think you 'd ask what ! Tom 
 Wilger's been along an hour ago, and told me all 
 about it. It's no use trying to make me believe you 
 did n't do it. You 're a wicked old wretch, and you '11 
 get yourself on the gallows, or in the pen'tentiary, 
 and bring disgrace and misery on us all, 'fore you 're 
 done. It 'ud been better if your own old head had 
 a-been under, instead of Scott's that it would ! " 
 
 Away went tears and repentance ; away went good ^ 
 resolves, and up rolled the whirlwind of wrath. 
 
 " Now, look you here, Nancy, I 'in not agoing to 
 take sich as that from you, nor no other woman ; and
 
 32 ELSIE MAGOON; OR, 
 
 if you don't shut up and get me some supper, I '11 
 turn you and every tarnal young one out of the 
 house, and help myself. This house is mine, and, by 
 the Lord Harry, I'll be master of it," and away 
 went the club which he carried as a cane, into the 
 group of children, who stood, like a flock of fright- 
 ened quails, in the corner. Truman was thoroughly 
 ^ aroused, and Xancy, who was really a loving mother, )i> 
 and feared the effects of his malice upon the children, 
 calmed down a little. 
 
 " Well, just sit down now, and quit your behaving, 
 and I '11 get you the best I can, God knows, it 's 
 poor enough." 
 
 And while he poured out oaths and imprecations, 
 she hurriedly set his food before him, knowing that 
 he would soon throw himself upon the bed, and go 
 to sleep for the night ; and then slipped out to milk 
 her cow, and give vent to her burdened heart in sobs 
 and tears. 
 
 On ! earth, earth, how beautiful thou art ; and yet 
 how full of sorrow, of bitter anguish, and despair, 
 are the hearts of thy children ! Truly has it been 
 written, " that the sins of the parents shall be visited 
 upon the children to the third and fourth genera- 
 tions." Truman and his wife were the legitimate"\ 
 f offspring, in mind and body, of those who had given j 
 1^ them birth ; and who may not foretell the future 
 ~* of the poor stricken ones who gathered around the 
 sobbing, scolding mother glad to take shelter even 
 in her bitterness, from a drunken father's violence 
 and wrath ? If the children of such parents coine up
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 33 
 
 in sin and depravity, shall the boasting moralist, who 
 has entered upon his manhood without the taint of 
 an inherited passion in his veins, who has been fos- 
 tered by a gentle mother's Christ-like love, and a 
 father's calm discipline and resolute morality, who 
 has been trained to truth and right, and taught daily 
 lessons of temperance at the home hearth, not only 
 by spoken words, but by the habitual practice of 
 self-control and self-denial, fold his hands, and say 
 to the wretched wanderer from the path of right, 
 "Stand by I am holier than thou!" Rather let i 
 him return thanks for the many blessings he has re- j 
 ceived, crying, "Father, forgive them; they know - 
 not what they do;" solemnly asking his own heart, 
 if, with their training and temptations, he should have 
 done as well as they. 
 
 It was a glorious morning. All traces of the late 
 storm had passed away ; the sun rose in gorgeous 
 splendor and brightness, and shone down upon the 
 beautiful holly, lighting it up as if for a holiday 
 festival, rather than for a funeral. 
 
 The Wahoo, as we still prefer to call the river, 
 was a coquettish little stream that went meandering 
 through the broad rich valley at will, tying itself 
 almost into bows and knots, and then gliding away, 
 like a line of silver, through a quiet meadow, or be- 
 side the sloping hills. It was now raised above its 
 common level by the rain and snow, and, just released 
 from its bondage of ice, went singing and dancing 
 along, making a cheerful accompaniment to the twit-
 
 34 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 tering birds, and sending up fresh incense to heaven, 
 with that of the opening buds and bursting leaves. 
 
 Oh ! it was a beautiful day, when young Scott, in 
 the prime of early manhood, was to be returned, 
 " Dust to dust, and ashes to ashes." Far and wide 
 had spread the news of the terrible catastrophe, and 
 there was a gathering of the people for miles around. 
 In the city, your next-door neighbor may die and be 
 buried. You see the signal of crape at the door-knob ; 
 you turn coldly to the paragraph in the morning 
 paper to learn of what disease, and at what age, he 
 or she has died; and then go to your business, to 
 remember them no more. But in a new country, a 
 death calls the neighbor from his plough, the housewife 
 from her cares ; and the tear of sympathy falls free 
 and full, while the heart grows softer and kinder for 
 its sorrowing. 
 
 This too was the Sabbath ; and as the sun rose to 
 the meridian, and the first hour of his declining was 
 marked upon the cabin-floor, the people gathered from 
 East and West, from North and South, until the cabin 
 of Scott," where the body lay, could not hold a tenth 
 of those who came. Elder Peters, the venerable 
 pastor, who had been summoned from the next village, 
 proposed that they should repair with the coffin to 
 the maple grove near the grave-yard. When they 
 arrived there, seats were made of logs and rails for 
 the men, chairs and stools from their farm wagons 
 accommodated the elder part of the matrons, and the 
 younger stood, or took turns with the older men. 
 Many a meeting had been held in this lovely spot,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 35 
 
 beside the little log meeting-house and the rural 
 grave-yard; but never one so solemn, so full of deep 
 warning as this. 
 
 When all was arranged, the old, gray-haired 
 preacher arose and offered a fervent prayer in behalf 
 of the people. Then came the hymn 
 
 " Hark ! from the tombs a doleful sound 
 
 Mine ears attend the cry ; 
 Ye living men, come view the ground, 
 Where you must shortly lie." 
 
 And the deep bass of the voices of a hundred men, and 
 many more of the softer treble of women, filled the 
 forest with the full notes of stirring pathos. Wild, 
 deep, and fervid was the solemn dirge that echoed 
 through the valley from the lips and hearts of the 
 assembled crowd, a heartfelt requiem for their lamented 
 dead. 
 
 When the opening exercises were closed, the old 
 man arose and took his text from Christ's Sermon on 
 the Mount, all of which he first read with impassioned 
 emphasis. " Blessed are they that mourn, for they 
 shall be comforted," he repeated ; and for 'half an 
 hour he sought to bring hope and consolation to the 
 stricken kindred, most of all to the old father and 
 mother, who had come, laden with years and sorrow/" 1 
 to lay in the grave their last-born, who, like Benja- j 
 min, had been their darling. There were brothers 
 and sisters too, who sat in the space for mourners 
 around the coffin ; and as the aged pastor's words 
 fell soft and low, they wept long and freely. At last 
 he addressed himself more directly to the audience :
 
 36 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 " My friends," said he, " I am an old man, and, 
 you know, the Psalmist says, 'our days are three- 
 score years and ten ; and if, by reason of strength, 
 they be fourscore, yet is their strength labor and sor- 
 row.' I have passed the common age of man, and 
 am travelling on to the fourscore; yet I cannot say 
 as yet, that my labor is sorrow ; for God has blessed 
 my weakness, and made me joyful in his own strength. 
 But I may never be spared to come to you again, or 
 you be allowed to meet here in such numbers ; and I 
 have much to say to you this day. Go bury your 
 dead and return here for an hour." 
 
 Plain and simple was the old man's speech, and 
 the people, who knew and loved him, obeyed without 
 question or hesitation. 
 
 Meanwhile the widow, in her weakness and partial 
 unconsciousness, had been left in the care of kind, 
 old Granny Hill, who had " strength enough left in 
 her old bones," she said, " for many a good turn yet." 
 While the poor young thing slept, she sat by the 
 window, and with her spectacles before her eyes, and 
 her Bible spread on the little stand, commenced read- 
 ing. Her hands lay listlessly over the arms of the 
 old high-backed chair, while her body sought repose 
 from the cushion behind. The words grew more and 
 more dim, and at last she nodded in very weariness. 
 Then she roused herself, drew out her snuff-box, took 
 a pinch, rubbed her eyes, and read again. Again she 
 nodded and dozed, and, dropping her head against the 
 chair, fell fast asleep. 
 
 Soon after her nurse fell asleep, Mary opened her
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 37 
 
 eyes. Where was she? She could not tell. Ail 
 things about her were new and strange. She closed 
 her eyes again, and visions of terror floated about her; 
 gradually they assumed form and shape, and, like a 
 sudden waking from a sound sleep, the dream, the 
 confusion passed away, and the dread reality stood 
 before her. She raised herself in the bed, and dis- 
 covered the sleeping woman. She looked about 
 her all was gone. She cast her eye out of the window 
 down across the meadow to the sugar-grove, and there 
 was the assembled multitude. 
 
 She sprang lightly from the bed, and slipped down 
 the path by the fence, just as they were lowering the 
 remains of her husband into the dark vault below. 
 As the minister lifted his hat from his aged brow, to 
 return thanks to the bearers, who had borne the bier 
 hither upon their shoulders, and to ask the blessing 
 of God upon them all, a wild cry was heard, and the 
 wife broke through the solid circle around the grave. 
 Ere they could stay her course, she let herself into 
 the grave, and lay moaning upon the coffin. Shriek 
 after shriek pierced the air : 
 
 " Oh ! he is not dead, he is not dead ! You shall 
 not bury him ! He was well yesterday morning ; so 
 strong and good ! He went to build a ' Still-house' 
 who killed him? Oh! God, have mercy help 
 help he is not dead, he is not dead ! " 
 
 With maniac fury, she tried to tear the lid from 
 the coffin with her feeble hands. Intense excitement 
 stirred the people. 
 4
 
 38 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 "Sing," said the aged minister, "sing in full, soft 
 chorus : " 
 
 "Oh! God, our help in ages past, 
 
 Our strength in years to come, 
 Our shelter from the stormy blast, 
 
 And our eternal home ! 
 A thousand ages in Thy sight, 
 
 Are as an evening gone 
 Short as the watch that ends the night, 
 
 Before the rising sun." 
 
 The men were trembling, and the women weeping 
 in the tenderest sympathy; but the pastor's words 
 quieted them, and their voices rose, in a low, plain- 
 tive, soothing air, gradually swelling into a louder 
 note of triumph and faith. The wife became more 
 and more calm ; at last her sad cries ceased, and she 
 lay sobbing and helpless, and made no resistance, as 
 strong men lifted her in their arms from the grave, 
 and gave her into the hands of her friends. 
 
 "Come away," said Elder Peters, "and lead her 
 from the grave;" and still singing, they walked back 
 to the grove ; while the friends placing the widow in 
 one of their wagons, drove with her to her father's 
 house. 
 
 The preacher called his flock around him, and, in 
 words not eloquent, but weighty and true, preached 
 f the first Temperance sermon that ever was heard 
 i among the swaying boughs of that old forest per- 
 haps the firsj: ever preached in Ohio. He spoke 
 unflinchingly, fearless of censure. He held up before 
 them a picture of themselves. He pointed to the 
 new-made grave, recalled the anguish of the crushed
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 39 
 
 wife, and spoke of the orphaned child. "All this," 
 said he, "is but the beginning an earnest of what 
 is to follow from that accursed building just now 
 reared in your midst." 
 
 " My friends," cried he, with vehemence, " I am an 
 old man, yet have my lips never knowingly tasted 
 ardent spirits. The voice of my angel-mother taught 
 me, with my morning prayer and my evening thanks- 
 giving, to shun this snare, set for the feet of the 
 unwary. Will any man say I am the worse ? How 
 can a Christian pray, f Lead us not into temptation 
 deliver us from evil/ and yet put the deadly cup 
 to his lips, and help to make, buy, or self that which 
 will bring upon us scenes like this we have just passed 
 through ? What caused the accident of yesterday ? 
 Rum! What made that wife a maniac? Rum! 
 What has cast such a gloom over the neighborhood, 
 causing you to assemble here, with grieved hearts, to 
 bury away out of your sight, in the very spring-time 
 of his manhood, a good man, a brother and a friend ? 
 Rum ! And yet, my people, you are joining hands 
 to build a temple, here in this wood, consecrated to 
 the use of that demon which destroys so much of 
 your peace. Pause, before you go further! If such^ t 
 things are done in the green tree, what shall we J"~ 
 expect in the dry ? " 
 
 The old man talked thus for nearly an hour, in 
 the most earnest manner, regardless of the frowns of 
 the men, or even of the abrupt departure of Deacon 
 Hill, who left the grave, and stood moodily apart. 
 Richard Magoon was too manly to show any dis-
 
 40 ELSIE MA GO ON. 
 
 pleasure, but his face, despite his efforts, betrayed the 
 feelings that were struggling within. 
 
 The old man closed, by offering a pledge somewhat 
 like that of the "American Temperance Society;" 
 ~> but none would sign it no, not one; and as they 
 went away to their homes, the majority of the men 
 called the old man crazed. But the women thought 
 there was at least " method in his madness," and that 
 his words "were words of truth and soberness." 
 Elsie Magoon did not sign the pledge; but in her 
 
 [ soul were treasured up resolves never afterward broken 
 
 \ or forgotten.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FIVE years ! what a moment they become, as we 
 look back upon them ! No matter how full of 
 fear and sorrow, no matter how full of pain and 
 anguish in the passing, they dwindle to a mere 
 span when we look back upon them through the 
 long lanes of life. 
 
 Nor does it matter if the moments were filled to 
 the brim with gladness; if every pulse told of a 
 happiness akin to Paradise; if joy gave wings to 
 the hours then ; they now are as the distant visions 
 of a fevered dream. 
 
 Five years have gone by since they buried the 
 victim of the "Still" in the solitary church-yard by 
 the sugar-grove, since they bore the maniac wife to 
 her kindred, and since the strong-hearted Elsie 
 Magoon resolved, in the silence of her own spirit, to 
 wage life-long warfare with the demon of destruction. 
 
 The April sun had come out bright and beautiful 
 after that solemn funeral, as if the children of men 
 were pure and good. But light and warmth had 
 never come again to the soul of the bereaved wife. 
 From the funeral scene in the sugar-grove, until she 
 ceased to wander by the brookside, and gather spring 
 violets for her hair, she had remained a maniac ; al- 
 ways awaiting his coming, and forgetful of all things 
 4* (41)
 
 42 ELSIE M AGO ON; OX, 
 
 save that trusting love which had been the most real 
 and blissful experience of her young life. 
 
 They laid her to rest one bright May-morning by 
 his side, and shed tears of quick sympathy above her, 
 while in low and gentle whispers they said, It is 
 better so, she goes to meet him who was so murder- 
 ously torn from her, and who waits her coming in 
 the beauty of his youthful vigor, and the purity of 
 his early love. 
 
 Truman still lived by the roadside, his cabin more 
 fearfully desolate, his wife more turbulent and un- 
 happy, his children more wild and ungovernable, 
 and he, a loathsome sot. He worked still, at times, 
 but every night found him staggering under the weight 
 of his daily draught. Whiskey then had one virtue 
 that it can not now boast. It was free from drugs 
 and deadly poisons. A virtue ! no, we will recall 
 that word. It had no virtues : it had only a property 
 that lengthened into years the tortures which now are 
 often ended in a few days. 
 
 Smith and Sheldon were both given over to the 
 fell demon which groaned and spouted in the hollow 
 all the year round ; for the steam-engine was but a 
 clumsy affair, and its labored, unearthly sounds might 
 easily, by the agonized fancy of the suffering, have 
 been mistaken for the shrieks of lost souls. 
 
 Many new-comers or, as they were called, "Bush- 
 whackers" had moved into the neighborhood, set- 
 tled down in their cabins upon government land, and 
 managed to live by working " by the day " for the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 43 
 
 farmers about, ana every one of them was a daily fre- 
 quenter of the old " Still-house." 
 
 The land was rapidly passing into the hands of 
 owners, being cleared and put under cultivation. 
 The county seat, " Down at the Ford," as it used to 
 be called, which, five years ago, w r as but a very small 
 collection of very small houses, had swelled into quite 
 a village, and an active trade was kept up between 
 its merchants and the farmers 
 
 Money was not a very abundant article in those 
 days. The merchant bought his goods on credit; 
 sold them for the products of the farm, the field, and 
 the wood which he floated down the rivers to New 
 Orleans, in winter ; where they were exchanged for 
 cash, or groceries such as sugar, tea, coffee, fish, and 
 molasses. These were at first brought up the Ohio 
 on the slow-moving keel-boat, but, after the year 
 1815, by steamers which plied at intervals upon the 
 waters of the Ohio and Mississippi, making the trip, 
 sometimes, in the short space of forty days. But 
 every year added to their speed, and also to the im- 
 petus given to improvement in the new country. The 
 town of Smithville named from its proprietor 
 had now become, in the phrase of the times, a "won- 
 derful growing place." 
 
 Richard Magoon's "Still-house" was a great help 
 to the people; of course it was. Did he not hire 
 all the squatters to work on his great farm ? Did he 
 not buy all the corn and rye in the country round ? 
 Were not all the apples ground into cider at his mill,
 
 44 ELSIE X AGO ON; OR, 
 
 all the peaches mashed into pummiee, and the surplus 
 of cider and peaches worked into brandy there ? 
 
 His mill, too, supplied the flour and corn-meal; 
 and what with his mill, his distillery, his coopering, 
 his farm, and his river-trading, Richard Magoon held 
 an important position in the community, and was 
 looked upon as one of the best, most discreet, and 
 large-hearted men in the land. 
 
 Who thought a "Still-house" a bad thing? Xo- 
 body but Elder Peters, and he was "kind of crazy." 
 Of course he was ! It was considered rare fun to 
 cheat the old man, and make him drink his draught 
 of pure water from the tin cup that was used to 
 measure whiskey, because he refused to drink from a 
 glass tumbler lest it might have held the obnoxious 
 beverage. 
 
 Deacon Hill, and Major Brant, and Squire Fal- 
 coner, and Capt. Wilson, were getting rich. They 
 built fine farm-houses ; for a man could build a house 
 easily then, by exchange of trade. They had built a 
 good^church, too, and a comfortable school-house; 
 and none had been more earnest, active, and self- 
 sacrificing in all these good works, than Richard 
 Magoon. To be sure, whiskey had helped him to 
 build church and school-house; had drained his land, 
 tilled his fields, turned his mill, supported his family ; 
 but he prospered, or seemed to, and no one thought 
 of charging him with blame for the way and means 
 of his prosperity. 
 
 If Truman drank up all his earnings, if his wife 
 had to spin for a little corn-meal, and his children
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 45 
 
 ran about the neighborhood begging to share with 
 ( - the pigs the skim-milk and butter-milk of the dairy, 
 if they had no shoes to wear to school in winter, 
 and no fit clothes in summer, whose fault was it? 
 Why, not Mr. Magoon's, surely ; for he was " very 
 kind to poor Mrs. Truman;"- he sent his team to 
 haul her wood in winter ; let the boys have all the 
 apples they could carry out of the orchard, pick 
 roasting-ears from the corn-field, or dig potatoes from 
 the patch, in summer; he gave her now and then a 
 fleece of wool, and allowed her to cultivate a half- 
 acre of flax across the brook, on his hill-land. Yes, 
 he was " very good to the poor ; " and Richard Ma- ' 
 goonjneant tp^be a good man. 
 
 The neighborhood prospered : so everybody thought. 
 People were getting rich. Farms were enlarging and 
 multiplying ; houses were being built, while the old 
 steam-engine, in its shady nook under the hill, 
 shrieked on, and the poor and the needy, the wives 
 and little ones of the many, very many drinkers, 
 suffered and groaned in their cabins. Indeed, the 
 wives were fully convinced in those days, as so many 
 still are, that it is a man's privilege to get drunk, 
 and spend his earnings in self-indulgence ; while it is 
 his wife's highest duty to hide his shortcomings from 
 the world, with a mantle woven of the beautiful 
 threads of woman's love and patience. 
 
 But in the houses of the rich, too, as, by comparison, 
 they were called, in the houses where prosperity 
 had set her seal, the shadows of the old "Still- 
 house" sometimes fell, with dark and fearful portents.
 
 46 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 Mrs. Deacon Hill had to tell her "man" more than 
 once, that "he'd got to jest let his bitters alone, 'cept 
 of mornings when there was a fog ; for jest so sure 
 as he took a dram before breakfast, he had to have 
 another arterward, and another before dinner, and a 
 good half dozen before bed-time ; and then he was 
 always a-cutting up, and telling yarns to the boys, 
 which was very unbecoming of a deacon of the church. 
 'Fore he knowed it, he'd be getting as drunk as Tru- 
 man, or Sheldon, or the rest on 'em ; and she was n't 
 agoing for to have it." 
 
 The Deacon was a mild man, and knew that dis- 
 cretion was the better part of valor ; so he listened to 
 the voice of Sarah, his wife, and did as she bade, in- 
 dulging only of "foggy mornings," which invari- 
 ably made foggy days for the Deacon, and ended with 
 storms at nightfall, that kept the atmosphere clear 
 for a week or two afterwards. 
 
 Major Brant, too, who bore himself so gallantly 
 on muster-days, who made the speeches on Fourths 
 of July, and harangues at the political gatherings, 
 grew rosy and flushed, even purple on the end of 
 his nose, as his poor wife grew paler and sparer. 
 
 Squire Falconer, who had gained his title by being 
 justice of the peace for a few years, had lost his 
 election, simply because he was generally too good- 
 natured in the morning, and too cross in the after- 
 noon, to do justice to the litigants. So Richard 
 Magoon, the people's favorite, now held the dignity 
 of Squire in Smithville. 
 
 Thus, the men were seemingly prosperous; but
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE, 47 
 
 many an aching brain pressed the uneasy pillow, and 
 many a bright eye grew dim with tears over the fatal 
 effect of the old " Still-house." 
 
 Where, all this time, was Elsie Magoon ? Has she 
 forgotten her vows, and gone over to the help of the 
 wicked? 
 
 Let us look in upon her for a little. She is paler 
 than five years ago. Deeper lines are on her brow. 
 The table is set ; supper is waiting ; and she, weary 
 with her day's work, has thrown herself upon the 
 door-stone of their fine new home, to wait the com- 
 ing of her husband. 
 
 " Little Elsie," now nearly six years, is standing 
 behind her mother, weaving a wreath of roses in her 
 hair; while the two boys, one older and one younger 
 than Elsie, are at play beside them, occasionally 
 making a boyish attack upon the little Alice, and the 
 babe who sits upon the mother's knee. It is a happy 
 picture ! Yes, all look happy, but Frank, the eldest, 
 now eleven years, and his mother. Shades of sad- 
 ness may be seen on the faces of these two, that be- 
 token hearts ill at ease. It is Saturday night the 
 latter part of May. 
 
 "Won't your father be in soon, Frank?" said 
 Elsie, with an effort at cheerfulness. 
 
 " I don't know, mother. It 's been an awful week, 
 this. There have been a half dozen fights, and half 
 the hands have been drunk every day. Father said 
 Monday, he was going to have all the corn in this week ; 
 and we've had pretty nigh thirty hands at work all 
 the time, and they have just been drinking and frol-
 
 48 ELSIE M AGO ON. 
 
 icking right straight along. Kit says they've drunk 
 more than their wages, every one of 'em. Wilson, 
 and Sheldon, and Truman, are all down in the field 
 now, drunk as they can be, lying on the grass in 
 the fence-corners. Jenny Sheldon came over a bit 
 ago, to tell her father to bring home some meal and 
 meat for Sunday ; and there he lay on his back; and 
 the poor girl is standing by him, crying, and coaxing 
 him to go home, and he just swears at her. Mother, 
 I wish that old l Still-house ' was burned down ! I 
 do so ! I don't believe father will be here this hour ; 
 for they had to send for him to come to the ' Still- 
 house.' Mike Dugan and Kit were having a real 
 fuss. Kit would not let Mike in the ' Still-house,' and 
 Mike was throwing stones at the windows and doors ; 
 and so it goes all the time." 
 
 The boy's tears were falling. The mother leaned 
 her head upon her hands, and buried her emotion iu 
 the folds of her apron. Little Elsie let fall her 
 roses, and sprang to her brother's side, begging him 
 not to cry, though she could not understand his 
 sorrrow. 
 
 "We must be patient, Frank," said the mother, 
 with a choking voice. " I hope these things will 
 not always be so." And she drew him to her, and 
 pressed a kiss wet with the sad dew of tears, upon his 
 sun-burnt brow. Then with a quick effort at self- 
 control, she caressed the little ones who clung about 
 her, and with pleasant loving words and sports be- 
 guiled the hour until their early bed-time.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 T ATER in the evening, Richard and Elsie sat 
 J-^ alone, in the same place. The full moon shone 
 brightly upon the door-stone, and the soft air revived 
 the weary ones, as it came to them laden with the 
 fragrance of the roses that circled the door. 
 
 Richard looked sad and perplexed, and his wife's 
 heart was full to overflowing. 
 
 They were both silent a long time. 
 
 "Well, Elsie," said Richard, at last, "another 
 hard week's work is done." 
 
 "Yes; but not a very profitable one, was it, 
 Richard?" 
 
 " No. There 's the worst set of men about here, I 
 believe, that ever were called together in any one 
 place on the face of the earth ! They have half of 
 them been drunk all the week ; and, for my soul, I 
 can't keep 'em straight. I have got to have a real 
 overhauling among the hands at the * Still-house,' 
 too. Kit is not fit to stay there: he drinks just 
 enough to make him devilish, quarrels with every- 
 body, and, they tell me> uses his wife shamefully. I 
 saw him whipping his little Nelly this morning, like 
 a brute. His wife undertook to get the child out of 
 his way, and he gave her a kick that sent her stag- 
 gering against the side of the house." 
 
 5 (49)
 
 50 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 "Kicked his wife ! kicked Abigail, in her con- 
 dition ! " said Elsie. " Oh, Eichard ! is there no way 
 for us to live but by that ' Still-house?' by making 
 whiskey, to blight the happiness of the whole neigh- 
 borhood? Frank has been telling me to-night about 
 things at the Still. I have seen, too, for myself; and 
 it grows terrible, Eichard ! Only think how the wives 
 of all these men must suffer ! Every day I hear of 
 things as bad as those you tell me you have seen to- 
 day ; and it is awful to me awful to think that we 
 are helping to make all this wrong and crime among 
 the people." 
 
 " I am sure we are not responsible for their foolish- 
 ness. No man is obliged to drink, if he don't wish 
 to. I never asked one of my hands to take whiskey 
 in payment for a day's work in my life ; and you 
 know, Elsie, no man hates this whole matter of dram- 
 drinking worse than I do. Besides, I don't see any 
 use of always looking at the black side of the picture. 
 There are some drinking-men hereabouts, but where 
 would you go to find the place Avhere there is a better 
 society of people, or where greater progress has been 
 made, than here?" 
 
 "I know the neighborhood grows that wealth 
 increases with many : how can it be otherwise, in 
 such a beautiful, fertile country? But would not 
 genuine prosperity increase as rapidly without your 
 distillery ? Are not all these outrages against decency 
 and sobriety, just so many blemishes upon our com- 
 munity, that should not and need not be? And, 
 Richard, to be candid now: Is the 'Still-house'
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 51 
 
 making you rich, among others, or are you sacrificing 
 yourself in this work? Aye, Richard, sacrificing 
 yourself, and the poor, the weak, the misguided, and 
 their helpless families, to make a market for other 
 people's products ?" 
 
 Richard dared not answer directly so he turned 
 to another phase of the subject. 
 
 " Something must be done with corn. If / don't 
 use it up, somebody else will. Pork, they say, is 
 going to bring a better price this fall than it ever has. 
 I intend to buy all the hogs I can, and fatten them for 
 the Eastern market.'* 
 
 " For the love of Heaven, then, Richard, give them 
 the corn in its natural state ; and if there is a devil 
 in it, let it enter the swine, as of old ; do not extract 
 it, to make swine of your neighbors. I tell you, 
 Richard," added Elsie, impatiently, " there are not 
 ten men about here who are not becoming the victims 
 of your ' Still-house'; and if it goes on five years 
 longer, we shall have a terrible neighborhood. Just 
 think what schools we have now; what rowdyism; 
 what wild young men ! " 
 
 " There it is again ! Every time we sit down for a 
 chat, up comes that same old story as if my 'Still- 
 house' were the cause of all. I tell you, Elsie, it's 
 no use talking ; I have invested all I 'm worth in it, 
 and it must go on. If people will be fools, it is not 
 my fault; and I won't bear to be taunted and re- 
 proached, day in and day out, about what I can't help. 
 You can hunt up old Father Peters, to talk your non- 
 sense to, if you must talk."
 
 52 ELSIE M AGO ON; OB, 
 
 Elsie made no reply. A thought, a revelation, that 
 burnt into her very soul, came to her with those harsh 
 words, and she was deliberating with herself whether 
 she should speak at all, or leave him to his own 
 reflections, when they were startled by a shriek from 
 the nearest cabin. 
 
 " Help, help ! murther, murther ! help ! " came in 
 shrill screams upon the evening air. 
 
 Richard sprang to his feet. "Pat is whipping 
 Nora again," he exclaimed. "Curse the drunken 
 beast! I expected nothing else when he filled his 
 gallon-jug to-night." 
 
 Again came the cry, " Help, help ! it 's choking me 
 to death, he is ! " 
 
 Richard waited for no second summons, but bounded 
 away to the help of the suffering woman. Elsie, in 
 her excitement, followed after. 
 
 Patrick Sweeney was one of the best stone-cutters 
 and brick-masons, in the country. When sober, he 
 could out-work and out-wit the best. About once a 
 month he indulged himself in a spree, as he called it, 
 in which his good wife Nora never failed to take her 
 full share. Pat demanded the best wages, and as such 
 workmen as he were scarce, found no trouble in get- 
 ting them. 
 
 Nora was as shrewd and as witty as her husband, 
 never at a loss for a joke, and generally more than a 
 match for Pat particularly if he was much "in 
 liquor," as she called it. 
 
 When Richard arrived at the scene of action, he 
 found them in a fight, around a stump before the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 53 
 
 door, throwing stones, chips, bits of wood, fire- 
 brands, pots and kettles anything they could seize, 
 Nora all the while screeching and hallooing, " Murthcr, 
 murther ! help, help ! " Pat was a large man, and 
 Nora the merest little creature in the world, scarcely 
 the size of a full-grown child of ten, slender, and of 
 a delicate constitution, as one would judge from her 
 fair complexion and smooth, soft hair. 
 
 Just as Richard came up, Pat had seized her by the 
 throat. 
 
 "Och! but I've got you now, my lady; and it's 
 a stop I'll put to your scratching, like a blind owl in 
 the midnight." 
 
 This gentle speech was cut short by Richard, who, 
 seizing him by the back of the neck, laid him pros- 
 trate, and was about to pin him down with a strong 
 hand, and exact a promise of peace, when he felt him- 
 self suddenly assailed by a set of wiry fingers in his 
 hair, which dragged him, despite his efforts, away 
 from the fallen enemy, and half around the stump, 
 while the same shrill voice that rang in his ears, 
 " Murther, murther ! " now saluted him with no 
 loving epithets. 
 
 " I '11 tache you, Richard Magoon, to be meddlin' 
 with my husband ! What bisiness have ye, I'd like 
 to know, intarfarin' a-tween man and wife. Has n't 
 yer good Book tould ye, ye ould sinner, what God 
 has fixed thegither, never let man be a separatin' ; and 
 now, ye dirty -faced spalpeen, how dare ye be violatin' 
 it ? Never a hair I '11 laave in the head of ye, if ye 
 6*
 
 54 ELSIE M AGO ON; OK, 
 
 don't be after trating us both, like a gintleman, to a 
 nice dram of yer best." 
 
 Pat was by this time upon his feet, and came to the 
 relief of his assailant. 
 
 " Och, woman ! what are ye doing now? Sure it's 
 the Squire yer making so free wid. Lit go his hair, 
 Nora, darlint. You'll be forgivin' her, Mister Ma- 
 goon, for that same. Faix, a wife would be no wife 
 at all that would not be taking the part of her hus- 
 band ! It was just a bit of a play we were havin', 
 for love's sake, in the moonlight, sir. Not the laste 
 bit of anger in the world, sir not the laste. But, 
 walk in, Mr. Magoon, walk in, my leddy. I '11 
 thrate ye to a nicer toddy than iver you drank afore, 
 since the day that your mither gin ye a wee drop, for 
 yer stomach's sake, in the morning." 
 
 Richard turned with disgust from his drunken 
 familiarity. Had his own spirit been less disturbed, 
 he might have laughed heartily at the Irish wit, and 
 the ready tact that could, on the instant, turn a 
 drunken fight into a "love-play in the moonlight." 
 But now he paused only to threaten Pat with his 
 magisterial power if any further disturbance occurred, 
 and turned, with Elsie, to retrace his steps. 
 
 The sound of a galloping horse was heard in the 
 distance, and, in a moment more, a man rode up, who 
 proved to be the constable of the township. He came 
 with the news that Mike Dugan, on his way home 
 from the " Still," had met young Harry Falconer, in 
 company with his sister; that Mike had insulted 
 Ellen, and Henry had repelled the insult by calling
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 55 
 
 him a " drunken wretch." That Mike had then rushed 
 upon the boy, who was without means of defence, and 
 beaten him with his hoe, until he had cut and bruised 
 him horribly. Ellen had run, screaming for help ; 
 but before any one could get to the spot, Henry was 
 dead. That Mike had been taken, and the Justice 
 was wanted immediately. 
 
 "Oh, my God!" cried Elsie, "what will come 
 next ? Is there to be no end of these terrors ? Poor 
 Mrs. Falconer ! her favorite son killed, murdered ! 
 And Mrs. Dugan's only son a murderer I The wretched 
 mother of such a son ! Oh ! I would rather all of 
 mine were murdered, than that I should live to see 
 one of them guilty of such a deed ! " 
 
 " It was liquor did it, ma'am," said the constable, 
 respectfully. " Nothing but the liquor. Young Fal- 
 coner hadn't a better friend in the township than 
 Mike Dugan, before he took to drink. He was en- 
 gaged to Ellen, they say, and she turned him off after 
 he took to drinking. It is a pity, I think, that the 
 Squire ever let him have that situation under Kit, in 
 the 'Still-house.' It 's been the spoiling of him. He 
 was the smartest boy in the town when his father 
 died, two years ago." 
 
 " Yes," said Elsie, her face white as marble, and 
 the great sweat-drops standing on her brow; "yes, 
 and it was to help his mother that good, noble 
 mother, who gave up even her widow's dower to her 
 husband's creditors that he took the position. Oh! 
 he asked of us bread, and we gave him a stone." 
 
 " Go home to the children, Elsie!" said the magis-
 
 56 ELSJE MA GOO N; OR, 
 
 tratc, in a tone of authority that brought "the blood 
 back again to her cheeks and lips. "I shall not 
 probably be back till late." So saying, he turned 
 abruptly from his wife, and went his way. 
 
 She watched their receding figures till they were 
 lost in a turn of the road, and then, folding her 
 arms across her breast, walked firmly toward the 
 house. 
 
 But who shall tell the agony of that fearful hour, 
 when the horrors which she had so vividly foreseen 
 from the erection of the fatal "Still-house," seemed 
 thickening about them? when that most bitter dreg 
 was added to her cup of torture, the suspicion that 
 the husband of her youth and love, the father of her 
 children, was not only in the sight of God and man 
 responsible for the most fearful of evils, the ghastliest 
 of crimes, but that his own self-respect and manhood 
 were falling under the power of this curse. "Oh, 
 God! oh, God!" she cried, as she strode rapidly on 
 in the deepening twilight. " Oh, God ! my cup is 
 full to overflowing have mercy, have mercy, I pray !" 
 And she pressed one hand violently upon her breast, 
 and the other over her mouth, as if she had already 
 quaifed deeply of the bitter draught, and were re- 
 pelling what remained. Then bursting into tears, 
 she sobbed out, "Oh! Richard, Richard! better, far 
 better, that we should have struggled on in poverty, 
 toiling day by day for bread, than that we should 
 have made wealth at so fearful a cost ! But I must 
 be calm, and let no word or look betray my terrible
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 57 
 
 suspicions* I must work, work, work ! But oh, my 
 God ! where, where shall I begin ? " 
 
 Having reached her home, she seated herself on the 
 doorstep, she could not venture in until she was 
 calmer ; and the quiet stars looking down from their 
 far heights upon her, seemed comforting in their 
 serenity and peace. And there beneath them, she 
 renewed her vow to work, by day and by night, 
 against the monster that was filling so many hearts 
 with anguish, so many homes with desolation and 
 death. Aye! so many homes! was not hers, would 
 it not also be one of them? And by an instinctive 
 movement she leaped to her feet and turned sharply 
 round to see if even now the flames had not seized it, 
 or some frightful calamity overtaken it. There it 
 stood ! the home of her beloved, free from all appar- 
 ent evil ; the star-light clung lovingly about it, the 
 tender vines hung their festoons of beauty and grace 
 upon it. But through all this vision of its peace and 
 loveliness, she saw fearful shadows threatening it, 
 fierce fiendish shapes closing about it, until, to shut 
 out all, she sank again upon the step where he had so 
 often sat with her beneath the holy stars, when their 
 hearts were as peaceful and unclouded. She wept 
 long and bitterly, but less for herself than for others 
 for the woes which one dearer to her than her own 
 life, was indirectly inflicting upon the innocent and 
 helpless. As she wept, her soul grew calmer, and 
 strengthened against the future; and at length she 
 arose, went quietly in, kissed each of the dear ones
 
 58 ELSIE MAG OO N. 
 
 who were sleeping the sleep of unconsciousness amid 
 all the evils which menaced them, although each 
 kiss smote her -with a spasm of pain as it wakened 
 the memory of those other sorrowing mothers, and, 
 tearing herself unwillingly from them all, she went 
 to her lonely chamber to cast herself anew upon the 
 bosom of Infinite Love.
 
 CHAP TEE VI. 
 
 funeral of Henry Falconer was a solemn 
 -L scene. But the most solemn feature of it was 
 the presentation of Deacon Peters' temperance pledge. 
 Years had whitened the old man's locks, and bowed 
 his frame, and deepened the furrows upon his brow ; 
 but it had not deadened the fire and energy of his 
 heart. His words were measured and slow, but their 
 force was unabated. He spoke to the multitude in 
 earnest tones, and begged, with pleading tears, that 
 the young should come forth and pledge themselves 
 to abstain from the beverages which had brought such 
 woe upon the people. 
 
 The old men bowed their heads under the influ- 
 ence of his fervid appeals, the women gave their 
 emotion vent in quiet tears, while the young wept 
 openly in the fulness of their feeling. But not one 
 of all the crowd dared turn at the old man's entreaty, 
 and come forward to sign the pledge of " total ab- 
 stinence from all that can intoxicate." 
 
 Once, twice, thrice, he repeated the call. He be- 
 sought them by the blood of the young man, sent to 
 his last account without a moment's warning ; by the 
 agonizing sorrow of the murderer, whose fate was 
 even more terrible than that of him who had fallen 
 by his hand. He portrayed the woe of the aged and 
 
 (59)
 
 60 ELSIE M AGO OX; OK, 
 
 doubly widowed mother ; for her son had stood in 
 the place of his father till the power of temptation 
 bad overcome him. He spoke of the probable pun ish- 
 ment. He glanced over the past five years of misrule 
 in the neighborhood. He alluded to the burial of Scott. 
 " Even then," he cried, with tones of honest feeling, 
 "even then I would have gathered you under the 
 wings of temperance, as a hen gathereth her brood ; 
 bat ye would not. Oh! will ye wait until your 
 homes and hearts are all made desolate as these have 
 been, or will you come now, and thus bring peace 
 and quiet to your souls? Is there not one here to 
 join with me in this self-denial not one? mat one?" 
 
 Slowly, in the back of the house, bat in full view 
 of the congregation, rose Elsie Magoon ; and, with 
 face pale as marble, bat with firm step, approached 
 the altar behind which the old man stood, and taking 
 the pen and pledge from his hand, turned, and plac- 
 ing them upon the coffin, between her and the people, 
 deliberately signed her name to the pledge a pledge 
 that required her not only to abstain from the use of 
 ardent spirits herself, bat " to use all reasonable means 
 for its exclusion from the neighborhood." 
 
 When she had written her name, she lifted her 
 head, and, looking at the people, said in a dear voice, 
 "I have done what I believe to be right; if every 
 one here would obey the voice of conscience, my 
 name would not stand alone." Mrs. Col. Parsons, a 
 beautiful and good woman, rose partly from her seat; 
 bat the strong hand of her husband was laid upon 
 her arm, and she shrank back again. In another
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 61 
 
 part of the house, a young wife rose, and advanced a 
 step, when the husband caught his hat, twitched her 
 sleeve and left the house. No others dared come for- 
 ward; and Elsie, looking over the audience, pro- 
 nounced solemnly the words, "Alone! I can stand 
 alone," and returned to her seat. 
 
 Richard was not at the funeral. His duty as a 
 magistrate had kept him in the village, where the 
 examination of Mike Dugan was going on. At 
 about the same hour that the body of Henry was 
 lowered to its last resting-place by the weeping 
 family, Mike Dugan was thrust into the dark and 
 loathsome cell of the heavy log-jail, there to await his 
 trial before the court, which would not hold its ses- 
 sion for three months. 
 
 The mother of Henry laid her son to his rest with 
 wild and uncontrollable grief. But the mother of 
 the murderer saw her child led away to a doom more 
 fearful than death ; where the body must suffer and 
 the soul writhe in torment, and the good name, the 
 reputation, be for evermore turned into a by-word 
 and a curse. But no tear dimmed her eye, no sigh 
 heaved her bosom ; no word of complaint, no moan 
 of despair, passed from her crushed heart. 
 
 " He '11 be sure to be hung," said Bill Briggs, who 
 sat whittling a stick to a point on the fence beside 
 the office. 
 
 " You may bet high on that," answered his burly 
 companion. "D n him! he ought to be burnt 
 alive. Henry Falconer was a right good feller." 
 
 " I 'd pile sticks to burn old Magoon's 'Still-house/
 
 62 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 and that mighty quick, if anybody would help me," 
 said Fred Wilson. 
 
 "It's no use laying the blame on the 'Still-house' 
 or the liquor," said Deacon Hill, who was standing 
 by. " It 's no use trying to lay the blame where it 
 don't belong. A man need n't get drunk if he don't 
 choose to, and a moderate use of liquor does no man 
 any harm. It 's my opinion that whiskey only takes 
 the hypocrisy out of a man, and shows you just what 
 he is. If Dugan had n't had murder in him, it would 
 never have come out of him ; and I consider that a 
 man has no more excuse for doing a thing because 
 he's in liquor, than he has when he's been eating 
 hoe-cakes and molasses for his dinner not a jot." 
 
 " Them 's my notions precisely, Deacon," said 
 Briggs, the landlord of the village inn. " If a man 
 is a mind to be a fool, why he kin, whether he gits 
 whiskey or not ; and it 's my 'pinion that Dugan will 
 be hung." 
 
 " I think he will. Such an example is very neces- 
 sary in these parts," said the Deacon pompously, just 
 as the wretched mother passed by. She caught the 
 words, and the already chilled blood froze at its foun- 
 tain. Pier heart ceased to beat ; her knees gave way 
 under her, and she fell at the Deacon's feet in a faint- 
 ing fit. 
 
 In a moment, a dozen of the idlers were at her side. 
 They lifted her up, brought water, bathed her tem- 
 ples, rubbed her, and very soon ah ! all too soon 
 she was restored to consciousness. Opening her eyes 
 and fixing them on Deacon Hill, she said to him :
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. C3 
 
 " It was you, Deacon, that first put the accursed cup 
 to the lips of my boy. You told him l to drink and 
 be a man that he was too big to be hanging to his 
 mother's apron-strings.' If he dies, his blood be upon 
 your head ! He never disobeyed me till you sneered 
 at his integrity, and taught him to despise my counsel." 
 
 The Deacon shrank back; and Sam Briggs, whose 
 heart was really not bad, insisted upon helping her 
 home. But she waved him away, and calmly and 
 silently went her way to her desolate house by the 
 wayside. 
 
 The ceremonies of the funeral had ended, and our 
 heroine returned to her home. Richard was moody 
 and silent at supper, and she did not tell him what 
 she had done. The neighbors did not report the 
 scene at the church, and it was some time before 
 Richard knew that his house was divided against 
 itself before the world, as it had long been in secret. 
 
 Meanwhile Mike Dugan had been lying in jail 
 awaiting his trial. Now the day drew near for the 
 final settlement of his case. Mr. Falconer and his 
 family had great influence in the neighborhood, and 
 their sorrow had created great sympathy in their 
 behalf, and an equally strong feeling against the young 
 man who was wearing out his life in the prison-cell. 
 
 We have hinted that Michael Dugan and Ellen 
 Falconer had been warm friends, in the days when 
 the young man's father, who had been reputed a man 
 of wealth and character, was still living. He, too, 
 had been given to the habit of the times, and had 
 fallen a ready prey to a violent Western fever, which
 
 64 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 seldom spares its victim, if addicted to intemperance. 
 After his death the estate was found wholly insolvent. 
 The widow might have claimed her portion, but she 
 refused to do so ; saying that those who had trusted 
 her husband in good faith should in good faith be 
 paid to the uttermost farthing, if there were means to 
 do it. But means there were not; and when the 
 mother and her only son left their home, and went 
 into the cabin on the hill-side, and she took to her 
 spinning-wheel for a living, while he went out to 
 labor upon the farms, everybody admired her sterling 
 honesty, and was ready to give her a helping hand. 
 
 Squire Falconer, while he was willing to assist 
 the widow, peremptorily forbade Ellen to have any- 
 thing more to do with the son. Ellen, for the most 
 part, obeyed the father's mandate, although her heart 
 rebelled ; hoping that ere long her lover, by careful 
 industry, would become reinstated in her father's good 
 opinion. 
 
 In the mean time, Michael went to work with 
 Deacon Hill. He was laboring under the double 
 affliction of his father's death and the downfall of his 
 fortunes ; and in addition, was made to believe, by 
 Henry Falconer, that Ellen had of her own free will 
 discarded him, because of his altered fortunes. It 
 was under this pressure of adverse circumstances and 
 feelings that the Deacon had persuaded him to drink 
 ''just a drop," from time to time, to cheer himself. 
 One step taken seemed to require another. Mike was 
 a jovial, true-hearted, earnest boy. His father's Irish 
 blood, mingled with his mother's Puritan stock, had
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 65 
 
 laid the foundation of a rare character. All the ad- 
 vantages of a new country he had enjoyed; and new, 
 with an ardent love for his mother, and a hearty de- 
 sire to work his own way honestly in the world, he 
 was ready to labor wherever he could win for himself 
 the means to bring comfort to her. 
 
 First, then, in Deacon Hill's field he had been 
 tempted ; next, as a clerk in the great establishment 
 of Richard Magoon, surrounded on all sides by 
 tempters and temptation. But never, until the fatal 
 Saturday, although in his thoughtful moments his 
 cheek had often been reddened with shame over some 
 coarse word or indiscreet or unkind action into which 
 the stimulus of whiskey had led him, had he be- 
 come so far under its influence, and lost to himself) 
 as to do aught which should wring his mother's heart 
 with sorrow, or his own with remorse. 
 
 In the Distillery, as manager, was a man familiarly 
 called Kit, who seemed possessed of a demon; a 
 deep drinker himself, but never entirely overcome, it 
 seemed a matter of exultation with him to entice and 
 break down every man, young or old, who came 
 within the sphere of his influence. He hated young 
 Dugan, moreover, because he had several times, in his 
 capacity of clerk, detected defalcation and wrong- 
 doing in the distillery, and called him to account for 
 it ; because too, he had reported, at last, his short- 
 comings and abusive treatment to his employer, and 
 thus subjected him to reproof. On the Saturday on 
 which the murder had been committed, Kit had made 
 a bet with young Dugan, the loser to stand a treat 
 6*
 
 66 ELSIE M AGO ON; 01?, 
 
 of egg-nog, and both to drink a pint. Kit had lost 
 the bet, as he knew he should, and had mixed the 
 egg-nog to suit his diabolical purpose. He knew 
 well that a pint of egg-nog would completely upset 
 young Dugan; but, to make assurance doubly sure, 
 he made it as strong as the beverage would bear 
 little less than a half-pint of the raw liquor. 
 
 Dugan drank off the draught, without discovering 
 how he had been deceived. In a few moments he was 
 wild with exhilaration, and very shortly a disturb- 
 ance arose between the two. All the afternoon, Kit 
 enjoyed the demoniac pleasure of chafing the irritated 
 nerves and feelings of the young man. 
 
 Once or twice they had come almost to blows ; and 
 Mr. Magoon was sent for to settle difficulties. Find- 
 ing Michael in a state of total inebriety, he dis- 
 missed him at once, ordering him out of the "Still- 
 house." 
 
 On his way home he stopped at the corn-field, 
 staggering, singing, and shouting. Here he found a 
 new vexation. The boys began to jeer and laugh at 
 him about Ellen. " He was a pretty fellow to be 
 looking after the smartest and handsomest girl in 
 town. Xo wonder she gave him 'the sack 5 with 
 both ends open." 
 
 Each one fabricated a tale to suit himself, only to 
 deepen the agony of the poor wretch. He drank 
 there again, and when the time came to leave the 
 field, and he started off alone, he had thoughtlessly 
 hung a hoe over his shoulder. On his way he met
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 67 
 
 Henry Falconer and his sister Ellen, just returning 
 from a neighbor's, where they had been on a visit. 
 
 Mike was yet smarting under the taunts and sneers 
 of his comrades; and, drunk as he was, he remem- 
 bered the hard sayings which they had jokingly put 
 into the mouth of Ellen, and determined to be re- 
 venged ; so he stepped up to her, and, with an insult- 
 ing remark, attempted to kiss her. This of course 
 aroused Henry, who called him a drunken fool, and 
 struck him a severe blow, at the same time declaring 
 
 ' O 
 
 that if he spoke to Ellen again he would beat his 
 brains out. 
 
 Mike did speak, and approached Ellen as she stood 
 by the road-side, trembling with terror. Henry 
 sprang between them, at the same time dealing a 
 second blow. In an instant, the hoe of Mike fell 
 with all his force upon the head of Henry, striking 
 him down. Blow followed blow, and ere three young 
 men, who were in the field near them, could come to 
 the rescue, the fatal deed was done. Mike was hur- 
 ried to the village and committed to jail. In the 
 morning, when he awoke, he had a dreamy conscious- 
 ness of what had happened; but it seemed only a 
 dream. He had quarrelled with Mr. Magoon, had a 
 dispute in the corn-field, and an awful fight with 
 Henry Falconer. 
 
 Wild was his terror, and fearful his grief, when 
 told that his dreams were realities, and that he was 
 indeed the murderer of Ellen's brother. And still 
 more terrible was his agony when his beloved mother
 
 68 ELSIE MAG 00 N; 01?, 
 
 pressed his cold hand in hers at the trial on the Mon- 
 day morning following the murder. 
 
 " Mother, do not reproach me," said he, in a low, 
 husky voice. "I do not ask you to forgive me, 
 either. O ! I would die, or live a life of lingering 
 torture, no word, no murmur should pass my lips, 
 if I could only bring the dead to life, and, with 
 him, peace again to your heart and his ! Mother, 
 pity me, pray for me. Xo! no! forget me, but 
 pray God to take that curse of all curses out of the 
 neighborhood, that 'Still-house/ that entrance 
 to hell, which is luring so many into its ravenous 
 jaws. Strive for that, mother, and let me die the 
 death I deserve. Do not talk to me, I can't bear 
 your voice, it pierces me like a dagger. Oh, 
 mother ! mother ! why was I left to curse you so?" 
 
 The mother folded him convulsively in her arms, 
 and clung to him in silence until he was taken back 
 to his cell ; and then, as we have said, she went away 
 to her own home, and through the long summer days 
 lived alone. Few saw her ; for all sympathized with 
 her, and none dared intrude upon her privacy. But 
 there was one who spent long hours with the heart- 
 broken mother, one who, true to her woman's na- 
 ture, showed her sympathy in two~ homes, and com- 
 forted the sorrows of two mothers. Ellen Falconer 
 bad loved Michael Dugan deeply and truly, and she 
 felt that when misfortunes came, her love should, 
 most of all, have sustained him. But a father's stern 
 command had controlled her generous nature. She 
 had however written to Michael, telling him how
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 69 
 
 matters stood at home, and assuring him that if, at 
 the expiration of her minority, which would be in a 
 few months, her father still continued his dislike, she 
 should assert her own independence, if he (Michael) 
 remained true and firm amid his trials. But this 
 note Henry had not honestly conveyed to its rightful 
 owner. On the contrary, he told Dugan that Ellen 
 herself had spurned him, and that she was engaged 
 to, and would soon marry, James Watt, a young 
 lawyer from the village. Michael had always made 
 a confidant of his mother ; and in the long, lonely 
 visits made by Ellen to the widow, she had been in- 
 formed of Henry's treachery. 
 
 Public opinion, as we have said, was strongly set 
 against young Dugan. The general conviction was 
 that he would be hung ; for the rumor had been cir- 
 culated that he had threatened -tKe life of Falconer 
 before the late quarrel ; and, moreover, capital punish- 
 ment was not then so abhorrent to the people as now. 
 
 The mother of the prisoner was allowed to visit 
 him once a week. Elsie Magoon also had asked, 
 and been once or twice admitted to talk with him. 
 One Saturday afternoon Ellen called on Elsie, and, 
 taking her aside, asked the loan of a bonnet, a shawl, 
 and dress. No explanations were made. That even- 
 ing, Mrs. Dugan and Mrs. Magoon sought the jail 
 in the dim twilight, and remained an hour with the 
 prisoner. After they left, a keen eye might have 
 discovered a heavy butcher-knife concealed in the 
 straw of his bed. Three weeks after, on the day set 
 for the trial, when the sheriff entered the prison, he
 
 70 ELSIE MA GOO N; R, 
 
 found the cell empty. The breakfast of the young 
 man remained untasted, and his bed so arranged that 
 the jailer, in the dark, had taken the old clothes, the 
 knee of the pants stuffed with straAV, and an arm of 
 the coat ingeniously arranged, for the prisoner. The 
 young man had always been moody and silent, and 
 therefore the jailer thought it not strange that his 
 face was covered, or that he refused an answer when 
 his food had been placed inside the door. Under his 
 pallet of straw was found a hole in the floor. The 
 prisoner had dug his way out beneath the underpin- 
 ning of the logs, where friends were waiting with 
 garments and money to send him on his way ; and ? 
 with many a prayer, many a blessing, and many 
 tears, he fled from the terrible doom that seemed to 
 await him. 
 
 Not until Ellen had entered his cell, did the hope 
 arise in his heart to escape, what he believed just 
 an incarceration in the penitentiary. This he ex- 
 pected ; and the years of solitary thought and suffer- 
 ing the bloody, lifeless form of Henry ever before 
 him were to him more horrible even than the idea 
 of the gallows ; and he fell into a mood of sullen 
 despair in view of his probable fate. 
 
 But when she entered his cell when she knelt by 
 him, and wept her bitter tears, and bade him escape 
 the felon's doom, to be strong of heart, and resolve- 
 in the future to redeem the past ; when she, child as 
 she was, bade him live and be a man, for the world's 
 sake for his mother's sake for her sake ; when 
 in the fulness of her young love she pressed his pale
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 71 
 
 forehead with her lips, and the electric current sped 
 to his desponding heart, to warm and vitalize it again 
 into life and action, then he sprang up, and with 
 the force of one just wakened from a frightful dream, 
 he promised her that he would do as she wished ; 
 that he would be all they desired ; and that a day 
 should come, if God would but spare him, when the 
 world should be willing to forgive, if they could not 
 forget, that one maddened hour of his life.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 escape of Mike Dugan caused great excitement 
 in the quiet village of Smithville. Efforts were 
 made to arrest him, but it was more than half sus- 
 pected that the Sheriff and his deputies took no spe- 
 cial pains to overtake the fugitive. Indeed, public 
 opinion seemed as public opinion often does to 
 undergo a sudden revolution. 
 
 Ellen Falconer, who, in consideration of her deep 
 grief at the time of the first trial, had not been called 
 upon as a witness, had since given her deposition ; and 
 the statement that Henry had struck Mike twice 
 before Mike had made the assault, put a new face 
 upon the affair altogether ; for the young men had all 
 testified that they knew of no quarrel between the 
 two, and had therefore believed the attack of Mike to 
 be unprovoked. 
 
 Then, too, the treachery of Kit , the falseness 
 
 of young Falconer his deception in telling Mike 
 that Helen had spurned him for his poverty's sake, 
 also became known, and there were few who did not 
 rejoice at the escape. 
 
 The old log-jail passed under review by the com- 
 missioners ; it was unanimously decided that a new 
 one was needed ; and forthwith a new one was built. 
 
 Mrs. Dugan and Mrs. Falconer had met. and with
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 73 
 
 many tears, and kindly condolences, had renewed 
 their early friendship; and Mrs. Dugan had soon 
 after left, to join friends in the far East. 
 
 The harvests ripened the autumn fruits fell, and 
 were gathered in winter swept over the fields 
 and spring gladdened the old door-stone with blos- 
 soms. There were births, marriages, and deaths 
 change, perpetual change even at the Old Still- 
 House; which yet groaned and puffed, and puffed and 
 groaned, under the hill. 
 
 Change aye, there was change. Deacon Hill was 
 fast losing his respectability, as he had already lost 
 his position in the church. Squire Falconer never 
 came home from the village sober ; Major Brant was 
 going the downward road as fast as an ungovernable 
 passion could carry him. Twenty others, men of 
 character and means, might be counted, who never 
 went to a raising, a shooting-match, an election, a 
 militia training, or even a school-meeting, without 
 forgetting what was due themselves as men. 
 
 All things were changing, and all for the worse 
 and Richard Magoon among the rest. His farm was 
 running down ; his barns and fences were out of re- 
 pair; his stock ill cared for; his home neglected. 
 Debts were eating up all the profits of the farm and 
 Still-house ; for w r ith bad management, and bad men, 
 there was but little profit anywhere. And that early 
 debt that five hundred, to pay which the Still-house 
 was built, remained uncancelled, and the wily old 
 step-father held a mortgage upon the whole estate. 
 
 As Richard went down, our heroine seemed to rise 
 7
 
 74 ELSIE MAGOON; OP, 
 
 in strength and courage. Terrible was the grief that 
 was tugging at her heart-strings, but she braced her- 
 self bravely against it. 
 
 " Weepings and wailings will not give me strength 
 for ray duties," she would say to herself; "these loved 
 ones must be cared for and educated. Who will lead 
 them in the true path, if a mother's love fail ? The 
 waters of bitterness may roll over me, but I must not 
 sink." And so she toiled on, patient and strong, 
 striving to her utmost to rectify her husband's mis- 
 takes; to think for him and plan for him working 
 earnestly for the good of all, conscientiously believing 
 that what was for the happiness of the. neighborhood, 
 was for the happiness of her own household. Hence, 
 she was often compelled to take a bold stand against 
 what seemed to be the immediate interest of her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Five years had again sped by, since the escape of 
 Mike Dugan, and great preparations were being made 
 in the neighborhood for a Fourth-of-July celebration. 
 The gathering was to be held in the grove near the 
 new brick church. The Declaration of Independence 
 was to be read, songs sung, and Richard Magoon to 
 address the people; to be followed by a dinner to be 
 provided by the ladies from their abundant stores. 
 
 Elsie Magoon was chosen superintendent of the 
 ladies' department; and a meeting was held in her 
 parlor, three weeks before, to lay their plans, and to 
 ascertain who were able and willing to volunteer for 
 the work. There were twenty, or more, present ; all 
 were animated and enthusiastic, and tongues ran glibly,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 75 
 
 while hands worked diligently with knitting-needles, 
 and the hereditary " patchwork." The items of tur- 
 keys, pigs, ham, beef, veal, mutton, squirrels, venison, 
 rabbits ; the bread, biscuits, cakes, pies, tarts, custards, 
 puddings, and all the etceteras of a country festival, 
 had been duly discussed and arranged ; the tea and 
 coflfee, the sugar and cream, attended to ; every one 
 knew her part; when Mrs. Enson let fall the remark, 
 that they would need other drinks beside tea and 
 coffee, and that she had some nice currant wine to 
 offer ; another had peppermint cordial ; a third had 
 blackberry syrup ; a fourth, as good cider as ever was 
 tasted ; a fifth would furnish eggs and sugar for egg- 
 nog ; a sixth would give nutmegs ; and so on, if 
 Mrs. Magoon would furnish the whiskey. 
 
 " My friends," said Mrs. Magoon, after their rapid 
 proposals were ended, "you have, with one voice, 
 voted me your superintendent. If I take any part 
 with you in that festival, I shall insist that neither 
 wine, egg-nog, nor toddy shall be introduced upon 
 our tables." 
 
 " Why, Miss Magoon, how you do talk ! " almost 
 shrieked Betsy Lake; "we could n't have any Fourth 
 at all, if we went to work that way. Every young 
 man in town would be a-laughing at us ; they 'd never 
 come nigh us, if it got out." 
 
 " I can't help that," was the calm reply. " Any young 
 jnan who comes to the grove only to get something to 
 drink, would probably be an annoyance while there, 
 and had better be allowed to stay away. I shall 
 insist upon this arrangement, or, upon giving up my 
 charge."
 
 76 ELSIE M AGO OX; OR, 
 
 " La, now, Miss Magoon, don't go fur to be per- 
 ticHar; you know folks allcrs have had, and allers 
 will have such things," said Mrs. Tim White, the 
 blacksmith's wife. 
 
 "I know that well, Mrs. "White; but can you tell 
 me of a single instance where tiiey have had such 
 things, that evil did n't come of it, since the days when 
 Noah planted a vineyard and became drunken ? " 
 
 " Did n't Christ make wine out of water, I 'd like 
 to know?" piped out Miss Ferrill. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Magoon ; " and if any one at 
 our party can do the same, I shall not object. But I 
 take it, the wine that Jesus spoke into existence had 
 none of the properties that produce intoxication, for 
 we do not read that any of that wedding-party became 
 intoxicated, or that the wedding ended in a fight." 
 
 " No more they did n't," said Mrs. Deacon Hill ; 
 " and I 'm for Mrs. Magoon ; I know just how it '11 
 be. Last Fourth the Deacon went down to Smithville 
 and they got to toastin' and speechifyin', and the 
 Deacon he stayed and stayed, and he never got home 
 till 'leven o'clock at night, and he driv the old mare 
 off the bridge, and come pretty nigh breaking his 
 neck." (" Pity he did n't : he 's an old goose anyhow," 
 tittered Miss Lake to Miss Ferrill, in the corner.) 
 
 " What 's that you was saying, Betsy Lake ? " said 
 Mrs. Deacon Hill. 
 
 " Oh ! nothin' ; me and Jane was only talking." 
 
 " Well, I 'm agin the liquor anyhow," rejoined the 
 Deacon's wife. 
 
 " I am fully with Mrs. Magoon," said Miss M or-
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 77 
 
 timer, the school-teacher; "I have noticed that many 
 of our young men drink too freely, even at our par- 
 ties; and, talking to Judge Icors the other day, he 
 laid the blame upon the young ladies. Now, let us 
 all unite ; and if we can have one party without it, 
 and keep sober, perhaps we can have another, and in 
 the end exert a permanent influence. I have heard 
 that these things are being done in other places." 
 
 " Exert a fiddlestick !" said Betsy Lake. " I tell 
 you now, there Ml not be a beau there, if there 's no 
 fixins of that sort." 
 
 " Miss Mortimer will have her beau, and she don't 
 care for the rest," chimed in Miss Ferrill. "Parson 
 Jones has come out on old father Peters' side, and 
 don't touch a drop won't eat apples if they ain't 
 sweet ; so folks say." 
 
 " I wish your friend, Ben Allen, was as conscien- 
 tious," replied Miss Mortimer, while a blush of con- 
 scious love and pride mounted her fair brow. 
 
 The blush seemed contagious, for Miss Ferrill 's 
 face was as red as a peony, and she reached out of the 
 window for a sprig of the honeysuckle that drooped 
 over the casement. 
 
 " If I might venture a remark," spoke Mrs. Fal- 
 coner, in a low voice, " I should say that Mrs. Magoon 
 is in the right; but how will the gentlemen bear it?" 
 
 " We'll make 'em bear it," said Mrs. Deacon Hill; 
 " and as for the youngsters, if they don't like the girls 
 bettor than toddy, let 'em stay away, I say; my girls 
 can git along without 'em, I reckon." 
 
 " Well, for my part," spoke up a little fussy woman
 
 7S ELSIE MA COO .V ; O I?. 
 
 in the corner, with a voice very like a screech-owl, 
 "I think it's meddling with thing.? that don't belong 
 to us. If the men want whiskey and drinks, let 'era 
 have whiskey and drinks, and enjoy themselves. It 
 looks mighty like takin' away people's liberties on 
 the Fourth of July too! my man would never con- 
 sent to it, I know, though he is as sober a man as 
 common, I dare say." 
 
 Poor little Mrs. Piper ! she did n't know that every 
 one in the room knew that her man was "unco' 
 happy " seven days in the week, and twice on Sunday. 
 
 " Let us put it to vote ! " cried out a voice. 
 
 "No!" said Mrs. Magoon ; "no! you have made 
 me your manager. I stand here, ready and willing to 
 take the responsibility and bear all the blame. If you 
 will help me this once, I will do all I can to make 
 the day pleasant to all parties. The young ladies will 
 doubtless remember their last dance the shame and 
 mortification that wrung their hearts at having to go 
 home alone ; of leaving their lovers and fathers too 
 imbecile to get out of the hall. Some of my married 
 friends too, have surely not forgotten the trials of the 
 next day. I will not act, if I am to superintend the 
 dealing out of the withering curse that spoils all our 
 enjoyment, and turns our neighborhood peace into 
 madness and confusion. I shall put another vote, 
 how many are desirous still that I shall superintend 
 the arrangement." 
 
 The consciousness of doing right, the boldness of 
 the undertaking, the trial that she knew awaited her 
 all conspired to flush Elsie's cheek and brighten 
 her eye, and her calm, resolute soul shone out in every
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 79 
 
 feature of her face, as she stood among them with 
 folded hands awaiting their decision. Beautiful and 
 strong she looked. Every one knew her true to her 
 purpose, as the magnet to the pole, and the advo- 
 cates of drinking were rebuked and subdued before 
 her. Not one raised a voice against her. After a 
 moment's silence, she resumed the subject, 
 
 "No one here will accuse me of a desire to hold the 
 position assigned me. It will be a labor and care 
 that I have not sought for, but which have been 
 forced upon me. I have seen how the demon of al- 
 cohol has degraded us in years past. I know my 
 husband makes it : would to God he did not ! For 
 years I have striven to prevent its use in all private 
 ways, now I am ready to take this bold, public 
 stand; those who still make me their choice, will 
 lift the right hand." 
 
 As if a spell were upon them, every hand was 
 raised. So all-pervading is the influence of one 
 strong heart in the cause of right. Few know their 
 own power, or the influence they may exert over 
 others. A resolute, determined "I can, and will," 
 lias often saved a neighborhood. The bold, fervid 
 spirit leads on the mob, and the same spirit by its 
 subtile magnetism can subdue it. 
 
 However much Betsy Lake and Miss Ferrill agreed 
 to disagree with Mrs. Magoon, they held their hands 
 high in air, and one would have supposed them the 
 sv.-orn friends of prohibition, in the past no less than 
 the future. 
 
 The party of ladies separated in hearty good- 
 humor, and our heroine, elated with her success, went 
 to her work with a more cheerful spirit than usual.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THERE was not in the whole country a more ex- 
 pert washwoman than Nora Sweeney. Little as 
 she was, she had a vast deal of physical force, which, 
 united to her extreme activity, enabled her to do a 
 large amount of work. Soon after the quarrel related^ 
 Nora was called upon to wash for Mrs. Magoon, who 
 thought there could be no better time to attempt her 
 reformation than when she called for her dram, as 
 she always did about ten o'clock in the forenoon. 
 
 " An' sure, Misthress Magoon," said the spirited 
 little washwoman, " you 're not going to let a puir 
 body wash the livelong day, with niver a dhrop to 
 warm and comfort them, is yez ? " 
 
 "Well, Nora, I think I shall. I have made up 
 my mind that it is wrong to give such things to 
 people, and in future no one will get anything stronger 
 from me than a cup of tea." 
 
 " Ye '11 jist be suiting yersilf, of coorse, Misthress 
 Magoon," was the laconic reply ; and the little red 
 arms flashed through the foaming suds at a vigorous 
 rate. But not a word more was spoken, until Mrs. 
 Magoon, who felt as though her duty would be left 
 undone if she d^id not make an attempt to impress 
 the woman with the necessity of keeping sober, again 
 took up the subject. 
 
 (80)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 81 
 
 " Nora," said she, " why is it that you will con- 
 tinue to drink so much, when you see the trouble it 
 brings upon you ? You have little children depend- 
 ing upon you for support, and you have nothing 
 comfortable in your house, only as you earn it ; for 
 Pat spends nearly all his wages for whiskey. Surely, 
 it is bad enough for him. Men, you know, think 
 they must drink to make them strong. But I don't 
 think women need it. Now tell me candidly, do 
 you?" 
 
 " Troth, thin, since ye 've axed, I '11 jist say I 'm 
 thinking it 's as much a need for the one as the other." 
 
 " Yes, I know what you mean, Nora. You think 
 that both men and women would be better without it, 
 and so do I. But it really does seem worse for a 
 woman to drink, and fight, and do such things, than 
 for a man. You could get up a first-rate character, 
 if you would only let drink alone, and keep sober ; 
 for there is not such a washwoman in the whole town. 
 Then you are so cheerful and happy when you are 
 sober so witty, too and you never deceive us, or 
 break your promises. If you would but agree to let 
 the liquor alone, you might in time lead Pat to keep 
 sober. But if you could n't do that, you could at 
 least keep yourself comfortable, and set a good ex- 
 ample for your husband and children." 
 
 " Is it me ye 're spaking to, Misthress Magoon ?" 
 said the little woman, straightening herself to her full 
 height, and dashing the foam from her glowing hands ; 
 " me ye 're spakin' to, mem, biddin' me be settin' 
 good examples, and makin' fine resolves, and tachin'
 
 62 ELSIE M AGO ON; O It, 
 
 my husband good manners? Indade, thin, it's the 
 same ye may be takin' to yersilf. It 's mighty few 
 fine dresses and the likes your leddyship would be 
 gettin', if somebody did n't be drinkin' the hell-broth 
 your man is makin' all the year round. 
 
 " Bad enough for Pat, you say ! and faith it is, and 
 too hard intirely ; for when it 's drunk he is, it 's two 
 dollars a day that 's losin' to me and the childer, for a 
 betther boss niver tinded the puttin' brick in the 
 wall; but when I get drunk, it's only your beggarly 
 quarter-dollar for a long day's work, and grudged 
 me at that! Strength, is it, it gives to the men? 
 And which needs it most, thin, I 'd like to know 
 Pat with his great stout frame, and a fist that would 
 send me skirting a rod if he liked ; or me, that weighs 
 but a hundred pound, and am only four feet six in 
 the slippers my mither put on me? Strength it 
 gives, does it? I'll tell ye the strength it gives. 
 Did n't he come home last Saturday night as drunk 
 as a baste? Well he did. And had n't I the beau- 
 tiful supper for him ? And what does he do, the first 
 thing, but throw my tay-pot beyant the back-log ? I 
 was n't to be put by, so I sint his brown jug to keep 
 it company. Faith, but it was wroth thin he was, and 
 up he gets in his strength, and puts me out of the 
 door, a-shtaggerin' all the while, and bangs it on me, 
 lavin' the childer screamin' like mad. But you 
 know, my leddy, I 'm spry as a cat; so I jumps in at 
 the back windy, and jist while he 's settled hisself on 
 the stool ferninst the fire, I switched it from under 
 and laid him a-sprawlin' on the floor, flat on his back ;
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 83 
 
 and he was jist that strong with his whiskey, he 
 could n't get up at all, at all. And did n't I set the 
 table over him, and dance the beautiful hornpipe a- 
 top, in spite of him ? Troth, I did ; and I can do it 
 again whenever he gets the strength of the whiskey in 
 him. That 's the strength it gives, my leddy I 
 know ; " and Nora chuckled with delight at her own 
 exploit. 
 
 " Yes, but if you had n't been sober, you could not 
 have managed Pat in that way. Now, will you not 
 promise me that you will not drink any more ? Let 
 the men drink, if they will ; but we women will keep 
 sober." 
 
 " Niver a bit will I do the likes o' that for yez, 
 Misthress Magoon. It 's fools ye 'Merican women are 
 makin' of yerselves, sure. You jist lit the men do 
 as they like drink and swear, and chew, and smoke, 
 and fight, and whativer else seems their pleasure 
 and ye niver ask to share a bit wid 'em. Now, if 
 there 's strength in the whiskey, none needs it more 
 nor I. If there 's comfort in the baccy, I '11 take my 
 share; and if an oath relieves a body's conscience, I'll 
 out wid it, if there 's fun in a fight, I '11 take a hand. 
 Now, by your lave, my leddy and it 's askin' your 
 pardon I am for spakin' so freely to you if it 's not 
 right for me, it 's not right for anybody. And, Mis- 
 thress Magoon, don't be for askin' poor weak bodies 
 like me, to be takin' the pledge." 
 
 Old Nora was roused by her own logic, inconsistent 
 as it was, and thus went on in her mixed brogue, 
 between Irish and Yankee :
 
 84 /: L R I E MA COON; 7?, 
 
 " Don't be callin' on me to keep sober. Just let 
 your lavin' off, Misthrcss Magoon, begin at home. 
 What's to become of yer trade, if somebody don't 
 drink the divil's broth your man is so busy a-makin 
 from Monday mornin' till Saturday 'night, all the 
 year round ? And sure, is n't it out o' that ye get yer 
 livin'? out o' the blood and bones of us poor 
 wretches that knows no betther ? 
 
 " Don't ye taste the tears of widow Dugan in yer 
 tay, and hear the sighs of the puir weeping and 
 desolate Mother Falconer, in the flut'rin' of yer 
 ribbons? Och! if it be a sin to be drinkin' the 
 liquor, ain't it a wickedness to be makin' it? It's 
 a long, long reckonin',. my leddy, will come to the 
 likes of Richard Magoon whin the Good Father calls 
 him to a sittlement ; for he is rich and larned, and 
 has been well raised, and can read his good Book, 
 and knows better than to be settin' a thempthation 
 before the ignorant and wake, to lead them into the 
 
 O f 
 
 dark purgatory in this world and the world to come. 
 No, no, Misthress Magoon ; draw yer own kith and 
 kin out o' the scorchin' fire, before ye try to preach 
 the likas of us poor creatures out o' the embers." 
 
 Nora turned vigorously to her work. Her heart 
 was stung to the quick by Mrs. Magoon's reproof, for, 
 of all the neighborhood, there was not one she loved 
 so well. And now that she had said her say, she wept 
 like a child. Hers was a good, kind heart ; and could 
 she have cleansed it of the impurities of a misguided 
 life, as easily as she could purify the linens in her 
 hands, it would have been washed as white as snow.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 85 
 
 Elsie had been foiled in her first attempt, yet she 
 did not despair. The words of the excited Nora rang 
 in her ears as she went about her household duties : 
 " Don't ye taste the tears of the Widow Dugan in yer 
 tay, and hear the sighs of the desolate Mother Fal- 
 coner in yer fluttering ribbons?" One by one she 
 called her children to her, and, in the secretness of 
 her own chamber, poured out to them her thoughts 
 and sufferings, under the unholy work out of which 
 came their bread. The boys promised to abstain from 
 all contamination; they had not yet drunk a drop, 
 and pledged themselves never to do so. 
 
 Let not the reader wonder that the work of reform 
 went so slowly forward, when upon almost every 
 mind, except Elder Peters', was impressed the idea 
 that the temperance movement was one of sheer 
 fanaticism, if not infidelity. Even the minister stood 
 in his desk and preached his sermon upon moderation, 
 taking the text from Paul : "Drink no longer water, 
 but a little wine for thy stomach's sake, and for thine 
 often infirmities." Scarcely a man could be found, 
 who had not an interest, either directly or indirectly, 
 in the " old Still." Yet the one act of Elsie Magoon, 
 in standing alone in that congregation, and signing 
 her hand to a temperance pledge, had aroused the 
 neighborhood to thought. 
 
 Many said " It was wrong ; no woman should thus 
 injure the interest of her husband;" others, that it 
 was "unladylike" and "unchristian." Deacon Hill 
 quoted St. Paul again : " That wives should ask of 
 husbands at home," and learn their duty there. Most 
 8
 
 36 ELSIE 31 AGO OS; OR, 
 
 of the women, and many of the men, condemned her 
 for the act, while others defended her; and discus- 
 sions, long and earnest, were had all over the neigh- 
 borhood. Talking and thinking are very apt to elicit 
 truth ; and more than one of the good men, who stood 
 high in authority, found, before they were through 
 their argument, that there were really some pretty 
 strong points on the other side of the question. 
 
 Amid this talk, which amounted almost to slan- 
 derous persecution, the strong-hearted woman walked 
 on, unswerving in her duty; though every passing 
 day, darker and more threatening clouds gathered 
 about her. 
 
 Day by day, as the weeks rolled by, she saw, with 
 feelings amounting to terror, that a direful work was 
 being done in her own household. The flashing eye 
 and the irritable temper of her husband confirmed 
 her suspicions that he too was becoming a victim to 
 his own fearful trade. Yet, as her trials grew more 
 terrible, her spirit grew stronger in its resistance. 
 
 Elsie, the younger, now a beautiful child, budding 
 into early womanhood, was busy one evening setting 
 the tea-table for the harvesters, who would soon be 
 in from their work. 
 
 " Mother, isn't Ellen Falconer pretty?" said the 
 child, artlessly, as she laid the plates upon the long 
 table. 
 
 "I think she is, dear, because I love her; some 
 persons think she is too sad. But what made vou 
 think of her just now?" 
 
 " Oh, because Betsy Lake and Susan Ferris were
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 87 
 
 talking out there, in the garden, under the honey- 
 suckle arbor, all about lawyer Danvers wanting to 
 marry her, and how Elleii would not have him ; and 
 they said she might better, because he was rich and 
 knew so much; and that he would go to Congress some 
 day, and that he would make her such a nice lady, and 
 all that; and that she needn't be so afraid of folks 
 because they got a little the worse for liquor, some- 
 times, for her father got high every day; and that her 
 brother Tom was as bad as lawyer Danvers. And then 
 they began to talk about your not having any toddy 
 at the Fourth of July, and then they saw me and 
 stopped. It was something about the old 'Still-house' 
 they were saying. Oh ! mother, I hear folks say so 
 many things. Won't father do something else some 
 time but make whiskey?" 
 
 " I hope so, dear." 
 
 " Mother, when I get a little bigger, I mean to go 
 a\v;iy, teach school, or do something, somewhere. I 
 won't stay here if he don't quit making whiskey, for 
 all the girls now call my father the 'old whiskey- 
 maker,' and I can't stand it. And Mary Truman said 
 to-day, that if my father didn't make her father a 
 drunkard, she could have a new dress and shoes to 
 wear Fourth of July, as well as me ; and she said it 
 was my father, too, that made Mike Dugan Jdll Henry 
 Falconer, and that was what broke Ellen's heart, and 
 made her look so sad ; and, oh ! I don't know half 
 she said ; " and the poor child buried her face in her 
 apron and sobbed bitterly. 
 
 " Elsie, my dear," said her mother, " there 's your
 
 gg ELSIE M A GO ON; OR, 
 
 father coming from town ; dry up your eyes and help 
 me get the supper; we will hope that these things 
 will not always last ; perhaps pa will not always keep 
 the 'Still-house;' I think something will make a 
 
 change. 
 
 Richard discovered, on entering the house, that Elsie 
 had been weeping, and ordered her abruptly into the 
 other room : " she was too old to act like a baby, and 
 have her face in that condition." 
 
 The mother saw in an instant that he was in an 
 excijted condition, for, like all drunkards, in proportion 
 to his manliness and tenderness when sober, were his 
 unreasonableness and severity when intoxicated. 
 
 "I have something to say to you too, madam," 
 said he, with menacing tone ; " they tell me that you 
 have set up your authority, and decided that no liquor 
 is to be drunk at the celebration. Is that so ?" 
 
 " The ladies gave me the place of superintendent, 
 and I told them, that, if I occupied that position, I 
 should exclude all intoxicating drinks. I left it for 
 them to decide whether I should take the office. They 
 knew my principles." 
 
 " They know you are a canting, hypocritical fool ! " 
 said Richard, almost stamping with rage. " I '11 let 
 you know, madam, I '11 not put up with interference 
 with my affairs, any longer. I '11 see if there is not 
 liquor to be drank on the Fourth of July, because a 
 snivelling Methodist says there sha'n't be ! " 
 
 He had never been so boisterous in her presence ; 
 and though her knees trembled, and her heart almost 
 ceased to beat, she controlled herself, and went on
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 89 
 
 with her work. Her quietness seemed to exasperate 
 him. He was determined to provoke her to a reply. 
 He muttered the most terrible curses and threats ; fol- 
 lowed her out to the well, then down into the cellar, 
 and into a dark vault within, where choice food and 
 fruits were kept. 
 
 He stood near her as she filled a dish for supper, 
 and, as if to show her his power, knocked it from her 
 hand, and shook his fist in her face. By an adroit 
 and quick movement, she passed him, stepped out, 
 and in an instant closed the door, and locked him in. 
 
 Sudden shocks often for the moment recall drunken 
 men to their senses, or awaken in their minds at least, 
 a dim consciousness of their condition. So, with 
 Richard. He seemed to comprehend the whole, and 
 his pride would not allow him to cry out. He sat 
 down to await his release ; soon, drowsiness overcame 
 him, and he fell asleep. 
 
 A woman of less resolute and determined will 
 would have yielded in an hour, and released the 
 offender from his confinement. 
 
 Elsie was wiser ; and bitter as were her feelings, she 
 resolved to bear the worst that might befall. 
 
 Trembling from head to foot, she returned to her 
 work, saying to Elsie the younger, " Be quiet, and do 
 not let Frank know that your father is in the house." 
 
 It wa? Saturday night. The men came in to supper 
 the meal was eaten the workmen dispersed, the 
 children retired ; still the sad wife plied her needle. 
 Again and again, she went down and listened at the 
 door ; but his breathing told her that he was asleep. 
 8*
 
 90 A 1 L 8 IX -V--1 O A'; H, 
 
 " Ah" thought she, "will he ever forgive me to 
 leave him all night locked in this cold cell ? Better 
 by far, to have it thus, than that he should waken in 
 a felon's cell, with the terrors of a guilty conscience 
 hanging over him ; and so perchance our children be 
 worse than orphans." 
 
 Slowly and wearily wore the hours away. It was 
 near morning when the heavy sleep of inebriety passed 
 off. 
 
 " Elsie," was his first word, as he threw out his 
 arms, groping for her. " Elsie ! where are you ? " 
 His hand fell upon the edge of a shelf. " My God ! 
 where am I ? In the cellar- vault ? Yes, I remember 
 it all now I threatened her followed her down 
 I remember that ; swore at her ; fool ! beast ! mad- 
 man that I am! No wonder that she turned the 
 key!" 
 
 As if a new thought had come to him, he ceased 
 speaking, and knocked upon the door. Elsie had 
 slipped noiselessly to the top of the stairs, and now 
 came down, unlocked the door, and the two, Avithout 
 a word, ascended the stairs. A cup of refreshing tea, 
 and a bit of toast, were made ready for him by the 
 kitchen-fire ; and with as much kindly affection, and 
 as little embarrassment as if he had just returned 
 from town, she begged him to eat. He sat down, 
 drank a cup of tea, and ate a few mouthfuls of toast. 
 She ate with him. 
 
 As they rose from the table, both walked to the 
 door. The cool breeze of summer fanned their burn- 
 ing brows. The eastern sky already bore the gold-
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 91 
 
 and-crimson tints of morning, and a lark <=prang 
 from his grassy bed, and uttered its cheerful cry as it 
 darted upward. He passed his arm around her waist 
 her head drooped upon his shoulder, and he whis- 
 pered, in his own gentle voice, in her ear, 
 " Elsie, my own dear wife I thank you." 
 Not another word was spoken. She had conquered !
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SHE had conquered ; that strong-hearted woman ! 
 Not by the force of prayers and tears ; not by acci- 
 dent, or by fainting, and failing, and dying ; but by 
 following her brave humane instincts, and doing the 
 right thing at exactly the right moment just as a 
 resolute, wise man would have done under like cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 She knew Richard's temper she knew his pride. 
 Though good-natured almost to silliness to others, 
 when intoxicated he was invariably harsh and petu- 
 lant to her. She knew this to be a very natural re- 
 sult of wrong ; we would rather all the world should 
 know our shortcomings, than those we love best ; our 
 pride rebels at the idea that a wife, a mother, a father, 
 or sister, has become cognizant of our sins and the 
 deeper the love, the more galling the exposure. 
 
 Thus, of all others, Richard mos't disliked the com- 
 pany of his wife, when he had drunk too deeply. Too 
 proud to acknowledge the wrong ; too proud to bear 
 patiently the look of deep mortification and anguish 
 written upon every feature, spoken in every tone 
 of her voice, every glance of her eye, even mani- 
 fested in the motion of her body, he felt impelled, by 
 his pride and remorse acting together, to speak to her 
 in cold and unkind tones, and often to treat her with 
 
 (92)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 93 
 
 contempt and scorn. It is a fearful thing for a man 
 to feel that the wife, whom he must respect for her 
 many virtues, must lose her respect for him ; that lie 
 has fallen from that high estate which first secured 
 her love and esteem, and which alone can continue it ; 
 to see her love waning day by day, to feel that his 
 sins are only tolerated and borne with, from a sense 
 of duty. Many of the thousands of instances in 
 which wives have met a violent death at the hands 
 of their husbands, may be traced to this cause, this 
 love turned into maddening hatred in the hour of in- 
 toxication, through the accumulated fury of mor- 
 tified pride and unendurable remorse. 
 
 Elsie was not ignorant of this reaction of wrong- 
 doing upon the wronged and innocent, she had not 
 walked with closed eyes through life, and she had 
 noticed with keenest pain for many months past, that 
 Richard's language to her was less polite, less even 
 respectful than formerly; that he had often threatened 
 her, although never had come to personal violence. 
 But in even his sober moments he had grown mali- 
 cious, and improved every opportunity of wounding 
 and disturbing her ; and she felt that under the stimu- 
 lus of liquor he was becoming dangerous to them all. 
 She had felt compelled, therefore, to put it beyond 
 his power to do them any harm, and she was gratified 
 to find it result in even a temporary success. 
 
 It was now several years since Elsie had signed her 
 name to the Temperance Pledge on the coffin-lid of 
 the murdered victim of the old " Still-house." And 
 she had labored day and night in behalf of the cause,
 
 94 ELSIE XAGOOX; OR, 
 
 during all that time. For when the day's duties at 
 home and abroad were ended, she retired into a quiet 
 nook of her own, where none intruded, and wrote far 
 into the night the thoughts that burned and plead for 
 utterance, within her. A friend in Smithville had 
 shared her secret, and given her articles to the public 
 through various journals. Many of these were re- 
 printed and sung throughout the land, from the pine 
 forests of Maine to the flower-wreathed shores of the 
 Gulf of Mexico. 
 
 Now and then, and as if by magic, scenes of rowdy 
 revel and horrible brutality, enacted around and within 
 the old "Still-house," were detailed with graphic 
 minuteness in the "Smithville Luminary." None 
 knew whence they came; and many a one who 
 thought his secret safe, began almost to think that 
 fairies were abroad telling tales as in days of yore. 
 The distiller could not read, and he was one of them- 
 selves ; therefore it could not be he who wrote them, 
 or gave information ; besides, he had sworn a solemn 
 oath that he knew nothing about the matter ! 
 
 Dan, the chore boy, also solemnly protested his 
 innocence. Mr. Manford, the minister, denied their 
 authorship, and he was believed without an oath. 
 Nobody suspected Mr. Magoon, of course; and as 
 to Mrs. Magoon, none dreamed that she, the hard- 
 working farmer's wife, the best housekeeper in all 
 the country round, the woman who was ever at her 
 post, often with the sick, the afflicted, and whose 
 whole round of " wifely " and motherly duties was 
 run with exactness and care, could ever find time to 
 scribble for the papers ! Xobody ever suspected such
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 95 
 
 a thing; and so the "Sketches from Life" remained 
 a marvel to the neighborhood. 
 
 An article, severe in satire and truthful in detail, 
 had just been published, and met the eye of Richard 
 for the first time in Mr. Compton's grocery, where he 
 had called to get a dram. His wife's father-in-law 
 was there on the same errand ; and at least a dozen 
 more, of like character, all intent upon cooling the 
 outward by heating the inward man. 
 
 " I say, Magoon," said lawyer Varnum, " who do 
 you keep as Recording Secretary up there at your 
 ' Still-house ? ' They must take things down in short- 
 hand." 
 
 Richard bit his lip, and his face flushed with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 "I'll be if I know," he replied; "I'd give a 
 
 round hundred to find out." 
 
 " Well," said his step-father, "just hand over the 
 ca-h, if you've got it, and I'll tell you." 
 
 "What do you know about it?" was the short and 
 cni-ty rejoinder. 
 
 "I know that them pieces in the newspaper ain't 
 written nowhere only in your house," said the old 
 miser, with a sneer; "that woman of yourn used to 
 scribble cute things long afore you knew her. She 
 could take off anybody, and write a story, when she 
 was a gal, as well as any Philadelfy lawyer." 
 
 "Oh, you would not pretend to say, Mr. Porter, 
 that Squire Magoon's wife would write such things to 
 destroy her own interest, and that of her husband, do 
 you?" :-aid Yarmim. 
 
 "Well, I didn't say anything about his wife, in
 
 96 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 particular" said the old man, with a chuckle, as he 
 saw how Richard Avas writhing under the new sus- 
 picion that was finding its way through his muddled 
 brain. 
 
 "It's false as the devil!" exclaimed the latter, as 
 he lifted another glass of the waiting liquor, and tossed 
 it impetuously down. 
 
 "Well, maybe it is; but if you've a cool hundred 
 to spare on a bet, maybe you can just settle this little 
 account," said the old Shylock, handing him a note, 
 which was due for interest on that old debt. 
 
 Not one cent of the principal had ever been paid, 
 and little of the interest; but instead, sum after sum 
 had been loaned at the same place, until both farm 
 and "Still-house" were under mortgage to the old 
 sharper. 
 
 " I can't do it, Mr. Porter. You '11 have to wait 
 till I thrash out my wheat, or get in my fall crop." 
 
 " Well, I reckon I ' ve waited about long enough ; 
 it's nigh on to fifteen years I've been a- waiting, and 
 that's about as long as it becomes a man to be patient. 
 So I'll just hand it over to lawyer Varnum here; 
 maybe he can get it, if I can't. But I want to give 
 you a word of advice : if you don't want more on 
 'em to get into a lawyer's hands, you'd best stop that 
 woman of yourn from signing temperance pledges, 
 and talking about temperance all over the country; 
 she's a-ruining your business with her canting. Why, 
 she's set the hull of the women folks up that they 
 won't have any whiskey nor nothin' down at the 
 grove on the Fourth. Pretty doings that, for a still er's 
 wife ! Bedad ! if she was my wife, I 'd stop her tongue,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 97 
 
 or I'd make her take the breeches, one of the six. 
 What do you say, Major?" 
 
 " I say, if she was my woman, and run round 
 as she does, spilin' my business, I'd let her know 
 what was what," replied the drunken blacksmith, 
 who had just stepped in. " Mr t Compton, fill us a 
 glass." 
 
 Kichard was in a terrible excitement. He was not 
 sufficiently intoxicated to be lost to a sense of his 
 degrading position, in hearing the name of his wife 
 bandied about upon the tongues of those low, revel- 
 lers in a grog-shop. He almost reeled with dizziness. 
 He stepped to the counter and drank another dram ; 
 then turning to the company, broke forth with a 
 vehemence that no one of them had ever before heard 
 threatened to horsewhip the first man who spoke 
 again of his wife as the author of those articles, 
 shook his fist in his father-in-law's face, and defied 
 lawyer Varnum's power to collect the debt; took 
 another drink, and rushed out of the store. 
 
 " It 's a great pity," said Varnum, " to see so fine 
 and good a man as Magoon making such a fool of 
 himself. I don't want to prosecute this claim, Por- 
 ter ; for, if you begin, his creditors will pitch upon 
 him and hook him up. They will strip him of every 
 cent." 
 
 " Can't help it ; I want my money." 
 
 " But you are in no special need of it, are you ?" 
 
 "Every man is in special need of his own, ain't 
 he?" 
 
 " Darn'd if it 's your own, old skinflint," said the 
 9
 
 98 ELSIE - AGO OX. 
 
 drunken blacksmith; "I know'd you when you 
 wasn't worth a copper, and couldn't get yourself a 
 glass of grog, and did n't have a second clean shirt 
 to your back; and Avhen you married the Widder 
 Stockton, you just set your heels up. Now, suppos- 
 ing she 'd a never had ye, every acre of that grand 
 old farm over yonder the best one in the State 
 would have fell to her daughter there, Mistress Ma- 
 goon. But she married you, and you got it all ; and 
 now you're going about to set a cussed lawyer to 
 work, to take that home from the dead mother's 
 child. And how long, I wonder, do you expect to 
 hold on ? You 're nigh on to the groaning time that 
 the Bible tells on, now; and then who'll get it all? 
 You haven't a chick nor child, and it'll all go to 
 them stuck-up brother's children, that hate you like 
 pizen; and won't they scatter it though? won't 
 they! he! he! he! Won't they though!" and 
 the old fellow, who had once been generous and 
 noble, chuckled with delight as he saw the torture he 
 was inflicting. 
 
 " Oh ! here, take back this note," said Yarnum ; 
 " wait a little ; Magoon will pay it as soon as he can. 
 I don't like to bring distress upon him nor his fam- 
 ily, and his creditors won't let you sue alone." 
 
 Slowly and silently the old man took the paper, 
 put it into his pocket, and walked away. 
 
 Richard mounted his horse, and rode home at a 
 furious rate; and the scene in the last chapter 
 followed.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 T71RANK," said his sister Elsie, as they sat in the 
 -L moonlight side by side, " you 're 'most a man now ; 
 what are you going to do when you are twenty-one?" 
 
 " That 's just what I was thinking about, Elsie," 
 said the brother, winding his arm affectionately 
 around her waist. " If it were not for leaving you 
 and mother, I 'd ask father now to let me go away to 
 school, but I don't know what mother and you would 
 do if I were gone." 
 
 " Oh ! Frank, you must go ; though I don't want you 
 to leave us. George don't think as much about me as 
 you do; he don't help me, and when I feel bad, he 
 don't comfort me ; he don't let me lie upon his shoul- 
 der so. I believe he thinks it's a shame to be loving 
 to his sister." 
 
 "Oh, no! Elsie; he's like other boys, thinks 
 he 's more like a man, when he don't seem to love 
 anybody, and talk pleasant to folks ; George 
 would n't cry for any thing, he thinks that 's babyish, 
 and so he thinks it is to love you, and kiss you 
 sometimes just as I do," and the young man pressed 
 his lip to the rosy cheek that lay so confidingly near 
 his own. 
 
 " I say, Elsie, if all the boys had such a loving, 
 kind-hearted, and good sister as I have, to kiss once 
 
 (99)
 
 100 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 in a while, they would n't be writing love-billets to 
 other boys' sisters, would they?" 
 
 " I don't know ; I don't love anybody, Frank, as 
 well as I do you. But, Frank, see here, don't laugh 
 at me ! now, and I '11 tell you. I love you, oh, so 
 much ! and I shall miss you every day, and so will 
 mother too; but what of that? I don't want my 
 brother to grow up a big man and not know any- 
 thing and be a great booby, like Sam Briggs, or 
 Dick Hall, and such fellows ; and now harvesting is 
 almost done, maybe mother, and you, and I, can per- 
 suade father to let you go to school. I am getting 
 large now ; I 'm twelve, you know ; and I can help 
 mother a great deal ; and when you are gone, George 
 will think more, mother says, and we shall do nicely. 
 Willie too is such a good boy, and Alice and Kate 
 begin to help a good deal. Oh ! I shall hate to have 
 you gone; but then, Frank, I'll be thinking all the 
 time about my tall, good brother, that will be so 
 smart and know so much, and write stories and 
 poetry for me. Oh, Frank! I know you'll be a 
 genius n 
 
 "A what! who ever put that notion in your head?" 
 "Oh, dear! can't I have notions, I wonder; did n't 
 I read, this morning, in the paper, how Webster went 
 to school and turned out such a great man ; and how 
 Dr. Clarke did not know his letters when he was 
 seventeen, and then learned to write such big books; 
 and James Stone learned his letters after he was 
 thirty ; and Shakspeare turned out such a great genius 
 and I was just thinking all the time, if you would
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 101 
 
 not be a genius too some day, and make us all proud 
 of you." 
 
 "But, Elsie, I don't see how father can get the 
 money for me." 
 
 The child was puzzled and silent, for a few moments, 
 and looked at the moon, as if reading in its broad face 
 the destiny of her brother. At last she said, very 
 earnestly, "Why, Frank, you can earn the 'money for 
 yourself. You know they wanted you to chop over 
 on that new farm of Major Falconer's, last year. Can't 
 you go to school a while, and then chop that wood for 
 him and pay for it? You're big and strong, Frank. 
 You can work for your board in winter, you know ; 
 and I will spin harder, and help make your shirts and 
 clothes, you know; and that will save something." 
 
 "I don't know, Elsie; I don't believe I can do it," 
 said the boy, despondingly. 
 
 "Yes, you can, too, and you must and shall! / 
 would; and we'll all help. There are Emma Wright, 
 and Mary Truman, and Martha, coming down the 
 lane. Let us run and meet them." 
 
 The celebration at the grove, where no liquor was 
 to be drunk, was the topic of conversation for miles 
 around. Deacon Hill declared it was usurpation on 
 the part of the women, and said he wouldn't go. 
 But when Mrs. Deacon said, "Yes, you will, too," he 
 only replied, "Wall, wall, I 'spose I must." 
 
 Major Falconer thought Mrs. Magoon might have 
 let things gone on the usual way. But his wife's 
 allusion to past trials stayed any further objection. 
 9*
 
 102 ELSIE .VAGOOX: OR. 
 
 But Tom Falconer declared in favor of an oppo- 
 sition party being got up in Smithville, under the 
 head of "The Young Men's Club:" and the word 
 went forth, that all the whiskey, the music, the Hags, 
 the banners, all the gunpowder and military, and all 
 the fun, were to be at the " Independent Celebration ; " 
 and all the women, and tea and toast, and ministers, at 
 the "Petticoat Celebration! v Party spirit ran high. 
 
 The death of Henry, and the consequent low spirits 
 of Ellen, had, as the colonel asserted, induced him to 
 send Ellen back to old Massachusetts, among his 
 friends, to be educated, and to wear off the effects of 
 her sorrow. She had been three years absent ; and 
 had returned, an accomplished and dignified woman, 
 only a few months before the celebration. 
 
 She decided for the grove, and quietly made her 
 biscuit and cake and pies. Lawyer Danvers sent her 
 an invitation to the " Independent Celebration," got 
 np with a great flourish, in red and blue ink, on a 
 sheet of the best paper; but it had no influence over 
 the pensive girl. She respectfully declined. 
 
 Amid all the confusion and gossip, one thing re- 
 vealed itself to the whole neighborhood, to their great 
 astonishment. Richard Magoon had kept sober; and 
 the distiller reported that something had come over 
 the old boss, for he had not drunk a drop or sworn an 
 oath since Sunday three weeks, 
 
 Elsie made her arrangements with so much pre- 
 cision and energy, and so much, too, of good-nature 
 and cheerfulness, that no one thought of deserting her 
 ranks, except the very lowest class. those who love
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 103 
 
 rowdyism and vice for their own sake, and instinct- 
 ively shrink from the companionship of the virtuous, 
 the orderly, and the good. Even Betsy Lake, who 
 had a kind of off-hand shrewdness and activity that 
 made her no mean help in time of need, had not only 
 grounded her arms of opposition, but run up Mrs. 
 Magoon's colors, and declared vociferously for cold 
 water and home-brewed beer, loudly asserting, " that 
 it was a plaguey mean set that was going down to 
 Smith ville, anyhow, they wouldn't catch her there; 
 if they did, they'd catch a weasel asleep afore sunset. 
 She 'd just made up her mind, and determined as long 
 as she lived never to go to a party again where people 
 drinked ; nothing good ever cum to nobody from 
 liquor-doings." 
 
 The conversation of the brother and sister, though 
 so abruptly broken off, was often renewed, and the 
 desire for education gained strength daily, while deeper 
 and firmer resolves were shaping themselves in the 
 minds of each. 
 
 But how were they to be spared from the great 
 farm, with its complicated work, to which were added 
 the distillery and the mill, making more calls for 
 labor than could be supplied in this new country? 
 Every season seemed a busy time, from the Christmas 
 holidays to the fading away of the beauty and bright- 
 ness of the autumn. 
 
 In the spring, Richard would put Frank off by a 
 promise for the summer. He could not be spared in 
 ploughiug-time. In summer, haying and liarvesting
 
 104 EL SI E MA GOO N; R, 
 
 required every hand ; it was not possible then. In 
 autumn, the wheat must be got in and arrangements 
 made for the coming season ; and in winter, wood must 
 be prepared for the distillery, the corn must be husked, 
 the butchering done; and so Frank was put off till he 
 could bear it no longer. 
 
 Each busy season without, brought its corresponding 
 busy season within. The labors of the wife and 
 mother were heavy to be borne. No cooking-stoves 
 simplified the labor of the farmer's kitchen ; no spin- 
 ning-jennies or power-looms relieved the weary day's 
 works of the wife and daughters ; no sewing-machines, 
 with fairy power, gave the aching hands and eyes 
 rest. The tasks of spinning, weaving, and making 
 the garments of the household, were added to the 
 labor of cooking, washing, ironing, cheese and butter 
 making ; and life was a round of unceasing toil from 
 year to year. 
 
 "Oh, this wool!" exclaimed Mrs. Magoon, one 
 June morning, "how is it to be turned into cloth? 
 "We must have some new blankets next fall, and I did 
 hope to get a carpet made for the parlor ; it would 
 look so comfortable and save us so much trouble. 
 Then the boys must have new suits all round, and 
 father a new overcoat, and all us women-folks, dresses, 
 besides the shawls we have been threatening to make 
 these two or three years. I wonder if I could get 
 Maria Goodhue to spin for us through the summer." 
 
 " What does Maria charge a week, mother?" asked 
 Elsie. 
 
 " Seventy-five cents. Little enough, if she would
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 105 
 
 do her work well ; but she can't be trusted, she is so 
 careless, and the last time she spun for me, she cheated 
 in her count ; and when the web was in the loom, I 
 had to stop in the midst of my apple-drying, and sit 
 up nights to spin and color." 
 
 " Mother, Alice and I can spin it." 
 
 " You and Alice ! Bless me ! it will take nearly a 
 hundred yards of cloth to do us all this winter ; and 
 you must go to school." 
 
 " I mean to go to school ; but I can spin my day's 
 work and go to school too ; and Alice can spin half a 
 day's work. Don't hire Maria. We'll save the 
 money and board, and send Frank away to Athens. 
 He wants to go so much. I talked with him about 
 it last night, and he almost cried. He says father 
 will put him off till he is a man and ashamed to go 
 among those that know so much more than he does." 
 
 " Frank must go ; but I don't think you and Alice 
 can help much." 
 
 " Yes we can, yes we can ! Let us try," answered 
 the resolute sister. 
 
 " I will tell you how we can fix it, mother," said 
 Alice, as she deposited a large cheese on the shelf. 
 " I will give Elsie all the time out of the kitchen. 
 May and I will milk and do the churning ; and so we 
 will all help." 
 
 " Well, we will see," answered the mother, proud 
 of daughters so willing to increase their own toil for 
 their brother's sake. 
 
 A few days later found the summer arrangement 
 being punctually carried out. Elsie spun her twenty
 
 106 ELSIE M A O N; 11, 
 
 knots before going to school, and often twenty after, 
 beside helping Alice with the milking. 
 
 While she spun, her book lay open on the window- 
 sill in front of her, and her lessons were thoroughly 
 learned as her feet flew cheerily to and fro. The 
 shirts were made in school under Miss Martin's eye, 
 and the socks knit with busy fingers while she was 
 reading ; and when autumn came, Frank found him- 
 self fully equipped in fine rich homespun, for a six 
 months' stay at college. 
 
 Major Falconer loaned him some money, for which 
 he was to clear a piece of woodland the next summer. 
 
 It was a sad morning when Frank left them. Elsie 
 ran up-stairs for a good girlish cry, and the mother 
 lifted her apron to her eyes more than once as she 
 watched his receding figure down the lane, till it was 
 lost behind the stalwart trunks of oaks and maples. 
 
 But these tears were not all of sadness. They re- 
 joiced in Frank's escape, and were made happy by 
 the consciousness that they had helped to bring about 
 his emancipation from unrequited toil and continual 
 disappointment. 
 
 Weeks will end, and so did these weeks of prepara- 
 tion. The glorious Fourth was ushered in with bois- 
 terous shouts, with firing of cannon, martial music, 
 the tramping of the military without, and busy pre- 
 paration within. 
 
 Ten o'clock was the hour of gathering. A cooler, 
 balmier, and more delightful day never made the 
 hearts of patriots glad ; a rain the evening previous
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 107 
 
 had cooled the air, laid the dust, washed the flowers, 
 paved and hardened the streets, and smoothed the 
 dancing-spot in the grove. 
 
 The good farmers' wives were up " by-time* ," as 
 they used to say; cows were milked, cheese taken care 
 of, butter churned, house put in order, and all things 
 prepared against the hour of the celebration. 
 
 " Lord a massy, gals, where 's your pa ? " said Mrs. 
 Elder Jones, one of the leading members of the 
 church. 
 
 " Drot if I know ! " replied Pete, as he went whisk- 
 ing round the corner, full tilt after the old mare, that 
 had a notion of spending Independence in the pasture 
 with the colt. 
 
 " I '11 tell your father, my boy, when he comes, if 
 I hear any more talk like that, sir," responded the 
 anxious mother, looking after the hopeful, as, with 
 bridle in hand, he dodged back and forth in the corner 
 of the yard, where he held the old mare prisoner. 
 
 "Tell, then, for all I care. Whoa, now, stand 
 still there, you old crop-eared varmint!" shouted 
 Pete, almost crying with vexation and fatigue. 
 
 " What a boy that is ! He '11 break my heart yet 
 with his capers. Dear me dear me ! mothers never 
 know what they 're bringing their children up to." 
 
 " You might a' known, mother," said a bright-eyed, 
 pert-looking Miss of sixteen, who stood before a cracked 
 glass, ten inches by eight, curling her hair with a 
 broken fragment of the tongs, " you had the raisin' on 
 him." 
 
 " Nobody asked you to speak, Miss, said her sister.
 
 108 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 who was beating eggs for a pudding. You 'd look 
 better letting your hair alone, and giving a hand to 
 the work, to help me get things agoing." 
 
 " I can't stand it no longer, nor I won't neither," said 
 Mrs. Jones. " That man is always behind time. Here 
 it is nigh nnto six o'clock, and we must go by ten." 
 
 " Elvira Jane Elvira Jane! come here this mi nit ! 
 "What are you up that cherry-tree for, you good-for- 
 nothing, you ? Go right down to the barn now, and 
 tell your pa to come to the house this minit!" 
 
 "Yonder he is," shouted back the child, who was 
 sharing with the cat-birds the last remnant of the 
 crimson fruit in the tree-top. 
 
 Just then the Elder made his appearance round 
 the corner. 
 
 " Elder Jones," said his wife, in shrill tones of dis- 
 pleasure, " if you 're agoing to 'tend prayers this 
 morning, be quick about it, or it can't be done ; for 
 it 's time we was hurrying up half an hour ago." 
 
 The Elder answered the summons, called in the 
 workmen, bent his knee in a hurried manner to the 
 good Father above, thanked Him for blessings, craved 
 His protective care through the day ; and in a sum- 
 mary way dismissed the assembled household, hurry- 
 ing"back to give the boys directions to spread the hay 
 on the creek-meadow, to bring in the oxen, unyoke 
 and turn them out, and put the black horses into the 
 farm-wagon. 
 
 A merrier meeting never was held than that which 
 made mirth and music in the beautiful sugar-grove, 
 on that memorable day. The Declaration of Inde-
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 109 
 
 pendence was read, original odes were sung, and a fine 
 poem full of wit and satire was recited, that raised 
 shouts of laughter and joy. 
 
 Richard Magoon rose above himself. The weeks 
 of soberness, and earnest reflection, had given tone 
 and power to his naturally vigorous intellect ; and the 
 people listened with earnest attention to his able ad- 
 dress, and sent shout after shout through the old trees 
 and away among the hills. All were delighted, sur- 
 prised, and instructed, and all were happy, for the 
 Demon of Disturbance was not in their midst. 
 
 Ever and anon the far-off sound of the Smithville 
 cannon was heard; or passers-by called and re- 
 ported that " they were going on at a great rate down 
 at the village. Lawyer Marvin was so high, he could 
 not speak at all. The leader of the music was drunk, 
 and had had a fight with the drummer about the 
 tunes ; " and every one prophesied a horrid time before 
 night. 
 
 The dinner at the grove was splendid. The drink- 
 ing-glasses were filled with rich bouquets of flowers ; 
 and those present had never been so happy, for there 
 rested no fears in their hearts to mar their pleasure. 
 Dinner over, the dance began, for those who enjoyed 
 it; others walked through the grove, or played "Phi- 
 lander" under the cool, green awnings of the maples. 
 The little ones formed rings, and 
 
 " Here we go, a ring, a row, 
 In Uncle Johnny's garden ! " 
 
 added to the general mirth. While the shyer and 
 more bashful boys joined in "Prisoners' base" and 
 10
 
 110 ELSIE MA GO OX. 
 
 " Hunt the Fox." The old men looked on and re- 
 newed their youth, told over the incidents of their 
 own childhood, or of the early time of the pioneers, 
 when they had had 
 
 ''The hunt, the shot, and glorious chase, 
 
 The captured elk or deer ; 
 The camp, the big bright fire, and then 
 
 The rich and wholesome cheer. 
 The sweet sound sleep at dead of night, 
 
 By camp-fire blazing high, 
 Unmindful of the wolfs wild howl, 
 
 Or panthers springing by."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 was a matter of great wonder at the cele- 
 JL bration, in the shape of a tall young man, with 
 dark eyes, and a sun-burned face, bronzed almost to 
 the color of the Spaniard. But for a heavy beard, 
 
 which covered his lower face, he would have been 
 
 *. 
 
 voted a grand fellow, even by the old ladies ; but his 
 
 beard spoiled him. " How could a man be so un- 
 reasonable," no lady could see ! Beards were horrible ! 
 
 He was introduced into the society of the ladies by 
 "Parson Manford," (as Betsy Lake called him,) a 
 young minister who had not been long out of Yale, 
 and had been sent on a tour of missionary labor to . 
 the out-of-the-way town of Smithville, which, in the 
 opinion of the Eastern Missionary Society, was quite 
 beyond the pale of civilization. 
 
 Mr. Delno was received by the young ladies with 
 a great flutter of hearts. Never had such a specimen 
 of courtly manners, address, and appearance, come 
 among them. 
 
 After the dinner, the speeches, and the toasts were 
 all disposed of, the dance began under the trees, as we 
 have said, not a ball, but a cheerful dance, to the 
 sound of Bob Jones' fiddle. Bob was a blacksmith, 
 and though he never knew a note by rule, he played 
 " Muny Musk," Speed the Plow," " Rural Felic- 
 
 (111)
 
 112 ELSIE MAGOON; OR, 
 
 ity," and a hundred more of the same sort, with an 
 energy and spirit that put life and mettle into their 
 heels, and sent the country lads bounding a foot from 
 the ground at every balance step. 
 
 Mr. Delno selected sweet Elsie Magoon, the young- 
 est of the dancers, as his partner, and led down a long 
 " contra " as if he had never done anything else but 
 dance. Mrs. Deacon Hill whispered to Mrs. Magoon, 
 " that she 'd bet a cabbage that that whiskered chap 
 was nothing more nor less than a Yankee dancing- 
 master ; " and she deprecated, in no measured terms, 
 all idea of his being employed in that capacity. "It 
 would be the ruination of half the girls in town, to 
 have sich a handsome feller a-teaching on 'em." But 
 Mrs. Magoon quieted her fears by telling her that he 
 was a gentleman in the employ of some government 
 organization, sent through the country to examine it, 
 and report to the department in regard to its soils, 
 minerals, timber, &c. This satisfied Mrs. Hill ; and 
 her fears for Helen all took flight when the " whis- 
 kered man " led her out for the next set. 
 
 But what was to be done ? There were more dan- 
 cers than dancing-ground, and more feet than fiddles. 
 The married men seemed disposed to join in the sport; 
 and some matronly ladies, who did not like to be 
 considered old, notwithstanding full-bordered caps, 
 with strings under the chin, moved their toes rest- 
 lessly, as if, should any one ask them, they would 
 like to try whether they had forgotten the winding 
 of " Cheat the Lady," or " Fisher's Hornpipe." But 
 the dancing-ground was full.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 113 
 
 " Clear another ! " shouted some on the other si<lc 
 of Pete. " No use standing still, while we have all 
 creation for a dancing-floor." 
 
 " Said and done/' responded a second ; and at work 
 they went. 
 
 But who was to play for them ? Pete's fingers 
 were already blistered: here was a new trouble; 
 when up the young stranger stepped and offered his 
 hand ; and away went the dancers, to the sound of 
 the finest music that had ever echoed through the 
 grove. Every one was delighted. The old men 
 clapped their hands ; the old ladies kept time with 
 pattering feet ; and while their lips half condemned, 
 went back to their girlhood days, when they " felt 
 just so." Only " times were better then than now ;" 
 as times always are to those who look back upon 
 them. 
 
 "My stars!" cried out old Col. Falconer; "if 
 that don't beat all ; it makes me feel like a boy again. 
 Come, mother, let 's try a hand ; I can't sit still, no- 
 how. Come, I say, we '11 dance ' Haste to the Wed- 
 ding,' once more, as we did twenty-eight years ago. 
 Come, Lizzy, just this once;" and the good lady 
 suffered herself to be led out, and though a little 
 corpulent and rosy, distanced all competitors. She 
 hud not forgotten her boarding-school training, and 
 tossed her head, as she turned her partner, with all 
 tin- pride of her girlhood days. 
 
 The evening shades began to fall ; the whippoorwill 
 piped loudly in the neighboring trees. But the mirth 
 and hilarity were unabated; the new fiddler had 
 10*
 
 - 
 
 ELSIE 31 AGO X; K, 
 
 ed, to renew them. Deacon Hill was garrulous 
 while ld &l u > rc Peabody, who was now 
 
 and five, made a rifle of hLs cane, and told 
 
 the youngsters of many a gallant exploit ; shot the 
 bear in the tree-top, and brought down the ten-horned 
 buck at his feet, with new power. 
 
 Mrs. Dugan, who, after many wanderings, had 
 come back once more to look upon her husband's 
 grave, and renew old recollections and acquaintances, 
 had been persuaded to attend the celebration, and sat 
 quietly by the side of Mrs. Magoon and Ellen, stow- 
 ing away olden memories in her heart, until it was 
 fall to the brim, and ran over at her eyes. " Ah ! 
 Ellen," said sje, " this is indeed a. happy hour, to 
 see so much joy and mirth, and no strong drink to 
 drivexthem mad." 
 
 Cut the thought, pleasant as it was, saddened the 
 group by the recollection it awakened. Improving 
 the opportunity, the first she had enjoyed since her 
 * return of meeting Ellen alone, she turned and asked, 
 "Have you ever heard from Michael since that night?" 
 " Not one word," said Ellen, her face pale as mar- 
 ble. "Is he living?" she asked, in a hoarse 
 whisper. 
 
 " I think he is. I have twice received notes from 
 him, through the post-office in New York, dropped 
 there by strangers ; but they gave no clue to hisjfelaoe 
 of concealment. In one, he only said : ' I am 
 dear mother, and well. Think of me for 
 and trust me. I will never give you causfBKn 
 to suffer.' That was all. In the last, three* v.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 115 
 
 ago only, he inclosed money to build a monument 
 over the grave of his father, and bade me come here 
 and see it done. Oh, Ellen ! if I could only look 
 upon him once more, and hold him to my heart, I 
 should be willing to die. Once more only once 
 more!" The old lady's tears fell fast upon the hand 
 she clasped in her own ; and the shining drops that 
 slid down the face of the fair young girl mingled 
 with them, as with bowed heads they recalled the 
 past. Yet not only in sorrow for the past, but in the 
 excitement of a newly awakened hope for the future, 
 did the young girl weep. 
 
 " Alive, alive, and well ! " Nothing more ! But all 
 possible future joy seemed hanging on those words, 
 all past pleasures revived in them. She lived again 
 their youthful sports beneath the old beech-tr.ee ; by 
 the river-side, in the glen where, when they werelbut 
 children, Mike had piled the turf and stones,' fiveiV 
 laid them with moss, made a seat and built an arbor 
 of the hanging boughs, for his little favorite. 
 
 She saw again this shady nook, where the wild 
 anemone and blue violet still proclaimed the advance 
 of spring; where the forget-me-nots first dipped 
 their feet in the running stream ; where the robin 
 wooed his mate among the bursting buds, and the 
 whippoorwill sang his solitary note in night's solemn 
 hours; where the squirrel garnered its winter store 
 in the lofty tree-tops, and where in later years the 
 youth and maiden had often met to repeat their child- 
 ish !u\i- and vows. As she sat dreaming, her ieyes 
 falling indifferently upon the groups which passed 
 
 w * 
 
 ,
 
 116 ELKIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 before her, she became aware for an instant of the 
 fixed gaze of a stranger among the dancers, whom 
 she had before noticed only in the distance. Now he 
 passed directly before her, and, changed as he was to 
 all others, that glance revealed to her keen-sighted 
 love, the lost and mourned. The discovery gave her 
 a shock of joy which thrilled through all her being, 
 and startled the poor widow who still held her hand. 
 
 " Ellen, my child, you are getting chilled let me 
 wrap your shawl about you," said the good woman, 
 and with instant self-possession, feeling that what he 
 had not chosen to reveal, she must not, Ellen yielded 
 to the kind caution of her friend, and suffered herself 
 to be wrapped from the evening air, when she was 
 glowing with warmth and joy. 
 
 Lamps were hung under the trees, and the sport 
 went on until nearly ten o'clock, when some of the 
 old men withdrew, with their wives and small chil- 
 dren ; but not until they had all been called together, 
 and the voice of Father Peters had gone up in earnest 
 prayer, to " God the only good," to continue the work 
 begun, to bless and shield each and every one, until 
 the year should roll round, and the same great call 
 of freedom gather them again in happiness and inno- 
 cence! 
 
 "One dance more!" shouted Richard Maroon. 
 
 O 
 
 " Come, let us all^join in a regular shake-down, in 
 honor of my wife's rebellion against her lord and 
 master. It will do no harm for me to make whiskey, 
 if the women declare you sha'n't drink it. One
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 117 
 
 more tune, if you please, Mr. Delno, and then you 
 must go with us and spend the night;" and Richard 
 led out his wife for the first time. 
 
 All hands joined in that gleeful dance. Even 
 Ellen Falconer suffered herself to become one of the 
 set, and moved gracefully through the figure with 
 Mr. Delno, who had the rare skill to dance and play 
 at the same time. 
 
 The figure ended, Richard Magoon seized a glass 
 of cold-water, drank a vote of thanks to the ladies of 
 the cold-water party ; then led off in a hearty hurrah, 
 which made the welkin ring again. 
 
 Scarce had the shout ended, when the sound of a 
 horse at full speed, was heard ; and in another instant, 
 horse and rider dashed in among the affrighted group ; 
 and the latter, throwing himself to the ground, called 
 in a voice of terror for Dr. Harvey. 
 
 "What is the matter?" was the cry from many 
 voices. 
 
 Almost fainting with terror and excitement, he 
 gasped out " The cannon 's bust, and bio wed up the 
 powder-keg, and set fire to the tavern ; and they are 
 all killed Tom Falconer and Kit, and Briggs, and 
 .all oh, my God, give me some water ! Where 's 
 the doctor? their brains are all scattered about, and 
 Olcott's eyes are blown out, and he 's screeching like 
 mad ! Oh, don't stand here ; where 's old Col. Fal- 
 coner ? Tom's a-dying, and calling for his father ! " 
 
 This, and much more, was incoherently uttered at 
 intervals, by the terrified and almost exhausted boy.
 
 118 E L SIE MA GOO N; J?, 
 
 What a scene of confusion followed! Many of 
 the party at the grove had friends at the village; 
 and one feeling of horror filled all hearts. The 
 younger children were sent home with their mothers ; 
 while the men drove with all speed in their trim 
 wagons to the village. Eichard and Elsie sent their 
 children home with Frank, and took their way to 
 help the sufferers taking the elder Falconer with 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Delno, who stood near Ellen, laid his hand 
 gently upon her arm. " Miss Ellen, I have a light 
 gig and a fleet horse. Will you not ride with me ? 
 We can reach there sooner than others." Speechless 
 and tearless, with the intensity of her emotion, Ellen 
 suffered herself to be carried by the strong arm of 
 Delno, and placed in the gig. He sprang in beside 
 her, and drove off at a rapid rate distancing all 
 others. " Ellen," said the young man, as the horse 
 slackened his pace in ascending a steep hill, " Ellen. 
 do you not know me ? Have I so changed that even 
 you, while you hold my hand, and listen to my voice, 
 feel no thrill of emotion, no recognition of days gone 
 by? Then have I lived in vain then have I 
 struggled for naught and henceforth the world will 
 be a blank " 
 
 " Michael Dugan ! call not up the past in an hour 
 like this. Know you? Yes the first glance of 
 your eye, the first wave of your hand, the first word 
 that fell from your lips I knew you ; and my whota 
 soul has trembled with terror on your account."
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 119 
 
 " And yet you were calm, and seemed unconscious 
 of my presence?" 
 
 "Only seemed, Michael ! My whole life has been 
 a seeming. Oh, I have learned the lesson well, and 
 at a fearful cost ! " 
 
 " Do not recall the frightful past, Ellen, the present 
 has its own fearful terrors. Alas ! that our meeting 
 of recognition should be in an hour like this. ' But 
 listen a moment, I beg you, Ellen, while I may 
 speak. I have sacrificed feeling, I have braved 
 danger, resisted temptation, struggled against fate, 
 mastered destiny ; and return to you, educated, trusted, 
 honored, and the possessor of wealth. In all this 
 struggle in all these years of trial you have stood 
 before me, beckoning me onward, and pointing to a 
 higher goal, to be attained before I could be worthy 
 of you worthy to ask a realization of my highest 
 ideal of happiness in the future. I did not write ; I 
 did not make known to any that I lived, except my 
 mother. I wished that you should be free to act, 
 without the knowledge of my poor existence. I find 
 you single, and apparently untrammelled. Let me 
 ask, even in this sad hour, if if may I hope 
 may I dare to plead for favor?" 
 
 " Michael Dugan, I love you ; even as in the days 
 of our childhood. But to-night, how can we speak 
 of this ! Oh, merciful Father ! another brother, 
 another victim, to that 'Old Still-House!'" She 
 covered her face with her hands, and groaned aloud 
 in her agony.
 
 120 ELSIE MA GO ON. 
 
 It was a moment of fearful trial for Michael Dugan. 
 Upon the death of one brother had his hopes been 
 wrecked for years ; upon the death of another, the 
 future, so radiant before him, is again shrouded in 
 gloom; and a stronger and more earnest vow than 
 ever before was breathed in the silent moonlight, 
 against the foul Destroyer of life and hope.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHEN the dancers from the grove arrived at the 
 village, a scene presented itself which chilled 
 their hearts with horror. The cannon had burst, the 
 powder blown up, four men had been killed, and a 
 large number wounded. The tavern, which had 
 stood in the centre of a long street that formed the 
 main part of the town, was in ruins. The light 
 summer breeze had swept the fire to the most impor- 
 tant end of the street, and house after house was 
 being devoured by the hungry element. The houses 
 indeed were little better than kindling-wood, built 
 of light material, and filled, many of them, with in- 
 flammable substances. Little or no resistance had as 
 yet been made ; for many of the citizens of the more 
 sober and earnest class, had joined the grove party. 
 Of such as were upon the ground, a part were ac- 
 tively engaged with the dead and dying, and others, 
 too nearly intoxicated to do any service, were running 
 about in wild confusion. 
 
 The facts of the accident were soon detailed. After 
 the day's conviviality, while almost every man who 
 had joined the village party was in a state of partial 
 inebriety, and many of them furious in their glee, it 
 was proposed that a gun should be fired, for every 
 11 (121)
 
 122 ELSIE MA GO OX; OR, 
 
 State, as a winding-up of the day's sport; and ten 
 o'clock P. M. was the hour appointed. 
 
 " Leave our own State for the last, " said Briggs, 
 the tavern-keeper, as they drew the old field-piece up 
 before his door, "and let's give her a roarer! I'll 
 furnish the powder, and stand a treat all round. I 'm 
 bound to do something onst in my life for my 
 country ! " 
 
 A loud shout of approval answered this patriotic 
 speech, and the firing commenced. Xearly every 
 State had its representative, and each clamored for a 
 louder report for his own native laud. 
 
 They had come to the last round. 
 
 "Whoop! hurrah!!" shouted the tavern-keeper. 
 " Our turn now, boys ! Let 's blow up all creation, 
 and wake snakes ; none of your pop-guns this time. 
 Here, you Sim Olcott, fetch on them brickbats 
 fill her full!" 
 
 " Better look out, Briggs ; the old thing will bust, 
 and kill some on ye," said a voice in the crowd. 
 . "Go to the devil with your prating. Who 's afeard 
 of bears ? " was the rude response, accompanied by a 
 ruder and more terrific oath. "Earn her down, I 
 say, boys ; fill her up chug. Don't leave room for a 
 bullet. That 'sit. All ready. Hold on!" And, 
 with an oath, the drunken, infuriated father ordered 
 his boy to bring out the bottle. 
 
 " Here, you Tom Falconer, give me that torch. 
 I 'm bound to touch this one off myself!" and lifting 
 the tumbler to his lips, he exclaimed, " Now for a 
 toast, hang me, if I know how! here it goes,
 
 TEE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 123 
 
 though, hit or miss : ' Mistress Magoon, and her 
 breeches ! old father Peters and his prayers ! Let us 
 
 blow them all to' " He paused with a leer as 
 
 he pronounced the last diabolical word drank off 
 the glass, and touched the torch, which he held to 
 the powder, while a loud shout went up from the 
 rowdies about him. 
 
 There was a vivid flash, a stunning report, a dense 
 smoke, then cries, screams, groans, and shouts told 
 the fearful tale. The cannon had been blown to 
 fragments, and the little powder that was left, burned 
 at the same instant. When the smoke cleared away, 
 a sight presented itself the recital of which even now 
 thrills the soul with terror. The landlord Briggs, 
 lay a mutilated mass ; his head cut from his crushed 
 body, and his face stamped forever with that last de- 
 moniac laugh, and the death-struggle, blended to- 
 gether. Two of the men who were loading the gun, 
 Kit, the distiller, and Billy Alison, a workman at the 
 " Still-house," were killed ; and an old man of gray 
 hairs, grasping a staff in his hand, was hit by a piece 
 of the flying iron, and fell to rise no more. Tom 
 Falconer had an arm torn off, and his face burned. 
 Blind and maddened with pain, he was shouting and 
 swearing when his parents and sister found him. 
 Sim Olcott, who stood near the landlord, had both 
 legs broken, and was terribly burned with powder. 
 Many others lay groaning and shrieking with lesser 
 wounds ; while the shouts, sobs, cries, and moans of 
 the bereaved and affrighted friends and neighbors, 
 formed a scene that beggars all description.
 
 124 ELSIE MA GO OX; OR, 
 
 It is never the wrong-doers alone that suffer in a 
 time like this. The good too often share the same 
 fate ; and not unfrequently the offenders escape, while 
 some pure-minded and innocent one is made to suffer 
 and die instead. So had it happened. The old gray- 
 haired sire, feeling that there was danger, had risen, 
 and taken staff in hand, to go and plead with the 
 revellers to desist ere mischief was done; and thus 
 the good man the patriarch of the village loved 
 and respected by all, met his fate. 
 
 A fragment of the gun had entered a window of 
 the tavern, killing instantly a fair young girl, who 
 had retired from the party, with a friend, weeping 
 bitterly that her lover, who had brought her there, 
 was too much intoxicated to be civil to her. The 
 flying missile struck her on the temple, crushing 
 the skull and burying itself in her brain. She fell, 
 and in her fall overturned the light-stand, pitching 
 the candle into the folds of a curtained bed, that was 
 covered with bonnets, shawls, and dresses. In an 
 instant all was in a blaze. The surviving young 
 lady fled to the room above, where the dancers had 
 paused to listen to the sound on the street, and gave 
 the alarm. The dancing-room was the whole size of 
 the building, and on the second floor. There was no 
 plastering on the rooms below, and the revellers had 
 only time to escape through the windows and doors, 
 and save the body of the young girl, ere the fire 
 burst through the floor and spread rapidly through 
 the room where they had just stood. Before the 
 people at the grove arrived, it had fallen in ; and the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 125 
 
 whiskey-barrels, in close proximity to the room 
 where the fire started, had blown up, and added 
 greatly to the fury of the fire. 
 
 The dead and dying had been gathered up by the 
 crowd and carried to a large ware-room by the river- 
 bauk, as a place removed from the fire, where the 
 physicians could, for the moment, be brought together 
 to see what was to be done in the speediest and best 
 way. 
 
 As the party from the grove came up, they saw 
 at a glance the condition of things. Mrs. Falconer 
 swooned at the sight of her mangled child, and was 
 carried away from the sound of his groans to a neigh- 
 boring cottage, and left in charge of Ellen ; while the 
 old colonel fell upon his knees by the side of his boy 
 Tom, and moaned in piteous helplessness. 
 
 "What is to be done?" asked Delno, turning with 
 blanched lip to Magoon; "this fire must be stayed, or 
 not a house on the west will stand till midnight." 
 
 "But the wounded and dying they need help 
 now the houses afterward." 
 
 "Leave them with us," said Elsie. "The doctors 
 are here. We women can nurse, but we can't fight 
 fire. Go; we will do all that human hands can do!" 
 
 It needed all the calmness and the presence of mind 
 that could be brought to bear to quell the tumult and 
 set those to work who were unhurt. But Elsie had 
 all the qualities the occasion demanded. Sensitive, 
 tender, and shrinking almost to weakness; yet was 
 she strong, resolute, and self-poised in every time of 
 danger and trial. Fully able herself to meet euier- 
 11*
 
 126 ELSIE M AGO OX; OR, 
 
 gencies and conquer difficulties, it took her but a few 
 moments to organize all those fragments of a great 
 machine, and put them in working order ; and what 
 was a fearful chaos, soon became at least partial order 
 under her direction and that of others now at hand. 
 The slightly wounded were taken home; beds and 
 litters ordered for others ; oils prepared, cordials and 
 soothing draughts administered; wives, mothers, sis- 
 ters, and daughters were efficient, now that there was 
 one firm, controlling mind to guide and direct. Oh ! 
 it was a fearful hour; but all was done that could be 
 done for the sufferers. Tom Falconer and Olcott and 
 Smith were the most mangled of the crowd, and each, 
 in his own way, vented forth his agony. 
 
 "Oh! God bless you, Mrs. Magoon. I know it's 
 you by the soft touch of your hand ; those men are so 
 rough! I did not think it would come to this when 
 I opposed you so. Oh! if I could only die! Oh! 
 where 's mother, father, Ellen? If I die, tell them all 
 to forgive me. My mother ! Oh ! my poor mother ! 
 She taught me better. Oh ! what will she and father 
 do now ? Henry gone, and I " 
 
 Here poor Tom fainted from pain and loss of blood, 
 and in a few moments breathed his last. 
 
 Smith cursed his fate, breathed forth the worst 
 oaths, and accused Mrs. Magoon, as she held the 
 cooling draught to his lips, drugged with an anodyne 
 to deaden his pain, of being the cause of all his mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 "It was you you you" he almost shouted at 
 her, "that did all this. If you'd a' let us alone, we'd
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 127 
 
 a-never got up this spree, and now see what's come 
 of it!" 
 
 Even so in all time past, and mayhap it will con- 
 tinue in all time to come, have reformers been accused 
 of being the cause of the wrongs and outrages com- 
 mitted by their infuriated opponents. It is considered 
 sufficient to say, " You made us angry. Had you let 
 us alone, we should not have done thus." 
 
 While the ministering angels were doing their work 
 within, let us follow, for a few moments, the efforts 
 of the men without. 
 
 t 
 
 The breeze seemed to gather force with the fire. 
 The flying cinders lit upon the houses and caught the 
 roofs. Every man, woman, and child were put in 
 motion. Lines were formed with buckets to the 
 river; and the sober, sound men, under the lead of 
 Delno, worked like giants. The neat little church, 
 which had been consecrated to the use of Father 
 Peters, caught from a lodging cinder, and already was 
 the flame crawling up its steeple like a hissing ser- 
 pent. Directly beneath stood the parsonage, both a 
 little back of the other burning buildings. Into this 
 low cottage Ellen had retreated with her mother, and 
 was left alone by Mrs. Peters, who ran with her oils 
 and lints to the warehouse. The fire from the church 
 soon communicated to the cottage, and before Ellen 
 was aware of her danger, the roof was in a blaze. 
 Her mother, who was beginning to recover her con- 
 sciousness, on hearing Ellen's cry, "Oh, mother, the 
 house is on fire! Come, come we must fly!" sank 
 back again, utterly helpless and incapable of moving.
 
 128 ELSIE MA GO ON; OK, 
 
 In vain Ellen strove to arouse her. She essayed to 
 lift her, but the portly form was too heavy for her 
 slight strength. 
 
 The flames crackled and roared above; the hot air 
 became stifling. Her mother must be removed, or in 
 a few moments she must die. " Help, help ! " shrieked 
 Ellen, as she sprang to the door. "Oh, God, what 
 shall I do ! " At that instant the tall form of Delno 
 strode past the alley a few rods distant, followed by 
 strong men carrying a ladder. Ellen flew to his side, 
 and almost hissed in his ear, so terrible was her fright, 
 "My mother will be burned to death come with me 
 the parsonage ! " and turning was back in an instant. 
 But the flame met her at the front door. She stood 
 transfixed with horror. 
 
 Delno was about aiding the men to pull down a 
 small house, as the best means of heading the fire. 
 He paused only to give a word of encouragement. 
 " Down with it, boys ! Tear off the roof I Strip the 
 weather-boards ! Hurry up the water ! Work away 
 we'll soon conquer! Pitch those timbers over the 
 bank! Workaway workaway!" Then \vdth the 
 bound of a young deer, he sprang after Ellen. The 
 house seemed one mass of flame. 
 
 " My mother, my mother ! " gasped Ellen, pointing 
 into the burning dwelling. Delno comprehended, 
 and dashing through the flame, which was light, 
 driven by the wind, sought the fainting woman ; 
 groping his way through the smoke, he soon found 
 her ; and rolling her in a woollen coverlid that lay 
 beneath, caught her in his arms, and had just time to
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 129 
 
 clear the threshold, when the roof and chamber-floor 
 fell in with a crash ; the blaze leaped wilder and 
 higher, as if in wrath at its defeat, as he struggled 
 out of its way, and laid his burden by the side of 
 Ellen. 
 
 The sudden motion, the jar, the unrolling, after 
 such suffocation, the intense heat, and the glaring 
 light, aroused the poor woman. She regained her 
 consciousness, and they were able to seek a place of 
 safety. . 
 
 Delno's face was blistered, and his hands seared, 
 but he flew to his post among the men, nor left it till 
 his work was done. The fire in the row was checked 
 by the pulling down of the building. None were 
 burned that stood back of the row except the church 
 and parsonage ; the others were saved by the perse- 
 verance of the women, who stood upon the house-tops, 
 and did their duty with strong hands, as women can 
 and will in hours of trial.
 
 CHAPTER Kill. 
 
 DELNO and Magoon, as soon as they could be 
 spared from their duty at the fire, repaired to the 
 warehouse, to attend to the wants of the wounded, 
 and make the necessary provision for the dead. Old 
 Mr. Falconer was utterly incapable of thought or 
 action, and the Olcott family were, if possible, in a 
 worse condition. 
 
 Weeping mothers, wives and sisters; fathers and 
 brothers, with pale faces, which told the inward 
 struggle; little children, crying and moaning, with 
 fear and weariness ; groups gathered together at the 
 warehouse and at corners, because they had no other 
 place to go for shelter from the chill night-air. Ruin, 
 desolation, grief, anguish of spirit and torture of body, 
 were on every hand ! 
 
 Richard stood at the door a moment, surveying the 
 scene, as he entered: his eye soon rested upon his 
 noble wife. She was beside one of the wounded men, 
 soothing the agony of his burns, by laying sweet oil 
 oil over his face and neck, with a soft feather. Curses 
 were mingled with his hideous complaints, and the 
 "Old Still-house" fell upon the ear of Richard; then 
 the soft voice of Elsie stilled the tongue of the railer, 
 while her softer hand lulled the pain. 
 
 Lifting his hat from his brow, and wiping the dust 
 
 (130)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 131 
 
 and sweat of the fire away, he turned to another por- 
 tion of the room, and there bent Ellen with tearless 
 eyes, over her mother and father, who sat near the 
 mutilated corpse of Tom, which rested beneath a 
 sheet, ready to be borne to the house. 
 
 We said she was tearless. How could she weep ? 
 Hers was a bitterness of sorrow that dried up tears, 
 and left her heart cold and dead. 
 
 There are trials of heart, for which nature seems to 
 have made no provision. Violations of the laws of 
 humanity and of right, bring with them punishment 
 that admits of no amelioration ; punishment which 
 the heart must bear, until its pangs are washed away 
 by time, and the wound heals with the on-rolling 
 years. So stood Ellen in her anguish. Could she 
 have believed that Providence had thus stricken her, 
 she would have bowed herself at the feet of Him 
 " Who holdeth the winds in the hollow of his hand," 
 and soothed her anguish with the thought, " He doeth 
 all things well." But there was no such oil of mercy 
 to pour over her burning heart. All was darkness, 
 black, and impenetrable. Richard moved towaf^Kthe 
 group, and spoke to the sobbing, moaning old man : 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Magoon!" said the Colonel, his voice 
 broken with his outpouring grief, "this is a dread- 
 ful business, and I must say it, your ( Old Still-House' 
 is at the bottom of it all." 
 
 Richard made no reply, but to press the old man's 
 hand in silence. He passed to the group gathered 
 round Olcott. Some one called the name of Magoon, 
 with almost a shout of defiance. Olcott vowed ven-
 
 132 . ELSIE MAG O O A r ; R, 
 
 geance " on that Old Still," if ever lie lived to get 
 well. 
 
 Richard turned away again. 
 
 Agony, deep and terrible, was stirring within him. 
 And yet it was the agony of active, present sym- 
 pathy, rather than of a startled conscience. " Why 
 should he be so harshly blamed ? He did not compel 
 any one to drink his whiskey ; they drank because 
 they liked it ; he was only doing as others did. Strong 
 drink always had been made, probably always would 
 be, and there would always be found people to drink 
 it. Besides, cannons had burst before, would again, 
 without doubt, whether he made whiskey or not." 
 
 So ran the current of his thought. Nor was it 
 strange. How could any one stand under such an 
 avalanche of censure, and not strive for escape ? If 
 he allowed himself to feel that these ills were all 
 traceable to his door, how could he go on ? Even 
 now, while the groans of his neighbors pierced his 
 ears, and the sobs of houseless, homeless women and 
 children stirred every pulse of his heart with pain, 
 his eye was glancing into the future : the gaunt skele- 
 ton of his debts stalked before him, and with shak- 
 ing, threatening finger pointed to his own family, 
 beggared and ruined. How could he give up the 
 only business that seemed to him of any profit ? All 
 this passed through his mind in an instant it was 
 but an instant. The hand of Elsie was laid upon his 
 arm : 
 
 "Richard, we must help get these people away 
 from here, before the sun gets high. A litter must
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 133 
 
 be made, and Smith must be carried by hand ; so 
 must Olcott ; their wounds will not admit of any 
 rougher mode ; and if not immediately removed, it 
 will take weeks to restore them so far as to make it 
 practicable." 
 
 As she spoke, standing before him, the beams of 
 the morning sun, which was just rising above the 
 trees, fell upon her head. "Why, Elsie/' was the 
 exclamation of her husband, as he laid his hand sud- 
 denly upon her head, " what is the matter with your 
 hair?" 
 
 "I do not know; is there anything the matter?" 
 she replied, looking up at him with weary eyes. 
 
 " It is white almost as white as snow." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 " I have heard of fear and grief turning the hair 
 instantly. But it can't be possible. Yet I know 
 that I can never suffer more intensely than I have 
 to-night. But go; it matters not whether my hair 
 be black or white, these must be cared for." 
 
 He passed out, and she tied her handkerchief over 
 her head, lest others should mark and .marvel at the 
 phenomenon. Scarce giving it a thought herself, she 
 crossed over to Ellen, to speak a word of hope and 
 cheer to the stricken girl ; the poor girl's spirit seemed 
 utterly to have failed her. She was leaning against 
 a post ; her eyes closed, and her hands clasped around 
 it for support. She seemed to sleep. It was from 
 exhaustion. 
 
 " Ellen ! " said Mrs. Magoon. 
 
 12
 
 m ELSIE XAGOOX; OK. 
 
 She started, and rubbed her eves bewilderingly. 
 Then slowlv, as they ran over the group, the whole 
 horrid reality sprang into view before her. 
 
 "Oh! Mrs. Magoon, if I have one wish above 
 another; one object for which I will toil unweary- 
 inghr, one for which I would die, if by that means 
 I could accomplish it, it is to annihilate that * Old 
 Still-house; 1 that thing of all others that I hate, and 
 loathe; that rises up ever and evermore before me, 
 as wronging the whole people; that calls curses to my 
 tongue, and bitterness to my heart ; that has seared 
 and blighted every bright prospect of my existence, 
 and made life, thus far. cold and dead. Oh ! if I 
 could carry a brand from yon smouldering houses, 
 and place it where it should do its work, I feel that 
 I should do a Christian duty ; and I would do it too, 
 but for my parents. If God is just, a corse must 
 fell" 
 
 "Ellen, Ellen I" replied Elsie, hurriedly, "it has 
 fallen; curse us not; our lot is even now heavier 
 than we can bear." 
 
 The unearthly tones of her voice, the pale quiver- 
 ing lip, and the despair that shrivelled her fine face, 
 and blanched her hair in that terrible hour, told how 
 fearfully the curse had Mien even on the innocent ! 
 
 To most persons it is a terrible thing to die; terri- 
 ble to pass from earth into the sphere beyond ; and 
 while the chill fingers of the monster (as death has 
 been strangely called) are kept away, they walk on, 
 nnterrified and unchanged. 
 
 But it is of far more consequence that men and
 
 TH.E OLD STILL-HOUSE. 135 
 
 women should live aright, than that they should live. 
 It is strange and sad that family, friends, and neigh- 
 bors will look coldly on, for days, and months, and 
 years, and see those whom they love, treading the 
 path to certain destruction, and yet feel no anxiety or 
 fear, until the fatal goal is reached ; until the doom, 
 to which with steady footsteps they have been tending, 
 is sealed forever. Then the wildest fear seizes those 
 who have looked and smiled with cold indifference, 
 or perchance have thoughtlessly given a helping hand 
 to aid the fall. 
 
 " Curse us not," repaeted Elsie, " we are already 
 accursed. But join with us with me, to put the 
 evil away. I have striven and wrestled for years, 
 yet who has given me aid? Who has dared stand 
 by my side ? Did I need to see such a scene as this, 
 to know that such scenes must come ? Ellen, Ellen, 
 by all the friendship and love you have ever given 
 me, let me implore you, to arouse yourself from this 
 grief for the dead. Better a thousand times that he 
 (pointing to Tom) should lie there, than that he should 
 have gone on for years, as he has done for the last." 
 
 " Oh ! Mrs. Magoon," almost shrieked Ellen, 
 "spare him now he is gone." Her eye-balls sear and 
 dry, rolling wildly in their sockets, had warned Mrs. 
 Magoon to turn the current of her thoughts, if even 
 with a savage hand. 
 
 A light word, a soothing expression, or a common- 
 place, would not have done the work ; a chord must 
 be touched that should vibrate through the whole 
 being, and arouse its dormant energies.
 
 136 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 She had accomplished her work. Ellen fell upon 
 her shoulder in a passionate fit of weeping, which 
 probably saved her a brain-fever. 
 
 Delno at that moment joined them. Arrangements 
 had been made for the removal of the corpses, and 
 Delno seated the still-weeping girl by his side in his 
 carriage, and drove away to the desolate home. 
 
 As they parted at the door, he whispered : 
 
 " I came here, Ellen, hoping to do a different work 
 from that which must now fall to my lot. No one, 
 as yet, not even Elsie Magoon, suspects who I am. 
 Let us keep the secret for the present. Will you 
 meet me to-morrow evening, under the old beech, by 
 the river-side? I see that our seat is there still." 
 
 She assented; and they parted, as the sad procession 
 arrived, with the remains of her brother, and her 
 exhausted parents. 
 
 The day wore slowly and fearfully away to the 
 bereaved ones. But in Ellen's heart a new fire had 
 been kindled, from the smouldering embers of other 
 years. 
 
 Dugan had saved the life of her mother ; would not 
 that wipe from the memories of her parents the olden 
 time, would not the sin of his boyhood, mighty as 
 it had been, be forgotten, or, at least, forgiven ? 
 
 They met under the shades of the familiar beech ; 
 the summer moon was at its full, and its rays, flick- 
 ering through the thick foliage above, fell in silvery 
 Seeks at their feet ; the whippoorwill still trilled its 
 doleful song above; the stream still rippled and mur- 
 mured over the pebbly shore, and the little wavelets
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 137 
 
 danced and sparkled, and glowed like myriads of 
 diamonds, as of old. All was beautiful and calm. 
 They met, but not as in other days, in the freshness 
 of early youth, with hearts bounding with joy and 
 gladness; for, though young in years, strange and 
 fearful were the trials that had made the hearts of 
 both old old before their time. 
 
 He told her how he had struggled and conquered ; 
 how he had won friends and wealth. He plead for 
 his old place in her heart. 
 
 " Your parents are now without a son ; let me, Ellen, 
 replace, in part, the loved and lost. They are old, 
 and I am told your father is in debt. In my business, 
 as Government Agent a Surveyor of Western land, 
 I have been able to secure large tracts to myself. Let 
 me have the privilege of making the last days of your 
 parents and sisters as comfortable as possible. They 
 ought to remove from here, where everything will 
 remind them of their lost sons, /could not live here, 
 Ellen; every tree and shrub and plant, every field 
 and fence-corner, cries out to me of the past. Let us 
 persuade them away, and then, if a life-time of effort 
 in all that is good ; if struggle and self-denial ; if 
 giving myself and fortune, to help the poor, to encour- 
 age the weak, and to uphold the trembling ; to break 
 the bands of drunkards, and to remove every stum- 
 bling-block out of the way of the multitude, that my 
 hands or influence can reach ; can in any measure atone 
 for the past, so help me Heaven, it shall be done." 
 
 "Not now; not now!" was the feeble response of 
 Ellen. 
 
 12*
 
 133 ELSIE MAGOy: OS. 
 
 a Xo, not now! but will not the day come when I 
 may hope?" 
 
 She howed her head upon his shoulder : ' ; You took 
 die life of my brother; hot you have saved the life 
 of my mother." 
 
 Let us leave them to their long talk of trust and love. 
 
 The fire was stayed; but the dead were never 
 brought to life. The houses were rebuilt; but the 
 broken and distorted limbs were never again made 
 whole and stout. Fortunes were mended; but the 
 blind eyes saw no more light, and the sorrowing 
 hearts never again saug the songs of mirth and joy, 
 as in other days. Sweet Alice Sumner r who will call 
 thy old grand-parents at morn, or waken the echoes 
 of youth for them again, now that thy bird-like voice 
 is hushed forever, who turn the merry wheel to earn 
 their bread, who be ears for their hearing, and eyes 
 for their seeing? Thou wast all in all to them; bat 
 thou art gone, never to return, and their gray hairs 
 will soon lie low in sorrow I 
 
 Aye, thoo wen all in all to them. So joyful in thy 
 innocence, so simple and trusting in thy ignorance of 
 the world's vices, so self-sacrifici ng in thy loves. Xo 
 wonder the young clerk gave his love to thee, all the 
 love his polluted heart was capable of holding, and 
 won thee away to the village-dance, with vows and 
 promises of eternal fidelity. He would have wedded 
 thee, thou wort so beautiful, hadst thou not gone 
 apart to weep at his weakness and wickedness. Better 
 a thousandfold, sweet Alice, that thou shouldst be the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 139 
 
 bride of death, than of such a one as he ! His feet 
 were already treading the paths of sin, and making 
 swift haste to the gates of destruction. 
 
 Another victim, maimed and wretched, is sitting by 
 the vine-covered trunk of the blasted sycamore that 
 once shaded the old tavern-door. It never leaved 
 out again after that fearful night; but some kind 
 hand planted a wild creeper at its root, which in a 
 year or two covered its naked trunk, and hid away 
 its blackness and deformity; and there he sits at the 
 roots of the old tree, in his arbor of vines, that trunk 
 of a man ; no legs, no eyes. Since that fearful night, 
 God's sunlight has not been for him. It is Tim Olcott, 
 blind and helpless, stretching forth his hand for charity 
 to the passer-by, singing his home-made ballads, and 
 telling his tale of other and better days to the village 
 boys as they gather round him. He is a temperance 
 man now; and many a story he tells of the terrors 
 of that "Old Still-house." 
 
 The other wounded ones recovered. The town was 
 rebuilt ; and, as is often the case, of better materials 
 and with finer structures. " It was a great help to 
 it," some said. 
 
 A firmer and truer temperance spirit began also to 
 pervade the community; and yet Elsie Magoon was 
 not without censure, as few are who walk boldly for- 
 ward in the way of right. They may do no great 
 dor< Is to call out the world's plaudits or censures, yet 
 they cover the hills and valleys with their influence, 
 and waken sweet echoes in mountain and plain, in 
 the shady nook, where the wild flowers grow, and in
 
 140 ELSIE MA GOO X; O 7?, 
 
 the crowded village, where the lone wife sits watching 
 beside her cradle, for one whose feet never seek the 
 cottage-gate until the weary hours of absence have 
 wrung her heart with agony. 
 
 The thunder-shower startles us into admiration and 
 wonder ; we exult in its grandeur and power. But 
 the dew falls upon the earth, the sunshine warms, the 
 gentle showers refresh until the harvest is ready, and 
 the land teems with its richness, and we scarce note 
 its progress as the mighty work is being wrought. 
 Even so the influence of Elsie Magoon spread gently 
 over the country round, until, unconsciously to them- 
 selves, the opinions of the people partially had 
 changed. Their bottles were retained, but were only 
 now and then brought out. Whiskey-toddy was 
 seldom given, save to cheer some aged man or woman 
 whose habits were supposed to be invulnerable. And 
 every-day drinking was going out of fashion. But 
 the " Old Still-House " still sent up its dark, dense 
 smoke in the valley, and groaned and shrieked as 
 of old. 
 
 Richard, after the great fire, was a sober man for a 
 time. But troubles came thick and fast. Debts ac- 
 cumulated, trials followed, and he became worse than 
 before. Every one in the neighborhood seemed to 
 feel Elsie's influence in some form, except her hus- 
 band, who should, most of all, have felt the power 
 of one so patient and so good. 
 
 If woman's influence is so potent as our theorizers 
 declare it to be, why is it that we so frequently see 
 the most gentle and beautiful wives living long
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 141 
 
 lives of agonizing endurance ; bearing insult, neglect, 
 tyranny, even personal abuse; and dying without 
 ever having brought the husband to realize their 
 worthiness, or to yield one gross appetite, one whim 
 of fancy, or to control one burst of passion for their 
 sakes ? 
 
 With men of drunken and beastly habits, a wife's 
 influence is almost always nullified by the mean, base 
 fear, that they shall be considered " as being ruled by 
 a woman" 
 
 To good and true men, the thought never comes. 
 They need no ruling, and the gentle influence of a 
 wife over such a one, and his over her, is that of 
 mutual restraint and blessing, giving higher life and 
 purer happiness to both. No two human beings 
 were ever so nearly perfect as not to require in the 
 marriage relation mutual concession and mutual for- 
 bearance. These Richard and Elsie had given each 
 other in faith and love for years after their marriage. 
 But when the time came that he ceased to respect him- 
 self, when his own heart became, day and night, 
 the bold accuser, then he grew irritable, morose, 
 jealous, repulsive, abusive. He might still have 
 gained something, could he have been found sober 
 long enough to have come to his old standpoint of 
 reason and judgment. But that time now never 
 came. Every night he retired excited with drink, 
 and ready to become furious with the least provoca- 
 tion. He was never wholly imbecile, never wholly 
 sober. It requires weeks, even months, to restore 
 the brain to a state of perfect coolness and reason after
 
 142 ELSIE NAG ON; OR, 
 
 years of constant indulgence. Hence it is that so 
 few, so very few, inebriates ever reform. 
 
 It has taken years to overturn wholly the throne 
 of reason, and it will take years to lay the foundation 
 again, and build it strong and firm enough to stand ; 
 it can never be fully restored. 
 
 The neighbors pitied Richard very much. " Poor 
 man, it was too bad for his wife to turn agin him so. 
 He 'd V never drank so, if she had n't a-set up to 
 pull down the " Old Still-House." So the more he 
 drank, the more the good souls pitied him, and con- 
 demned her. It was as great a crime then, as now, 
 for a woman to dare think for herself particularly 
 if she made her thoughts tell upon the public. 
 
 So, on, on, on, walked this heroic woman in the 
 path of duty ; her family of children looking up to 
 her for all their counsel, support and strength. Few 
 knew how she suffered ; none knew, except Frank 
 and Elsie, the extent of the indignities put upon her. 
 
 With unfaltering footsteps she still walked her 
 daily round of household cares, providing for hourly 
 wants, preventing wastefulness, teaching the younger 
 children; cheering and counselling the workmen; 
 doing good everywhere; watching and waiting, but 
 never fainting or failing. And much as the town- 
 gossip condemned what it had no power to compre- 
 hend yet her nobleness had kept the crushing hand 
 of the law from her husband's head during all these 
 fearful years. 
 
 On, on, on she walked! head, hands, and heart 
 full and pouring out of that_ fulness large draughts
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 143 
 
 for suffering humanity. Yet every year her prison- 
 house and chain became narrower and shorter. 
 
 But, like the prisoner of Chillon, she walked to its 
 extreme length, until at last her feet had worn deep 
 channels in the old marble of habit, custom, and pre- 
 judice. Many a young boy of the neighborhood was 
 saved by her power; and many a mother's heart made 
 strong for home duty through her counsel. 
 
 Frank, who, for loving and reverencing his mother, 
 became hated by his father, had been harshly turned 
 from home and his mother's counsel. He went to 
 school and to college, working his way with manly 
 independence, and coming forth at the end, strong and 
 well-equipped for life's battle. He was now working 
 his way as an educated mechanic in a neighboring city. 
 
 She had done all for Elsie that could be done, and 
 she was now a teacher in the Smithville Academy 
 an earner and learner at the same time. George, 
 always impulsive and headstrong, was learning a 
 trade ; while the younger ones were being trained for 
 the future under her wise oversight. 
 
 But the " Old Still-House " still groaned and shrieked 
 in the hollow; and its burning stream rolled on.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IT was a cold blustering March day seven years 
 and more, after the horrible catastrophe at the 
 village that Elsie Magoon the elder, and Elsie the 
 younger, sat together before a cheerful fire, in the old 
 house. If the fire was cheerful, it was almost the 
 only thing that could be called so about the premises. 
 The whole farm was out of repair; for Richard Ma- 
 goon had not risen from his bed sober for three years. 
 His active, energetic, managing wife could not set 
 things right, for she was "only a woman," and the 
 law gave her no power to manage or control even her 
 own earnings ; and yet as matters grew worse, through 
 his neglect, the weight increased on her already over- 
 burdened shoulders. With unwavering patience and 
 perseverance, she had managed, however, to keep the 
 children in school a part of the time, and to teach 
 them herself, by diligently studying or reading, at 
 late hours, when others were asleep, that she might 
 have some new lesson or thought for the morrow. 
 The labor of her own hands even was not her own, to 
 spend or use as she thought expedient. The butter 
 and cheese she made, -went to pay the hands that 
 labored about the distillery. A large family of work- 
 men on the farm required her constant toil in the 
 kitchen. Richard, moody and cross, often abusive, 
 
 (144)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 145 
 
 refused to say anything to her about his money- 
 matters. 
 
 
 
 Frank had been gone two years ; he wrote that he 
 was doing well, and his mother, in her replies, gave 
 him good advice and words of love, but did not tell 
 him how much she had to encounter. Elsie still 
 taught, but her salary was little more than enough to 
 support herself. George remained on the farm and 
 did all he could, which was mainly to keep things 
 together. There was no advance : it was impossible, 
 under Richard's misrule. 
 
 So things stood at the beginning of this chapter. 
 
 The mother and daughter sat before that cheerful 
 fire, with tearful eyes. Elsie, the elder, was indus- 
 triously patching her husband's coat, while the other 
 plied her needle with busy fingers over some other 
 useful garment. 
 
 "It's no use to weep over it, my child; it must be 
 done, and perhaps it's for the best. Let us drop it 
 now, and think of something more cheerful." 
 
 " I cannot, mother. This old home, that you and 
 father have toiled upon so long, to be put under the 
 Sheriff's hammer, and for such a debt!" 
 
 "If it cannot be helped, my dear, is it not better 
 wisdom to submit? A thing that can be helped, 
 should never be patiently borne, although it cost trial 
 and struggle, and even antagonism ; but I see no help 
 for this. Mr. Porter has waited a great many years : 
 it is now twenty-five since your father borrowed that 
 money." 
 
 "Which should have been yowrs" said the young 
 13
 
 i-16 ELSIE y AGO OX: OR. 
 
 girl, with indignation. "Mother, the law is a bar- 
 barism it is monstrous to give a man all the property 
 of his wife, att her labor, att her mind and soul" 
 
 " Women must be careful how they marry, then," 
 said her mother in reply. 
 
 "Careful how they marry? rather they must not 
 marry at all, mother. How can any woman know 
 who or what she is marrying? Could any foresight 
 or any care have told you that our once noble father 
 would have ever been what he is now ? Oh ! with 
 what pride and love I remember him, as I used to fly 
 to him, ten years ago, when, he wound his arm round 
 me, and lifted me up for a kiss great girl, as I was. 
 He was so noble, so good, so sensible, so loving ! And 
 see what he is now " 
 
 " Elsie, my child, he is your father stilL" 
 
 " I know it, mother ; but my heart must pour out 
 its fulness now, this once, if never more. Next 
 week, our home is to be sold; and you, what will 
 become of von and all of us ? Yon have toiled here 
 
 w 
 
 for twenty-five years ; and were the butter and cheese, 
 -the woollen and linens yon have made, piled up before 
 you, they would pay for the farm. Ton have edu- 
 cated us all ; yon have washed and cooked, carded and 
 spun ; yon have dried the fruit, made the garden and 
 become the market-woman; anything, everything, 
 that we might be clothed, and have books, and be 
 brought up respectably ; you have never made a bad 
 bargain ; have never been drunk ; never neglected a 
 duty : all that human hands f human ingenuirv. and 
 human patience were permitted to do under the law,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOU&E. 147 
 
 you have done. And now, what have you" to show 
 for it? Without a word or explanation, this terrible 
 effect comes upon you, from causes which you have 
 struggled, day and night, to avert! I ask again, 
 what have you to show for all your labor and self- 
 sacrifice what individual right do you possess?" 
 
 " I have my children, Elsie, and I hope and trust 
 that I have built a home, and stored up wealth in their 
 hearts, that the ^Sheriff will not be able "to put an 
 attachment upon. If I am bankrupt there, my child, 
 I shall be poor indeed. I know the law is unjust; 
 I know that women hold, under it, an inferior and 
 degraded position. " Could I," said she, speaking 
 with fervor, "be permitted to keep the farm, and 
 manage it myself, I have no doubt that I could in a 
 few years pay all the debt. I love the old place, 
 every shrub, plant, and tfee is a part ol myself, it 
 is interwoven with my life, with all that is dear, and 
 all that is sad and sorrowful, too; I do not love to 
 see it go ; but it must." 
 
 " It must not, it shall not, mother ; there must be 
 some way ; I will move heaven and earth, but I will 
 save it for you." 
 
 "Elsie," said her mother, with deep emphasis, 
 laying down her work, and looking directly into the 
 face of her child, "are you strong? able to endure 
 patiently to take up a cross and walk under it for 
 years, for the sake of a great good ? For the sake of 
 redeeming your father, would you be willing to toil 
 as I have done, if you could put out the fire under 
 that boiler, and still the shriek of that engine, which
 
 148 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 has since your childhood haunted me like the cry of 
 
 damned " 
 
 " Yes, mother/' said Elsie, returning the steady 
 gaze without flinching. " Keady to toil, and endure; 
 to sacrifice case, self-enjoyment, everything but virtue 
 :in,l truth, if 1 could but accomplish what you sug- 
 gest, tosaxc my father. Oh ! mother, if I could do 
 that, we should all be saved! And mother, I have 
 a plan to save the home ; I will tell you mine, and 
 then I will hear yours. You know Mr. Delno and 
 Ellen came last nig&| ' When they were here last, 
 Ellen told me abouirMS being Mike Dugan, and how 
 much you did to help mm out of jail. He is so rich 
 now, and so noble, I thought I would go to him ; I 
 am of age, you know, and if a wife cannot own prop- 
 erty, a woman can ; and I can be a woman and no 
 wife a Ibns: time, if I choose ; I am almost sure he 
 
 O / v 
 
 will loan me money, and buy the place for me, and 
 then we can see what we can do. George is not of 
 age, OT^flie will stand by us in every emergency. I 
 will give up my school, come home and live with 
 you, aid you, and do all I can ; and I fancy I can do 
 more than you think. With such an end to be at- 
 tained, I feel equal to any effort. 
 
 " You are a brave, blessed child, Elsie ! and your 
 plan is what I had in my own mind. I wrote to 
 Frank, and had hoped he would be here, but it is too 
 kte now ; and I was almost in despair, when 1 heard 
 last night that Mr. Delno had come; but still I die 
 not know r just how to manage. .The farm must 
 ours, not his, or father will not y^ld. George must
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 149 
 
 be brought into all our plans, I think, and then we 
 must hold your father to it. Together, I feel that 
 we can accomplish this work, formidable as it seems. 
 Elsie, your father muM be redeemed; he must not. shall 
 not die a drunkard." 
 
 And the strong-hearted woman bent her head upon 
 her daughter's shoulder; the silvery hair silvered 
 over in that one night of horror hung in shining 
 folds beside her pale cheeks; her attenuated hands 
 were clasped convulsively together. She felt that she 
 had found a brave young heart, that would lov- 
 ingly share the weight of that burden which had so 
 long pressed upon her own. 
 
 George was called in, and agreed to put himself 
 under their guidance, if the farm could be saved. 
 
 Elsie, the younger, then sought her friends. Mr. 
 Delno readily agreed to bid off the farm, make over 
 the deed to her, and to wait any length of time for 
 his money. He was only too happy to have it in 
 his power to return many unforgotten obligations. 
 
 Old Porter had intended to bid off the farm, 
 there was no one else heartless enough to do it. But 
 as almost every neighbor was a creditor to some 
 small amount, and none were friendly to him, they 
 had determined to make him pay well for it. 
 
 The news of the coming sale had spread far and 
 wide, and the bids ran higher than old Mr. Porter 
 had anticipated. Mr. Delno was in the group, and 
 \\-\\ci\ the right time came, his v^jlfrras heard. No 
 one going beyond him, the far^twas declared his, 
 and the crowd gradually passed awa^compl imej^i ng 
 n*
 
 150 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 him on the possession of the best place in the valley, 
 in it should be put in good repair. 
 r. Magoon was not as much under the influence 
 liquor as usual. He could always abstain for a day 
 or two, under any urgent motive, and then the inherent 
 hospitality and gentleness of his nature returned. 
 
 Mr.'Delno wished to close up the business at once, 
 as he had little time to spare, and they all repaired 
 to the Justice's office, to make the necessary arrange- 
 ments. The money was promptly paid down, all 
 legal claims met, and in a few days the deed made 
 out. But what was the astonishment of Eichard 
 when he found the name of his daughter on the deed, 
 instead of that of tKe purchaser. There was a long 
 talk, which ended with no very kind feelings between 
 tin- father and daughter. But she was*firm. 
 
 " Father, I have not taken this responsibility 
 alone. If it had been possible for mother to hold it 
 under the law, I should not have been obliged to 
 stand in her place. But why may I not save my 
 father from ruin, as well as Frank, or George. The 
 farm is now mine as much mine as it has ever been 
 yours ; for you have never paid the principal of the 
 purchase-money. If after years it has to be sold 
 from under my hand, as it has been from yours, be 
 it so ; but we shall see." 
 
 It was early spring the roads bad, and streams 
 high and Frank did not receive his mother's letter 
 in time to get home to the sale, or he would have 
 done what Elsie had done, borrowed the money, 
 and^aved.the home.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 151 
 
 But it was better as it was ; for he was settled in 
 the city, and he felt that she could do better at the 
 farm than he. And as the busy days of April came 
 upon them, she took possession as gently, and with 
 as little demonstration, as if her father were still sole 
 proprietor. 
 
 " Father," said she, as he rose from the breakfast- 
 table, one morning, " I wish to talk with you a few 
 moments." 
 
 " You are aware, father, that I am, with the judi- 
 cious help of mother, to carry on the farm ; we feel 
 that the ' Still-house ' has been the sole cause of all 
 our misfortunes of misfortune to the whole neigh- 
 borhood. To-day, I shall dismiss the hands, and 
 put a stop to the making of ardent spirits ; and the 
 sound of that engine shall never more be heard in the 
 valley." 
 
 " You will put a stop to the only money-making 
 thing on the premises," said he; "whiskey never 
 brought so good a price as now." 
 
 " That may be whiskey may bring money ; but 
 look over the farm and see what it Jias brought with it, 
 or rather what it has compelled you to lose. If 
 whiskey is so profitable, why am -I the legal owner 
 of all you have toiled for so long? No, father, not 
 another drop shall ever be made on the place." ^ 
 
 " What will you do with the fixtures ? Ttefare 
 worth thousands of dollars, as much as the*fliole 
 farm would sell for, without them." jj^f ' 
 
 " Let them rot where they are" said she, resolutely. 
 "Aye, fall to staves, ev^ry hogshead, barrel, and tur>, 

 
 152 ELSIE M AGO ON. 
 
 if there is no other way to dispose of them. But 
 not another drop of the accursed beverage shall be 
 manufactured with them." 
 
 Mr. Magoon was vexed, and said many unkind 
 words. But it was useless. There was no yielding 
 in the resolute girl, who had taken all into her hands. 
 
 Frank gave her the assurance of help, and all 
 pledged themselves to aid as occasion required. 
 
 Had she, in a rash impulse, plunged into a stream, 
 braved a fire, or confronted a wild beast, to save her 
 parents from ruin, the world would have declared her 
 a heroine. But she had undertaken a mightier task 
 to bring harmony out of discord ; beauty from 
 deformity ; and to let happiness and comfort in upon 
 a household where misery and misrule had for years 
 held almost undisputed sway. To do this, she must 
 sacrifice the heyday of her girlhood to hard toil and 
 earnest thought. She must appear to many of her 
 neighbors as an unwomanly creature, endeavoring to 
 rule and govern her father, and as wanting true 
 sensibility and refinement. 
 
 Strange, how little it takes to make a heroine! 
 How much of self-poise, and earnestness, and truth, 
 to make only an "eccentric character!" or, as the 
 world says, a " masculine woman."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IT did not cost a great effort to put an end to the 
 operations of he "Old Still-House;" for a cold 
 spring, a hot, dry summer, early frosts, and a long, 
 tedious winter, had reduced the usual amount of corn 
 all over the country, and made the demand for it at 
 the South so great, as to induce many young men to 
 engage in the Southern trade. Large quantities were 
 sent down the Ohio in flat-boats; what remained was 
 readily sold. The mill still did its work for the 
 farmers around; but it was almost worn out, and 
 ready to lie still with the rest. 
 
 All sorts of gossip was in circulation about Elsie 
 Magoon ; but the common opinion was, that the bar- 
 gain was all a sham, to keep the property out of the 
 hands of old Porter; nobody loved him, and nobody 
 cared; for, through Elsie, many were getting their 
 pay. The feeling towards her and her father, may be 
 drawn from the following conversation at Mrs. Hill's 
 quilting : 
 
 "Lor's help us," said Mrs. Hunt to the ladies 
 around the quilt, "why did n't Frank take it, if any- 
 body, and not put such a scandalization upon his 
 sister ? It 's mighty unbecoming in her, to be sure, 
 to be going round about, and doing business after the 
 Still. She does just for all the world like men-folks." 
 
 (163)
 
 154 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 "I reckon she'll be a-turnirig out one of them there 
 '"Women's Rights' that we hear tell on, one of these 
 days," replied Miss Ferri-1; "one of them that wants 
 
 to rule." 
 
 "Shouldn't much wonder/' continued Mrs. Hunt; 
 "Elsie is all-fired smart ; I know that, and she knows 
 it, too. But I reckon, 'gin she gits through with that 
 scrape of stopping the 'Old Still/ she'll be tired a- 
 warin' the breeches. Old Richard Magoon is a hard 
 old customer, and he 's a-getting worse and worse." 
 
 "You don't say!" broke in Mrs. Phillips, a very 
 quiet, orderly lady, who was always astonished at 
 anything new. " I thought he 'd quit drinking." 
 
 "Good gracious ! our Dan, who Miss Elsie had up 
 there ploughing for the corn, says he 's been ridiculous 
 every day since he has been up there." 
 
 "He used to be a mighty clever man, when I first 
 knew him," said Mrs. Hunt; "but I raly believe the 
 nicer and decenter and smarter a man is, when he is 
 sober, the worse he is when he is drunk." 
 
 " You don't say ! " ejaculated Mrs. Phillips. " Marie 
 Jane, will you hand me the thread?" 
 
 "Yes; I believe it. Just think of him after he 
 has let everything go to ruin as he has, tearin' round 
 like mad, and calling his wife and Elsie all sorts of 
 hard names, 'cause they 're trying to fix up things ! 
 Why, our Dan says he swears worse than old Street ; 
 and he was hard to beat, I tell you ! " 
 
 "Old Street? Who was he?" asked Miss Marie 
 Jane. 
 
 "La! dew tell! Never heard of old Street? I
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 155 
 
 thought everybody knowed him. He was a queer old 
 sneevus, that used to go round about, up and down 
 the country, all tatter and rags kind a-half crazy 
 and always begging whiskey. He was a cute old soul 
 never forgot anything he ever knowed and when 
 he was a mind, could talk like a book. They say he 
 went to college, way down in Old Virginny Prince 
 Williams, or something like that and was counted 
 awful smart; and just as he was a-gettin' through, 
 some gal he was in love with, turned round and got 
 married to some other feller, and so he went kinder 
 beside hisself, and took to drink ; and never was any- 
 thing but a pest afterward." 
 
 " Dear me ! how romantic ! " said Miss Marie Jane, 
 with a lisp. 
 
 " I guess you would have thought it was morantic, 
 if you 'd a-seen him, sometimes. The women were 
 as feared as death of him. Oh! you never hear'n no 
 critter swear so as he would, when he got mad, in all 
 your born days; and he'd always get mad if they 
 didn't give him whiskey; and if they did, there was 
 no telling what he 'd do. Did you never hear about 
 Mrs. Brant's giving him a whippin'?" 
 
 "No; you don't say?" said Mrs. Phillips again, 
 with a giggle. She always laughed when she spoke. 
 
 "You see, Mrs. Col. Brant had a grand party, one 
 day, and had all the respectable ladies in the neigh- 
 borhood. There was me and Miss Magoon, and Miss 
 Ferril, and Miss Scott, and Miss Bill Lake, and Miss 
 Tom Lake, and Miss Uriah Lake, and all the rest of 
 the Lakes, and everybody a hull room full and
 
 156 ELSIE JTAGOOX; OR. 
 
 we was all sittin* a-talking: and who should walk 
 right up to the door but old Street ! 
 
 "'Betsie,' said he, (that was Mrs. Col. Brant, you 
 know,) 'Betsie,' said he, 'give me some whiskey;' 
 and he puckered up his lips, and squinted his little 
 black eyes, as if he was plotting some mischief. He 
 was a terrible mischief Street was, always. 
 
 a< lfo!' said she, *I shaVt/ said ^ e > 'y a mils * 
 just go away with yourself. March!' 
 
 "'Well,' said he, 'I will, if you will give me some 
 whiskey. Just a little, Bets ie ; I am o dry. Now, 
 if vou will, 111 go to the orchard and bring up some 
 sweet 'uns for these pretty ladies.* " 
 
 "*Xo, Street! 'said she. Mrs. Brant was a mighty 
 res'lute piece when she set out.) You don't need a 
 drop, and you must go away from here.' 
 
 "And then you ought V heard him swear! Oh, 
 my goodness ! I never did hear the like. And there 
 we was all a-settin*! so Mrs, Brant, she got up and 
 shut the door and the first we see, he was coming in 
 the winder, head foremost, with no shirt on his back; 
 and we all set to screaming, for he was awful mad. 
 And Mrs, Brant, she never said a word, but just 
 slipped to the cupboard and took down the colonel's 
 raw-aide, and she gave him three cuts over his bare 
 shoulders, that made him back out quicker. She did 
 not know but he'd kill her for it; but he only looked 
 up, "There, there! Betsie/ said be, just like a gen- 
 tleman; ITI get out don't strike again FU get 
 out!' And out be got, and walked off, die blood 
 almost starting out of the great welts across his shoo!-
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 157 
 
 dcrs ; and he never troubled her arterwards. Years 
 arter, when he used to come back, he used to say to 
 her, 'You did right, Betsie: you did right; but you 
 struck a leetle too hard.' Poor old critter! I 'spect 
 he 's dead now. He used to come round once in six 
 months, or a year, for nigh twenty years, when the 
 country was new. He was mighty lamed, and could 
 figure up anything uncommon; and talk Latin and 
 Greek, and had all the histories, ever since Christ 
 down, at his tongue's end; and he knew all the 
 ministers and lawyers, and so the people used to let 
 him stay to hear him talk, poor old soul ; but I guess 
 he 's dead now ! " And the good old lady stopped, 
 out of breath. 
 
 " It 's my opinion," said grandmother Lake, " that 
 if more of 'em had the cow-hide taken on 'em when 
 they are in their mad fits, it would be better for 'em ! " 
 and the old lady bit off the end of her thread spite- 
 fully. 
 
 " To be sure it would," said Miss Ferril. 
 
 " I tell you, if I had a husband," said Mrs. Styles, 
 " that knew as much as Magoon, and could be as smart 
 and gentlemanly when he was a mind to, and then 
 cut up as he does sometimes, would n't I? woufd n't 
 I?" and she gritted her teeth, and tried to look 
 daggers. It was evident she had a husband who 
 sometimes provoked her. 
 
 " They say he treats the women folks arful," said 
 grandmother Lake. 
 
 "I do expect he does, from what I can hear, 
 'specially since the Still-house has stopped; and 
 
 14
 
 158 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 our Dan says, Elsie won't allow a bit of whiskey on 
 the premises, only what he gets on the sly. They do 
 say that she let out barrels and barrels in the Old 
 Still ; and he has to buy every drop he gets now. 
 She says there sha'n't one mite go into the field this 
 year ; if the corn can't be planted without, it must 
 go unplanted." 
 
 "Good for her!" shouted Miss Ferril ; and in the 
 attempt to clap her hands, she ran her needle into 
 her finger. 
 
 And so ended the chat over the quilt ; and such 
 was the gossip of the town. As Mrs. Hunt said, 
 Richard grew worse rather than better. He felt 
 himself broken down and worthless ; the very force 
 that was arrayed to save him, drove him to madness. 
 As had been said at the quilting, no whiskey was 
 allowed on the premises; and hands enough were 
 found who would work without it. Indeed, temper- 
 ance societies were becoming popular; many young 
 men joined, who were ready to work without stimu- 
 lants. 
 
 The farm had been put in better order; fences 
 repaired and built. And now that the laborers were 
 not Tailed off to take care of the distillery and its 
 surroundings, everything went on nicely. 
 
 The fields were planted in due season, and the 
 crops seemed likely to be abundant. Except the 
 conduct of Richard, there was a manifest improve- 
 ment everywhere. 
 
 Mrs. Magoon and her daughter had just finished 
 folding the clothes after a large washing, one Monday
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 159 
 
 eve, when one of the little Truman girls ran in, 
 crying bitterly, and said, " Mammy is dying, and 
 Mary wants you to come right over, quick." 
 
 The two women put aside their work hastily, gave 
 directions to Alice about the morning duties, if they 
 should not return, and hurried away. 
 
 They found Mrs. Truman, who had been ill a few 
 days, breathing her last. She was not old, not over 
 fifty-five, and that should be life's meridian, and yet 
 her face and form would have proclaimed her " three- 
 score and ten." Her eyes were heavy and dim, care 
 and toil and weeping had driven them back under 
 her furrowed brow, and bleared them with sorrow ; 
 till she was old, oh ! how old, and worn and weary ! 
 
 And what a life she had lived ! The early years 
 of it had been spent by the side of one who, when he 
 married her at fifteen, was good and industrious, and 
 meant to do all he promised. She was a pretty girl 
 then, with a heart full to the brim of tenderness and 
 unselfishness. But she had grown, in the course of 
 these toiling, suffering years, hard and petulant, 
 and vixenish, often almost matching him in violence 
 and abuse. 
 
 Yet, after all, she had been as good a mother as 
 one plunged in her very childhood into matronly 
 cares and duties, from which there was no escape or 
 rest, not even long enough to learn to accomplish 
 them aright could well be. And what had she to 
 encourage, or lift for an hour of her long, wearisome 
 pilgrimage, the burden of her destiny? Truman, 
 kind-hearted and jovial when sober, silly and fawn-
 
 160 ELSIE M AGO OX; OP, 
 
 ing when half sober, and a very demon when fully 
 drunk, had made life to her a fearful thing for thirty 
 long years. She never went from home ; but washed 
 and ironed, and spun and wove. Day and night, 
 year in and out, was heard the click of her loom, or 
 the buzz of her spinning-wheel ; and as an accompani- 
 ment, the clack and running of her tongue. She had 
 scolded in the beginning, because she thought scold- 
 ing would mend matters. Because a troop of chil- 
 dren, full of life and mischief, who had nothing to 
 do, and nothing to do it with, were always doing the 
 very things they should not ; and because she had no 
 time to reason with them, and did not know how to 
 do it, if she had, she strove to govern by screams 
 and threats. 
 
 She loved her children, toiled for them, saved for 
 them, denied herself everything for them. And her 
 husband, " Drunken old Truman," as all the neigh- 
 borhood called him, always had a clean, whole suit 
 for Sundays, no matter how poor and old it might 
 be ; and if she scolded some to get it on, it was love 
 that stirred her tongue, pride, and a lingering hope, 
 that struggled against all hope, that she could still 
 make the husband of her youth, and the father of 
 her children, a little bit respectable. 
 
 And those twelve children, that for these many 
 years have hung upon her, while she struggled, and 
 toiled, and wept, and scolded, and suffered, those 
 twelve children the drunkard's children every 
 one of them bore, in some form, the brand of the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 1G1 
 
 father's sins every one, more or less, the impress of 
 the mother's trials and sorrows. 
 
 Oh, ye men of our nation ! who measure your duties 
 to humanity by codes, "constitutions," who dare not 
 prohibit the use of ardent spirits by law, lest you take 
 away some man's liberty to make a beast of himself; 
 have you ever paused to think what opportunities 
 you give him to destroy the liberty and peace of 
 others? to entail upon offspring, one by one, unnatural 
 appetites, debased habits, polluted tastes, and diseased 
 conditions ? The power you give to man to crush out 
 the life of the wife whom he has sworn to " love, 
 honor, and protect," by long years of torture, or the 
 quick frenzy of an hour? To compel her to ex- 
 hausting toil, not only in her own support, but to 
 make amends for his unfaithfulness in the support and 
 protection of their children, and, worse than all, to 
 become the mother of those who must both inherit 
 and perpetuate the curse which has blighted their life? 
 Can the wife and mother, whose spirit is broken, by 
 seeing her youthful hopes prostrate before her, who 
 with every passing hour feels the burden of another's 
 sin, whose very soul is steeped in despair, can she 
 give birth to beings harmonious and beautiful ? No 
 matter how noble her own spirit, no matter how 
 amiable and gentle, how pure and true she may have 
 been, if her husband is a drunkard, the "trail of the 
 serpent is over them all." And the truer and higher 
 her nature, the more fearful will be its antagonism 
 with that curse, that is pressing the iron deeper and 
 14*
 
 162 ELSIE M AGO ON; OK, 
 
 deeper into her soul, blighting those dearer to her 
 than her own life. 
 
 Ah! if the woes of intemperance fell only upon the 
 guilty, we might be patient and logical over them ; 
 but alas ! who can measure their height and depth, 
 their length and breadth ? 
 
 But now the mother of these twelve children lay 
 dying. 
 
 As. Mrs. Magoon drew near the bed, the sufferer 
 looked up; a ghastly smile of recognition flitted over 
 her face ; then her eye ran around the circle, as if in 
 search of some one not there, and she asked in a husky 
 voice, "Where is he?" 
 
 " He is gone out, mother," said Martha, the eldest, 
 who lay weeping on the pillow, holding the damp, 
 death-cold hand in hers. 
 
 " Yes, gone out ! " and then a low deep groan 
 burst from the panting breast; "gone out yes, I 
 know gone for a dram. Bring him in once more, 
 oh! Reuben, once more before I die! Let me see 
 him." . 
 
 This was said to her son, a young man, who stood 
 before her at the foot of the bed. He went out, and 
 soon led in his father, too drunk to walk steadily, 
 and seated him beside the bed. He took her hand 
 in his, and seemed to realize partially the scene before 
 him. 
 
 " Don't go to dying now, Nancy," said he. " You 
 mus'n't; I can't stand it. Come! cheer up, old 
 woman, and I '11 try and do better ; I will ; I swear 
 I will!"
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 1G3 
 
 "Oh, father! don't, don't!" almost shrieked poor 
 Martha, at the coarse words and tones so at variance 
 with the occasion ; while little Jane buried her face 
 in the bed-clothes, and smothered her sobs as best she 
 could. 
 
 " Truman," said the dying mother, as her breath 
 came labored and long, "I must die; won't you prom- 
 ise me now, before Mistress Magoon and Elsie, that 
 you won't drink when I am gone? Promise me; do 
 promise me ! " 
 
 He did not answer ; and she lay silent, and with 
 her eyes partly closed, for a few moments, his hands 
 clasped in hers. With a great effort, she turned her 
 eyes to him; he was fast asleep nodding stupidly, 
 and almost ready to fall upon her. 
 
 "Take him away, Reuben," whispered Elsie; but 
 the words, though low, had caught the ears of the 
 dying wife. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " said she, with strange, deep earnest- 
 ness, "let him stay; I loved him once yes, once, 
 once ! I love him still. But it's whiskey, Elsie, you 
 know yes, you know; it's whiskey, Martha Reu- 
 ben. Take care of him when I am gone." She was 
 silent a moment from exhaustion, and then a strange 
 smile flitted over her face; her eye brightened, and 
 her voice seemed stronger. 
 
 " I loved him once ; he was so handsome and good, 
 and he loved me, too; I was happy once once! 
 Wait, mother, I am coming he will come directly; 
 / loved him so! Mary Reuben Alice Jane 
 where are you all gone? Who put out the light? it's
 
 164 ELSIE MA GOON; 1?, 
 
 cold here. Mrs. Magoon, go to the fire I loved him 
 once; the birds sang and the sun shone so bright that 
 morning! Mother, wait a little ; I'm almost ready. 
 Nellie, tie this white ribbon round my waist ; there 
 so. I loved him" 
 
 The strange smile was playing over the features ; 
 her hands were lifted up, and she seemed to be meet- 
 ing friends. For a moment there was a struggle, and 
 then she fell back upon her pillow. The eyes lost 
 their light, the smile became fixed the heart ceased 
 to beat. The tried spirit, in that fearful hour, had 
 stricken out the long weary years of suffering and 
 sorrow, and had linked itself with the freshness and 
 purity of its early youth ; to that day and time, when 
 her soul was nearest heaven when Nellie fastened 
 the emblem of purity over her beating heart, and led 
 her away to become the bride of one whom she loved 
 with all a woman's true devotion. What might have 
 been her life how much that is good and beautiful 
 might have budded and blossomed in so true a soul 
 had he walked by her side in soberness and good 
 faith to the end ! 
 
 It had taken twenty-five years for that " Old Still- 
 House" to crush out the life of that strong, brave, 
 though erring, woman. Erring, did we say ? "Will 
 the recording angels set down against her the sins of 
 so tried and tempted a spirit? No ; rather will they 
 say at the last, "Well done, thou good and faithful 
 servant; thou hast been more true, amid thy manifold 
 trials, and greater in thy resistance to evil, than they
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 165 
 
 who, having no temptation, have stood afar off, say- 
 ing, ' I am holier than thou ! ' ' 
 
 Will God, when he makes up his jewels, find no 
 diamond amid the rubbish of such a life, where 
 faith, and hope, and labor, linked all the hours of a 
 quarter of a century with unfailing love ?
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 T OUD were the wailings of grief that went up 
 J-J from those stricken ones in that solemn midnight 
 hour. She was their only hope and comfort, and if 
 she had sometimes been stern and fretful, it was for- 
 gotten now ; they saw only her long life of devotion 
 and love, flecked here and there by flitting shadows, 
 when her poor, weary and tired heart could bear up 
 no longer. 
 
 They had forced the husband from the bed, when 
 they found the cold stiffened fingers released their 
 grasp, and the tongue ceased to say, " Let him stay ; 
 I loved him once." He seemed unconscious, mut- 
 tered a vile curse, and stumbling into a bed in the 
 next room, was soon fast asleep, while the sorrow- 
 ing children still sobbed and moaned over their dead 
 mother. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, Mrs. Magoon," said Martha, " I 
 don't know what is to become of us now ; he never 
 does anything to help us, and she has worked so hard 
 oh ! mother ! mother ! mother !" and the poor girl 
 broke forth afresh in weeping and lamentation. 
 
 " He has not done a day's work for four years, 
 only what he has done for your folks," said Reuben 
 bitterly ; " and in all that time he never came home 
 
 (166)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 167 
 
 sober or without his half-gallon jug full, and she 
 working so hard ! " 
 
 " Only last week," said little Jane, " while she was 
 'most too sick to keep up, and Mrs. Ferril sent her 
 home two dollars by me, as I went from school, for 
 washing her carpet, and she was going to buy medi- 
 cine with it, he took it away from me right out by 
 the gate, before her face and eyes, and went off down 
 to the corner, and he and old Randall, the black- 
 smith, were drunk there two or three days, and 
 now she 's dead ; and he killed her ! I know he did ! " 
 and the child sobbed aloud. 
 
 " She is at rest" said Mrs. Magoon, with a choking 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes, she is," said Reuben ; " and I would n't, if 
 I could, bring her to life. We shall miss her ; but 
 it is best as it is." And the great untrained boy, 
 who was ashamed to weep, dashed the tears from his 
 cheek, as he looked upon her cold, still face, with 
 that strange smile lingering about it. 
 
 "Yes, better as it is, Reuben; and may God 
 shield you and all her children from the sorrows she 
 has borne. Remember what has brought them upon 
 her" 
 
 " Mrs. Magoon," said the young man, earnestly, 
 " never a starving man longed for food as 1 long for, 
 and love, strong drink. It is a desire that haunts 
 me day and night. It makes my nerves quiver and 
 my tongue burn to see or smell it. I can drink it 
 now, and not hurt me. But if I thought that I 
 would ever come to such a fate as that man there, or
 
 168 ELSIE MAG OX; OR, 
 
 bring a woman to suffer as she has, I 'd never touch 
 the stuff again while I live. Xever, so help rue 
 God ; I 'd die first." 
 
 " Reuben, is it not better to give it up entirely 
 now ? If you go on, thinking you can stop when 
 you like, you will never stop, till you begin to suffer ; 
 and then you will have lost the power of self-control. 
 Look at your mother, as she lies there, and think of 
 all she has had to bear. Yet when she married your 
 father, he thought himself as safe as you are now, 
 and she did not doubt him any more than Ruth doubts 
 you. Will you not promise me, here, for the love 
 you bore her who is gone ; the love of your brothers 
 and sisters who must now look up to you ; the love 
 of Ruth, and last of all, the love I know you feel 
 for me, will you not promise me now, Reuben, to 
 drink no more?" 
 
 She led him to the bed-side. " Here, Reuben, let 
 your promise go up to heaven with the passing spirit, 
 and it will bless the vow ! " 
 
 The young man dropped involuntarily upon his 
 knees, and throwing one arm over the body of his 
 dead mother, cried with intense anguish : 
 
 "I will never taste the accursed stuff again; 
 never ! never ! Oh ! mother, help me, and keep me 
 from temptation ! " Then overcome with emotion, he 
 rushed from the room. 
 
 Mrs. Magoon and Elsie closed the eyes and folded 
 the hands of the weary sleeper. Other neighbors 
 hearing the news dropped in, and when all was done 
 that could be for the family, they returned home.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 169 
 
 Sad were the thoughts of the mother and daughter 
 as they wended their way homeward in the deep still- 
 ness of the night, after that solemn death-scene. 
 
 Memory was busy with the past, and with the 
 future, and they walked for some distance in silence. 
 
 The mother spoke first. 
 
 " We have seen a sad sight to-night, Elsie." 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 "And I could not help thinking of what might 
 happen in some other home." 
 
 " Mother," and the young girl grasped her mother's 
 arm convulsively, "you must not die!" 
 
 " I was not thinking of that, Elsie ; but you have 
 no doubt seen that your father is more given to his 
 habits than ever?" 
 
 " Yes, mother, " answered the child, mechanically. 
 A vision o'f horror was before her eyes. She had 
 scarcely ever had the thought come before her, seri- 
 ously, that her noble mother could die. But the 
 words had awakened strange feelings, and brought 
 out before her fearful phantoms, of what might be ; 
 and she clung to her mother, without daring to say 
 more, lest she should pour out from her full heart 
 curses upon him whom she must call father. 
 
 It was late at night, or rather it was nearly morn- 
 ing ; the full moon was sinking, and casting the long 
 shadows of the tall trees along the path ; the whip- 
 poorwill, which always sang his melancholy strain by 
 the river-side, and was answered from every grove in 
 the neighborhood, kept up his wail. The owls 
 down in the glen spied a storm for the morrow in 
 15
 
 170 ELSIE MAGOO X; R, 
 
 the low black clouds which skirted the horizon, and 
 they laughed, and howled, and hooted, as owls only 
 can, in a most terrific manner. It was lonely, fearfully 
 lonely, as the two walked towards their home. Elsie 
 clung closer than ever to her mother, and they un- 
 consciously quickened their pace. At length Mrs. 
 Magoon asked, " Are you frightened, Elsie." 
 fe " Frightened ! why, mother, I was never frightened 
 ^n my life, when I could see no danger." 
 
 "What makes you walk so fast, and breathe so 
 hard ; and you have only answered me, ' Yes, mother,' 
 since we started ? " 
 
 The dread vision grew more dim; the blood 
 coursed through her frame more warm and rapidly, 
 and she answered, 
 
 " I am weary and nervous a little, and I could not 
 shake off a strange feeling that the incidents of the 
 night have thrown over me. Mother, look down 
 there into the valley ; was there ever more beautiful 
 corn ? And along on the hill-side, the wheat looks 
 grand; the orchards are loaded with fruit, and the 
 dairy is doing wonders. Everything that we have 
 done, since we took the charge, has prospered; Provi- 
 dence seems answering our prayers everywhere but 
 in that one place, where of all others we most ear- 
 nestly seek for a blessing. Oh, mother ! what shall 
 we do next for khnf" 
 
 " I have prayed, my child, and I knote thai the 
 time will come. Yes, I know it; and my heart is 
 ready cheerfully to bear and suffer, until the hour 
 arrives."
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 171 
 
 " / am ready to bear, mother ; but not cheerfully. 
 I cannot cheerfully see my father sinking lower and 
 lower every day." 
 
 " You know what I mean ; to fret and wear faces 
 of gloom would only waste our own energies, and 
 take from the courage of the rest. We must keep 
 up, or all is lost." 
 
 " I fear we shall have a scene to-night when we 
 get home. He (when she spoke of him as an inebri- 
 ate, she could not use the words 'father' and 'husband') 
 has been down at the town all day ; and you know 
 he always comes home furious from there ; and when 
 he finds us both gone, and no warm supper prepared 
 for him, he will be the more so." 
 
 " And we forgot to tell Alice ! " 
 
 '" Yes. And she is thoughtless." 
 
 The new fear made them quiet again ; and as at 
 last they reached the house, the sound of angry alter- 
 cation reached their ears. The voice of Richard, 
 raised to a high pitch, seemed to be accusing George 
 for some remissness of duty. 
 
 Lights were in several of the rooms, showing an 
 unusual commotion at that hour. The two women 
 trembled. 
 
 " I am frightened now, mother; there is something 
 to frighten in the sound of that voice," said Elsie, 
 the younger. 
 
 "Hush what is he saying?" They paused. 
 " Oh ! what curses he is pouring upon the heads of 
 those poor children. Listen : " 
 
 "You're a set of devilish brats, just like your
 
 172 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 mother, every one of you, and I'll if I '11 stand 
 
 it. Here I come home at night and find her trapesing 
 
 off to the neighbors, and no supper. And I'll 
 
 kill her yes I will ! I '11 put her where Truman's 
 old hag will be turned now, about six foot under 
 ground " 
 
 " Oh, father ! " screamed Alice. 
 
 "Shut up ; nobody 's going to hurt you. But just 
 let her show her face" 
 
 " Richard, I am here," said Elsie, stepping up to 
 him thinking that her presence would quiet the 
 tumult, or at least relieve Alice and George. 
 
 Richard had just returned home from the village, 
 where he had been carousing with a gang he often 
 met, whose delight it was to stir up his wrath against 
 his wife and daughter for the part they had taken 
 against the ' Still-house ; ' for the influence of that act 
 had touched the pockets, if not the morals, of every 
 dram-seller and drinker in the country round. He 
 had stayed late, started home in his little wagon, be- 
 come languid and sleepy ; and his horse, wiser than 
 her master, had drawn the carriage safely home, and 
 walked up to the stable-door where she stood quietly ; 
 while he slept sdundly, curled up in the bottom of 
 the vehicle, where he had pitched down when he first 
 left the village. When he awoke, he was stiff and 
 cold, and cramped with his uncomfortable position. 
 As soon as he knew where he was, he scrambled up 
 and took a heavy drink to warm him up ; then tum- 
 bled out, and began unharnessing his horse, which 
 had stood there so long, and was so furiously hungry,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 173 
 
 that she angered him with her impatience. He could 
 not find the buckles, so he drew out his knife and cut 
 his way through. The stable-door was locked, and 
 he knocked and hallooed for the key, till he was more 
 enraged than ever ; and in the meantime had taken an- 
 other dram. His shouts and curses at length wakened 
 George, who went to him ; and who, when he found 
 half the harness hanging around the horse, cut to 
 pieces, could not forbear saying in most decided terms 
 what he thought, giving his father some words of 
 advice that were, to say the least, not respectful, 
 and worked him into a state of perfect frenzy. He 
 went raving into the house ; called up Alice ; ordered 
 everything he wished put upon the table, and stood 
 by it, with a butcher-knife in his hand, when his wife 
 entered. 
 
 He did not wait an instant, but sprang towards her 
 with a maniac's fury. The three drams taken so 
 closely together had not had time to stupefy, only to 
 infuriate him. 
 
 "You old devil, I'll teach you to tell your brats 
 to talk to me as that imp has to-night." 
 
 Elsie sprang back again out of the door, and he 
 started after her; but George, who was strong, seized 
 him from behind and pinioned his arms to his ribs, 
 while the younger Elsie took the knife from his hand, 
 and by their united strength they held him until the 
 liquor had completely overcome him, and then he 
 dropped upon the floor, unable to rise again. He was 
 soon too stupid to make any resistance, and they then 
 carried him into a small room used by him as an 
 16*
 
 174 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 office, laid him on a lounge, and, locking the door, 
 left him there. 
 
 It was near morning, and the family gathered to 
 consult what could be and what ought to be done. 
 
 "He will certainly kill you, mother/' said George, 
 "if he goes on in this M r ay; he is perfectly mad when 
 he is as he was to-night." 
 
 "I never knew him so furious before/' said the 
 wife, in sad tones. 
 
 "But you will see him so again, and he has threat- 
 ened you so often, that I feel there is danger ; and we 
 cannot afford to give you, too, a martyr to the demon 
 Intemperance," said Elsie. 
 
 "Xo, nor any of us," said George; "the cattle and 
 horses are not safe either. He is the biggest brute 
 of them all." 
 
 " Hush, hush, George ; you must not speak so, my son. 
 Let him be what he will, you can still be respectful." 
 
 "I feel it, mother, and I can't help it. He struck 
 Alice to-night ; oh ! such a blow. It would have 
 felled her to the floor if I had not warded it off. 
 Look at my arm." And the boy showed the bruise 
 upon his arm, that, had it fallen with all its force, 
 would nearly have killed her. "/say, go and swear 
 your lives against him," said the impetuous boy. 
 
 "And what good will that do? It will only spread 
 our disgrace; and besides, he has nothing to pay a fine, 
 and anybody in the county will go his bail ; he is so 
 good and noble when he is sober, nobody will believe 
 us if we tell them how badly he acts at home," said 
 Elsie, the younger.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 175 
 
 % 
 "No!" said the mother. "We mnst not talk of 
 
 such a thing. What is done must be done here at 
 home. Alas! can we do anything?" 
 
 "Nothing, unless we can get father thoroughly 
 sober, which he has not been for months, even years. 
 If we can accomplish that can keep him from drink, 
 in any way, long enough to have his reason once take 
 possession, I believe we could save him ; and it shall 
 be done," said Elsie, the daughter.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ELSIE arose deliberately, took the jug from the 
 corner of the table, and emptied its contents out 
 of the window. 
 
 " He will kill you/' said Alice. 
 
 " He will not," was the calm reply. " Mother, go 
 lie down and rest till daybreak. Go, Alice and 
 George. Oh ! what a night this has been ! " 
 
 They obeyed her as one having authority; for 
 beautiful and grand she stood in that hour of trial, 
 ready to brave all things for the sake of those she 
 loved. 
 
 " If I can keep him where he is till he gets duly 
 sober," said she to herself, "and then reason with him, 
 I am sure he will yield. He will not dare expose us 
 again to such dangers as he has to-night. But how 
 can I come face to face, and reason with my father 
 over his shame and madness ? I cannot. But I can 
 write." 
 
 She went to her room, and, taking her pen, wrote 
 out the strong emotions of her soul in a pleading 
 prayer to her father to abstain from drink. She 
 recounted the death-scene of poor Mrs. Truman, and 
 then his fury and diabolical attempt against the life 
 of her mother; his blow aimed at Alice; and the fear 
 that in some moment of frenzy he would accomplish 
 
 (176)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 177 
 
 his threats, and justice would fall upon him, and not 
 upon him alone, but upon them all ; for with his deep 
 disgrace and punishment would come to them, who 
 were innocent, a sorrow that would crush them as 
 well as himself. 
 
 "Oh! my father," she continued, " there is a suffer- 
 ing that goes even beyond the misery of the crime 
 and sin of the one who inflicts it. Could you see 
 dear mother as I see her, defending your name and 
 honor, pointing us back to the time when you were 
 the sun and glory of our home; could you see her tears 
 of sorrow now, her nights of suffering, hear her plead- 
 ings of hope, and with how strong a spirit she resists 
 despair, you would, for her sake, if not for your own, 
 turn aside from that path beset with devils, which you 
 have chosen. Oh! by the love you once bore us, be 
 a man again; be as you were when I used to climb on 
 your knee and kiss your lips, which had not then 
 cursed me, as when I stood upon your knee, and 
 with tiny fingers smoothed out those silken curls, that 
 now lie sodden and matted upon your brow, because 
 no hand of love dare approach you. Oh! be again 
 as when you used to sing your beautiful songs, at 
 twilight, upon the old door-stone, till my little heart 
 melted in ecstasy, I scarce knew why, upon your 
 bosom, and swelled out in thankfulness to God that 
 he had made me the daughter of such a father. 
 
 " Do not curse us that we have turned the key 
 upon you ; it was love the love of children for their 
 father and mother, that prompted us. .Reflect that 
 you have been a maniac for months, and that, unless
 
 178 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 you can be induced to let your brain regain its true 
 temperature, and your reason return once more, you 
 will never be free. Suppose the heavy blow, which 
 has so bruised George, had fallen on the head of our 
 dear, delicate Alice, as you designed. Suppose that 
 knife US ed for years to cut the bread that supplied 
 the household-table had reached the heart of our 
 mother, as you intended it should, a key would have 
 been turned on you, a more inexorable jailer would 
 have held it than any of those who now only wish 
 to save you for themselves and for yourself, can ever 
 be. We would rather yield our own lives if by so 
 doing we could make yours pure, than to see you live 
 out a few more shameful years a drunkard. Oh ! my 
 father ! my father a drunkard ! To save the farm ; 
 to save my mother from beggary and ruin ; to pre- 
 serve the younger children from being scattered, as 
 outcasts over the earth, I have dared to do what many 
 women would have thought impossible. But with 
 God's help I will pay for it all, asking only as a 
 recompense, that my father, in his old age, shall live 
 under the trees he has planted, and eat the fruit of 
 the vines which in his stalwart manhood he trained, 
 an honored and respected man." 
 
 Her letter was written, and blistered over with 
 many tears. When done, it was directed, and fastened 
 to the handle of his empty jug, and set inside the 
 rtoor of his room, while he yet remained in his stupid 
 sleep. 
 
 When she arose in the morning, she repeated to 
 her mother what she had done ; and as the family
 
 THE OLD .STILL-HOUSE. 179 
 
 came from their slumbers, one after another, they 
 were hushed into quiet, that his sleep might be pro- 
 longed as far as possible. 
 
 Fear rested upon the whole household., George 
 did not dare go away to the field ; but the younger 
 ones were sent away as far as possible. It was near 
 ten o'clock in the forenoon before Richard became 
 sufficiently aroused to seek for his bottle. They heard 
 his mutterings, heard him rise; and come to the 
 door, lift the jug and set it down with a growl ; then 
 all was still. 
 
 This little room, or study, as he called it, had long 
 been his sanctum, into which he retired when he 
 wished to avoid observation. It was furnished with a 
 settee, on which he often slept for hours ; his pitcher 
 and tumbler always stood upon the mantle ; and here 
 he often shut himself for days. There was no word 
 spoken inside, and all was quiet without, and so the 
 day passed away. 
 
 Towards evening, Elsie opened the door cautiously. 
 He seemed slumbering on the settee ; and she placed 
 a tray, with a bowl of hot coffee and other food, 
 upon his table, and left the door unlocked. The 
 night passed ; and if he left the room, no one knew 
 it ; and so for three days he continued his voluntary 
 imprisonment. 
 
 What were his thoughts, what the trials of his 
 spirit during those three days, no one on earth will 
 ever know ! 
 
 On the fourth morning, he came out and went as 
 usual to his work. At breakfast-time, he took his
 
 180 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 accustomed seat at the table. There was an evident 
 awkwardness and restraint a choking down of emo- 
 tions a turning away from the crowding, suffocating 
 thoughts, that were thronging upon him. But grad- 
 ually, little by little, the conversation glided into the 
 ordinary stream of family talk. 
 
 After breakfast, Richard went out with George, to 
 the barn. The old harness hung over the gate in all 
 its fragments. Richard took it down, carried it into 
 the tool-room; and with patient care it was soon 
 mended. 
 
 Then he sought the garden ; looked around for 
 some light work, and finally came in, just before 
 dinner, laid himself down upon the bed, covered his 
 face, and slept. 
 
 For many days he went patiently and quietly about 
 his work, his old gentleness and cheerfulness seemed 
 returning, and great joy came upon them all. Elsie's 
 voice was heard at early dawn, like the song of the 
 morning-bird ; the step of the mother grew lighter, 
 and her cheek and eye brightened with every hour 
 of hope and comfort. 
 
 It was the custom to go once a week to the town 
 in the family carriage, to take the butter to a particu- 
 lar customer, and do any shopping that was needed 
 for the family. The usual day came; the horses 
 stood pawing impatiently at the gate. Mrs. Magoon 
 was ready, and only waited to lay her beautiful rolls, 
 rich and golden, in the basket with her own hands, 
 when Richard emerged from the bedroom, with a 
 clean shirt and his best suit on, and said quietly, " I
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 18i 
 
 believe I will go with you, Elsie ; it 's a long time 
 since we have been down together." 
 
 Elsie's heart beat quick and hard. " You have no 
 objection, have you?" said he. 
 
 " Certainly not," was her quick reply. But Rich- 
 ard had caught the troubled glance that told the fear 
 within. She had no objection, only the fear that he 
 was not yet sufficiently strong to resist the temptations 
 that would beset him. 
 
 They walked down the path together to the gate, 
 he carrying the basket, as in olden time. She was 
 happy, oh ! how happy ! for the returning kindness 
 and affection. But would he not fail ? She dashed 
 away the doubt, sprang into the carriage, and they 
 drove off. 
 
 The day passed on as usual. The errands were 
 done ; and at evening they turned the horses' heads 
 homeward. Proud and happy was she ; for " Rich- 
 ard was himself again." He had not drank a drop ; 
 but he seemed restless and uneasy; his eyes were 
 heavy, and his face flushed. It had been a hot day. 
 He complained of chilliness, which was followed by 
 fever, and reached home, severely ill. His long 
 course of excess, his exposures, and his sudden aban- 
 donment of stimulants, had induced a slow typhoid 
 fever ; from which he arose, nearly six months after, 
 weak and broken, blessing heaven every day that 
 his two children, George and Elsie, had been able 
 to do so well in managing the farm, and pro- 
 viding for the family ; and more especially, for the 
 care and tenderness of his wife, which had, as the 
 16
 
 182 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 doctor every day told him) raised him from the 
 grave. 
 
 It was at the beginning of harvest, that he was 
 taken sick, and it was in the dead of winter, when, 
 for the first time propped up with pillows in the big 
 arm-chair, he looked out upon the fields covered with 
 snow, and saw the comfort and thrift that seemed to 
 surround him. The barn had been weather-boarded, 
 and the cattle housed from the wintry blast. The 
 hay-stacks, capped with snow-wreaths, looked thrifty 
 and picturesque. His mind, which had been sadly 
 bewildered through his sickness, seemed to be gath- 
 ering up the fragments of the past. 
 
 " Elsie," said he, " Mrs. Truman died just before 
 I was taken down ; what became of the family ? " 
 
 "Oh, they are doing finely. Truman promised 
 me, at his wife's funeral, that he would not drink 
 any more ; and Reuben made the same pledge over the 
 dead body of his mother ; and they have not drank 
 since. They worked for us through harvest, and did 
 well. You know they are both good hands when 
 sober; and not a drop of anything stronger than 
 water, went into the field to tempt them." 
 
 " Thank God for that ! " said the weary invalid. 
 
 " Elsie rented them those twenty acres over the 
 run, you know, and they have girdled and cleared it 
 off, and raised a fine crop of late pickles and turnips. 
 The boys all work. I have persuaded Mr. Truman to 
 let Israel learn the blacksmith-trade, with Randall." 
 
 " And is Randall sober enough, nowadays, to 
 teach a boy a trade ? "
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 183 
 
 " Yes, indeed. After the ' Still-house ' went down, 
 a new state of things arose from its ashes. Randall 
 seldom drinks any now. 
 
 " Israel works well ; and Thomas is learning: the 
 
 ' ~ 
 
 shoemaker's trade in Smithville. Martha and Jane 
 manage nicely at home. Susan has learned to weave, 
 and makes a good many dollars that way. They had 
 no hope while the old man behaved so badly ; but 
 now they all seem willing to work. The house has 
 been repaired, and they are really comfortable." 
 
 " Who keeps the district school this winter, Elsie?" 
 
 " Why ! don't you know ? Elsie has been teaching 
 it these two months. Alice and Kate get along 
 nicely with the work ; so Elsie took the school." 
 
 "Big boys and all?" 
 
 " Yes ; big boys and all. And she has not had 
 one bit of trouble. Ned Brant and Steph Ferril 
 obey orders like two little girls. She has seventy 
 scholars, and could have twenty more, but the house 
 won't hold them." 
 
 "I thought I missed her sometimes, lately, through 
 the day ; but she seemed to come in often ; and I am so 
 weak, I don't remember. How are all the neighbors ?" 
 
 " Oh, they are all doing nicely. George Brant 
 was married, last week, to Susie Underhill." 
 
 Richard looked up with surprise. 
 
 "You thought he was thinking of Elsie; and I 
 did too, for a time. But it was all a mistake. He 
 liked her, there's no doubt; but she has no wish to 
 marry, and I think, will not, for years to come." 
 
 " Maybe so ! " said the invalid, with a faint smile
 
 184 F L $ I E MA GOON. 
 
 of incredulity. "One question more: What has 
 become of Slidell, and Yanhorn, and Bell, and Sam- 
 son, and the others who lived over the creek ? Now 
 the ' Still-house ' is done for, how do they get liquor ? " 
 
 " Bell and Yanhorn have moved off, nobody knows 
 where; and the others have joined our Temperance 
 Society, which meets once a week, at the school-house." 
 
 Richard bit his lip. 
 
 "Oh! there has been a great change in the neigh- 
 borhood, I can tell you. We inquired for the poor 
 and needy last Tuesday night, in our Temperance 
 meeting, and found that there was not one in the 
 township. The whole people have become temper- 
 ate. We have all cause to thank Providence for the 
 change." 
 
 " Thank Elsie Magoon and her daughter first ! " mur- 
 mured Richard. "If that 'Still-house' had gone into 
 the hands of Porter, what would have become of the 
 town?" 
 
 The sick man was overcome with the thought; and 
 covering his eyes with his emaciated hands, the tears 
 trickled through his fingers. 
 
 "There!" said Elsie, springing to his side; "I have 
 talked too much. Dear Richard, don't weep ! let by- 
 gones be by-gones. Come : let me help you into the 
 bed; you must go to sleep now." 
 
 She led him to the bed, adjusted the snowy pillows 
 beneath his head, smoothed back the hair from his 
 pale forehead, and as he murmured a "God bless 
 you ! " she laid her lips upon his, and answered back 
 the prayer.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ~V7"OUXG Elsie Magoon, whom we found sleeping 
 J- in her cradle at the commencement of our story, 
 now comes before us a beautiful and graceful woman. 
 The stern discipline of her life had only served to 
 bring out more strongly the best points of her char- 
 acter, and to fix in her mind the determination to 
 give heed only to the highest and holiest impulses of 
 her nature. 
 
 By her adroitness in the different branches of labor 
 assigned to the females about the farmhouse, she had 
 been able to pay for a substitute to take her place in 
 the kitchen at home, while she attended the Smith- 
 ville Seminary for young ladies, and acquired some 
 of the accomplishments as well as the more solid 
 studies of the time. 
 
 To her intuitive mind, a long course of hard study 
 under teachers did not seem necessary. She grasped 
 the key of science offered by her teachers, and went 
 forward opening such doors as suited her, taking pos- 
 session of the priceless treasures within ; and while 
 other girls in the neighborhood wasted their hours of 
 leisure at parties and balls, Elsie's candle flickered in 
 the west chamber and threw its gleams over many a 
 page that even the minister of Smithville, who had 
 brought his sheepskin embellished with blue ribbons 
 16* (186)
 
 186 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 from the classic shades of Yale, thought quite beyond 
 the comprehension of women-folk. 
 
 Elsie's mother was a close reader and thinker, and 
 could help her daughter in all her studies ; but with 
 all her mental power, Elsie remained the generous, 
 cheerful, frank country girl, whom the maidens round 
 about loved as well as if no superiority of effort had 
 lifted her mentally so far above them. Nor was this 
 admiration confined to those of her own sex. Many 
 of the young men found their hearts warming towards 
 the merry maiden. 
 
 George Brant, who had been to college three whole 
 years, and had returned with clustering chestnut curls 
 about a fine face, and who bade fair to be a marked 
 man among them as a merchant's clerk at Smithville, 
 was among the number of her admirers. There was 
 much wondering among the gossips ; but they could 
 decide nothing. Elsie met him without blushes, 
 laughed and talked with him without visible emotion, 
 until he married Susie Underbill, and put an end to 
 all speculations on the subject. 
 
 Half a dozen others had been known to call at 
 Farmer's Castle, or to ride home with Miss Elsie; 
 but she was so genial and kind, and withal so entirely 
 proper, that not a dish of rumor could be concocted 
 from these occasions. Some people have a wonderful 
 
 faculty of 
 
 "Keeping something to themselves 
 They scarcely tell to any." 
 
 And so had Elsie Magoon. 
 
 Mrs. Deacon Hill, who was the head of the house
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 187 
 
 up on the bend, and who has been on several occa- 
 sions introduced to the reader, deserves a more explicit 
 notice. 
 
 "There's the Deacon and his wife going down to 
 the ford," said Alice, one day, as she saw the well- 
 filled market-wagon rolling by, in which were seated 
 the pair alluded to. 
 
 "Troth! thin, it's different you should be saying 
 it," said Hitty Talford, who was busy shelling peas 
 for dinner. "It's Mrs. Hill and her man; for sure 
 it's herself will make every bargain, from the butter- 
 rolls in her tin bucket to the white calf that's tied to 
 the back end of the wagon." 
 
 "Maybe she can do it better than her lord and 
 master," answered Alice, with a cheery laugh. 
 
 "And, faith! she does that. Lord and master! 
 Why, bless ye ! it 's niver a thought he gets into his 
 head only from stubbornness that he doesn't be 
 taking from her. Not that I 'd be saying the Deacon 's 
 not good enough, in his way; but it's a wonderful 
 smart woman the Deacon's wife is, if she ha'n't got 
 no laming. She's only ignorant on the outside; for, 
 saving your mother and Miss Elsie, there's not her 
 match in town. Och! but she's a great hand to make 
 money, and more nor that, Miss Alice, haven't I 
 knowed her these twenty years, and thin niver a word 
 could she read in her Bible, and now she can talk 
 with the ministers like, a book; and that Fred of 
 hers is the natest young gintleman I've seen in this 
 country, and, sure I am, Miss Elsie here will not be 
 disputing me there."
 
 188 ELSIE MA GO OX; OR. 
 
 Elsie, who had just entered the kitchen, blushed 
 scarlet, and old Kitty's keen eye c-aught the signal ; 
 bat Alice saw nothing. 
 
 Indeed, so full of generosity and kindly gallantry 
 was Fred Hill, that he had become a universal favor- 
 ite, whom yet they only thought of as the very best 
 and brightest boy at all their parties and merry- 
 makings; the one whose music and mirth infused all 
 the rest with joy and gladness. 
 
 But Fred Hill and Elsie Magoon had been especial 
 friends since the days of their childhood, and at 
 length, unsuspected by any, so quiet were they in 
 their demonstrations of affection, and so universal in 
 their kindness to all, a deep and abiding love filled 
 their hearts to the exclusion of all other guests. 
 
 But Fred had left the neighborhood years ago, and 
 gone to California or somewhere, nobody knew where, 
 nor did anybody know exactly why. There were 
 rumors afloat of a quarrel between him and his father ; 
 for, as old Hitty said, the Deacon had one point in 
 his character as unyielding as a knot of live oak, 
 stubbornness. When he had once taken a position, a 
 thing he did not often do, he adhered to it as if to 
 convince the world that he could have a will of his 
 own sometimes; and the more Mrs. Hill tried to 
 change him, the more persistently he refused to be 
 changed. 
 
 Something was certainly wrong between the Deacon 
 and Fred; for the former always flew into a passion 
 when mention was made of the absent boy. The 
 workmen told of a spiteful quarrel, and that Fred
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 189 
 
 had struck the old man ; but who could believe such 
 a story of one so far above his fellows in morals and 
 manners ? For, though Mrs. Deacon Hill did hold 
 the reins usually, she drove with a steady hand, and 
 there were no better boys and girls than those she 
 had disciplined. 
 
 Fred's disappearance had been but a seven days' 
 wonder, and scarcely that ; for half the boys in Smith- 
 ville had gone, and mothers were too full of anxious 
 care about their own to talk much of others. 
 
 If Elsie's heart was sad, no one knew it. Her 
 life was full of duty and earnestness.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " TSN'T she magnificent?" 
 
 -- " Rather so; but I fancy I have seen girls just as 
 fine-looking; that old flame of yours, for instance, 
 who used to gallop by your side so splendidly, on 
 the beach .at Newport last August." 
 
 " Pshaw ! that pale, die-away beauty ? she 's not a 
 circumstance shouldn't be talked of in the same 
 day with this flying ' Die Vernon.' " 
 
 " I presume this one will wear the ribbons till an- 
 other turns up, who will probably as far surpass the 
 present meteor as this one does the star of last season." 
 
 " Eliza Wetherell was a beauty, no mistake ; and 
 when well dressed in the height of fashion, with the 
 glow of excitement and emulation on her brow, she was 
 not to be treated with contempt. But hers was a 
 languid beauty, that won your what shall I call 
 it? pity comes too near contempt." 
 
 " Won your tenderness, and made you feel pro- 
 tective." 
 
 " Yes, that 's it exactly ; I used to love to feel the 
 pressure of her pretty foot on my hand, as I lifted 
 her into her saddle, like a fairy bird ; and then to 
 ride by her side holding her rein, and ready to take 
 her under my arm, and screen her from all harm, if 
 her steed but dared to step awry. I tell you, Wal- 
 
 (190)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 191 
 
 ters, there is a kind of soft, sentimental pleasure in 
 the society of a woman who never has a will of her 
 own, and who seems to hang upon you as if you had 
 in your hand the power of giving and taking life, 
 or happiness, at will. But there is a bold up-spring- 
 ing joy, that stirs my whole manhood into a kind of 
 idolatrous enthusiasm, when I see such a woman as 
 that. See how she rules that high-mettled steed ! 
 By George ! I wish I knew who she is." 
 
 " Here are our horses, and if you are so extremely 
 anxious, you can make chase, and follow ( the Lady 
 of the Black Plume/ till you find in exactly what 
 lofty castle she hangs her chapeau, and how many 
 bold retainers wait her bidding." 
 
 " Agreed. And, by the way, she is going our road : 
 so let us be off." 
 
 The foregoing conversation was held between two 
 young men, who stood ready to mount their horses, 
 at the Smith ville hotel, one pleasant Indian-summer 
 afternoon, in the year 18 . The person who had 
 elicited so much admiration from Albert Lincoln, 
 was a tall, finely-formed lady, who, in a long, gray 
 riding-skirt, and hat of the same shade, surmounted 
 by a black ostrich plume, emerged from a dry-goods 
 store across the way. Her habit was gracefully gath- 
 ered in one hand, while the other held a light riding- 
 whip. She stepped to a beautiful black steed that 
 stood pawing the earth, nearly opposite, and taking 
 the reins in her left hand, and laying the right upon 
 the horn of her saddle, she sprang into her place as 
 easily as if she were stepping over the threshold ;
 
 192 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 adjusted herself neatly on the saddle, and with a 
 snap of her finger to a splendid greyhound that lay 
 near by, horse, rider, and hound dashed away at a 
 rapid pace up the steep hill that skirted the village, 
 when the two friends, Albert Lincoln and Charles 
 Walters, mounted their horses and followed the same 
 path. 
 
 They were to remain in town over Sunday, and 
 had called for horses to enjoy a ride up the valley. 
 
 The two young gentlemen were travelling agents 
 for large firms in New York, one of dry -goods, and 
 the other of hardware ; and were, just now, spending 
 a few days at the town of Smithville, as we may now 
 call it, having outgrown that stage in which the 
 Westerner would call it a village. 
 
 Both were sons of members of the firms, well edu- 
 cated, and well-bred, and were for the first time en- 
 joying a trip through the rich and rapidly improving 
 States west of the Alleghanies. 
 
 As they reached the top of the hiU, which they 
 ascended more slowly than did the charger of the 
 lady, they looked off down the main road, but could 
 see nothing of the object of pursuit. 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " said Walters, running his eye 
 along the level road as it skirted the river's brink for 
 two or three miles, in open view. 
 
 " Turned into some by-path," answered Lincoln. 
 " Keep an eye out your side the road, and I will mine; 
 for I am bound to follow." 
 
 They paused, to look on the landscape that lay 
 beneath. The water wound away, like a line of
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 193 
 
 silver, for miles, amid large farms, cultivated corn- 
 fields, and well-trimmed forest, interspersed with or- 
 chards and rich green meadows, which frequent fall- 
 rains had kept in spring-time beauty. The corn was 
 cut and gathered in shocks, all along the bank of the 
 stream, while the high hills that rose beyond, stretch- 
 ing their tops almost to the sky, were one bright blaze 
 of crimson and gold. There is no more beautiful 
 sight than our grand old forest-hills of the West, when 
 they put on their gorgeous hues at the touch of the 
 fatal frost. 
 
 Off, in the distance, but in full view, along the 
 winding of the stream, lay the rich and well-tilled 
 farm of Richard Magoon. His large white mansion- 
 house, which years ago had crowded away the cabin at 
 the door of which he and his wife sat when we began 
 our tale, loomed up amid the surrounding forest, 
 like some old ancestral hall. The lines of dark ce- 
 dars along the garden-walks, the great weeping-wil- 
 lows at the gate, the huge barns, and the long sheds 
 for the sheep, which lay near them, looking in the 
 distance like huge white lilies, amid the green of the 
 pastures, made a scene enchantingly beautiful to the 
 young travellers. 
 
 " What a magnificent landscape," said Walters. 
 " Now, if we could spy your beauty somewhere in 
 the midst of it, and make her the queenly mistress 
 of yon ' Farmer's Castle/ we should have a romance 
 of the most enchanting kind." 
 
 "Ah ! yes provided I could in the meantime get 
 up an excuse for a call, and worm myself into an 
 17
 
 194 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 invitation to spend the Sabbath under those willows, 
 instead of sulking round all day in that abominable 
 hotel," replied Lincoln, still peering into the deep 
 forest that closed in the road at the foot of the hill 
 hoping to spy the path that had carried with it the 
 object of his interest. 
 
 " The easiest thing in the world, Lincoln. Do you 
 see that noble flock of sheep ? Let us ride up to the 
 farm-house and make inquiries for our friends of 
 Philadelphia. You know they bade us keep an eye 
 out for them, among the wool-growers." 
 
 " Good ! as far as it goes, Charley ; but an inquiry 
 as to sheep may not win for us an invitation for a 
 Sunday's tarry." 
 
 "Let me alone for that; these Western farmers are 
 whole-souled, noble men, touch them in the right 
 spot, and they are at home with you at once. Tell 
 them straight out you don't like towns and cities, are 
 out on a journey West, to ruralize, and would like to 
 make yourself at home a day or two, and, my word 
 for it, you '11 find yourself one of the family for as 
 many days or weeks as you please." 
 
 "Yes, and find yourself ten miles from the 'Belle of 
 the Forest? with nothing to repay you for your rashness 
 but the company of a man, who will bore you to death 
 about his crop, chew tobacco by the handful, and be- 
 spatter the porch-floor for a yard around, whip two or 
 three white-headed urchins to bed before sundown, 
 and be yourself, nine times out of ten, invited to take 
 a hand at paring apples for the old lady to string, in 
 which employment you will pass the long evenings,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 195 
 
 and be made acquainted in the meantime with all the 
 village gossip and neighborhood scandal for miles 
 around." 
 
 "Where did you learn so thoroughly the minutiae 
 of a Western farm-house visit, pray?" 
 
 "Oh! from the newspapers; you know our Eastern 
 travellers are fond of writing of Western adventures. 
 But see here," and his horse was brought up so short, 
 that he reared upon his haunches. "Here away, into 
 the dark forest, has sped our beauty. Do you not see 
 the tracks of her steed, as she turned here into the 
 wood?" 
 
 The path which had nearly been passed ere dis- 
 covered, turned almost at right angles with the road, 
 and was screened by a clump of tall pawpaws, which 
 interlaced their branches overhead. It led off into a 
 dense forest, dropping back from the river to the hill, 
 at the foot of which ran a bubbling, fretting little 
 brook, that came dancing down, now running over 
 pebbly bars, now hiding away among the brush, and 
 then foaming and dashing past the little rocky falls, 
 that here and there let it drop a few feet at a time, 
 until it reached the bank of the river, and mingled 
 its clear waters with the silvery stream. 
 
 Up this bridle-path, overhung with wild grape- 
 vines, had the mysterious lady of the black plume 
 evidently gone. "Westward ho! who '11 follow?" 
 shouted Lincoln to his companion, who had now shot 
 several yards ahead, as he turned his horse into the 
 path, and dashed off at a rapid pace. 
 
 "Hang the fellow!" exclaimed Walters. "He is
 
 196 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 perfectly beside himself, with that fast young lady. 
 However, I may as well follow;" and wheeling round, 
 he soon came up with the determined pursuer. 
 
 They journeyed on, as nearly together as possible, 
 chatting gayly of their adventure, and the unrivalled 
 beauty of the forest-path, which was almost as dark, 
 with its interlocked trees and running vines, as if it 
 were closely roofed over; crossing and recrossing the 
 little brook, till at last, after a ride of a mile or two, 
 they emerged suddenly upon a clearing of about an 
 acre. The brook in front of the clearing leaped down 
 a pretty waterfall of some four or five feet, and then 
 circled round a tiny garden, made almost an island, 
 amid the forest. In the centre of this garden, hem- 
 med in by a rude bush-fence, stood a still ruder log- 
 cabin, so completely covered with and held together 
 by a wild mountain creeper, that one might have 
 fancied it of marble, as its whitewashed walls glis- 
 tened here and there through the green. The bush- 
 fence about it was completely covered by a drapery 
 of sweetbrier, bitter-sweet, and grape-vines. The 
 golden bells of the bitter-sweet, the scarlet pods of 
 the sweetbrier, contrasting with the rich clusters of 
 wild grapes still ripening in the early frost, all blending 
 together, formed a picturesque hedge, which answered 
 a threefold purpose, as a fence, an ornament, and a 
 protection to the cottage from the bleak winds which 
 swept down the valley in the winter days. The sun 
 was sinking low; but just where it went down behind 
 the hill, and where a deep ravine parted the earth, the 
 tall forest-trees had been cut away, and let the glow
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 197 
 
 of departing day fall full upon the garden. It was 
 not laid out after an elaborate plan, yet it was full to 
 the brim of beauty and use, and its very want of 
 exactness and style rendered it attractive; its walks 
 without a weed; its borders of violets, pinks, and 
 primroses; its varied brightness in its rich profusion 
 of autumn flowers ; its vines, its rustic arbors, and, not 
 the least, its well cultured vegetables, made it a thing 
 to be looked at again and again with admiration. 
 The young men involuntarily reined in their horses, 
 and stood still, in wonder and amazement at the un- 
 expected vision, as it lay there glowing in brightness ; 
 the sun falling upon it, through the break in the hill, 
 gave it warmth and cheerfulness for nearly an hour 
 after the rest of the valley fell into the shade. 
 
 " Upon my word, Walters," exclaimed Lincoln, in 
 a low voice, as the horses stood side by side, "we are 
 in luck this afternoon ; this is worth going ten miles 
 to see." 
 
 " Aye, and more too," answered the other, dropping 
 his voice still lower, and looking over the hedge to 
 the other side of the garden. " For if I mistake not, 
 there is the 'lady of the black plume.'" 
 
 A the words left his lips, the lady in question 
 emerged from a grape-vine arbor made of rude poles, 
 with her hands full of rich clusters of grapes, followed 
 by an aged woman. The latter was of medium size, 
 with a face full, round, and rosy as sixteen ; but the 
 snow-white hair upon the brow, and the deep lines 
 upon the face, told the story of her years. 
 
 The pair did not discover the strangers on horse- 
 17*
 
 198 ELSIE M AGO ON; 07?, 
 
 back, and kept on their chat as they neared the house, 
 and sat down on a bench under the protecting shade 
 of a fine apple-tree, that stood in full bearing before 
 the door. 
 
 "Now, grandma," said the sweet voice of the young 
 lady, "you must lend me one of the little straw bas- 
 kets that you braid; they are just the thing to lay my 
 grapes in, and I can hang it on the horn of my saddle, 
 and take them home safely to father and mother." 
 
 " And sure I '11 do that same for ye, darlint. There 's 
 niver a basket in the cabin, but ye should be as wel- 
 come till it as the sunshine to the corn in a cold June 
 morning." 
 
 And the old lady entered the cottage and brought 
 out a straw basket, made by hand, and neatly stained 
 with barks and berries. 
 
 "Oh! not that one, grandmother; that is your very 
 prettiest. Let me have one that is older and plainer; 
 one that you have not taken so much pains with." 
 
 "And should n't I be bringing out my best? for sure 
 the best is not good enough for the likes of ye ; for 
 it's yeself that saved my Willy from the dead ruin 
 that was coming upon him, and turned the black pur- 
 gatory that was yawning upon me, till a blessed heaven 
 upon earth; and God's blessing presarve ye for that 
 same, to the longest day of your life." 
 
 "Oh! it was not I grandmother, that saved Willy; 
 you must thank the great God above, for that." 
 
 "And true for ye, I do. There's no hour of the 
 day goes by, but I 'm muttering the prayers to Him. 
 But sure it was yeself that he set to the work. Och !
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 199 
 
 Miss Elsie, darlint, it was many a lang, lang night, 
 I lay here in my bed, twenty years gone, and heard 
 the ' Old Still-House ' screeching and groaning, down 
 there in the valley, and its voice went through my 
 heart like a sharp knife, for I knew he was there ; 
 and then I would go in and hear poor Betty a sob- 
 bing and groaning in her bed, all for him ; but 
 they 're gone now. Oh ! darlint, it is hard, when 
 them we love best takes to bad ways ; and sure I 'd 
 none then to love but the two that I brought over 
 the salt seas wid me." 
 
 " Are Willy and Jenny all you have left ? " said 
 the young lady, endeavoring to change the current 
 of the old woman's thought. 
 
 "It's the truth ye 're spaking, my sweet lady. 
 They 're all that 's left me here ; but I 've a company 
 of them in the bright heaven above. But as I was 
 saying, darlint, Betty used to lie rolling in her 
 bed, and Willy down at the holler, and the little ones 
 without bread, mores of times without shoes and 
 stockings till their feet, and lie a-drinking. Och ! 
 Miss Elsie, but ye made Better Days for us all, when 
 ye put out that fire, and poured that devil's-breath 
 into the creek. True for ye's, my leddy, if there 's a 
 better seat in heaven than the rest, it'll be God's 
 will ye should fill that same, for giving the sunshine 
 of life and peace back to throubled hearts, here on 
 earth." 
 
 " I see you keep the spinning-wheel going, grand- 
 ma ; you spin your day's work these pleasant autumn 
 days." And again Elsie tried a new theme.
 
 200 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 " Oh ! yes ! as long as the thread of life is spared 
 me, I '11 be drawing the flax from the distaff; if all 
 the cuts I have rolled and 'lopped since my head was 
 white as the blaze on the rock, were linked thegither, 
 it wad make a rope that would swing me back, all 
 the long way across the ocean to the banks of Bally 
 Shannon. Ten childer, Miss Elsie, twice ten grand- 
 childer; and poor ould granny has outlived them all. 
 I have none left me now but Willy and Jenny;" 
 and the old lady bent her white head, and wiped the 
 fast-rolling tears upon her checked linen apron ; and 
 then, as if ashamed of even the appearance of com- 
 plaint, she started up, with a glow of cheerfulness 
 upon her face. 
 
 " It 's your pardon I should be asking, shure, for 
 giving way ; for have n't you scattered all the throubles 
 and let down the sunlight into my heart; just as 
 Willy's axe let the sunset thro' the ould forest there, 
 to cheer me in my bit of a garden. 
 
 And stooping, the old woman filled her basket with 
 grapes, all the while talking garrulously of the past 
 in her own graphic style, between the Irish and the 
 Western dialect. The young men were in close prox- 
 imity to the speakers, and could see and hear them, 
 but, unless the pair turned directly round, could not 
 be seen ; and they now cast about them, by signs and 
 winks, for a place of retreat. 
 
 Two or three cows straying leisurely homeward, 
 enabled them to turn their horses without being heard 
 into the shade of a great tulip-tree, that overhung the 
 waterfall, just in time to escape the notice of Elsie as 
 she left the cottage.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 201 
 
 " No, no, grandmother, you must not come down 
 the path to-night, to see me mount Barney, you 
 will be tired. There! not another bunch in that 
 basket ; you must save them for yourself and Jenny, 
 in the winter. Come, Clo," she added, again snap- 
 ping her finger to her greyhound. 
 
 " Indade, indade, Miss Elsie, you must let me see 
 ye spring into your saddle, for my ould eyes have 
 never seen the likes since I left swate Ireland. Och ! 
 but the fine leddies that usen to come over from 
 * merrie England/ (the quality, you know,) to go a- 
 hawking and hunting over the old manor, could do 
 the likes ; but it was never a one of them, but wad 
 V hid the light of her eyes in yer presence." 
 
 "Oh! grandmother, you natter me comparing 
 me to the grand lords and ladies of noble blood." 
 
 "Niver a bit, niver a bit, Elsie, darlint; it's no 
 blarney to be calling ye the noblest of them all." 
 
 And the old woman leaned over the stile, and 
 clapped her wrinkled hands in an ecstasy of delight, 
 as the maiden again sprang into her saddle, and with 
 a wave of the hand to the kind old creature she was 
 leaving, bounded out of sight, down the winding 
 path. 
 
 The gentlemen immediately left their cover, and 
 prepared to follow ; but seeing granny Alison still at 
 the stile, they turned to her and asked the favor of 
 a few grapes. 
 
 "As many as ye likes, as many as ye likes; pro- 
 viden ye don't be tearing the vines, which would anger
 
 202 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 the young lady mightily, for it 's a big spot in her 
 heart the place holds, to be sure." 
 
 "And who may that young lady be?" asked 
 Lincoln. 
 
 " And sure it 's only a stranger in these parts, wad 
 be asking after the name of Elsie Magoon, the angel 
 next to Mary Mother hersilf, in kindness to the poor 
 and needy." 
 
 " Indeed ! mother, that is high praise. Does she 
 live here about ? " 
 
 " Only over the brook there away, where ye see 
 the fine white house upon the hill. And but for her 
 mother before her, there would never be a better crea- 
 ture than she in the world." 
 
 " May we ask what she does that is so wonderful ? " 
 
 "And ye may thin ; for my ould tongue will niver 
 be weary waggin her praise while I stay. Who was 
 it but her that stopped the croaking of that old 
 'Still-house/ who but her and her mother, who 
 are like the blessed Trinity, one and the same that 
 led ould Truman to be sober, who but her found 
 places for Tony O'Brien's orphans, who but her 
 that got up Sunday schools, and temperance-meetings ? 
 Lord love you, gintlemen, it's mysilf that would walk 
 to the village in a January night, to hear her plading 
 with the young men to let the bottles alone. Was n't 
 it the black throuble the people were all in, her father 
 none the best of them, and has n't she let the bright 
 day in upon us all ? Och ! it's not a callaut you can 
 meet in ten miles roun', but will tell of Elsie, the 
 darlint, who has made for us all the ( better days.' "
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 203 
 
 The gentlemen received the grapes, and offered her 
 money, which she indignantly refused, asserting that 
 as long as she got freely, she would give freely to any 
 one that would ask her " dacently." With a prom- 
 ise to call again, they followed the path the maiden 
 had taken, and after a ride of another half mile, 
 came again into the main road, just by the fine avenue 
 of sugar-maples, that led up from the gate under the 
 willows to the noble farm-house once owned by 
 Richard Magoon. 
 
 We say once ; for although another five years have 
 flitted by, since Elsie became the owner of the fine 
 old farm, although the debts are paid, and Richard 
 is again a sober, noble-hearted man, he has never 
 consented to become the owner, or to hold the deed 
 of the farm. 
 
 From the time that Richard Magoon had lain so 
 long prostrate with fever he had never been well. 
 Year after year wore on, and still he was weak and 
 tremulous, often entirely prostrate from diseases re- 
 sulting from his long-continued excesses. Hence he 
 felt no disposition to take from his wife or daughter 
 the power of controlling the estate, in case a sudden 
 death or emergency should carry him off. Yet his 
 counsel had always been asked, and his wish and 
 will were sacred. Elsie had grown to be a staff to 
 him in his old age ; and the quiet young girl, who 
 up to the age of twenty had been known only as a 
 modest maiden, at her post of duty in the household, 
 had become to the whole neighborhood a model of
 
 204 ELSIE M AGO ON. 
 
 strength and wisdom, walking side by side with her 
 mother in an earnest and useful life. 
 
 As the two young men rode leisurely up to the 
 house of the Magoons, Richard was in the lane, 
 driving a flock of sheep to their shelter for the night. 
 As Lincoln attempted to force his horse through the 
 flock, the foremost of them commenced leaping the 
 shadow of an oak that lay across the road. The 
 horse took fright, and wheeling suddenly, became 
 unmanageable. Richard sprang forward and caught 
 him by the bridle. A conversation ensued, and 
 ended in an invitation to enter, which was gladly 
 accepted. 
 
 Tea was waiting for Elsie and Richard, and the 
 strangers were cordially invited to partake. 
 
 " Vie have plenty, my friends, such as it is, in our 
 farmer's way; don't mention your horses. Jack, 
 put away the gentlemen's ponies, rub them down 
 well, and give them plenty. Make yourself at home, 
 Mr. what shall I call you?" 
 
 "Mr. Walters, Mr. Lincoln." 
 
 "My wife, Mrs. Magoon, Elsie, my daughter, 
 Alice, Mary, George, all Magoons. Gentlemen, 
 be seated ; what might have been a misfortune to you, 
 may be a pleasant piece of good-fortune to us all." 
 
 And so, in the most friendly manner, the young 
 men were made welcome.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AH, gentle reader ! Don't think we are going to 
 plunge you into a love-story, full, to the end of 
 the last page, of trials and perplexities, odd happen- 
 ings, and the most curious things coming to pass just 
 at the right instant, because we have introduced two 
 city gents to our beautiful girls : for we shall do no 
 such thing ; we don't like stories all love, a bit better 
 than we should like a dinner all preserves and cream. 
 
 Love, to be worth having at all, should come in 
 the natural way, on common-sense principles, and 
 made firm as the everlasting hills, on some substan- 
 tial basis such as goodness and usefulness not 
 upon the set of a plume, or the shape of a bust ; and 
 though we have let our young gentlemen follow the 
 dashing lady to her house, through the wild paths of 
 the green-wood, we have no more idea of dashing 
 Albert Lincoln head and ears into a love scrape than 
 we have of giving Charley Walters a douse in the 
 same subtle fluid. 
 
 "Falling in love!" What does it mean? Do 
 people come down, tumble headlong into a vat or 
 pool, from which they have to be drawn, heels fore- 
 most, to save their souls and bodies ? Wish somebody 
 would tell us, why to be infused with a tender and 
 ennobling passion, should be called " falling " into 
 
 18 ( 205 )
 
 . : ELSIE XJ.GOOX; OR? 
 
 the thing. Bat nobody will tell us, so let as follow 
 the fortune? of oar new-found friends. 
 
 Happy they were to receive, and ready to accept 
 the cordial invitation of Richard Magoon ; and soon, 
 found themselves enjoying, with infinite zest, the 
 wholesome, home-made luxuries of Mrs. Magoon "s 
 tea-table. 
 
 She was as naturally a good housekeeper., as die 
 was naturally a noble, thoughtful,, orderly woman ; 
 and though her whole life had been full of other duties 
 to her neighbors and the world, she had never dreamed 
 in her philosophy, that she must therefore desert any 
 of those interesting and holy cares which become life's 
 richest blessings to the true heart* 
 
 44 You are strangers in this neighborhood, I thint^ 
 gentlemen?" asked Bkhard. 
 
 44 We arrived at Suuthville this morning., sir, and 
 as we had business that would detain us a few days, 
 we were trying to pas time as pleasantly as possible, 
 reconnoitring in your pleasant valley, and were out 
 on our first trip of observation. 2 ' 
 
 "And how do you like us f m asked Richard, in his 
 blunt way. 
 
 44 Your iarms are splendid, and I own I am sur- 
 prised at the progress and cultivation I see all aboot 
 me." 
 
 48 We were new and wild thirty yens ago, gentle- 
 men, when I felled with my own hand the first tree 
 in those broad meadows below. But I dare say we 
 have made some improvement since then." 
 
 44 We have always heard the West spoken of as a
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 207 
 
 new country," said Walters, " I was not prepared to 
 find it so nearly on a level with good old New Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " The West," answered Alice, with a silvery laugh, 
 " the West is ' over the hills, and far away ; ' we are 
 'way down East' here, on the Wahoo. Smithville 
 is only an offshoot of Boston, and should be as near 
 like it as the son is to the father. It is only when 
 you get out on the plains, that you find the natives." 
 
 So went on the pleasant chat until the meal ended ; 
 the young ladies led the way to the farm-house parlor, 
 which was brilliantly lighted, disclosing an open 
 piano in the corner, some fine old pictures upon the 
 wall, a well-filled book-case, and a brilliant carpet, 
 of home-made stripes, upon the floor. It was a cool 
 September evening, and the motherly care of Mrs. 
 Magoon had laid a bright fire upon the ample hearth- 
 stone, that scattered the dampness, and made the room 
 still more inviting and cheerful. Elsie had thrown 
 off her travelling dress, and arrayed herself in a plain 
 brown silk, with a small white band, pinned at the 
 throat. Her rich auburn hair hung in wavy ringlets 
 around her rosy, healthful face, and her dark-blue 
 eyes glowed in the fire-light more lustrously blue 
 than usual. Lincoln thought her beautiful; but the 
 fashionable world would not have given the Belle 
 of the Forest, praise. It might even have denounced 
 her as masculine, because there was something about 
 her so self-reliant and strong. 
 
 " Masculine ? " How can a woman be masculine ? 
 Can the face and form the Creator has given her, be
 
 208 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 anything but womanly ? Are fine, physical propor- 
 tions, health and strength, to be noted disgraceful? 
 Are features that bear the stamp of a great soul to 
 be derided, because they are those of a woman? 
 Shall such a woman be called masouline f as if to 
 manhood belonged all the strength and glory of the 
 human race ? Oh ! captious, sneering, tyrannical 
 world, how hast thou wronged and made to suffer 
 the truest and best womanly hearts. The taunt of 
 masculinity has subdued many a girlish genius, and 
 made her sink into listless indolence, rather than 
 brave the odium of being thought mannish, while 
 she possessed the power of performing works that 
 would do honor to the sterner sex. 
 
 Alice, the second sister, was beautiful at first sight, 
 but so soft and tender in her expression of form and 
 face as never to jeopardize her reputation. And yet 
 she was strong and brave in her own way. Mary 
 was a very fairy, with her soft blue eyes and golden 
 hair, and her form light and agile as a sylph. One 
 could see at a glance that hers was not a heroic nature, 
 that she was not even self-sustaining, and needed 
 the protecting care of a stronger hand and heart. 
 
 Such were the three sisters as they sat before that 
 pleasant evening fire in the old farm-house, each 
 fitted to fill a distinct mission in life, neither 
 promising the power or capability of filling the place 
 of the other. 
 
 Elsie's mind took in at a glance the far-off as well 
 as the near. She knew in the spring time the needs 
 of the harvest, and read in the necessities of to-day
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 209 
 
 the possibilities of to-morrow, of the next year, of 
 fifty years to come. Strong-hearted and strong- 
 handed, she yet bore within herself elements of the 
 tenderest and kindliest emotions. She loved to plant 
 the rose-tree, to prune and nurture it into beauty, 
 and to drink in its dewy fragrance ; to bend over the 
 wild violets in the spring time ; to hunt the forget- 
 me-nots in the meadow, and listen to the love carol 
 of the wild bird. She would have loved, as other 
 young girls do, if one had ever met her capable of 
 concentrating the sunlight of her soul upon himself. 
 But now those rays fell like the morning sunbeams 
 on all the creatures of her Father's love and mercy. 
 She knew, too, that strong hearts and hands were 
 needed among women, as well as men, in the thorough- 
 fares of life, and already had she seen and felt that 
 she was fitted for her place. She delighted in culti- 
 vating human souls ; even as she would take the wild 
 rose from the forest and graft upon its stem the lux- 
 uriance and fragrance of the cultivated flower; so 
 would she take the heart, bedded in the shadows of 
 ignorance, superstition, or vice, and place it in the 
 genial soil of truth, where the dews and showers of 
 love, the light of reason and thought, might warm 
 and freshen it into a flower of beauty, for society and 
 for God. Was this masculine ? Was she less a woman 
 for all this noble thought and earnest action ? Less 
 a woman, because she had not made self the motive 
 power of all her actions, preferring that easy life 
 which most women lead, to the work of making hun- 
 dreds wiser and better for all life's duties, through 
 18*
 
 210 ELSIE N AGO OX; OR, 
 
 her ministrations? Was she less a housekeeper, 
 because she was capable of being more than one ? 
 Was it wrong for her not to become a wife, while she 
 felt herself uncalled to that post of duty, while she 
 saw clearly that a greater good could be accomplished 
 by her, with untied hands, and untouched heart? 
 Should she be branded an old maid, because twenty- 
 five summers had kept the roses fresh upon her 
 cheeks, and the gossips could point to no grave that 
 held a buried love ; to no man, who, in his fickleness 
 or pride, had broken her heart? Because she was 
 not willing, like most women about her, to become a 
 fixture in some household, and walk the same round 
 of duty in contentment till the gray hair should silver 
 her brow, and the grave claim its own? Alice 
 Mary and a thousand others, were fitted for that 
 calm, loving work. Were there not enough such as 
 these, who had no taste for the duties so grand to 
 her, that the world could not spare one, for the mis- 
 sion which she felt called to fill ?. 
 
 Oh ! World, World, wilt thou never learn that all 
 women were not made for the same duties, as are 
 not all men ? 
 
 But while we moralize, the new acquaintances chat 
 on. 
 
 " We are to have a little gathering of friends and 
 neighbors this evening, gentlemen, and shall be truly 
 glad to have you among our circle, if not engaged to 
 return to Smithville," said Elsie. 
 
 " We have no engagements, Miss Magoon," replied 
 Lincoln, rising as if to depart, " but will not crowd 
 ourselves upon your hospitalities."
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 211 
 
 " Not going ? " said Richard, entering at the mo- 
 ment; "by no means; you are welcome till Monday ; 
 and, honestly, I believe we can make you as comfort- 
 able as they can down at the 'White Horse ' ; your 
 ponies shall be returned to their stable ; so make your- 
 selves contented." 
 
 " But your daughters are expecting friends," inter- 
 posed Walters. 
 
 " Only a little gathering a society a something, 
 I hardly know what. In old times we had chopping- 
 bees, log-rollings, squirrel-hunts, spinning-bees, apple- 
 cuttings, husking-frolics, and quiltings, to bring the 
 folks together once in a while, to keep up neighbor- 
 hood sociability, and the boys and girls out of mis- 
 chief. But since the introduction of parlors, pictures, 
 and pianos, we have to plan something better." 
 
 " No ; not better, dear father, than those were in 
 their time ; only, as the editors would say, better suited 
 to the ' spirit of the age/ " said Elsie, laughing. 
 
 "Yes, that will do. So then our young people 
 have a 'society for improvement,' which meets every 
 Saturday night, when the week's labor is done, at 
 the house of its members, where we all join, old and 
 young, in trying to do each other good, and to make 
 each other happy." 
 
 "A grand idea," said Lincoln, trying to look 
 pleased, while at heart he was secretly vexed at the 
 thought of a ' society for improvement ' on the banks 
 of the Wahoo, instead of a pleasant evening with the 
 interesting young ladies of the farm-house 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, daughter," said the father,
 
 212 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 as Elsie placed his favorite easy-chair in the centre of 
 the room, and seated him in it. 
 
 " There, father dear, is your place ; you know you 
 are to be our monitor this evening." 
 
 " Ah ! true ; I had forgotten I held that post of 
 honor." 
 
 "We shall have a large party this evening, I fancy; 
 I hear merry voices now in the avenue. Mr. Lincoln 
 and Mr. Walters will excuse us while we meet and wel- 
 come our guests ; " and Elsie and Mary left the room, 
 while Alice held Walters listening to her merry jokes. 
 
 " I like to see the old and young mingling together 
 without restraint," said Richard, addressing Lincoln. 
 " I believe it the greatest safeguard against vice. The 
 old people do a twofold work by joining in the sports 
 of their children they keep their own souls full of 
 freshness and charity, while they curb the exuberance 
 of animal life in the young, which, when left to itself, 
 is apt to carry them too far. I think the cold, austere 
 religions of this country have done great evil, by 
 denying to their followers the right, to enjoy a proper 
 degree of mirth, thus throwing most of the reasonable 
 amusements of life into the hands of those who have 
 no religion at all. Or rather, I should say, a wrong 
 theology has done this ; for theology and religion are 
 very different things. Some of the best and wisest 
 people I ever knew, and who lived nearest to the 
 true and undefiled religion of the olden time, were 
 condemned by the Christian world as infidels, because 
 they acknowledged no theological creed. And that 
 theology that cannot discern between the use and abuse 
 of healthful and enlivening amusement, does not
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 213 
 
 deserve the name of religion ; it is but an offshoot 
 of that old Pagan superstition which worshipped God 
 through self-abnegation, suffering, and sorrow ; failing- 
 to read aright the great book of nature, which every- 
 where lies open to their view, with its lessons of cheer- 
 fulness and love." 
 
 The room was now rapidly filling with guests ; fifty 
 or sixty were soon assembled, and friendly greetings, 
 jokes and mirth filled up the first half hour, then a 
 selected choir sang, with great expression, several 
 English and Scotch ballads, accompanied by Mary 
 and Alice on the piano, while a young man from the 
 town played his violin in concert. 
 
 Our city beaux exchanged bewildered looks as they 
 saw the white fingers of the country maidens fly over 
 the keys, and listened to the thrilling sounds of song 
 from Elsie and her sister. 
 
 A question for discussion was next introduced, and 
 each in his own familiar way expressed an opinion 
 upon it. Frequent bursts of applause, or quiet mer- 
 riment, gave token of the wit and originality of the 
 talkers ; and the young ladies found it not difficult 
 to puzzle those who had spent years in lyceums and 
 debates. After an hour of this free and easy chat- 
 ting, the old topic was dismissed, and a new proposed 
 for the next meeting. 
 
 And then came a discussion over apples, pears, and 
 grapes, from the garden and orchard of the farmer 
 no one refusing to take part in this when the meet- 
 ing again composed itself to listen to a tale, from the 
 talented Miss L , who had been appointed to pre- 
 pare an original story, poem, or essay, for the evening.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MISS L was the teacher of the Smithville 
 Female Seminary a lady of fine educational 
 attainments, and though past the heyday of youth, 
 \vas neither a garrulous nor disagreeable " old maid." 
 
 She was neither tall nor slim, precise nor prim, as 
 some persons would have us believe that women of that 
 condition always are. Her full form, round, rosy face, 
 and sparkling black eye, were significant of a joyous 
 spirit, which had found its happiness along the way- 
 sides of life, as naturally as the sky-lark finds hers 
 amid the clustering clover and in the common air. 
 
 On the present occasion she did not flush, nor fool- 
 ishly excuse herself as having nothing worth while to 
 read, but took her chair by a light stand, and with a 
 clear, musical voice, read as follows. 
 
 THE FIEST STEAMBOAT OX THE WATERS OF THE 
 MUSKIXGUM. 
 
 It happened to be my good fortune, ladies and 
 gentlemen, to be training " young ideas how to shoot," 
 in the beautiful little town of Marietta, in the year 
 1820. Marietta, you all know, is located at the 
 junction of the Muskingum River with the La Belle 
 Riviere, of the old French settlers, or, in plain Eng- 
 lish, the beautiful river Ohio, and is famous for two 
 
 (214)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 215 
 
 things. First, as being a place of mounds, covert- 
 ways, dykes, ditches, squares, and embankments, or, 
 as familiarly called, " ancient works and fortifications," 
 supposed to have been made by a people far more 
 cultivated than the Indians who roamed the forest, 
 when the oldest civilized inhabitant first pitched his 
 tent in the beautiful valley. 
 
 Secondly, it was famed as being the first point upon 
 which the Ohio Company landed, after leaving Pitts- 
 burg, or old Fort Du Quesne, at the head-waters of 
 navigation ; and consequently, the first settlement of 
 Ohio was made at this same town. 
 
 To me it was famous in another regard ; that the 
 early inhabitants, unlike most Western town-makers, 
 had been too sensible to crowd themselves uncomfort- 
 ably ; and had in laying out theirs, provided a good 
 common, wide streets, preserved their ' ancient works,' 
 and left each landholder a lot large enough for a 
 garden and door-yard. This liberality of land is 
 often a matter of wonder to travellers among us ; but 
 I suppose our grandsires had not then dreamed of a 
 half-acre lot west of the Alleghanies ever being worth 
 half a million ; or that they should live to see cities 
 and towns strewn in grandeur and wealth, to the very 
 slopes of the Rocky Mountains. 
 
 Ah, it was a delightful winter, that ! Every day 
 brought to me new treasures of history from the early 
 times of this interesting people. I lingered many a 
 day in their beautiful cemetery, where slept the last 
 earthly remains of their leader, old General Rufus 
 Putnam, who brought his gallant band so bravely
 
 216 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 through the wilderness, and stood steadfastly by them 
 through the varied and sore trials of border life. 
 
 There, too, at the foot of a great mound, reared by 
 the hands of a lost race, slept old Commodore Abra- 
 ham "VVhipple, who, as his epitaph tells us, fired the 
 first gun of the Revolution ; and performed the still 
 bolder feat of taking the first ship, or barge, down 
 the waters of the Ohio and Mississippi into the Gulf 
 of Mexico ; a daring deed in those days, when the 
 Indian hunting-grounds lay nearly the entire distance 
 on either side. 
 
 Many a winter evening sped away, almost unheed- 
 ed, as I listened to the tales of old Judge Cutler, of 
 the valiant deeds of those valiant men, of their noble- 
 ness and courage ; of the heroism of the women, their 
 unshaken faith and hope through the seven years' 
 war, and their garrison life ; tales of the hunt, and 
 chase, and victory ; of the savage treachery and 
 bloody massacre; of their losses and crosses, their 
 hunger and toil, and their triumph at last, when 
 they arose more than conquerors, from the conflict of 
 years. 
 
 There, too, I heard the tale of the Fairy Isle, 
 where Blennerhasset and his beautiful wife made 
 their Eden home, ere a wild ambition swept over it, 
 and left it all blackness and ruin. 
 
 These stories became to me as household words. 
 Would that I could tarry to-night to give a worthy 
 tribute to each. From the Alleghanies to the buffalo- 
 beats of Nebraska, every native-born Western man 
 and woman owes these old settlers a debt of grati-
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 217 
 
 tude and love, for teaching the world how strong and 
 brave the human heart can be. 
 
 But the one great topic of interest at the time of 
 my residence among the people, was the new steam- 
 boat building at the river-side, which was the first 
 experiment of the kind ever tried there. Its builder 
 was Capt. John Greene, born on the banks of the 
 Muskingum, who had long followed its waters as a 
 keel-boatman. The name of the trim little craft was 
 the Rufus Putnam, after the memorable founder of 
 this new world. 
 
 Many were the prophecies of failure. The "old 
 fogies " of that day were as genuine antiques, as the 
 same class of fossils of the present day ; and shook 
 their heads as ominously over any innovations upon 
 the old order. But for all their glowering looks and 
 dark sayings, Capt. Greene kept on the even tenor 
 of his way, and accomplished his work. As the 
 crowning feat of his temerity, he advertised that the 
 " Rufus Putnam " would make a trip to Zanesville, 
 in the month of March, and take, free of charge, any 
 of the old settlers on the banks of the river. People 
 did not so easily leave home then as now ; and when 
 the time came there were no more to accept the kind 
 invitation, than could be accommodated on a craft of 
 less than one hundred and fifty tons. 
 
 A steamboat upon the winding waters of the Mus- 
 kingum? It was impossible! The man was crazed ! He 
 would run his prow into the crooked banks, he would 
 stave her on a snag, get aground on the bars, or blow 
 up, as had the " Washington," a few years before ! 
 19
 
 :.-> ELSIE XAGOOS; OB, 
 
 But Capt, G vras not to be turned from his 
 
 purpose bv all their croakinsr. He had walked the 
 crooked stream for years, with his shoulder to the 
 glaring pole, and stood with his hand upon the helm 
 through storm and dangers. He knew it thoroughly, 
 and he had no fears. So when the spring winds 
 came, softening the icy chains, and setting the brooks 
 and rills free; bringing down the gentle showers, 
 and swelling the bads of the buckeye and red-bud, 
 and the Muskingum rose half-banks to welcome his 
 enterprise, he announced the day and hour of his 
 departure. 
 
 The fires in the sugar camps were not yet ex- 
 tinguished, nor had the swallows and bluebirds been 
 wooed back to their old haunts, by the green boughs 
 of the willows ; though here and there a blue violet 
 was peeping to see if the icicles were all gone, and 
 wild anemonies in sunny nooks whispered of the 
 " good time coming." 
 
 On the day fixed, a loud-mouthed cannon, posted 
 upon her prow, told the people for miles around that 
 the " Putnam" was on her way, and would call at 
 their doors and take a breathing-spell, while they tied 
 on cloaks and bonnets, and got .ready to join the 
 jovial party 
 
 In a long bend of the river, six miles above 
 Marietta, called "Rainbow," by the old pioneers, 
 from its resemblance to an arch ; on the inner side 
 of the curve, and hidden in the beautiful vale which 
 it hugged in its embrace, were located several families 
 of old settlers, who had lived through the trials and
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 219 
 
 dangers of the Indian war, and who, as soon as the 
 peace was declared, and the garrison opened its doors, 
 had gone forth with their families, and settled on 
 their farms in this beautiful area, surrounded by high 
 hills, and bordered by the stream. 
 
 " Shall we go ?" asked " uncle W ," as the loud 
 
 report of the cannon came booming through the hills ; 
 but the smoke rolled up from his sugar camp, and 
 the plough stood in the furrow, and he turned to his 
 husbandry and smiled, he could not be tempted 
 away. 
 
 " Shall we go ?" asked Frank of his father, a brave 
 old veteran of the Revolution, who had lost one limb 
 in battle, but was "worth as much as a well man 
 yet." It was he, old Capt. Jonathan Devol, who 
 built the first floating-mill on the waters of Mus- 
 kingum, that gave bread to the settlers. As the 
 " Putnam " poured out its salute before his door, and 
 the band played the "Star-Spangled Banner," he 
 hobbled out upon his cane, and bowed low his vener- 
 able head to the gallant Captain of the proud craft. 
 The wind stretched out to their full size and length 
 the stars and stripes that floated from her prow, and 
 waved their recognition to the salute of the old 
 soldier. 
 
 " Let us go," said Israel Putnam, a lineal descend- 
 ant of the venerable Pomfret hero, "let us go, 
 Helen;" and in a moment they were flying in the 
 light canoe to the steamer's side, while the cannon 
 again sent out its signal. 
 
 "Shall we go?" asked the young Russells; but
 
 220 ELSIE MAG OX; OR, 
 
 the careful father and prudent mother shook their 
 heads; how could they decide which of the half- 
 dozen beautiful girls, or industrious boys, should 
 leave the farm and its labors. On went the boat. 
 The loud salute was fired before a brick mansion. 
 Hats were flung high, and handkerchiefs waved, and 
 the boat passed on. Now they were at the semi- 
 circle that enclosed the farm of Col. Joseph Barker, 
 the beautiful spot which the English novelist, Murray, 
 has called Mooshanna. 
 
 "Shall we go?" asked the daughters, with beating 
 hearts, as they looked down, from their home on the 
 bluff, at the flying steamer. 
 
 But the old Colonel shook his head, as if not stirred 
 by the excitement which called others from their 
 homes to line the banks and wave their cheers to the 
 flying stranger. 
 
 "Pho, pho!" said he, "can't you see it from here? 
 I have seen it at Marietta; it's nothing but a steam- 
 boat!" 
 
 And he hummed his tune, and worked away with 
 a drawing-knife at a hoop for the rain-barrel. But 
 what troubled his eyes just then ? 
 
 " Plague take the dust ! " he exclaimed, as he drew 
 out his bandana from the pocket of his home-made, 
 brown, hunting-shirt. He wiped his eyes again and 
 again; the dust would not away. Ah! it was the 
 dust and cobwebs of time that troubled him ; of old 
 memories, of early hardships, of dangers, toils and 
 death ; of friends long gone, linked to the present by 
 every success and every triumph.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 221 
 
 His heart was full full to the brim, of those old 
 stirring times ; and, welling up they ran over at his 
 eyes. Memories of days when he was young, when 
 the hair upon his brow was not silvered ; when he 
 roamed the dense forest, rifle in hand, and peered 
 cautiously for the savage foe behind every tree and 
 fallen log; when the panther lay crouched in the 
 path, and the rattlesnake coiled itself by the wayside, 
 and the wild wolf howled nightly upon the hills; of 
 the days when friends and brothers went out at morn, 
 and returned not at nightfall ; when sickness and 
 sorrow came with heavy steps, and there were none 
 to help ; when the fire swept away the toil of years, 
 and the hopes of days to come. 
 
 But the danger had passed ; the savage and the 
 wild beast were subdued. Friends, neighbors, chil- 
 dren, peace, prosperity and abundance had come as 
 the reward of past perils. It was no wonder that 
 his eyes filled with tears, and his heart beat a loud 
 response to the spirit-stirring notes of " Hail Colum- 
 bia," as they came floating over his wide meadows. 
 He tried to keep cool under it all ; but the glittering 
 blade made tremulous motions in his hands. 
 
 Boom! went the cannon, as the steamer shot by the 
 line that separated his field from his neighbor. On, 
 on went the boat, circling round the bend, while he 
 whittled away at his hoop, unwilling, like many other 
 ' old men, to own, even to himself, that nature was. 
 struggling for utterance in his soul ; unwilling to let 
 her speak aloud in the language of joy and triumph. 
 
 The girls had sped away to the river-bank, and 
 19*
 
 222 ELSIE M AGO ON; 01?, 
 
 the mother stood gaxing from the window ; there 
 were memories tugging at her heart-strings, too, as 
 Capt. Green, who was an old friend, passed the spot 
 where the settler's cabin had stood at first ; where the 
 tall pear-tree pointed to the sky, and the great elm 
 spread its mighty arms over an acre of soil, where 
 he had often moored his keel-boat, and built his 
 camp-fire, in years long gone, and ordered another 
 salute in memory of those days. 
 
 The Colonel could stand no more ; his horse was out 
 in an instant ; and though no Bucephalus, he knew his 
 master's will and did it. The Colonel mounted, the 
 enthusiasm of boyhood and the vigor of manhood 
 seemed burning in his veins, hurling the cool gravity 
 of age from its seat ; and, grasping the reins, down the 
 hill and across the valley he dashed, and met the gal- 
 lant Captain at the upper end of the bend. The old 
 man raised himself in his stirrups, lifted his hat oil 
 high, and gave one loud, long huzza that went echoing 
 through the hills far above the din of wheels or roar 
 of the spouting stream, and was followed almost 
 instantly by a blast from the old cannon which made 
 the very tree-tops tremble. The band struck up 
 " Yankee Doodle," and gave the gray-haired pioneer 
 a hearty cheer. On flew the boat, on flew " old grey," 
 but it was in vain ; the new power subdued the old, 
 and with a bow and another wave of his hat, the 
 proud old farmer went back to his thoughts and his 
 work 
 
 The first eight miles up the Muskingum is a fair 
 sample of the entire journey. People rushed to the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 223 
 
 banks for miles away, to see the mighty wonder of 
 the age. Many had never heard of a steamboat, for 
 newspapers did not travel the world as now ; and 
 fear and terror took fast hold upon such, when they 
 first heard the report of the great gun. 
 
 It was not the Fourth of July, nor the Twenty- 
 Second of February, why then should guns be 
 fired? Timid ones were sure that the " British were 
 coming again;" others, who heard the roar of steam, 
 ran to their neighbors.for prayers ; the day of judgment 
 might be at hand. One old lady, who had heard of the 
 fabulous sea-serpent, fled to the hills with her grand- 
 children, lest, like/tfonah, they should be swallowed 
 alive. An old salt suggested that a whale had lost 
 his way, and was floundering and spouting up the 
 fresh water of the Muskingum. 
 
 All this excitement may seem strange to those who 
 see daily the magnificent boats of the present gliding 
 quietly by their doors. They can have no conception 
 of the noisy, puffing crafts of forty years ago, which 
 often heralded themselves from a distance of four or 
 five miles, with every revolution of the wheel ; and 
 the curiosity and wonder they created could not be 
 equalled now, were we to see a long line of rail- 
 cars flying by steam through the air. Less a wonder 
 would such a phenomenon be to us, than was the 
 " Rufus Putnam " to a majority of the settlers on the 
 banks of the beautiful Muskingum in the year of our 
 Lord 1820 
 
 
 Miss L c^sed her article amid the acclamation
 
 224 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 of the party. Conversation followed; each of the elder 
 members warmed up by the allusions to border life, 
 had something of personal experience to relate; and 
 so closed the literary entertainment which had been 
 both new and interesting to the Eastern gentlemen. 
 
 Dancing was now called for, and the young and 
 old joined in a cheerful country -dance, filling the hall, 
 the parlor, and the long dining-room of the farm- 
 house; while those who did not join in the dance 
 chatted and walked about, and made themselves 
 happy as best they could ; and at ten o'clock the 
 company dispersed. 
 
 " How do you like our primitive society ? " asked 
 Elsie, as Lincoln drew his chair to the fire, after the 
 departure. 
 
 " It is admirable. I have enjoyed it exceedingly." 
 " I have long felt," continued Elsie, " that if we 
 would lead the young away fr^n folly and vice, we 
 must give them something fetter in their stead. We 
 should have little need of 'moral or temperance lec- 
 tures, if every neighborhood^ould gather together, 
 in pleasant social ways, its yoirag men and maidens ; 
 and the old and the wise would aid in governing and 
 guiding the appetites and passions, and regulating 
 the amusements." 
 
 "Your idea is a novel one, Miss Magoon," said 
 Lincoln, " and I fear you will find, after all, that the 
 human mind is sometimes perverse, and will run its 
 owner into ruin, despite the most earnest effort." 
 
 "True; but will not that be the case, whatever 
 instrumentalities are used? If the young man is
 
 THE OLD ST1LL-HOVSE. 225 
 
 made happy in the society of those he loves, without 
 any feelings of uncomfortable restraint; if he can eat 
 and drink reasonably, laugh and sing cheerfully, chat 
 freely and dance merrily ; will he, think you, wish to 
 visit the low grog-shop, the tavern bar-room, or the 
 secret club-room, or the midnight ball, where vice 
 and depravity are his companions, and sin and shame 
 the dark shadows that follow his outgoings?" 
 
 Lincoln started. Had she read the secrets of his 
 city life ? Did she know that he was a wine-bibber, 
 a frequenter of the club-room ? He felt as if his soul 
 were laid bare before her searching gaze. 
 
 But ere he had time to reply, Alice and Walters, 
 with Mary and George, returned from a walk to the 
 willows, with their friends, in the moonlight. 
 
 If the young men had dreams of fairy-girls that 
 night, it is not strange; nor shall we own that they 
 have therefore fallen in love.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ~IT^"ELL, my most amiable friend, son of a whole- 
 ' * sale Xew York merchant, and grandson to 
 one of the double F's of the little Island of Great 
 Britain, educated at Yale, finished on the Conti- 
 nent, and dwelling in a palatial residence on Fifth 
 Avenue, will you be so good as to tell me how 
 your lordship stands affected towards the country 
 maiden, who mounts her horse so adroitly, waits on 
 table so sweetly, and talks morality so preachingly ? " 
 
 "Out upon your nonsense," replied Lincoln to his 
 friend ; " have done with your review of my descent, 
 condition, and position ! I 'd barter all my so-called 
 advantages with the veriest clod-hopper in creation, 
 just now." 
 
 " Then I must say you would be immensely foolish, 
 young man ; for by the reading of your horoscope, I 
 fear that if you were to make a blunder so egregious, 
 you would find the heroine of the romance turning 
 coldly upon you, to lean on the confiding breast of 
 the Fifth- Avenue gentleman." 
 
 " But to think of it, Walters ! that splendid crea- 
 ture gone mad on temperance ! I learned from one 
 of the boys here to-night, that she and her mother 
 are the head and front of that great movement here- 
 
 (226)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 227 
 
 abouts. Tell you what, Charley, I shall have to keep 
 a sharp look-out, or I shall gain no favor here !" 
 
 " Gain no favor here? what are you talking about; 
 are you gone stark mad ? Why, we must be off at our 
 work on Monday morning, and probably you, nor I, 
 will ever meet those really charming girls again." 
 
 " That '& true. But I must say in confidence to 
 you, Charley, that I have never before really felt as 
 if the blindfold little god, in his haphazard shoot- 
 ings, had hit my heart. But I own up I am wound- 
 ed; whether mortally remains to be seen." 
 
 " Seriously, Albert, I think we 'd better leave be- 
 fore breakfast to-morrow, for I find even the cold, 
 slow pump that keeps my life-current ebbing and 
 flowing, is moving a little faster than usual. The 
 fact is, I am sick and tired of our fashionable beauties. 
 Our dressing, calling, promenading, waltzing, 
 gallopading, schottisching, polkaing, precise- 
 belles; that do everything by the rule of popular 
 conventionalism, and never think, feel nor act, with- 
 out consulting the book ! Now I am a free man ; 
 my father was a farmer's son, and my mother was the 
 assistant of his mother in the kitchen-duties ; and 
 they made a love match of it, and as near as I can 
 discover, have never repented ; and though we now 
 tread marble halls, and bury our footsteps in " ta- 
 pestry," I can well remember when a log-cabin home 
 held as happy hearts as now beat under the blaze of 
 chandeliers, and far more brilliant and merry smiles 
 than are reflected now from ten-feet mirrors." 
 
 "And what has all that to do with my leaving 
 before breakfast; am not / free?"
 
 228 ELSIE MAGOG N; O R, 
 
 " Bless my stars, no ! your Patrician blood would 
 boil over if you were to attempt to be free on that 
 subject, I mean that in the veins of your honored 
 progenitors." 
 
 " There would be a mighty fluttering among the 
 
 aristocratic fathers of the C s and L s, if the 
 
 hopeful scion of their lordly house were to take it 
 into his head to unite his destiny with that of a com- 
 mon Ohio farmer's daughter." 
 
 " To bed, to bed, and be off with you, ere the sun 
 gilds the hill-tops yonder, or there is no knowing 
 what will happen." 
 
 This conversation passed between the two cheerful 
 friends after they had retired to their room for the 
 night ; this and much more, for neither felt the least 
 desire to sleep. The incidents of the evening had 
 roused a new train of thought in their minds ; and 
 when at last, at a late hour, they fell into the embrace 
 of the drowsy god, it was to dream of wild rides 
 with ladies on horseback, of swimming silvery streams 
 and sinking amid swollen waves, and rising amid 
 dancing, laughter, and innocent cheer and mirth. 
 
 But both were awakened betimes from their fitful, 
 changing vision, by a soft, sweet voice accompanying 
 the piano, singing a cheerful Sabbath melody. 
 
 They sprang from their beds to find the sun al- 
 ready high in the heavens, and everything betoken- 
 ing a splendid autumn day. 
 
 They found breakfast waiting, and were soon again 
 in cheerful Ute-a-tete with the household. 
 
 A minister from the city filled the desk that day,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 229 
 
 in the little brick church in the grove. Thither all 
 the family repaired, to listen to a sermon of ordinary 
 merit, to join in the choir-singing, and to kneel in 
 the fervent prayer. The walk through the shady 
 lane, the beautiful maple-forest, and by the river-side 
 was delightful, and gave the party opportunity for 
 much conversation. 
 
 Just as the twilight shadows were deepening down 
 the long avenue of maples, the young friends saw the 
 aged form of Granny Alison wending her way up 
 the road toward the farm-house. 
 
 "What can be the matter!" exclaimed Elsie, with 
 a disturbed look. "Grandmother is a strict observer 
 of Sabbath sanctities; I never knew her leave her 
 home before, on this day, except for church." 
 
 " There is some trouble, you may be sure," re- 
 plied Alice. " Jenny is sick, or Willy is astray again ;" 
 and both girls went out to meet the silver-haired old 
 woman. 
 
 " Why, grandma," said Elsie, " what brings you 
 so far from home at nightfall ; what has happened?" 
 " Och, thin, it 's not me that can tell yees, my dar- 
 liut ; but my heart is sick with fear that the worst 
 has come that could befall poor old granny." 
 " Are you very sick, grandma dear?" 
 "Nay, niver a bit, but with waping my eyes out 
 all the long day after him." 
 "After whom?" 
 
 " Och thin, I thought I 'd told ye's. Ye knows 
 that Willy the very bone of my body he is, in my 
 old age, sure went down town to work with Mister 
 20
 
 230 ELSIE NAGOO X; O It, 
 
 Forbes, who keeps the ' White Horse,' just to mind 
 the gintlemen's boots, and carry water, and hold the 
 horses for thim, and such likes. I trembled whin he 
 went, lest the Evil One should be lading him astray, 
 as. it has often done afore, and but for your blessed 
 works he 'd V niver been got back. Heaven bless 
 and keep ye for the same! But thin he promised 
 me, he did, over and over, that he would niver touch 
 a dhrop. 
 
 " 'Do you think I 'd be touching Miss Elsie's heart 
 again,' he said, ' and be bringing the tears intil her 
 eyes with my badness ? niver, granny, niver.' And 
 so I let him go, and two weeks he came back to me 
 when the Saturday night came, and it was the beau- 
 tiful quarter of tea, and a pound of sugar, and a new 
 border for my cap, he fetched ; and Jenny a pretty 
 ribbon, too ; and we were as happy as angels ask- 
 ing your pardon for saying it and och! but the 
 Sunday was like heaven, down at the garden. But 
 last night he came no more, and all the long night 
 we sit up and waked for him, and sorry tears we 
 dropt there, alone by the cabin-fire ; and when the 
 sun come up, I sint Jenny all the weary way down 
 to the 'White Horse/ to be asking Mr. Forbes 
 about him, and niver a word did she find of the poor 
 lost darlint ; and so I be come to ye's to tell me what 
 to do, for sure ye 're the only friends poor old 
 granny has now. Och ! ahone, it 's trouble, trouble." 
 
 " Cheer up, grandmother ; we shall soon find out 
 about Willy. Maybe Mr. Forbes has sent him awav 
 on business, or needed him, and did not like to tell 
 Jenny."
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 231 
 
 "And sure, need he tell a lie to trouble ray poor 
 ould heart, thin?" 
 
 " No, no; it was wrong, if he did. But you return 
 now to the cottage; it is a beautiful moonlight night, 
 and George and I will ride to town and see, and 
 come home by the garden and tell you." 
 
 " Heaven bless and presarve you, and may niver a 
 drop of trouble get into your cup," said the aged and 
 sorrow-stricken woman. "But I'se fearing it's tho 
 whiskey again, the whiskey that kilt my husband, 
 and his father, and now, och, Willie! Willie, it's 
 breaking my heart for ye's." 
 
 The old woman turned down the lane, and sobbing 
 heavily, took the way to her lonely home. 
 
 " I am not obliged to you, sister, for so uncere- 
 moniously engaging my services in this romantic 
 business, this evening; for I am already pledged in 
 another direction." 
 
 "Ah, indeed ! then I shall, like the ladies of olden 
 time, call upon this noble knight to be my escort." 
 
 "Most gracious lady, it will give me exquisite 
 pleasure to do your bidding in this momentous affair," 
 answered Albert Lincoln. 
 
 Elsie saw the half-concealed sneer couched in the 
 last words. But it did not disturb her, and she turned 
 instantly to order the horses. 
 
 " Oh ! I would not bother myself, Elsie," said 
 George ; " you have already saved that fellow from 
 destruction three times, and if he is determined to 
 go, let him go." 
 
 " Three times three, George, and three times three
 
 232 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 added to that, if needful. This last time he has kept 
 sober for a year, and how light and joy has come 
 through my poor efforts to the humble home of his 
 old grandmother and his sweet sister ! " 
 
 " Yes, I know, but then it only raises .hope to 
 make the coming disappointment more fearful. He 's 
 not worth saving" 
 
 "George, do not speak so," answered the heroic 
 girl. " Not worth saving ! a human soul not worth 
 saving from that most dreadful of all fates the life 
 of a drunkard ! Is it not worth a moonlight ride, 
 and an easy effort, to still the anguish of that old 
 mother, who has walked her threescore and ten in 
 such sorrow and tribulation ? Not worth an effort 
 to keep the sunshine of peace hovering over that little 
 garden, and the song of cheerfulness warbling from 
 the lip of that sister ? Not worth an effort to lift 
 the generous, light-hearted, loving-natured Willy 
 again out of the slough of destruction, and place his 
 feet on the solid ground of self-reliance and self- 
 control?" 
 
 "Well I know," said George, subdued by her 
 earnestness, " it is a great thing to redeem a man from 
 the habits of intemperance, but I have not your faith, 
 that Willy can ever be redeemed. There is not much 
 help for an Irishman." 
 
 " There you are wrong again, my brother. They 
 are an impulsive, generous race ; and if the oppres- 
 sions in their native land have driven them to ours 
 for protection, shall we let them die in their weakness 
 and ignorance ? Let us save all who can be saved :
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 233 
 
 none shall reach out their hand to me for help in 
 
 vain. 
 
 Elsie went for her bonnet and riding-habit, and* 
 the two were soon on their way. 
 
 As they rode towards the village, the eye of Lincoln 
 rested upon the Old Still-House, gilded, as it rose in 
 the vale below, by the full moon, which shone down 
 upon its stillness and desolation. 
 
 "What is that old ruin?" asked Lincoln. 
 
 " It is, or rather was, a distillery, once owned 
 by my father. But it is many years since he gave up 
 the business, and it is now used only as a granary, 
 and its outbuildings as a shelter for the cattle and 
 sheep;" 
 
 "Did he not find it profitable?" asked the city 
 gentleman. 
 
 "Profitable?" responded Elsie, with emphasis, 
 and turned her full blue eyes upon him, which flashed 
 in the moonlight like blazing stars. "No, Mr. 
 Lincoln, it was not profitable, nor can it be profitable 
 to any human being in the best sense, to distil the 
 waters of death for his fellow-men." 
 
 " You are a strong advocate of temperance, I see. 
 
 " And who would not be, knowing the vice and 
 crime that it spreads over the world?" 
 
 " Intemperance is a sad vice, 't is true, but a mod- 
 erate use of exhilarating beverages cannot be con- 
 demned, I think." 
 
 " But who is contented with a moderate use ? Is 
 the enjoyment obtained by this 'moderate use' of the 
 poison by a few, an equivalent for the suffering and 
 20*
 
 254 ELSIE M AGO OX; OB, 
 
 sorrow brought upon the community by the irnmod- 
 erat> use of the many ?" r 
 
 " Perhaps not. But I do not know that denying 
 mvself an occasional social glass would have the 
 effect to reform the world: and I really feel that 
 there is too much excitement upon the subject," 
 
 a Too much excitement ! " she repeated ; " can there 
 be too much, when thousands, tens of thousands, and 
 hundreds of thousands, of our fellow-beings, led on 
 by a burning and unsatisfied desire, are sinking hourly 
 into the drunkard's grave? When our ears are per- 
 petually pained with the suffering cry of the victims 
 of intemperance ; when desecrated homes, widowed, 
 or worse than widowed wives, and deserted, beggared 
 orphans, meet us in all our daily walks ? When this 
 is so, shall we be told that we can feel too much ?" 
 
 "But, Miss Magoon. I cannot see how any m- 
 dicidxal effort is to stay this evil, or dip the wings 
 of unnatural and uncontrolled desire," 
 
 "Individual effort cannot entirely stay the evil. 
 But individual effort can often avert individual 
 wrong. And believing as I do, that there are more 
 sober, self-denying men in any community than there 
 are drunkards; and that each one of these may 
 redeem at least one victim ; I believe that we may, 
 by this action, and by our outspoken testimony in 
 favor of total abstinence, create a public opinion at 
 length, which shall eradicate the dread scourge from 
 among us," 
 
 "Ah! I fear it will be many a year, my lair friend, 
 ere your Utopian scheme will reach any practical
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 235 
 
 result. Surely I can most heartily wish its entire 
 success." 
 
 " Of course we shall move slowly, while many of 
 the best men of our country stand in firm phalanx 
 disputing every step of the ground, and even erect- 
 ing barriers in our path, which compel us to waste 
 our energies in combating professed friends instead 
 of leaving us a clear track and bidding us God speed 
 in our missions." 
 
 " Surely no good man who has the true interest of 
 the Race at heart, will be guilty of such treason to 
 his country's good." 
 
 There was the least bit of sneer in the voice of 
 Lincoln throughout this conversation, as if from a 
 consciousness that he should confound the country 
 maiden, and make her feel his superiority. Elsie 
 perceived his feeling and answered promptly. 
 
 " Do you not see, Mr. Lincoln, that you stand ex- 
 actly in that category ? If you are a good and true 
 man a lover of your kind and feel convinced that 
 ardent spirits as a beverage, when taken to excess, are 
 productive of untold evils, and the direct cause of a 
 large proportion of the crimes committed in our 
 country, why do you compel me to waste my time 
 and energies in arguing the question ? Why not at 
 once admit the wrong, and suggest a remedy ?" 
 
 " I think you state the case rather strongly. I am 
 certainly an advocate of temperance : I only suggest 
 that one can be temperate, while not pledged to total 
 abstinence." 
 
 " May I ask you a question ? "
 
 236 ELSIE NA GOO N; O 7?, 
 
 "As many as you please, Miss Magoon." 
 " How many men do you know who arc moderate 
 drinkers, who have grown old or even middle-aged, 
 and do not at some time drink to excess drink so as 
 to make those who love them blush for their weak- 
 ness, if not their depravity ? " 
 
 Lincoln ran over his list of friends. He remem- 
 bered his aged father, whose wine and brandy were 
 every-day necessaries ; and who, though not sixty 
 years of age, was already yielding under his " mod- 
 erate " system, to petulance, forgetfulness, .and occa- 
 sional inebriety. He remembered too, the tearful 
 eyes of his beloved and venerated mother, when the 
 excited father, after his wine, raised his voice angrily 
 among his guests, or descended to silliness and dis- 
 gusting suavity. He could not remember one, among 
 them all, who was not, at times, less a man for his 
 indulgence. 
 
 He answered the question promptly and honestly, 
 as was his nature : 
 
 " Really, Miss Magoon, I cannot think of one" 
 " One more question : If you had a brother who 
 loved his intoxicating draught, and w r hen one was 
 taken was incapable of resistance ; and, thus deprived 
 of the power of self-control, would upon every pos- 
 sible occasion drink himself into the basest condition 
 of inebriety; would you not be willing to forego the 
 pleasure you take in moderate drinking, rather than 
 in the language of Shakspeare 'Put an enemy 
 into hw mouth, to steal away his brains ' ? "
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 237 
 
 " When the dark shadow enters our own circle, we 
 all quail/' was the prompt reply. 
 
 He was thinking of just such a brother, and of his 
 mother's repeated request, that intoxicating drinks 
 should not be placed before the children of the house- 
 hold. He was thinking of himself too ; of his college 
 days ; of his club-room sprees, and the times without 
 number when he, the " moderate drinker," had risen 
 from his bed after a night's social revelry, with blood- 
 shot eyes and aching head, and a deep consciousness 
 of self-abasement. 
 
 But they were now at the door of the " White 
 Horse," and the conversation ended. 
 
 The "Still-House" fires no longer burned at the 
 grove, it is true, nor did its shrieks re-echo through 
 the valley. But while in its immediate neighborhood 
 not a drunkard was found, the town of Smithville 
 was accursed with more than one of those " breathing- 
 holes of hell," as they have been not improperly 
 named, town groggeries. Indeed, as society ad- 
 vanced, and the foreign population poured in, there 
 seemed to be an increased demand for alcoholic drinks. 
 And while if was entirely excluded from the tables 
 and sideboards of many, and total abstinence held 
 rule in households, where twenty years before the 
 idea was considered preposterous, the enemy still 
 lurked in many a corner, and his victims were 
 numerous. 
 
 Political strife ran t high, hard-cider songs echoed 
 from one party while something stronger was not 
 unfrequently found cheering the hearts of the other.
 
 288 ELSIE M AGO OX. 
 
 " Washingtonians," " Sons/' " Cadets," and various 
 orders, were meanwhile increasing in influence, and 
 battling with the foe. But. with a few exceptions, 
 the women the wires and mothers, sisters and 
 daughters had taken no part in the great straggle 
 except to attend the lectures, and to help at an occa- 
 sional festival. 
 
 But the time seemed now approaching when wom- 
 an's positive action was needed no less than her in- 
 direct influence; and Mrs. Magoon and her noble 
 daughter no longer stood alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 GOD evening, Miss Magoon, good evening, 
 stranger," said the obsequious landlord of the 
 White Horse, bowing and rubbing his hands, as the 
 two entered his porch. " Does sore eyes good to get 
 a sight of you, Miss Magoon. How 's your father, 
 and all the folks, all well?" 
 
 This direct question seemed to require an answer. 
 
 "As well as usual, Mr. Forbes," replied Elsie, 
 taking her way toward the bar-room door. 
 
 "Walk up-stairs, Miss Elsie, Miss Magoon, I 
 mean, this way this way, if you please; you will 
 find all right up-stairs, and I will send in Mrs. Forbes 
 and Cynthia, in an instant;" and the perturbed 
 dram-seller almost drew her back with his trembling 
 hands. 
 
 Lincoln stepped in between. His hand was ready 
 to . send the officious Mr. Forbes off the porch, for 
 daring to lay his finger on one every moment be- 
 coming more and more sacred to him. 
 
 " Miss Magoon, sir, knows which way she wishes 
 to go," said Lincoln, in a tone of authority. 
 
 " Of course, of course, stranger. But young ladies 
 isn't apt, Sir, to want to go into bar-rooms, Sir 
 that's all, Sir ask your pardon, Sir." 
 
 In the confusion of the moment, Elsie stepped 
 
 (289)
 
 240 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 before the landlord, walked deliberately into the bar- 
 room, and, nothing daunted, up to the bar. 
 
 There, sitting around in a small room of some 
 twelve feet square, were one dozen or more men of 
 the town, puffing cigars or pipes 'some with feet 
 over the backs of chairs others half-lounging 
 others flat upon their backs; while the floor was lit- 
 erally dyed with the nauseous flood of tobacco-spittle, 
 sent forth in every direction from wagging jaws. 
 Three or four young boys were loitering round the 
 room, inhaling the poisonous atmosphere, and taking 
 lessons in profanity and obscenity from men, aged 
 men fathers and husbands who were there on that 
 Sabbath evening, leading, not their own children, but 
 the children of others, down the dark avenues of vice 
 and wrong. 
 
 Had an angel from heaven walked in among them, 
 they could not have been more astonished and dis- 
 mayed. They would have met a minister with jest 
 and sneer ; an officer of the law with oaths and resist- 
 ance; but a woman, and one whose character, by 
 her undeviating rectitude, unflinching integrity and 
 kindness, had enforced respect, they knew not how 
 to meet in a place like that, where all were ashamed 
 of being seen. 
 
 There was the Justice of the Peace, Squire Murdock, 
 who had sworn before God and man to enforce the 
 law, listening to language that would have been 
 actionable, had he done his duty. In one corner, just 
 behind the bar, and screened by a frame on which 
 was posted the show-bill of a menagerie, sat four
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 241 
 
 young men engaged in a game of cards, with dollars 
 and half-dollars upon the corners of the table. One 
 of these was the constable ; another, the youngest and 
 best-beloved son of the judge of the county, whose 
 fine residence on the hill-side near by looked down on 
 the humble pretensions of the brick tavern. There 
 was Dr. M'Guire, too, who was considered a very 
 worthy and exemplary man but who dropped in 
 at the tavern bar-room to talk politics with Mr. Jack- 
 son, the grocer ; and Mr. Edwards, who was running 
 for Congress, who was restless to hear the news and 
 to gain the votes of those who loiter on Sabbath-days 
 and on week-days around the grog-shop doors, and 
 who were sure to be influenced by his suavity and 
 condescension in coming in to see them, in shaking 
 hands all round, and giving them all a treat. 
 
 And there she stood in their midst, the pure, true 
 woman, unabashed and unawed. "Unabashed and 
 unawed ! " you exclaim. " Could a pure-minded, 
 true-hearted woman stand unabashed and unawed in 
 a tavern bar-room, among the low and depraved, the 
 sensual and vile ? " 
 
 And why not ? Is woman's purity of so frail a 
 texture like the lace of the satin in which she 
 arrays herself that she must stand watching and 
 fearing, all through life, lest it become soiled, and 
 tattered, and henceforth useless forever? 
 
 Away with such flimsy notions of woman's purity 
 and truth. That which will not, like the diamond, 
 bear, unsullied, contact with wrong, when that con- 
 21
 
 242 ELSIE MAG ON; OK, 
 
 tact becomes necessary to a great and wise purpose, is 
 not the true, the pure, or the good. 
 
 And why should not Miss Elsie visit that bar- 
 room on a Sabbath evening? The pew of Judge 
 Heath was next their own, at church ; and no one 
 would have been shocked to have seen her in con- 
 versation with the finest-looking young man in 
 Smith ville "Walter Heath, who was the very "beau 
 Brummell " of the town. Squire Murdock was the 
 stanch friend of morality and virtue in the debating 
 society, and at the new Lyceum. His family all went 
 regularly to the Presbyterian church, and his chil- 
 dren were' regular Sabbath-school scholars. Pie only 
 "dropped into the tavern to chat a little." Dr. 
 M'Guire, too, was of the upper ten; and Mr. Ed- 
 wards, the popular man on the Whig ticket just then ; 
 and Mr. Forbes, the landlord, was a man of influence 
 among those who visited his bar, he must be held 
 firmer in his Whig principles ; and, perhaps, that part 
 of the democracy so easily bought over with a glass 
 of brandy, might desert the standard of Polk, and 
 come over to the help of Clay, and thus give an 
 additional vote to Chauncy Edwards, and help him 
 to " roast-beef and eight dollars a day." 
 
 Not a place for a young lady ! Who says so ? The 
 very men who go there daily who know how shock- 
 ingly demoralizing it is; who have felt their own 
 souls sinking into lower depths of infamy at each 
 succeeding visit; they, the judge, the squire, the 
 constable, the lawyer, the merchant, the doctor, the 
 mechanic, they know well that it is no place for any
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 243 
 
 human being who would preserve himself in the 
 image of God. They have said it, lest in some 
 hour of frantic solicitude, or dark despair, their own 
 mothers, and wives, and daughters should, unan- 
 nounced and unexpected, intrude upon their revelries, 
 as did our heroine, and bring to light the dark, foul 
 deeds enacted behind those dreadful screens. 
 
 No place for woman ! Then is it no place for man 
 to gather impurity till his whole soul reeks with 
 filthiness, and carry it burning, steaming, bubbling, 
 home to the bosom of his family, to be pressed upon 
 the lips of his child, or poured in coarse curses into 
 the ear of his victim-wife 
 
 Our Elsie paused not to ask what a cavilling world 
 would say, nor even to consult the refined cavalier by 
 her side. There she stood, in the midst of that den 
 of beasts, who a moment before were sending up roars 
 of ribald laughter over the drunken efforts of one 
 Dennis Flinn, who could neither stand, nor talk 
 coherently. Flinn was once a young lawyer of great 
 promise, a fluent speaker, with all the rich imagi- 
 nation and impulsive genius necessary to have given 
 him honor, wealth, and influence ; now only a blear- 
 eyed, bloated, wretched victim of licensed bar-room 
 depravity. 
 
 Flinn was instantly pulled down upon a bench by 
 Squire Murdock ; Dr. M'Guire left in great haste ; 
 while Mr. Edwards, bowing to Mr. Forbes, caught 
 his hat, saying as if he had been in upon some bus- 
 iness of consequence " You will attend to that mat- 
 ter, Mr. Forbes?"
 
 244 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 " Certainly, sir," was the ready reply. 
 
 Every man in the room was on his feet in an in- 
 stant; cards were dropped; half-dollars slid into 
 pockets ; while the blood of yet uncorrupted inno- 
 cence rushed to the very temples of the young men 
 caught at what they knew was wrong in a place 
 in which they would not for worlds have had mothers 
 and sisters, and young maidens of their acquaintance, 
 know that they spent their leisure hours. 
 
 " Mr. Heath," said our heroine, as the young man 
 stood blushing and stammering before her, "I want 
 your help. I am after Willy Alison, is he here?" 
 
 The young man stammered, looked at the landlord, 
 then at Elsie, and then his eye turned toward an open 
 door that led into a back room. " He is there," was 
 the laconic reply, in husky tones. 
 
 " Come with me ! " was her peremptory command, 
 as she walked directly through the bar-room, where, 
 among whiskey-barrels and other articles necessary to 
 the trade, was the bed of Willy Alison ; or, rather, 
 an old frame or shelf against the wall, covered with 
 a dingy straw bed, and an old quilt or two. 
 
 Here, lying on his face, his hair matted and tangled 
 about his fair young brow, the dirt and stain of ine- 
 briation upon his clothes and face, lay Willy Alison 
 the darling boy of the old, doating, doubly-widowed 
 grandmother; the brother, the only brother of that 
 sweet, confiding child who had walked that long, 
 weary road, in the morning, to ask for him there, and 
 been told he was not with them. 
 
 The landlord naturally enough followed them.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 245 
 
 "Did you not tell Jenny, Mr. Forl)es, when she 
 came down this morning, that Willie was not here?" 
 asked Elsie, with an earnestness that admitted of no 
 equivocation. 
 
 "Well, you see, Miss Elsie Miss Magoon ; that 
 young man can't be kept straight. I 've talked to 
 him a great deal about drinking, but somehow he 
 will get it, and then there is no stopping him." 
 
 "And do you advise him not to drink, while you 
 are constantly, before his eyes, tempting others to do 
 the thing you desire him not to do?" 
 
 "Well, you see, madam Miss Elsie Miss Ma- 
 gonn, ahem ! you see, W'illy is a great favorite with 
 my customers, ahem, and so ready and willing 
 to wait on 'em, and the old woman has taught him 
 to be so good-rnannered, that they are always treating 
 him and tempting him ; I do believe, ma'am that the 
 boy would have done well, if he'd V been let alone, 
 ma'am. But gentlemen like to be generous." 
 
 " Gentlemen I like to be generous I " repeated she, 
 with a voice of withering scorn; "do you call this 
 generosity? He has waited on them kindly, and 
 they have repaid him by breaking down his good 
 resolutions by destroying his faith in himself by 
 robbing him of reason, and making him, there on 
 that filthy bed, a lower thing than the brute that 
 wallows in the mire !" 
 
 "Well, but you see, Miss ahem." 
 
 " Do not attempt a justification, sir. No gentle- 
 man, or rather, I should say, no man true to himself, 
 lifts the damning glass at your counter. They are 
 21*
 
 24* EL SIE XA G O /> _Y; OR, 
 
 fends in human form, who have done this terrible 
 thing." 
 
 "You are hitting some near by/" said a day-laborer, 
 who had come there to smoke and talk, and who had 
 once been saved by Mrs. Magoon from a drunkard's 
 fate. 
 
 " Walter Heath, is it you who have done it ? " she 
 exclaimed, turning her piercing eyes upon him, as if 
 she would read into his very soul. 
 
 "Go at once for a horse and vehicle; this boy 
 must be taken to his grandmother to-night. How 
 long is it since he went to bed?" 
 
 " Well then, Miss Magoon," again began the land- 
 lord, apologetically, "you know there was a club- 
 meeting, last night, out here on the square, and the 
 speakers wanted a little to warm 'em up, and Bill 
 was right busy, and after they broke up, they stayed 
 warming themselves and treating round, and I 
 reckon Mr. Heath and Mr. Edwards can tell you 
 how it happened;" and the tavern-keeper cast a 
 malicious glance at the remaining respectables who 
 shrank from him as from a demon, " anyhow, about 
 midnight I found him a leetle the worse for liquor, 
 and told him to turn in." 
 
 " Oh, Waller Heath !" 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Elsie, I only offered him one glass 
 I know it was wrong, very wrong." 
 
 "And did one glass lay him there?" 
 
 " You see, Miss Miss Magoon, when the young- 
 ster woke up this morning, he felt pretty bad ; he *d 
 the headache powerfully, and then he began to talk
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 247 
 
 about his old granny, and he couldn 't stand it," said 
 the landlord. 
 
 "And so he drank again?" 
 
 " Yes ; but I reckon he 's about sober now." 
 
 The landlord's wagon was now at the door. 
 
 " Willy, Willy," said Elsie, as she shook the stupid 
 sleeper, who turned over, muttering. " Willy, wake 
 up, I want you to go with me." 
 
 The young man stammered out an oath, with .a 
 thick and lumbering tongue. 
 
 " I 'd 'a' thought that voice was Miss Magoon's," 
 said the boy, " if I had n't heard it in this d d rum- 
 hole. Oh," added he, stretching himself, " I wish to 
 God I 'd never come." 
 
 " Willy," again spoke his friend, " Willy, look up, 
 it is I and in this fearful rum-hole I have come 
 to take you away, and to carry you to your poor old 
 grandmother." 
 
 The boy started as if a serpent had stung him 
 opened his eyes, glanced wildly around him, and then 
 at her. In a moment the whole truth seemed to flash 
 upon him, and dropping his face into his open palm, 
 he wept aloud, till the tears fell through his soiled 
 fingers and washed away a part of the dismal stains. 
 
 " Come, Willy," she added, after giving his bur- 
 dened heart time to vent itself. " I must leave this 
 place ; it is not a fit place for you or me." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Elsie, you have been so good to me, and 
 how I have broken all my promises, will grand- 
 mother let me come home again, will you forgive 
 me, and let me have a chance to try once more?"
 
 248 ELSIE MAG 00 X; 7?, 
 
 Elsie made no other answer than to take his tear- 
 washed hand in her own, and say, " Come, Willy, 
 come ! " 
 
 And the boy, magnetized by her influence, arose and 
 followed her to the door, and stumbled into the 
 wagon without a word. 
 
 " Walter Heath, will you do me the favor to drive 
 him to his grandmother's. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Walter, anxious to do any- 
 thing to wipe out the fearful stain his character had 
 that night received ; and stepping into the wagon, he 
 seated himself beside the half-drunken boy and drove 
 away. 
 
 When they returned from the dark hole, in which 
 Willy had slept away his inebriation, to the bar- 
 room, there was not one loiterer there. What a 
 change had been wrought in that room, in so short a 
 space, by her presence there ! She had repelled the 
 degradation and shame, and cast it from her; no 
 oaths, no vulgarity, no shuffling of cards, no smoking, 
 no drinking were done after her foot passed the thresh- 
 old. The guests had slunk away, one by one, and 
 Mr. Forbes was busy with the broom, trying to sweep 
 out the evidences of their recent carousal. 
 
 " Mr. Forbes," said Elsie, drawing herself up 
 proudly before the man of grog, " William will not 
 return to his place. I shall try and find a home for 
 him elsewhere." 
 
 " Well, madam Miss Elsie that is to say, Miss 
 Magoon, I reckon, maybe he would n't do the like 
 agen he's a. first-rate feller does more 'n any two
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 249 
 
 boys I git for common, and it's a mighty busy time. 
 Really, Miss Elsie Miss I don't exactly know 
 how to git along without him. He 's a great favorite 
 with niy customers." 
 
 " No doubt of it. But he is also a favorite of 
 mine, and I shall not show my love by making him 
 a loathed, despised, and helpless thing. Is that your 
 son ?" she asked, as a fair boy of some eight years old 
 stepped into the bar-room. 
 
 " Why, yes ; that 's our Ben. Ben, this is Miss 
 Elsie Miss Magoon I mean." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Ben, " I guess I ha'n't forgotten 
 my school-marm;" and the boy sprang into her arms, 
 and ventured to kiss her cheek. She held his hand 
 in hers, and looked from his bright eyes to his father's, 
 where the great sweat-drops of agitation and shame 
 were gathering. 
 
 " Do you love this child this link that binds you 
 to his dead mother, now in heaven ? " 
 
 The tavern-keeper quailed before her searching 
 look, and stammered out that, of course, he loved his 
 only boy. 
 
 "Then, as you value your peace in life, as you 
 value your hopes of future happiness, cease the un- 
 godly traffic, or this boy, whom your soul loves, shall 
 lay at your feet, the drunken worthless vagabond 
 the wretched drivelling sot that you have made of 
 him whom you have sent home to-night, to bring 
 sorrow and tears to the sleepless pillows of age and 
 childhood ! For as sure as there is an avenging God, 
 the curse will fall. You may sow the wind, but you
 
 250 ELSIE MAG OO N; If, 
 
 shall reap the whirlwind ; " and with one more kiss 
 upon the brow of the boy, she passed out, mounted 
 her horse, and followed the wagon to the widow's 
 garden in the wood. 
 
 "Father, what did Miss Elsie mean?" asked the 
 boy. 
 
 "Well, I don't know, 'zactly. Benny you'd 
 better go in now, I don't like to see you in the bar- 
 room Sunday night." 
 
 " Did n't she mean I 'd get drunk some time, just 
 like Willy Alison, when I get bigger?" 
 
 " Well, I expect that was it ; but you won't, will 
 you?" 
 
 " Why, father, if you want all the rest of the men 
 to git drunk, why don't you want me to git drunk, 
 when I git a man?" 
 
 " Because, Benny well men are fools when 
 they git drunk, and act bad." 
 " What do they do, father?" 
 " Oh, they spend their money, and whip their little 
 boys." 
 
 " Then don't you sell them any more whiskey. 
 You would n't like to have a man sell you w r hiskey, 
 and make you come home and whip me, would you, 
 father?" 
 
 " Go into the house, Benny, go into the house, " 
 said he, as he pushed his boy out of door. 
 
 The doubly-rebuked landlord walked up and down 
 the deserted room. He had leisure now for thought, 
 for the customers, so strangely surprised, came not 
 back that night.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 251 
 
 Sadly, silently, proudly, rode Elsie Magoon by 
 Lincoln's side, on their return to the cottage. She 
 knew he did not approve her course, that he had 
 shrunk from entering with her, and had stood with- 
 out, while she accomplished her work. But, prome- 
 nading around the porch, he had heard through an 
 open window all that passed in the back room. He 
 had stood by the door when she met Benny ; and she 
 felt now in no mood to argue with him. Whatever 
 he might have felt when she entered, he had now no 
 disposition to call her to account for a work so nobly 
 done. 
 
 Riding thus, side by side, in silence, they overtook 
 the wagon, and the party arrived together at the gate, 
 and were met by the aged grandmother and her little 
 granddaughter, who were out walking to and fro in 
 the moonlight, watching for the prodigal's return. 
 
 " We have brought him back to you, grandma," 
 said the maiden ; " but he is sore sick, in body and 
 soul. Be kind to him; I will come and see you both, 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Oh, Willy, ye 're welcome, darlint ! come as ye 
 will," said the aged woman, wiping her tears upon 
 her apron, and following him up the path. 
 
 Jenny saw his condition, and shrunk among the 
 vnes to weep away her sorrow and mortification. 
 
 Walter Heath was about turning back, when Elsie 
 rode up beside the wagon. 
 
 "Walter," said she, in a low, impressive voice, 
 "shall I tell Mary what I have seen to-night." 
 
 " I dare not tell you, no," he replied.
 
 252 ELSIE M AGO ON. 
 
 "Last Sabbath evening, Walter, you sat by her 
 side. I cannot believe that you truly love Mary, 
 and yet can mingle in such a crowd as that. Come 
 no more to us until I see you again. I will not tell 
 her, but with your consent. Good night. God save 
 you ! Good night." Had vice and sin clung with 
 their contamination to the white garments of this 
 Angel of Mercy ?
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A FTER leaving Grandma Alison's cottage, the two 
 -jL rode on in silence for some distance. The au- 
 tumn winds rustled the foliage of the beech-trees, 
 and the night-birds sung their doleful melodies. 
 There is no more fearful sound in the dark, dim 
 woods, than the hoot of the night-owl, and the cry 
 of the whippoorwill seems ever like a note of 
 despair. 
 
 The horses jogged along sociably together; they 
 knew the road, and needed no guidance. 
 
 The riders were busy with their own thoughts. 
 Elsie was sad. Willy Alison was so good, when he 
 could be kept sober, and withal carried so much hap- 
 piness or misery with him, according to his condition, 
 that she could not be indifferent to his fall. 
 
 Lincoln was pondering his strange condition, 
 riding alone, with one of the loveliest and noblest- 
 looking girls he ever saw, in the wild woods of Ohio, 
 one he had only known a day, to rescue from a 
 village doggery a low Irish boy whom he would 
 have found dead-drunk on the pavement of Xew 
 York without a thought. 
 
 And what was all this coming to ? How was he 
 to get away from this enchantment ? What could ho 
 say for himself, if she should ask him, in direct terms, 
 22 (253)
 
 254 ELSIE JfAGOOX; OR, 
 
 of his temperance principles ? He began half to re- 
 solve that he would not drink any more, that he would 
 go home and start a temperance reform in his own 
 club; and actually ran over in his own mind the 
 form of a preamble and resolutions ; when a sound 
 fell upon his ear that made the blood start from his 
 heart with a livelier bound, and tingle with a pleasant 
 excitement to his finger-ends. It was not owl or 
 whippoorwill, the neighing of his steed, nor the 
 bark of Cleo ; but the voice of his companion. 
 
 " Well, my friend, what do you think of our ad- 
 venture ? n 
 
 " Really, Miss Magoon, I hardly know how to 
 express my thought; it was to me a very singular 
 experience," 
 
 " It will do for an item, if you journalize," 
 
 " But I fear I should fidl short of doing the sub- 
 ject justice, were I to attempt it, or I might feel 
 inclined to give such earnestness and self-sacrifice a 
 publicity beyond my own scrap-book." 
 
 " Self-sacrifice ! Do you call this pleasant ride in 
 the sweet moonlight ' self-sacrifice ? ' I fear, Mr. 
 Lincoln, you have not been well entertained.' 7 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Magoon, you mistake me ; I certainly 
 did not mean to imply any sacrifice on my part." 
 
 " And I, certainly, have felt none on mine. There 
 is a pleasure in doing good to others, which overrides 
 all the annoyance or inconvenience usually attached 
 to its performance." 
 
 " That is true ; but is it not very unpleasant for 
 you, a "
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 255 
 
 "A young lady, to go into a tavern bar-room, just 
 to save a human soul?" said Elsie, throwing into her 
 tone the full force of her feeling. 
 
 " That is the question I was going to ask," was his 
 reply ; " but you have asked it and answered it at one 
 breath, and leave me nothing further to say upon the 
 subject, except that I admire your heroism. Would 
 you do as much for every one? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I should, were I as sure that I could 
 accomplish my object." 
 
 " And do you suppose that the young man will be 
 permanently reformed ? " 
 
 " Possibly not ; but if 1 can succeed in keeping 
 him sober and good even for a half-year, it will be 
 worth far more than the effort has cost." 
 
 " That is true ; but will he not be more difficult 
 to save the next time? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly, if he fall ; but do you think that 
 he will be as incorrigible as if I had left him to drink 
 until every feeling was deadened, and his loves and 
 sympathies destroyed ? Would it be easier then than 
 now, think you?" 
 
 " Of course not," answered Lincoln, musingly. 
 
 "Besides, I feel sure that Willy is not the only 
 rebuked one of the evening. I believe that young 
 Heath will long remember that he met a friend in 
 that den of wild beasts. I, at least, have now a 
 knowledge of his predilections which I had not 
 dreamed of before. I may not save him ; but there 
 is another" 
 
 She paused suddenly, as if unwilling to speak family
 
 2f>8 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 secrets to a stranger. The conversation seemed as 
 suddenly ended, for they found themselves emerging 
 from the wood into a flood of moonlight, so beautiful 
 and clear, that it hushed their tongues into silence, 
 and their hearts into reverence and admiration. 
 
 " Miss Magoon," said Albert Lincoln, after a few 
 moments' pause in the conversation, " the beauty of this 
 night, the deeply impressive and interesting expe- 
 rience I have just passed through, together with the 
 conversation we have had, will long be remembered 
 by me. We shall leave your father's hospitable man- 
 sion to-morrow whether we ever meet again, will 
 depend upon you. May I ask of you a memento of 
 this day, which will be to me, hereafter, as an oasis 
 in the dreary desert of business details and uninter- 
 esting adventures? I know you write. I know, 
 too, you write rhymes. Let me carry away with me 
 something that will be a talisman against future 
 temptations; for here, in this sacred moonlight, I 
 pledge you my word and honor as a man, that I will 
 strive to resist the habits which have grown upon me, 
 and which have been enforced even by the training 
 of my life. I have been an habitual wine-bibber, 
 but I am resolved to turn reformer." 
 
 Elsie turned her face to his ; the beams of the moon 
 shone clearly upon her radiant brow, and, in her ear- 
 nestness, she laid her hand upon his. 
 
 "God help you to keep in that mind," was her 
 hearty response. 
 
 They were now at the gate, and were met by the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 25*. 
 
 family and welcomed home, with many anxious in- 
 quiries after the success of the mission. 
 
 While Elsie and Albert Lincoln had ridden lei- 
 surely through the shaded forest, Charles Walters 
 and Alice had been sitting beneath the same old beach 
 by the river-side where Ellen and Dugan sat years 
 before and talked their loves, ere the shadows fell upon 
 their lives. 
 
 To make a long story short, though Walters had 
 not fallen in love, he had jumped, with a brave bound, 
 out of the stagnant pool of indifference, and was as 
 fairly and determinately wooing the country maiden 
 as need be done. They will leave to-morrow the 
 two merchants' sons, so, reader, let us bid them 
 good night. 
 
 In the morning, Lincoln found a note awaiting 
 him, which he crowded hurriedly into his pocket- 
 book. An early farewell was spoken to the family, 
 and the guests departed. Already had his inter- 
 course with Elsie become too sacred for the obser- 
 vation of a third party. 
 
 GO FORWARD. 
 
 Art 'most resolved ? Ah ! pause not now, 
 
 But on ! with courage strong ; 
 Go forward ! with a stern good will, 
 
 And help to right this wrong. 
 
 The people in their bondage groan, 
 
 And for deliverance cry 
 "Oh! save us from the drunkard's curse 1 
 
 Oh ! save us, ere we die! " 
 22*
 
 258 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 " Go forward! " was the Lord's command, 
 
 When Israel's heart grew chill; 
 Go forward ! He will part the waves, 
 And bid the winds 'be still! ' ' 
 
 0h, touch not, taste not, handle not;' ; 
 
 Be firm where'er thou art ; 
 And thou mayest cast the demon from 
 A thousand suffering hearts. 
 
 "Go forward" every effort made 
 
 Will be a blessing given 
 To woman's heart; and woman's prayer 
 Shall waft thy soul to heaven. 
 
 At the first quiet opportunity Lincoln read eagerly 
 the lines which Elsie had given him ; their refrain, 
 " Go forward," rang in his ears like the cry of fate. 
 Again and again he asked himself Shall I turn re- 
 former ? Oh ! there is need, there is need. Shall 
 woman suffer, and man boast of being her protector, 
 and yet withhold his hand, while this demon-scourge, 
 a thousand times knotted, is lacerating her heart, and 
 making life a curse instead of a blessing? And the 
 answer to all these inquiries came sounding on the 
 autumn blast, as he rode along, like the voice of in- 
 spiration "Go Forward. Is there not one dead 
 in every house ? Will you wait longer ? " 
 
 As they journeyed on, Walters often rallied his 
 friend on his abstraction, but he could not bring him 
 back to his original conviviality. There was evi- 
 dently something on his mind of which he did not 
 wi.sh to speak. They arrived safely in the great city 
 of the West ; and soon a party of old friends gath- 
 ered about them schoolmates and college chums,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 259 
 
 whom they had not seen since they had parted at the 
 door of their alma mater. 
 
 An evening at the Broadway Hotel was agreed 
 upon ; and the jolly company met in one of its finely 
 arrayed rooms, intending "to make a night of it." 
 
 Wine was ordered by the Cincinnati boys in gen- 
 erous profusion, and a supper at midnight. And 
 when the duties of the day were done, they came 
 dropping in, one by one, until seven old friends were 
 found chatting under the light of the brilliant chan- 
 deliers, of the old times, old loves and joys 
 
 Lincoln and Walters had not yet made their ap- 
 pearance. They were spending the evening at the 
 house of a lady-acquaintance, and would not join the 
 company before ten o'clock. The young men were 
 growing impatient ; for each longed to lift the wine- 
 cup to his lips. 
 
 The expected gentlemen at last made their ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " Why, Lincoln my boy, where the devil have you 
 been keeping yourself so long?" asked John Mel- 
 ville, a young man of splendid physical proportions, 
 and broad, open brow, which proclaimed him the very 
 soul of generosity and good-humor. 
 
 "With my old flame Ellen Morrow," replied 
 Lincoln ; " how she has faded and grown old, in three 
 years. What is the matter, Melville?" 
 
 " Matter ! why, matter enough : Charley lias taken 
 
 to drink, and made a beast of himself. But, come, 
 
 the wine will burst the bottles, if we don't uncork it." 
 
 " Not a drop to-night" answered Lincoln, who was 
 
 the soul of the party.
 
 2GO . ELSIE MA GO OX; OR, 
 
 There was coaxing, scolding, swearing, and jeering ; 
 but it was of no avail, Lincoln was unmoved. 
 
 "How lonjr, in the name of all that is wonderful," 
 
 O7 7 
 
 exclaimed young Melville, whose eyes already showed 
 the dim glare of inebriety, " how long since you have 
 resolved to become a saint?" 
 
 " Ever since we have met to-day," answered Lin- 
 coln, with emphasis ; " ever since we have met to-day, 
 John Melville ; and I saw in your eye and cheek, 
 what that accursed wine-bottle was doing for you." 
 
 " Oh, the devil ! Lincoln, don't come out West here 
 with any of your canting ; we are not so green ; 
 joined the church, eh ? since we left the old moun- 
 tains ? Hurrah there, Walters ! is Al going to take 
 orders?" 
 
 "Blow me, if I know; he has been sober as a 
 Methodist circuit-rider, these three days." 
 
 Melville by this time had drawn the cork from a 
 bottle of champagne, and filled a goblet to the brim 
 with the sparkling liquid ; and in the tumultuous joy 
 of the moment, he roared out one of their old songs: 
 
 " When Bibo went down to the regions below, 
 Where Lethe and Styx round eternity flow, 
 He awoke, and he swore that he would be rowed back; 
 That his soul it was thirsty, and thirsty for sack. 
 
 'You're drunk,' said old Charon, 
 
 ' You were drunk when you died, 
 And know not the pains that to death stand allied.' 
 
 ' Row me back,' cried old Bibo ; 
 
 ' I '11 mind not the pain, 
 Row me back, row me back, let me die drunk affain.'"
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 2G1 
 
 Glasses were now filled all round; and Melville 
 was just placing his to his lips, when Lincoln caught 
 his hand, with the imperative word " stop." 
 
 "What's the matter, sir?" demanded the young 
 mar, indignantly. 
 
 ' Remember your Mother" said Lincoln, in low, 
 solemn tones; "have you forgotten, John, what 
 every son should feel for the mother who gave him 
 life?" 
 
 The song was checked. The impressive manner 
 of Albert, the tone of his voice as he pronounced 
 that holy word " mother," caused a pause in their 
 mirth. 
 
 Melville set his glass upon the table. 
 
 " Your mother's last words to me, Melville, as I 
 parted from her, in the old family parlor, were : 
 
 " ' Oh ! Albert, do try and find out what John is 
 doing : he is so gay and wild, that I fear he may run 
 into excesses; tell him not to drink wine; tell him, 
 oh! tell him it was wine that brought his father to 
 ruin, and sent him my dear boy away from his 
 mother's arms, out into the world, alone. ' Ok ! tell 
 him not to break my heart.' 
 
 " Now, Melville, do you wish to drink that glass 
 of wine?" asked Lincoln, laying his hand on his 
 friend's shoulder. 
 
 John walked to the window, but spoke not a 
 word. 
 
 " Boys," said Lincoln, noticing that he had stayed 
 proceedings, " now let us reason this matter a little. 
 Here are we met, nine of us, who spent some of the
 
 262 ELSIE M AGO ON; OK, 
 
 happiest years of life together ; I ask you each, in 
 all seriousness, is it a reasonable way to enjoy our 
 reunion : 
 
 To be, now sensible men, by-and-by fools ; 
 And, presently, beasts.' 
 
 " I have been learning some strange lessons of 
 late lessons I wish we had all heard long ago ; 
 and now let me implore you all to allow me to set 
 aside these bottles of wine, and let us compare notes 
 of the past, talk over the present, and lay plans for 
 the future. It will be a higher enjoyment than to 
 go to bed with muddled brains, to get up to-morrow 
 with aching heads, even if we escape committing 
 some disgraceful act, of which we shall all be ashamed; 
 and compelled perchance to burden our consciences 
 with deceptions and evasions, to screen us from the 
 censure of friends. Oh, how could I dare portray 
 the scenes that might be enacted in this room ere 
 midnight, to John's mother?" 
 
 Melville turned suddenly upon the speaker. " Lin- 
 coln, give me your hand ; you are right, let us be 
 happy without wine." Pressing the young man's 
 hand in his own, he rang the bell, and ordered away 
 what had hardly been placed before them. 
 
 Two of the party followed the wine, and sought 
 enjoyment in another room. A long evening of social 
 chat followed, and the happy frame of mind each 
 found himself in at the hour of parting, drew from 
 all a friendly pledge that they would, for the year to 
 come, drink no wine or intoxicating liquors; and
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 263 
 
 that they would use their influence to save others 
 from their use. 
 
 Elsie Magoon, distant though she was, had been 
 the inspiration of Lincoln's evening effort, and fer- 
 vent were the thanks his heart gave her, over its suc- 
 cessful termination.
 
 CHAPTER XX V 
 
 TTTELL, I do air!" exclaimed Mrs. Deacon Hill, 
 " as she came from the porch and seated herself 
 before the evening fire, rolled down her sleeves and 
 buttoned the bands around her wrist, before she took 
 up her gray-mixed knitting for the evening : " I do 
 nay that's the queerest thing yet." 
 
 " What ? v said the Beacon, who had just pot on 
 his "specs," and opened the Smithrifff Luminary, 
 preparatory to a long set-to at the news. 
 
 " Why, Pete Jones says that Elsie Mignon is going 
 to give a lecture on Temperance, next Tuesday night, 
 in the Methodist Church ; I would n't believe a word, 
 only that it 's in the papers, and great bills is stock 
 up all round town." 
 
 "Pho," said the old man, "what's the world 
 a-coming to?" and he fumbled over the paper and 
 found the simple notice to the citizens of Smithville, 
 that Miss Elsie Magoon would address them on the 
 subject of Temperance, on Tuesday, December 24th, 
 in the M. E. Church. "There it is, in blade and 
 white ! " said the Deacon. 
 
 "And all that's in the paper must be true," 
 responded Helen, who had already found her place 
 at the fire-side. " But you don't catch me going to 
 hear a woman make a speech." 
 
 (**)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 265 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Deacon, as she held up her 
 knitting between her and the fire, to pick up a stitch. 
 " I am right sorry, I am, to see Elsie gitting so crazy ; 
 it 'pears as if she could n't be content to do like 
 other women. There was lots of things said about 
 her going there to the White Horse, that time, and 
 saving Billy Alison; and now I guess they'll say 
 harder things than ever." 
 
 "Pho, pho!" said the Deacon, looking over his 
 spectacles ; " wonder if it 's not as right for young 
 women to talk and preach if they want to, as it is to 
 be for ever telling their 'speriences in meeting." 
 
 "No, Deacon, I don't think it is; for I reckon 
 when St. Paul said, ' Let women keep silent in the 
 churches,' he knew what he was about." 
 
 " Yes," said the Deacon, slyly, " I guess he did ; 
 and when he said, ' If a man be ignorant, let him be 
 ignorant,' he knew jest as well. And particularly, 
 he was wise when he tell'd the women about wearin' 
 gold and jewels, and sich like ; " and the Deacon gave 
 a knowing, mischievous look at Helen's great ear- 
 rings and breast-pin, which were glittering in the 
 bright fire-light. 
 
 Helen's blushes, had they been interpreted by a 
 psychologist, would have revealed the fact, that 
 Calvin Douglas, the young Methodist Circuit-rider, 
 whose father was rich enough to allow him to give 
 presents of such value, was the very servant of the 
 Lord who had disobeyed the injunction of Paul, and 
 hung the gold and jewels through the pierced ears 
 23
 
 266 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 of Miss Helen Theresa Hill, who had returned only 
 a few weeks before from boarding-school. 
 
 " Well, Deacon," said Mrs. Hill, in the motherly 
 wish to soften her husband's wit upon their daughter, 
 "I reckon things ar'n't as they used to be in them 
 days ; everybody wears jewelry now, that can get it." 
 
 " I know," responded the Deacon ; " and when all 
 the women get to talking in meeting, and going down 
 into the old rum-holes and saving the poor boys from 
 destruction, you'll be saying ' It's right enough,' and 
 that times ain't as they used to be when Paul said, 
 ' I suffer not women to teach ; ' and, ' Let your women 
 keep silence ; ' ' and the Deacon chuckled heartily. 
 
 "Why, Deacon Hill, I am surprised at you for 
 speaking so ! Do you raly think now, that it is 
 right and becoming in Elsie Magoon to git up there, 
 before everybody, and go to talking about Temper- 
 ance?" 
 
 " Sartain I do, for whatever Elsie Magoon does, 
 she does well, and good comes of it. Where do you 
 think we'd all a-been on Temperance now, if them 
 wimmen folks of Magoon's hadn't a-tuck hold of 
 him, and that 'Old Still-House'?" 
 
 " Well, I know, I know; but then this lecturing is 
 a little too much." 
 
 "Pho, pho, wife! can't see any harm in it mean 
 to go and take Helen, here ; and if the Parson (and 
 the Deacon called up Helen's blushes again with 
 another wink at the ear-rings) says anything about 
 it, I'll just tell him that whosoever is guilty of 
 breaking one commandment, is guilty of all."
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 267 
 
 Helen bent over her embroidery, and made no 
 reply. 
 
 " By the way, mammy," asked the Deacon, " how 
 did that scrape about the 'White Horse' come out? 
 Did Billy stick?" 
 
 " Ha'n't drunk a drop, they say, since that blessed 
 Sunday night. He's worked for Magoon all the 
 fall ; earned flour and meat for granny, and got up 
 a pile of wood, nuff to last her all winter." 
 
 "Well, that was pretty well done! Guess the 
 neighbors did n't make anything by talking 'bout her 
 that time." 
 
 " No, of course," said Helen, a little mollified ; 
 " all the stories they told about her were false." 
 
 " Guess they '11 get over this, just so," answered 
 the Deacon, as he settled himself to his newspaper, 
 and was soon so absorbed in the political drama of 
 the day, that he heard no word of gossip that still 
 went on between the mother and daughter in an 
 undertone, as each pursued her evening work. 
 
 In the opposite corner from the one occupied by 
 the Deacon, beside a small stand, with a solitary 
 tallow candle upon it, the mother and daughter 
 sat for some time in silence; until a deep sigh from 
 the elder caused the younger to look up from her 
 needle ; when, to her surprise, she discovered great 
 tears rolling down her mother's cheeks. 
 
 "Why, mother, mother," she whispered gently, 
 'what is the matter?" 
 
 Mrs. Hill lifted her apron and wiped away the 
 pearly drops ; then answered in the same low, mur- 
 muring whisper :
 
 2 - ELSIE J/AGOOX; OR, 
 
 "It is seven years to-night, Helen, since your 
 father drove poor Fred from home, and bid him 
 never let him hear from him, or see him again." 
 
 "So it is," mused Helen. "Mother, I was only 
 thirteen then, and I know J thought father was 
 more to blame than Fred. and you know father 
 has never been willing that we should talk about 
 him since. But, mother, do you think his offence 
 was BO very terrible?" 
 
 "It was very wrong for Fred to speak to his 
 father as he did. Yes, Helen, it is terrible for a son 
 to call his father a liar, before a room foil of com- 
 pany. Bat the poor boy had been drinking, and 
 really did n't know what he said." 
 
 " Oh, why did n ? t he ask father to forgive him, and 
 not go off so suddenly ? " 
 
 " Well, you see, after his father struck him down 
 BO, and ordered him to leave the house, and never to 
 come near him again, Fred thought he could not. 
 He said they would never feel right, and he had best 
 go away and take care of himself. Oh, he was such 
 a good boy, and smart boy; he'd been twenty-seven 
 this very night, if he 'd V lived." 
 
 "Why, mother, he's not dead-! you don't think 
 brother Fred is dead?" asked Helen, in alarm. 
 
 "Dead to me, child, dead to me, when I can't 
 see him, nor hear him, nor tell him how much I love 
 him;" and the true-hearted mother bent her head 
 and wept without restraint. 
 
 Helen's tears flowed in sympathy. For though 
 impetuous and positive in her bearing, she was kind
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 2G9 
 
 and gentle when her heart was touched, She had 
 often seen her mother's sad tears over the absence of 
 her boy whom the temptations of that old " Still- 
 house " had led to speak unseemly words to his pas- 
 sionate father, who was laboring under the same ex- 
 citement. It was at an evening husking that the 
 dispute had arisen. The unruly tongue had angered 
 the father, who in return hastily struck him a blow 
 more heavy than he had intended, and ordered him 
 never to appear again in the house. Gathering up 
 his scanty wardrobe, he prepared to depart. The 
 mother, with tears and sobs, bade him adieu, think- 
 ing that a few weeks would bring him back penitent; 
 and with her last embrace prayed as a mother only 
 can, that her child might spurn the tempter, and save 
 his noble heart from utter wreck. 
 
 Fred Hill was a boy of great spirit, and of much 
 personal beauty, and a favorite throughout the town. 
 He was the finest scholar in school, the best talker at 
 the debating club; and he would not allow that he 
 could not drink as much egg-nog, or toddy, at a 
 husking frolic as any one. He drank and became 
 mad, and went forth a wanderer from the home of 
 his childhood, and so the mother's tears had fallen 
 in her quiet lonely hours, through the seven long 
 years, over the fate of her lost child. He had never 
 written. They had heard of him at Cincinnati, at 
 Now Orleans, but only that somebody had seen some 
 other body, who had seen Fred Hill. 
 
 " Mother," asked Helen, speaking still lower, and 
 bringing her head nearer to her mother's ear, " don't 
 23*
 
 270 EL SIE MA GOO F; O R, 
 
 you think Elsie Magoon and Fred used to love each 
 other very much ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think they did ; but how can you remem- 
 ber it,, you were only a little child then ?" 
 
 "Little children have eyes and ears, and I have 
 always remembered one circumstance. Fred had 
 been down to Cincinnati with a load of corn, you 
 know, along with Mr. Thompson ; (it was just before 
 he went away ;) and when he came home he was stand- 
 ing here by the window, and I saw him take some- 
 thing out of his pocket, and take up the corner of his 
 coat and rub it; and I stepped up and asked him 
 what it was. He said, ' Oh, nothing much/ and put 
 it into his vest-pocket ; but when father asked him 
 to bring in a back-log for the night, he pulled off his 
 coat and vest and hung them over a chair, and I 
 slipped my finger into the vest-pocket, and found that 
 it was a beautiful ring. That night he went to sing- 
 ing-school, and the very next day I saw Elsie Magoon 
 have that ring on her finger, and she has worn it 
 ever since." 
 
 " Well , that makes me think of a good many other 
 things. And Elsie has never married," said Mrs. 
 Hill, musingly. 
 
 " Some people think she 's going to marry the New 
 Yorker who rode with her to the ' White Horse,' the 
 night she saved poor Willy Alison." 
 
 "Don't believe it," said Mrs. Hill, with spirit, 
 speaking louder than she thought. 
 
 "Don't believe what?" asked the Deacon, and 
 started up from his paper.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 271 
 
 " Don't believe that James K. Polk will make at> 
 good a President as Henry Clay, do you ? " answered 
 his wife, looking roguishly in the fire. 
 
 The Deacon was a strong Democrat, and of course 
 started off in a tirade of invective against the other 
 party, relapsing again to his paper, and at last fell 
 into a nap, when he found that he could not engross 
 the undivided attention of his small audience. 
 
 Elsie delivered her lecture, on the appointed even- 
 ing, to a crowded audience; for, although the ma- 
 jority of the towns-people opposed the idea of a 
 woman speaking in public, few had the self-control 
 to deny themselves the gratification of being present. 
 
 There was a breathless silence, when she rose before 
 them. Her face was colorless as marble, her voice 
 trembled perceptibly, and her lip quivered with un- 
 controllable emotion. But her eye was calm and 
 clear, her heart strong in purpose, and soon self was 
 utterly forgotten, and she only felt conscious of the 
 sacredness of her opportunity to plead the cause of 
 temperance to a people who, though partially re- 
 deemed from old-time excesses, were loitering far 
 from the goal. 
 
 Oh ! with what stirring eloquence she besought the 
 fathers and mothers to come forth and take their 
 stand on the side of right ; that through their influ- 
 ence and power the young might be saved from the 
 gulf which now yawned beneath their unwary feet. 
 
 She plead for the suffering wives, the helpless chil- 
 dren. Pointed them to the past, and ran over in
 
 272 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 quick succession a list of the loved and lost, whom 
 most of them had known and mourned. At the con- 
 clusion, she offered a simple pledge, and asked, " Who 
 will put their names here, and thus say to the world 
 and to each other, they are ready to stand over against 
 the enemy of man and God ? " 
 
 When she had closed, the audience, stilled to per- 
 fect silence by her power, sat as if unwilling to break 
 the spell that bound them. At length, Deacon Hill 
 arose, and asked, in subdued voice, if there were any 
 clergyman present who would make a prayer. Not 
 one responded, although the faces of three or four 
 were seen in the back of the room. But this prop- 
 osition dissolved the spell which had held them, and 
 the people began to realize where they were. The 
 pledge was placed before them, and they rushed for- 
 ward to place their names upon it, by scores, and 
 foremost among them all, the landlord of the " White 
 Horse." 
 
 " Gentlemen," he exclaimed, " when a man knows 
 he 's done wrong, the best way to atone for it is, not 
 to do so any more. So here goes my name. Come 
 on, boys; and New- Year's morning we'll make a 
 clean sweep of it, and if you'll help me tumble it 
 out, we can make a bonfire of the cursed stuff on the 
 square." 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! " shouted the boys, with 
 wild enthusiasm, as they pressed forward, with a new 
 impulse, to sign their names ; and before they left the 
 house, three hundred of the men and women, boys 
 and girls of Smithville, had pledged themselves to 
 total abstinence.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 273 
 
 All this while, Elsie had her head upon her breast 
 and wept in silence. Do you ask why she wept? 
 She wept that she had waited so long, distrusting the 
 powers that God had given her, while souls were 
 perishing about her. Wept over that weakness of 
 the human will, that sees the right, yet allows the 
 wrong to triumph. Wept that she could not reach 
 loftier heights of truth and wisdom, and attain that 
 calm self-poise, that purity and strength, which she 
 felt conscious she should need in this great conflict 
 with evil which she had now so resolutely begun. 
 
 The true, earnest spirit is always humbled by its 
 triumphs. While the world sends up its impulsive 
 huzzas, and offers its tumultuous, or more dignified 
 approval, the struggling soul feels the more keenly its 
 own weakness, in the warmth of its newly-awakened 
 zeal, longs the more intensely to be worthy of the 
 praise it wins, by nobler deeds and loftier living. So 
 felt Elsie, as she rode home by the side of her father ; 
 and as they sat round the farm-house fire after their 
 return, Elsie shading her eyes with her hands, her 
 mother broke the silence. 
 
 " Elsie, my child," she said, with unusual fondness 
 in her tone, " you have reason to feel very proud of 
 your work to-night." 
 
 " Proud ! mother ; how can you say so ? " 
 
 " Certainly you have produced a deep impression." 
 
 " Yes ; I have stirred the surface ; but, mother, I 
 
 would stir the waters to their very deptlis ; stir them 
 
 till their impurities shall roll to the surface with a 
 
 fearful vividness of pressure that will admit of no
 
 274 ELSIE XA G O OX. 
 
 loud ' huzza/ no noisy applause. I am thankful for 
 having troubled even the surface. But my work is 
 deeper, and self-denial and sacrifice must meet me at 
 every turn/' 
 
 She rose and clasped the hands of her parents in 
 her own. " Let me have your love and blessing, and 
 I shall be strong to meet them all ; " and her day's 
 labor was crowned by the hearty, tearful blessing of 
 both.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A DIVISION of the "Sons of Temperance " had 
 just gone into operation in the town of Smith- 
 ville, and was doing a noble work. But they refused 
 to recognize the right of woman to labor publicly in the 
 cause, although Elsie Magoon had brought members 
 into their organization, and done, apparently, more by 
 her influence, than all others. Ministers stood in their 
 desks, and spoke strangely severe and censuring words 
 of the gentle girl who was winning, with persuasive 
 eloquence, the young and the thoughtless from the er- 
 rors and temptations that were leading them to ruin. 
 
 Petty persecutions, wicked misrepresentations, will- 
 ful perversions of truth, followed her day and night, 
 and made her sometimes weep bitter tears in silence 
 and solitude. But not for an hour did she quail 
 before her persecutors, or regret the steps she had 
 taken. The voice of Christ seemed ever near, " As 
 ye would that others should do unto you, do ye even 
 so unto them." She knew that she was striving for 
 the highest good of her fellows, and her conscience 
 upbraided her not for using methods not hitherto 
 employed by her sex, but entirely proper in them- 
 selves, and successful in her hands. 
 
 " Shall I," she cried, " who can win one soul as 
 precious as Willy Allison's from the haunts of vice, 
 
 (275)
 
 276 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 faint or fail because of the sneers of the sinful or the 
 heartless ? " 
 
 She heard, sometimes, of unkind words and bitter 
 jests at her expense, dropped from lips which once 
 never spoke of her but in her praise. Parson Simpson, 
 who had succeeded young Manford, was bitter in his 
 opposition ; and to the plea that she was eloquent, 
 and was doing good, his answer uniformly was : 
 
 " ' Though she speak with the tongue of an angel, 5 
 I will anathematize her work, for it is unchristian. 
 St. Paul has said, ' Let your women keep silence in the 
 churches ; ' ( he quite forgot to tell them to whom St. 
 Paul was writing.) Her apparent good works are 
 of the devil." 
 
 Orders called "Daughters of Temperance" were 
 multiplying, but they also refused to recognize the 
 efforts of Elsie as in harmony with their own. 
 
 Despite all this active opposition, the fame of the 
 new lecturer spread far and near, and she was fre- 
 quently invited to address the people of neighboring 
 towns. 
 
 One hot August day, as she was travelling through 
 the hills to meet an appointment in an obscure country 
 town, where the people had become liberal through the 
 influence of the numerous Quakers among them, she 
 stopped at the roadside to get a draught of cool water 
 from a well which stood, with its unpretending curb 
 and bucket, before the door of a log farm-house. An 
 old man, with his broad-brimmed hat drawn over his 
 eyes, sat upon the step.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 277 
 
 "Can we get some cool water here?" asked her 
 companion. 
 
 " Sartain, sure," answered the old man ; " and you 
 can't git nothing else, ain't a better well in - 
 county.'' 
 
 " Well, that is good news, for we are very thirsty." 
 
 " Then water is the thing to cure you. But don't 
 get out; I '11 fetch it." 
 
 " That 's too much trouble for one so old." 
 
 " I ain't too old to give a cup of cold water to a 
 weary feller-critter travelling in this hot sun," re- 
 sponded the old man, as he whirled the old oaken 
 bucket to the bottom of the well. " It 's mighty 
 little I can do now for the folks ; but I Ve seen the 
 day when I could do as much as anybody." 
 
 The windlass soon wound the bucket, dripping 
 with its sparkling contents, to the top of the ground, 
 and, filling a large white bowl, the old man approached 
 the carriage. As he came near, and lifted up his 
 face to the travellers, Elsie recognized an old laborer 
 of her father's, who had left the " Still-house " ten 
 years before, a beastly, wretched drunkard, whose wife 
 had fled from him long before that, and gone, no one 
 knew where, to get out of his reach. 
 
 As long as he could do anything, he had loitered 
 about that den of pollution and shame ; but when 
 his hand had become so palsied that he could no longer 
 work, when he lay in the fence-corners, imbecile as 
 a log, and the swine rooted him about and tore his 
 flesh, then the overseers of the poor took him away 
 24
 
 278 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 to the county poor-house, and she had heard of him 
 no more. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Bell," exclaimed Elsie, " is this you ? " 
 
 "Yes, this is me. But who are you? It seems 
 like I 'd heerd that voice afore to-day." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, you have. Look up and see if you 
 don'i know me." 
 
 The old man raised his head, and, shading his dim, 
 bleared eyes with his old withered palm, looked her 
 steadily in the face. 
 
 " Know you ? Why, Lord bless me ! yes, I do ; 
 yes, I do ; it 's Elsie Magoon, the distiller's daughter, 
 who always spoke a kind word to the old drunkard. 
 God bless ye ! How 's your ma ? " and the old man 
 seized both her hands in his, and shook them, and 
 laughed and wept. 
 
 "Come, come; you must get out and rest; you 
 mus t I can't take no. The old woman lives here 
 with me, and Tom and little Kate. She ain't little 
 now, but as pretty a great gal as ever ye see. You 
 must stop ; it 's nigh noon, and the old woman has a 
 chicken for her pot, and a pot for the fire, and a fire 
 for it all ; for I don't drink any more, Miss Elsie. 
 But come out with ye now. Rachel, here ! " he 
 called, and forth came the old wife, with her neat 
 white cap and checked apron. 
 
 " There, old gal ; do you know her ? " 
 
 "Why, la! yes; it's Elsie Magoon; who'd V 
 thought it? Where did ye come from, and where 
 be ye going ? " was asked in a breath, as the travellers 
 were ushered into the neat room of the farmer's home.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 279 
 
 " I am from Smithville, Mrs. Bell, and am going 
 to to lecture on temperance." 
 
 " That 's right ! that 's right ! " almost shouted the 
 old man ; " that 's what the women ought to do. Look 
 at my old gal there; hain't she suffered? Didn't I 
 curse her, and beat her and starve her, and 
 frighten her, and beat the children, and pour 
 whiskey down their throats, to make her suffer, and 
 get up nights to drink, and then throw the dregs of 
 the cup into her face and eyes, while she lay asleep 
 with her baby in the bed? and didn't I drag her 
 round the floor by the hair, till I made her give birth 
 to a noble, great boy, that died by my hand ? and yet 
 men let me go on, till she ran off, like Hagar, into 
 the wilderness with her children fled here alone 
 out of the world ; and the few settlers and neigh- 
 bors rolled her up that old log cabin you see yonder ; 
 and there she set up her loom, and spun, and wove, 
 and worked, till she paid for this bit of land, and 
 took care of Tom and Kate; while I like a beast 
 was sucking at that old plug down at the hollow, 
 till the hogs rooted me about like a dead dog ; and if 
 I hadn't been steeped in whiskey which even the 
 hogs can't bear they'd have eat me up, every shrod 
 of me, body and bones, for all my will ; but they ran 
 away in disgust. Ah ! Miss Elsie, it was your sainted 
 mother that had me took up that cold day, and drove 
 me home on the fodder-cart, and lodged me in the 
 old corn-house, bound up my wounds, and then sent 
 me to the poor-house to get me out of reach of the 
 " old Still ; " and then she wrote to Tom here, who
 
 280 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 was twenty years old then, his mother had been 
 away ten years, and he came and told me if I'd 
 behave he would bring me home and take care of me ; 
 and so I came, ten years ago, Miss Elsie, and I've 
 not had a drop since, nor I don't want it, neither ; 
 and you may ask Rachel there if I have n't tried to 
 atone for my sins." The old man paused for breath, 
 and wiped the sweat from his brow. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, he has," said the wife, in gentle 
 tones, looking kindly upon him as he sat before her. 
 
 "The old gal never loved me drunk, and never 
 did anything else, when I was sober," responded the 
 farmer, while tears of joy and penitence mingled 
 together and stole their way from his red-rimmed 
 eyes. "You see my eyes; they are almost blind, 
 most burned out with whiskey. There, Rachel, let 
 me lift that pot ; I am stronger, I guess, than you ; " 
 and he sprang to her side and lifted the heavy dinner- 
 pot from the crane, and then set out the table ; and 
 while he helped spread the ample repast, talked gar- 
 rulously of his efforts, and trials, and victories. 
 
 " And now," said he, exultingly, " I am a free man, 
 Miss Elsie, and nobody's debtor, and no longer a 
 slave to Rum ! I have earned five hundred dollars 
 this last year with my tools ; and I have put it in 
 bank, in her name, (pointing to his wife,) for fear I 
 might be tempted agin. Kate is keeping school, and 
 I'm going to send her to college, and she shall be 
 a temperance lecturer ; yes, she shall ; I never thought 
 of that before. But she shall, she can talk like a 
 book, and she shall tell all the world how her old
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 281 
 
 father cursed his whole household and brought ruin 
 and sorrow on them all." 
 
 The old man, generous and tender-hearted by na- 
 ture, covered his face and wept at the thoughts his 
 last words recalled. 
 
 " There, there, Jacob," said his wife tenderly, " let 
 by-gones be by-gones. You 're good now, and would 
 never have been a bad man, if whiskey had n't tempted 
 
 ye." 
 
 How the thoughts of the wrong done by that old 
 "Still-house" smote upon Elsie's heart! 
 
 " I must struggle for the right," was her inward 
 cry. " If children are visited with the iniquities of 
 the fathers, then, too, it is the children's duty to strive 
 to undo the wrongs that their misguided parents have 
 done." 
 
 This incident made a deep impression upon her. 
 She compared the now gathered family, living in 
 peace and plenty, in harmony and love, with the 
 shattered, miserable household of ten years ago ; the 
 wife and mother then bearing her burdens alone, the 
 father of her children a drunkard; steeping her pil- 
 low at night with bitter tears, and rising to find the 
 day darkened with forebodings, lest his wandering 
 steps might lead him to the door of her humble home, 
 to seize, under the law of the land, all her hard- 
 earned savings as his own. 
 
 " Oh ! to redeem one such misguided soul is open- 
 ing the door of heaven for many, is it not ? " she 
 asked, as she left the door with their blessings upon 
 her head ; " those children, and their children, and 
 24*
 
 L-: ELSIE 
 
 their neighbors ! Who shall tell where the influence 
 of such a work will end ? " 
 
 " Only in eternity, Miss Elsie ; only in eternity ! " 
 answered the woman, with a look that told how much 
 she had suffered and how much she had gained. 
 
 And Elsie went her way, strengthened anew for 
 her work.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THERE was a great bustle in the farm-house on 
 the first of May, 1845. Ducks, turkeys, and 
 geese, had looked their last on the bright skies and 
 fresh green clover-fields, and lay side by side on the 
 kitchen-table, trussed up in their comfortable fatness, 
 and ready for the oven and the spit. Girls were 
 busy busy as bees beating the whites of eggs to 
 foam, or putting butter and sugar into good-natured 
 relations with each other, till they grew so close a 
 union, that, as old Nora Sweeney said, " Sure it was 
 nobody could be telling which from tither." 
 
 Old Nora ! she whom we knew long ago, though 
 her head ig white as snow, her face wrinkled, and 
 her hands trembling and weak, can still scour knives, 
 and dust, and sweep ; and put a gloss on the carpet 
 strips, and door-sills, " with any on 'em." So she 
 says. 
 
 Her husband has been gone this many a year. 
 The " Old Still-House " was the death of him. One 
 cold January night he had been to get his jug filled ; 
 it was Saturday, and how could he, poor droughty 
 soul, get on over Sunday without a wee drop, to 
 warm his spirits, and keep him cheerful? It was 
 dark when he reached the dram-shop, and he was 
 numb and cold. A dram gave him comfort, and the 
 
 (288)
 
 284 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 good fire under the grate thawed him out ; so he sat 
 and chatted with old Scruggs until ordered off home. 
 
 The gallon jug was already much lightened, but 
 before he ascended the great hill, he stopped and took 
 another " swig." Half way up he seemed to have 
 paused again, probably for the same purpose, as his 
 staggering foot-marks on the snow the next day, 
 indicated. There had been a fall of snow in the 
 morning, and a light rain at noon, which had filled 
 all the pools and ruts, and left the snow still upon 
 them. The wind blew up cold, and now it was 
 freezing fast ; at the top of the hill he staggered back 
 and forth again, showing that he had halted for the 
 third dram. Now he was thoroughly drunk. The 
 footprints ran from side to side, sometimes long, 
 sometimes short, till he reached a turn in the road, 
 where the swine had rooted out a wallowing place in 
 the summer, which was now full of water. He could 
 probably keep his footing no longer, and fell head- 
 long, his face breaking through the fast-forming ice, 
 and sinking in mud and water over his ears, leaving 
 only the back of his head above the surface. 
 
 Here he had died, and was found in the morning 
 his face buried in the ice. 
 
 Old Nora rose early and went to find him, whether 
 she really felt troubled for his safety, or only lest she 
 should not get her share of the contents of the jug, 
 no one knew. 
 
 She says she was " warned in the night by a quare 
 draine that something mighty awful had happened 
 him." Terrified and screaming, she had hastened to
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 285 
 
 Mrs. Magoon, who was her refuge in all time of 
 trouble. 
 
 Old Pat was taken up and decently buried, and 
 old Nora ever after lived at the Magoons, and did 
 such work as she was able. Pat's death left a fearful 
 impression on her mind ; or not so much his death, 
 as that he died drunk, and in the manner he did. 
 
 " Indade, it was no honor till him, either here or 
 hereafter!" was her constant remark, when the sub- 
 ject came up 
 
 So, on this first-of-May morning, old Nora was the 
 busiest of them all ; scouring the candlesticks, the 
 knives and forks, the door-knob, the hand-irons, the 
 fenders, and any thing that would glow and brighten 
 under her hands. 
 
 Mrs. Magoon walked about, overlooking the vari- 
 ous workers, in her usual quiet way ; but it could be 
 easily seen that a saM feeling was tugging at her heart- 
 strings. 
 
 It was the first marriage under the roof-tree of the 
 old homestead. Alice, her good kind-hearted Alice, 
 was to leave her, to be no more by her side. And 
 though her heart yielded cordially to the claim of 
 young Walters, she could not altogether quiet her 
 motherly regrets and anxieties, nor repress her 
 womanly tears. 
 
 Mary was bright as a sky-lark in a June morning, 
 and warbled her song of love, up-stairs and down, 
 as with fairy fingers she toadied everything with 
 fresher beauty, and imbued the household with her 
 own cheerful spirit. Frank was at home with his
 
 286 ELSIE MA GO ON; OR, 
 
 bonny young wife, and his sweet young- babe. George 
 had plenty to do ; and Elsie was supreme manager 
 in the kitchen, and maid of honor in the dressing- 
 room. Many were the jokes played off upon her as 
 "the incorrigible old maid," but she laughed as 
 cheerily as the rest, and told them " her time would 
 come some day." 
 
 It had been quite generally believed that Albert 
 Lincoln and Charley Walters were going to bear 
 away both the sisters on the same evening, as the 
 postmaster did not fail to circulate through the 
 neighborhood an exact report of the letters received 
 monthly from the city by both young ladies. 
 
 Mr. Magoon sat feeble and pale in his arm-chair 
 by the parlor-fire ; he was sad. He had held a long 
 talk with his wife, the purport of which may be 
 drawn from the following conversation between Elsie 
 the elder and Elsie the younger, as 'they stood together 
 in the bridal chamber after the last touches had been 
 given, Elsie, at the foot of the bed, her left arm 
 around the post, as with downcast eyes she listened 
 to the words of her mother. 
 
 " I do not even say I wish it, Elsie ; but you are 
 now twenty-six years of age, Mr. Lincoln is devoted 
 to you, and he seems devoted to the cause of truth, 
 too ; every temperance paper is giving new assurances 
 of his goodness and popularity. You would risk 
 nothing, I think, if you could only feel justified in 
 giving him your hand ; and your father desires it so 
 much." 
 
 "Why should he, mother?"
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 287 
 
 " Because he likes Mr. Lincoln, and would be 
 made happy by seeing you united to one who seems 
 to be so unalterably attached to you. He feels as 
 though you were almost perverse." 
 
 " Mother, you would not ask me to marry where I 
 do not love? And, also, though there are few men 
 in this world whom I hold in higher esteem than 
 Albert, yet I cannot love him as I must love, if I 
 ever marry. 
 
 " Elsie, you know I do not urge you, but your 
 father is so feeble and nervous, and your coldness in 
 this matter puzzles and irritates him." 
 
 "Mother, do you remember Fred Hill?" asked 
 Elsie. 
 
 "Oh! yes." 
 
 "You know we were always friends; I have 
 always loved and trusted him. I don't think from 
 the time we were fourteen until his unfortunate de- 
 parture, we ever had a secret from each other. I love 
 him still, and wear on my finger the ring he gave me 
 as a pledge of love and faith. I cannot, cannot 
 marry, until I know his fate. 
 
 " He is probably not living, my child." 
 
 Elsie shuddered. " He may not be, but if he is, 
 and should return after these long years of wander- 
 ing return as faithful as I know he is to find me 
 wedded to another, mother, would not my life be 
 accursed ? " 
 
 " But what makes you think he is faithful ?" 
 
 " I know it, and I feel that he is not dead. I beg 
 you, therefore, mother, do not ask me again to marry
 
 288 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 Lincoln ; if he is not strong-hearted enough to live 
 without me, in a life of usefulness, he is not 'strong- 
 hearted enough for me." 
 
 " I will not urge you, my child. You are right, 
 I feel, but your father will be offended." 
 
 " Do not speak to him of Fred. Let that secret 
 rest between you and me ; " and Elsie arose, and went 
 on steadily with the wedding arrangements. 
 
 Mrs. Magoon went to communicate the result of 
 her mission to Richard, who had quite set his heart 
 upon the union of Elsie with Lincoln. 
 
 "And what did she say?" he asked nervously. 
 
 "That she cannot possibly consent to marry 
 Lincoln." 
 
 " What does possess the girl ! " he exclaimed, pet- 
 tishly. " Here is a young man, educated, travelled, 
 rich, and talented ; and she refuses to marry him." 
 
 " It cannot be helped, husband ; she does not love him." 
 
 "Fudge!" said Richard, impatiently; that's the 
 effect, mother, of a woman's getting out of her sphere 
 one of her Utopian notions. She is getting so much 
 praise, that her brain is turned. She is absorbed 
 in her own fame." 
 
 The mother longed to tell him the truth, but she 
 dared not ; so she only answered, " Richard, do not 
 misjudge our faithful, noble daughter ; if she chooses 
 to live singly, and do the work that seems to be 
 waiting her hands, shall we call it ambition and love 
 of fame ? May not a woman live single after the 
 ordinary time that women usually marry, as well as 
 
 a man i 
 
 9"
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 289 
 
 " If she is a mind to make herself such a simple- 
 ton, I suppose she can," answered Richard, pettishly. 
 
 Mrs. Magoon saw how much he was disappointed, 
 and thought that a silent hour would best calm him : 
 so she slipped away quietly, to attend to duties that 
 required her care 
 
 Richard sat looking into the fire. What should 
 he say to Lincoln, who was expected that night? 
 Lincoln had written to him, and to the mother, beg- 
 ging them both to intercede for him with their 
 daughter. 
 
 Mr. Magoon had been delighted with his proposal, 
 and greatly pained that Elsie would not accede to it ; 
 and had this morning asked for a final decision. 
 
 But it was time to drive over to Smith vi lie, for 
 the two young men who were to arrive that evening ; 
 and in a few moments he was on his way, guiding 
 his spirited team with his usual calm hand. 
 
 I am not going to describe the meeting of Alice 
 and Charley ; I was not there ; and you who have 
 met your "Charley" under similar circumstances, 
 will know all about it ; those who have not, should 
 not have their curiosity gratified until their own time 
 comes. 
 
 Lincoln and Elsie were to wait upon the bride 
 and groom. A beautiful pair they were, as, hand in 
 hand, they entered the parlor. He was pale, oh, how 
 pale ! but the vigorous soul within still beamed from 
 his lustrous eyes. 
 
 Elsie had met him the evening before, and told him 
 frankly that her heart was not his ; that as a brother 
 25
 
 290 EL SIE MA GOON. 
 
 and friend she should always love him, but in no 
 other light. 
 
 "Is there no hope?" 
 
 " None ! " she answered, in a voice tremulous with 
 her womanly sympathy. 
 
 " God help me ! " he gasped, " to learn to bear this 
 disappointment manfully." 
 
 " Let us be friends," said Elsie. 
 
 "Aye, more than that, brother and sister," he an- 
 swered, involuntarily. Their lips met to seal the 
 compact ; and they parted, to meet hereafter, only as 
 friends, faithful in the great work of life, that en- 
 grossed them both the cause of human redemption 
 from the thraldom of intemperance.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 OH ! these weary days and nights, these long-drawn 
 hours of pain, that no medicine can alleviate, no 
 care or nursing make lighter. How long/ oh ! how 
 long are they to last?" exclaimed Richard, as he 
 turned with a deep groan on his bed, and fixed his 
 eyes on his pale wife, who sat writing by a window. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you, Richard," asked Mrs. 
 Magoou, laying down her pen and springing to his 
 side. 
 
 "Yes," was his prompt reply, as she stood holding 
 his hand between hers; "yes, there is one thing, 
 Elsie." 
 
 "What? Richard; what can I do?" 
 
 He looked up at her, and fixed his eyes, those deep, 
 firm, intent gray eyes, upon the face he had loved so 
 long. His spirit seemed struggling within him; 
 struggling for the mastery over pride, which almost 
 refused to speak what he felt should be spoken. 
 
 Again Elsie asked, " "What is it, Richard ? do not 
 hesitate to tell me, for I will do anything in my 
 power ; " she passed her arm around his neck, and drew 
 his head to her throbbing heart. 
 
 " Will you promise to do what I ask ?" 
 
 L ( 291 )
 
 292 ELSIE M AGO OX; OH, 
 
 "Most surely I will, if it is in my power, 
 Richard. Why, what haye I done that should make 
 you distrust me ? " 
 
 "You haye done everything, wife, that a human 
 being could do, for my comfort ; but this that I am 
 about to ask will be laying too heayy a burden upon 
 you, I fear." 
 
 " Well ! let me hear what it is. I haye promised, 
 you know, and I seldom break my word." 
 
 She spoke gayly, but her heart was full of sadness, 
 as she lodked down on his wan, dying face. 
 
 " I want you to trri'fe my life" 
 
 " I ? Oh, no, Richard ; you don't wish me to do 
 that! How could I?" 
 
 " Yes, I want you to write my life. To tell the 
 world, as you only can, of the danger of attempting 
 to do evil that good may come. To tell how miser- 
 able, even from my first step, the building of that 
 ' Old Still-House' has made me ; how I groaned and 
 tossed to and fro upon my bed, that first awful night 
 after the poor mutilated body of Scott was laid in 
 his coffin ; how the very iron pierced my soul, when 
 his poor wife plunged into his grave in frantic mad- 
 ness and grief; how I scorned your prayer to stop 
 then, when I might have stopped ; how I smothered 
 conscience, spurned the right, and went on my wav. 
 Tell them how, like demons, the staggering forms of 
 my neighbors and friends came in nightly dreams to 
 taunt and reproach me for the withering curse I had 
 made for them." 
 
 "Oh, no! Richard!"
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 293 
 
 "Yes, yes, write it down, write it as you can 
 write ; for you know how I have suffered." 
 
 " I ? how could I know, Richard ? you did not 
 tell me." 
 
 " By the throes of agony in your own heart ! 
 Do you think you had a real pang that I did not 
 suffer?" 
 
 "I did not know!" 
 
 "Aye, I knew well that you did not, but let me 
 go on now, while I have strength ; now, while we 
 are both alone. Write out the story of Henry, of 
 Mike, of that anguished widowed mother, and the 
 crushing of her hopes, of the Fourth of July, of the 
 death of the beautiful, innocent Emma, oh! my 
 God, spare me now, let me not think of that;" and 
 the poor sufferer covered his face with his hands in 
 an agony of emotion. "And you, Elsie, oh ! Elsie, 
 I must leave alone, alone in the world ! No, not 
 alone; for our beautiful children, whom your pre- 
 cept and example have led into all that is good and 
 noble, are with you. But / must go, Elsie, / who 
 promised to be, and who should have been, your pro- 
 tector and helper to the end. I must die, slain by 
 my own hand ! " 
 
 " Be calm, Richard," said his wife; "you are not 
 strong enough to talk of these things." 
 
 "I shall never be stronger, my wife, than now. 
 Let me speak on. Tell them all, every wrong that 
 you have ever known, that had its origin in that 
 'Old Still-House;' and when you have finished the 
 black catalogue of crimes, and the world, the cold, 
 25*
 
 294 ELSIE MA GO ON,- OR, 
 
 severe world, is ready to cry out, of its utter hatred 
 to the human race, because I was one of them ; then, 
 begin a new chapter, and tell them what has been 
 done for temperance since that fearful hour, when I, 
 a prisoner to my own household, learned to be a sober 
 man. How East and West, and North and South, 
 on the wings of the morning have floated the songs 
 of rejoicing, over a land awaking from its long sleep 
 of crime and wrong. Tell them how you and others 
 have struggled; and how, while others rested from 
 their labors, you, with your ever ready pen, have 
 plead and prayed, and striven to rescue the tempted, 
 the suffering and lost. Write it all, all, all, all 
 ypur labors and your prayers, all the self-sacrifice of 
 our noble child ; of the martyrdom that is tlie 
 word which she has suffered day by day, that she 
 might undo some portion of the wrongs that I had 
 done." 
 
 "Don't speak of that, my husband, let me " 
 "Yes, I will speak now lest I never have time 
 or chance to speak again. Tell all ; and then add a 
 third chapter, longer even than the other two, of the 
 three years of patient endurance, of nursing and 
 watching, of love and duty, which you, too, have 
 shown here at my bedside. Tell all that I have 
 suffered, leave out not one pang or groan, for every 
 wail of agony shall prove a sermon from your pen 
 against intemperance ; for each and every one had its 
 origin, in the violation of my own conscience and 
 the laws of nature and of God ; in doing what, in 
 my soul, I knew was wrong, while I was laying the
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 295 
 
 plaster of worldly wisdom and philosophy upon the 
 smarting wound, in saying to myself, 'lain not my 
 brother's keeper if he will give his money for that 
 which destroys him, wJiat is it to me?' Toll the young, 
 the old, the middle-aged, how intemperance planted 
 the disease in my manly frame, which has been eating 
 out my life for fifteen years ; until now, at sixty, I 
 must die, die the victim of my own wrong. Tell 
 them of my repentance too, of the struggle I have 
 made for a higher life. Tell them that my angel 
 wife and daughter have saved me; and that God, 
 through my repentance and reform, has spoken peace 
 to my soul. But fail not to show above all things 
 the fearful truth, that the body must die of its own 
 sins. Will you write all this for me ? " 
 
 "Richard, I have said I would grant your request, 
 if I could ; but you are too sick now, too much racked 
 with pain, to talk of it ; wait until you are more easy, 
 and your mind more calm." 
 
 " Elsie, I am as easy now and as calm as I shall 
 ever be ; and I again repeat it, every pain and suf- 
 fering through these long, long three years, had its 
 origin in that 'Old Still-House ' now rotting to the 
 ground; and " 
 
 A fearful pain racked the poor dying man, who had 
 for three years been stretched upon his bed, from a 
 disease, said by his physicians to have had its origin 
 in the use of alcoholic drinks. 
 
 " A weaker constitution," said Dr. Lee, his attendant, 
 "would have failed, ere half his career was run, but 
 he will die by inches. Had his life been at all times
 
 2% ELSIE M AGO ON; 07?, 
 
 temperate, fourscore years would have found him, 
 no doubt, still at the post of duty, doing good work 
 for future generations." 
 
 Elsie laid him back gently upon his bed ; his eyes 
 closed and a shudder passed over his frame. The 
 lips quivered, and all was still. In affright, Elsie 
 called for her daughter, who had lain down to rest in 
 the next room. 
 
 " Oh ! mother, is he gone, our beloved father?" 
 exclaimed the child ; " let us bless God, that his pains 
 are ended." 
 
 As she spoke, his eyes opened once more. With a 
 sudden effort, he raised himself almost from the bed. 
 
 " Yes ! bless God, my child, that my pains are 
 ended. Oh Father ! receive my spirit. Elsie wife 
 daughter all of you, farewell, the body has 
 lived out its penalty, and the soul is free ; farewell." 
 
 He sank back again upon his pillow, his lips 
 moved, and in indistinct murmurs were heard the 
 words, "write write write it all;" and with a 
 pleasant smile playing over his wan features, as if he 
 rejoiced in his release, and saw some beautiful vision 
 of his future, his soul passed away. 
 
 The scene just described transpired in the spring 
 of 1851, six years after the marriage of Alice and 
 Walters, as described in the last chapter. 
 
 We left Richard, then a nervous invalid. Pav hy 
 day had his pains increased, and his weakness kept 
 pace with them, until years after, while on a vi- 
 his daughter, in Philadelphia, a surgical operation
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSK. 207 
 
 revealed the fact, that a fearful cancer, the effect of 
 the irritation of his stomach and vital organs by 
 alcohol, must end his life. 
 
 He talked much with his patient nurses, his \\ifc f 
 and daughter Elsie, who, through the long three 
 years, had never been both absent from his sick-room. 
 
 It seemed an ever present thought with him, to 
 do something or say something to warn the thought- 
 less and unwary against destroying the beautiful 
 temple in which God had seen fit to shrine the 
 spirit. " Let them both be kept pure," he would say, 
 " to the end." " Oh ! if men could learn to appreci- 
 ate the body as well as the soul, how soon would the 
 world be redeemed from its glaring sins. The temple 
 must be kept holy and pure ; for it also, as the spirit, 
 is of God. 
 
 Elsie, the mother, was yet active and strong ; and 
 though lonely in her widowhood, folded no idle hands 
 in grief; but still took charge of the home, and with 
 her domestic duties and public efforts filled the hours 
 to the brim. 
 
 Frank was among the foremost men of his time, 
 and as a member of the constitutional convention of 
 Ohio, in 1850, stood forth boldly as the champion of 
 temperance. 
 
 George, in a far city of the West, was leading a 
 gallant band in warfare against the hydra-headed 
 monster which in all new countries is so destructive 
 to public morality and peace. Young Heath was 
 active in the same cause in California. Henry, the 
 youngest, was pursuing his college studies in an 
 Eastern city.
 
 298 ELSIE MA GO ON; OH, 
 
 Mary had become the wife of young Heath, and 
 gone with him to the land of gold. The care of the 
 loved old farm fell upon Elsie, who, equal to every 
 emergency, proved herself invaluable as a manager 
 of it. 
 
 Old Nora had been gathered to her kindred, and 
 she and Granny Alison lay side by side in a quiet 
 nook in the corner of the churchyard, at Maple Grove, 
 where Elsie had planted the wild spring flowers and 
 the willow. Jenny, the pure-hearted little grand- 
 daughter, had, like other girls, been wooed and won, 
 and now held undisputed control of the little garden 
 and home ; and still made the old loom do its work, 
 in weaving carpets for the neighbors. 
 
 Helen Hill was still single, and the principal of a 
 
 flourishing seminary in "W . The Deacon and his 
 
 wife jogged on in life, every day growing into truer 
 harmony, now that the mischievous habit had been 
 utterly abandoned. 
 
 Mrs. Hill had her odd ways ; but she was, never- 
 theless, a good woman, and in the infancy of her boys 
 and girls had taught them faithfully the way of right. 
 Blunt and plain were they, but honest and true ; and 
 her heart rested in her labors, except when she thought 
 of Fred, for whom she still yearned. 
 
 The Falconers had followed their now beloved son- 
 in-law, who, by a lifetime of self-sacrifice and devo- 
 tion to the good of his fellow-men, was trying to 
 wash out that dark stain of his early youth that never 
 failed to send a shadow over his face when it was 
 called to mind. He was rich and fortunate, and
 
 TUB OLD STILL-HOUSE. 299 
 
 gave with liberal hand. The temperance reform hnl 
 no truer friend. 
 
 The Trumans were scattered, doing as well as they 
 could be expected to do, with their early training and 
 hereditary tendencies. Smithville was without a grog- 
 shop ; and it was often said there was no more moral 
 town in the State. The Seminary that P^lsie started 
 was still a thriving institution ; and an institute for 
 boys stood on the site of the old warehouse, where 
 the Fourth-of-July sufferers had found a temporary 
 refuge. 
 
 Elsie was now over thirty years of age; but so 
 harmonious and true had been her life, that one 
 would not have supposed her over twenty-five. The 
 prettiness of eighteen had given place to a more 
 attractive beauty. She had chiselled her face with 
 high and holy thought. Day by day the truthful- 
 ness and beauty of her life had been impressed upon 
 her features, and so radiant were they with goodness, 
 purity, and truth, that the stranger who passed her 
 upon the street paused to ask her name and to learn 
 something of her character. 
 
 Elsie had been in correspondence with many ear- 
 nest workers in the temperance cause, and among 
 them were men and women who felt that its best 
 interests required the establishment of an organization 
 which should follow the type of the family, and rec- 
 ognize equally both sexes, in its privileges and duties. 
 And thus came into existence the " Order of Good 
 Templars Chrixtian knights who reverence the 
 Baying of the Master, that "In Christ Jesus there ia 
 neither male nor female."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 WALTER HEATH was young, ardent, and am- 
 bitious. The slow process of making wealth 
 in the older States found no favor in his enthusiastic 
 mind; -and in 1848 he had left, with his bride then 
 in her twentieth year for the distant Eldorado 
 California. Mary was delicate and spiritual ; sensi- 
 tive to an extreme, that had made her life almost a 
 sorrow; shrinking and fearful, without strength or 
 nerve ; beautiful as the white lily that droops over 
 the stream, and as fragrant and frail as that far-famed 
 flower. 
 
 For the first year or two the pair seemed to prosper 
 well. A beautiful little daughter brought sunshine 
 to the mother's heart, and helped to reconcile her to 
 separation from the loved ones at the old home. 
 Every mail brought letters from them, and every mail 
 carried out others to them. In 1853 came news of 
 the entire destruction of all Heath's property by fire. 
 The letter of Mary was a sad moan. The mother of 
 three children with shattered health now in pov- 
 erty ; and worst of all, Walter, whom she looked to 
 as her ideal of all that was good and beautiful, had, 
 in this hour of fearful trial, proved too weak to bear 
 the burden of misfortune laid upon him, and was 
 striving to subdue his melancholy in the exhilarating 
 
 (300)
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. :;o| 
 
 bowl. The letter, so full of sadness and trouble, 
 ended thus : 
 
 " Oh ! Elsie, my sister, can you not come to us ? 
 1 know it is a long way, and full of dangers and 
 trials; but your spirit is brave and strong; you 
 saved him once for years. Oh ! how often has he 
 said, in our happy and prosperous days, ' I owe all 
 that I am to sister Elsie. I was going to destruction 
 as fast as a thoughtless self-indulgence could carry 
 me, and but for her timely care should have finished 
 my wild career long ago. How she watched me; 
 plead w r ith me ; found me out, till I was forced to 
 yield.' Think of it, my sister. Come to us now in 
 our days of tribulation. Come, oh ! come; 'save the 
 father to the mother and children/ 
 
 " What shall I do, mother?" asked Elsie, as, with 
 tears coursing down her cheeks, she finished the 
 letter. 
 
 "Another victim of that 'Old Still-House/ " said 
 Mrs. Magoon, sadly, as she slowly paced back and 
 forth before the fire, on the chilly March morning. 
 ''No man more perseveringly encouraged your father 
 in continuing his work, than Judge Heath ; and I 
 have often, when Walter was a boy, seen his father 
 put the glass to his lips and allow him to drain the 
 dregs of sugar from the bottom. Your father always 
 sent him a barrel of his best whiskey." 
 
 " Yet, Judge Heath never was a drunkard?" said 
 Elsie, inquiringly. 
 
 " No, never. But many a poor fellow has gone to 
 the penitentiary by his decisions, that was less a drani- 
 26
 
 302 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 drinker than he; and could perhaps trace his first 
 steps in wrong to the indirect influence of that in- 
 fluential man. But, Elsie, you must go to our dear 
 Mary. She is unfit to grapple with so many enemies, 
 alone." 
 
 " What will you do, mother, while I am away ? It 
 will take a long time." . 
 
 " Oh ! never mind me, I am hale and strong, 
 and if you were not so much better able to do the 
 work that needs to be done, I should go myself." 
 
 "You, mother?" 
 
 " Certainly ; a w r oman at sixty is in the prime of 
 life, if she has lived with proper care; and if it were 
 not for the fallacy that women of my age must begin 
 to lay themselves upon the shelf, there is many a 
 woman who would be worth twice herself at twenty, 
 because of her gathered experience and judgment. 
 It is a great pity, Elsie, that the world wears itself 
 out so soon." 
 
 So it was resolved at once that Elsie should go to 
 California. 
 
 Helen Hill was at home on a visit, and it chanced 
 that she, her mother, and Elsie, sat chatting by 
 the parlor fire of the old homestead, one bright even- 
 ing, a short time before Elsie's departure. They had 
 been talking of the past, and Mrs. Hill had given 
 utterance to the yearning of her mother's love for her 
 long-lost boy. 
 
 " Five years it is, Miss Elsie, since I have heard 
 of him." Elsie started. 
 
 " I did not know that you had heard so lately as 
 that."
 
 THE OLD STILL- HOUSE. 303 
 
 "Yes, five years ago, last autumn, he wrote to his 
 father, asking if he would receive him, if he should 
 return." 
 
 "And what did the Deacon say?" asked Elsie, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Oh ! it was so cruel. He enclosed his letter, and 
 wrote him back : Never to let him hear from him 
 again. That he never could or would forgive him." 
 
 "And what did he say of himself?" asked Elsie. 
 
 " We don't know. Father would never let us see 
 the letter, for fear we should answer him. Oh ! my 
 poor forlorn boy," sobbed Mrs. Hill ; " I think ho 
 is dead now." ' 
 
 " He is not dead ! " spoke the old voice to Elsie ; 
 yet she dared not give comfort to the mother. How 
 could she, when she could only say, " it is a thought, 
 a feeling"? 
 
 " But why," she asked again, " is the Deacon so 
 determined?" 
 
 " Because," answered Helen, " it is a matter of 
 conscience that his word must never IMJ broken ; and 
 he has so often said that he would never forgive poor 
 Fred, that now he thinks it would Ixj wrong to yield. 
 But, mother, do not weep. If Fred lives, we shall see 
 him again. If he is dead, let us try to feel it well." 
 
 We will not tarry to trace Elsie's pleasant land- 
 journey, her visit to Alice in her city home, where 
 she met Lincoln, still unmarried, a cheerful phi- 
 lanthropist and earnest reformer. Had Elsie been a 
 woman of the ordinary stamp, lie would have renewed
 
 304 EL SIE MA GOON; OR, 
 
 his supplications and begged on bended knees for per- 
 mission to endeavor to win the love which he would 
 have laid down his life to possess. 
 
 But like a true woman, she gave to every look, and 
 tone, and gesture, that calm dignity, yet kindly friend- 
 ship, that precluded the slightest thought of a renewal 
 of the subject. Aye, even more than that, it sub- 
 dued the passion, while it purified and harmonized 
 the love, till she became to him a sacred thing ; an 
 altar for no profane worship, but upon which to lay 
 his highest and holiest thoughts. 
 
 When he bade her farewell, on .the deck of the 
 steamer at New York, he could not forbear saying, 
 " I cannot endure, dear Elsie, to see you going out to 
 sea alone ; were it as easy to make perfect the tie of 
 brother and sister, as that of husband and wife, I 
 would beg to go with you as a protector and brother." 
 
 " A woman who cannot protect herself, Mr. Lin- 
 coln, in these days, when men treat women with so 
 much kindness, is scarcely worth protecting, if she 
 be not ignorant and weak. You have a larger and 
 nobler work to do, than to waste your time on one 
 poor body like me." 
 
 Lincoln looked pained, and turned to go. 
 
 "Bless. you, however, for your kind intentions," 
 she added quickly, looking cheerfully into his face, 
 "and write me at San Francisco, will you not?" 
 
 " I will, most certainly." 
 
 The ship weighed anchor, the great wheels com- 
 menced their motion, and ere Lincoln reached the 
 shore, the gallant bark was standing out to sea; while
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 305 
 
 Elsie turned away into a corner of the saloon, to give 
 vent to a few womanly tears. 
 
 Perhaps no passenger ever had a more pleasant or 
 more prosperous voyage, than our heroine. The 
 weather was propitious, and the passengers, though 
 numerous, were either naturally of the most amiable 
 class, or made so by their surroundings. Elsie was 
 like a sunbeam to that great crowd, who were, for the 
 most part, floating away from country, home, and 
 friends. 
 
 Some in search of 'fortunes/ not knowing, poor 
 fools ! that to-day's fortunes shall be a life of hopes 
 lost to them. 
 
 Some in search of friends; or, like Elsie, going 
 forth to lift the burden from a loved heart. 
 
 Wives in search of husbands, who had left home, 
 children, all that was dear to them, for gold. 
 
 But among them all no husband searching for a 
 wife no father his daughter no son his mother. 
 The truants and wanderers were all on the male side. 
 
 The days flew rapidly by, and brought them at 
 last safely into port. 
 
 Elsie had no difficulty in finding the home of her 
 sister in San Francisco. Mr. Heath, as a merchant, 
 had been well known, and in his prosperous days well 
 beloved. Creditors, who would have driven a bad 
 man from their door, bore with him, for the goodness 
 that was in him, and the hope, that some who loved 
 him still cherished, that he would reform. His wife, 
 too, so gentle and amiable, so earnest to help herself, 
 claimed the sympathy of old friends; and they still 
 26*
 
 306 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 kept the house which they enjoyed before the misfor- 
 tune, although stripped of its luxuries and adorn- 
 ments, which went out day by day to procure food 
 for the family, or drink for him, the largest propor- 
 tion for the latter. 
 
 An Irish servant-girl answered the door-bell, and 
 led Elsie through the cheerless, uncarpeted hall, to an 
 inner room. 
 
 " Just be taking a seat, Miss ; it 's a bad way Mis- 
 tress Heath is in, to be sure, the day." 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Elsie, her heart 
 beating almost audibly. 
 
 "Och ! thin, it's nothing uncommon at all for the 
 likes of him. You see, mem, he'd been drinking 
 hard, and last night he gets hisself into a scrape, and 
 they takes him off to the calaboose " 
 
 " Oh ! my poor sister," exclaimed Elsie, clasping 
 her hands in sadness. " Go, tell her a friend from 
 the States wants to see her." 
 
 "And axing your pardon hain't ye the sister 
 she's been praying for?" 
 
 " I am her sister." 
 
 The girl bounded away, three steps at a leap, and 
 Elsie followed as fast as her faltering limbs would 
 carry her, and left her time only to cry out, "And 
 sure it's your sister, darlint, that's come to spake 
 pace to you." 
 
 Oh ! what a meeting was that ! The poor frail 
 mother, wailing like a sick child, lay on her sister's 
 breast, sobbing out her sad tale of suffering and 
 wrong.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 307 
 
 Elsie did not stop to think of herself, nor of the 
 long fatigue of her journey. She kissed the pale 
 cheek again and again ; and with comforting words 
 tried to still the clamor of the little ones. 
 
 " Oh ! my sister, they are starved ; all the day we 
 have had no food. He left us without a cent, and 
 how could I go out to ask help with this great trouble 
 upon me. Every hour I have looked for him. 
 Hush, hush, my poor children." 
 
 Elsie drew out her purse, and dispatched the faith- 
 ful Bettie for food; then, with the old impulse to 
 fondle the once petted one of the home, she drew out 
 her comb and smoothed back the long masses of 
 beautiful hair that hung around the white neck and 
 shoulders, chatting the while of home and kindred, 
 neighbors, and other pleasant things, to still the 
 aching heart. 
 
 Bettie soon returned with all the necessaries of a 
 frugal meal ; and when it was ready, rang the tea- 
 bell, with all the energy of other and better days. 
 
 The little ones were in ecstasies, but alas ! poor 
 Mary, though half-famishing, had no desire to eat 
 or drink. The fate of her husband was still a 
 mystery ; and although his conduct had been so 
 unworthy of late, she still cherished a hope that he 
 would return to the paths of rectitude. She could 
 not think that he had done anything very criminal, 
 so strong was her faith in him. 
 
 She suggested it as probable that he had l>cen 
 taken to the calaboose for breaking windows, or some 
 like rowdy conduct; "for," she said, "his exhilaration,
 
 308 ELSIE M AGO ON; OP,, 
 
 when he has been indulging, is wonderful, he is 
 like a mad boy. I sometimes fear he will kill the 
 .children with his pranks." 
 
 While they were talking, Bcttie was called to the 
 door by a man who came to inform them that Heath's 
 crime was of a more serious nature. He had been 
 arrested for murder. " There had been a man killed 
 by the discharge of a revolver, some by-standers 
 said that Heath fired it, others that it went off of 
 itself He came by the request of a gentleman, to 
 let Mrs. Heath know how matters stood. Maybe if 
 his wife were there, it would help him, he said." 
 
 The man, whom Bettie knew to have been a dray- 
 man in Mr. Heath's employ, departed ; and Bettie, 
 uncouth as she was, had wit enough to know that 
 her mistress must not be unceremoniously told his 
 errand. 
 
 " Who was it, Bettie ? " languidly asked Mary. 
 
 "Only a man asking after one Kitty O'Phelan, 
 ma'am, that used to live along this block somewhere; 
 and it was nothing I knew, to be telling him; but 
 niver a bit would he be off till I sprung the door 
 into his face, the spalpeen. Shure he might know 
 that I had something to do as well as hisself." 
 
 Bettie fluttered about the dishes, waited on " the 
 childer," talked and scolded, and finally broke out : 
 
 " Indeed, Mistress, it 's no use in the born world 
 for you to be sitting here; shure, now, you'll be 
 swooning away like as ye did the ither day ; just git 
 back to the parlor now, and lave me to care for the 
 childer."
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 309 
 
 Mary, who was extremely weak, followed the rude 
 advice, so kindly given, and suffered Bettie to load 
 her back into the parlor ; where she left her safely 
 in bed, for the parlor and bed-room had become one. 
 
 " What is it, Bettie ? " exclaimed Elsie, as soon as 
 she returned. 
 
 "Och! thin it's wourse than I thought. Mr. 
 Heath is charged with murthcr." 
 
 "With murder? How, when, where ?" Elsie 
 sprang to her feet in alarm. 
 
 "Sure I didn't learn exactly whin, nor where. 
 Jimmy Regan it was that called out of good-will, to 
 say: 'Tell Mistress that there was a scuffle like, in 
 the strate, and a gun went off and shot a man stone 
 dead, and there was some as said it was Mr. Heath 
 that did it.' " 
 
 " Oh ! thou invisible spirit of Rum ! if thou hast 
 no other name to be known by, let us call thee 
 'Devil!' " exclaimed Elsie, springing from the table 
 with energy. 
 
 " And troth, ye may well say that, for it 's a devil 
 he is in liquor. Sure isn't it from a bating he gave 
 her the other night, that the poor creature is so sick 
 now?" 
 
 " Beating ? Did Walter Heatfi beat his wife f " 
 
 " Faith, thin, he did, and the children too, and 
 driv me out of the house. It 's a devil he is in drink, 
 shure." 
 
 " Mary must know nothing of this, Bettie. Where 
 is the justice's office, and the jail?" 
 
 "Will, thin, Jimmy Regan said it would be down
 
 310 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 to the Recorder's; and troth, he didn't name the 
 strates." 
 
 Elsie made all haste, and sent Bettie for a cabman, 
 who would know where to drive her ; and went 
 directly to the place where her poor wretched brother- 
 in-law was reported to be undergoing his trial. She 
 made inquiry of a policeman at the door, and found 
 that it was as the drayman had said, and the investi- 
 gation was now going on. Elsie drew her veil closely 
 over her face, and entered the room. The crowd 
 gave way before her, supposing her his wife ; and one 
 of the attorneys placed her a chair near the prisoner. 
 
 Walter was so changed that, had she not known 
 she was to find him there, she would not have recog- 
 nized him. His beautiful complexion, once so clear 
 a red and white, was now crimson and purple; and 
 his fine blue eyes, lurid and blood-shot. His hands 
 hung listlessly between his knees his fine form 
 drooping from weariness and exhaustion. 
 
 Elsie's emotion almost overcame her, but by a 
 strong effort of her will she subdued every outward 
 sign, and sat calmly as the examination proceeded. 
 
 The witnesses for the prosecution testified to the 
 death of Mr. Hunt, a famous gambler and roue, by 
 a pistol-shot. There were three or four engaged in 
 the affray. The pistol belonged to Mr. Hunt, but 
 Heath had threatened to kill him. The witnesses for 
 the defendant testified to a row, that Hunt drew his 
 revolver, gave it to Heath, and told Heath to ' shoot 
 if he wanted to/ at the same time abusing him as a 
 coward and a drunkard. That Heath made some
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 311 
 
 aggravating reply. Hunt then seized hold of him, 
 and in the scuffle the pistol was discharged, lodging 
 the contents in the neck of Hunt, cutting O ft' the 
 jugular vein, and causing almost immediate death. 
 
 Elsie had taken little notice of any one but the 
 prisoner at the bar, and the witnesses as they came 
 forward. But now a figure arose before her that even 
 more than Walter Heath stirred her deepest emotions. 
 As he came to the side of the besotted man, and stood 
 there in his manly strength and health, he looked in 
 the contrast like an angel of light. 
 
 A man of most winning face, with the mildest 
 eye, and hair of glossy brown ; a high broad forehead, 
 and upon every feature the stamp of humane feeling 
 and undaunted will. 
 
 When he arose to speak, there was a general mur- 
 mur and rush forward, as if the crowd outside was 
 pushing upon the crowd within, to hear him, and the 
 people closed round the chair in which Elsie was 
 sitting, shutting out her view of the judge, the 
 prisoner, and his counsel, and also preventing the 
 tremor which shook her frame like a genuine ague, 
 from being noticed by the by-standers. 
 
 "Can it be possible?" she thought; "have I seen 
 those eyes, that brow, that face?" Her heart stood 
 still. The house whirled, the light grew dim, and 
 her head drooped against the back of a man who did 
 not heed the weight. When her senses returned, a 
 rich voice was pouring forth a stream of eloquence, 
 that hushed the house into entire silence. She had 
 never heard that voice, its full, round, rich tones
 
 312 ELSIE M AGO OX; OH, 
 
 were new to her, and her heart sank again, but her 
 ears grew dull no more. 
 
 Oh ! what a speech was that to the gaping crowd. 
 A speech full of truth, of beauty, and temperance. 
 After summing up the evidence of the witnesses, and 
 showing from the reports of the coroner and physi- 
 cians, that the wound must have been made while 
 Mr. Hunt was stooping forward, and might have 
 been the result of the scuffle while he held the weapon 
 in his own hand, he proceeded to detail the character 
 of the prisoner before he took to the practice of drink- 
 ing ardent spirits. He called to mind, in the most 
 severe yet polished manner, the late conflict upon the 
 liquor question; alluded in the most studied and 
 gentlemanly terms to the position held in that con- 
 flict by the judges, and incumbents of office through 
 the city; appealed to the people whether it were just 
 to place a snare for the feet of the unwary, and then 
 to punish the poor wretch who fell unawares into the 
 snare set by their own hands. He charged home 
 upon every man holding office, or entitled to a vote, 
 the responsibility, in a greater or less degree, of every 
 murder and outrage committed on society by the 
 agency of ardent spirits; and concluded his short 
 but magnificent argument, by an appeal to the social 
 feelings of the justice and spectators; describing the 
 condition of the good but helpless wife, of the small 
 children ; of the young man, full of energy, talent, 
 and health, his future of respectability and useful- 
 ness all hanging upon their decision ; then turned to 
 the crowd, and for a few minutes poured a scathing
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUKK. 313 
 
 fire of condemnation on their sins and follies, and 
 sat down amid shouts of applause, which the justice 
 could hardly subdue into silence. 
 
 The decision was ' not guilty,' and the prisoner was 
 released. Twenty minutes before, every one had felt 
 that he would be sent back to jail to await a trial, so 
 strong did the testimony seem against him. Such 
 power had the magic words of eloquence. 
 
 The court adjourned, and the crowd slowly dis- 
 persed, leaving only a few gathered about the speaker 
 and his client. 
 
 For the first time, the gentleman noticed Elsie, 
 who had not yet risen from her seat, but sat quietly 
 waiting the time to speak to her brother-in-law. He 
 stepped forward and reached out his hand. She 
 placed hers in his; whoever he might be, she thanked 
 him in her heart. 
 
 "Mrs. Heath, I presume," said he, in gentle 
 tones. 
 
 "No !" was the answer of Elsie, as she lifted her 
 veil and revealed her face. 
 
 There was a closer pressure of the hand. The 
 blood left the cheek the lip quivered the frame 
 tottered, and the manly figure staggered into the 
 nearest chair, murmuring, "Elsie." The tongue 
 could say no more. 
 
 "Oh, Fred, is it you?" and she sprang up and 
 bent over him. 
 
 " It is I," was the answer; " would to God we had 
 never met." 
 
 All this passed so quickly among the crowd, in its 
 27
 
 314 ELSIE MAGOO N. 
 
 bustling to and fro, as hardly to be noticed ; and 
 Elsie soon turned away to speak to Walter, who 
 seemed bewildered, and scarce knew what to do. 
 He recognized her at once, and allowed her to lead 
 him away without resistance to a carriage at the 
 door.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 "T71LSIE hurried home with her astonished and be- 
 -L^ wildered brother-in-law. Leaving him with 
 Mary, she withdrew to the unoccupied front parlor. 
 The night winds whistled through the closed blinds, 
 and the echoes of her footfall, as she walked to and 
 fro through the empty room, sounded hollow and 
 mocking. "Would to God we had never met?" 
 rang fearfully in her ears. Why that wish ? Why 
 that terrible emotion? Was he married, had he 
 forgotten his first love, taken another to dwell where 
 she once ruled supreme ? Why wish they had never 
 met? 
 
 How grand he was ; how forcible his thoughts ; 
 how just his conclusions ; how withering his de- 
 nunciation of wrong. Where had he been, through 
 all these long years? It must be that he had for- 
 gotten her, or he would have returned for her sake, 
 long ago. 
 
 To and fro, like the caged lioness, walked the 
 usually calm and self-possessed woman. ^Pdeep, 
 unstirred fountains of years were troubled ; the faith 
 and trust which never for a day or hour had faltered, 
 were driven back by those ominous words: "Would 
 to God we had never met ! " 
 
 What shall I do?" she asked, in trembling ac- 
 
 (816)
 
 316 ELSIE MAG ON; OR, 
 
 cents, as if to some invisible spirit who could answer 
 her. So we all ask in our hours of sorrow and 
 anguish ! And is there not an invisible spirit to 
 answer our inquiries ; the spirit of God, the all-per- 
 vading, all-satisfying ! to which the yearning heart, 
 after all, conscious of its own dependence, turns in- 
 voluntarily. And aid comes alway, if we are careful 
 to live true to what our own souls, holding this con- 
 ference with the highest, tell us to be right. 
 
 At the same hour and moment, another was pacing 
 to and fro, in a solitary office in another part of the 
 city. "What shall I do?" came also from the lips 
 of the high-souled man, whose frame trembled with 
 its inward emotion, and whose great heart was beat- 
 ing w r ildly, with its new and strange experience. 
 "What shall I do?" and a voice seemed to answer 
 in tones of authority, " Go seek the woman you 
 have loved so long, go hear from her own lips the 
 story of her broken faith, ask of your mother, of 
 your father, old, and no doubt stricken with his 
 own violence of passion, go as thou would'st have 
 her come to thee, Fred Hill, act like a man; as 
 thou art above all meanness, so be above all fear." 
 
 " It 's going down the strate I am, for a little, Miss 
 Magoon." said the faithful Bettie, thrusting her head 
 inside^Wfc parlor -door, "and shall be laving the key 
 with yese; and ye '11 plase let me in whin I get 
 back." So saying, she handed Elsie the key, and 
 the hall-door closed with a bang. 
 
 Elsie continued pacing the floor of her solitary 
 apartment, absorbed in thought, and unconscious of
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 317 
 
 time, until she was startled from her reverie by a 
 vigorous ring of the doorbell. Supposing it to be 
 Bettie, she stepped out and unlocked the door. As 
 it opened, the lamp upon the opposite corner flashed 
 into her face, and revealed her to a stranger, who 
 immediately entered and extended his hand. 
 
 She placed here iu his, and he asked, in tones al- 
 most inaudible. 
 
 " By what name shall I address my once valued 
 friend, Elsie Magoon ? " 
 
 " The one you knew her by, long years ago," was* 
 the unwavering reply. 
 
 "Have I then been misinformed, are you not 
 married ? " he asked. 
 
 " Let me reply by asking you the same question, 
 Mr. Hill." Her voice, her tone, the electric thrill 
 that shot instantly through his whole being, told all 
 that he wished to know. There was no need of 
 labored explanations. Each felt that the other had 
 been true, and without further word, he folded her to 
 his heart. 
 
 " My own ! my long-lost ! mine forever ! " burst 
 from his lips. And she answered, "forever ! " 
 
 Shall we follow them farther, shall we tell the 
 earnest love that each pledged the other in that lone, 
 desolate room ? Shall we repeat the sM^ of his 
 wandering, how in the depths of his despair, when 
 driven from home and friends, he had enlisted in the 
 Mexican army? Then his adventures in foreign 
 lands ; his endeavor to return home, when he met a 
 person who told him that Elaie was wedded to Liu- 
 27*
 
 318 ELSIE M AGO ON; OK, 
 
 coin, which made him resolve to remain a stranger 
 from his people. That, striving earnestly for wisdom, 
 it had met him at every turn ; wealth, too, seemed to 
 have come to him as a natural heritage. His fine 
 open brow, and frank manliness, gained him stanch 
 friends. He learned the language and lore of 
 many lands, and used them in the best service of 
 his race; and, endeavoring to atone for that early 
 fault which had driven him forth a wanderer, he was 
 temperate in all things. He had been shipwrecked, 
 imprisoned, wounded, and robbed, yet his faith had 
 never deserted him, nor his hope grown dim. For 
 years, Elsie had been his guiding star. But when 
 the crushing news fell upon his ear that she had wedded 
 another, he only blamed himself that he had been so 
 long a wanderer. He had written and re-written, 
 but as no letter had reached her, she, of course, could 
 never answer; his letters to his mother and sisters 
 had met no response ; and he had learned to feel that 
 he was alone in the world. Though he believed Elsie 
 married, he had not blamed her. But her purity of 
 thought and feeling, her strength of character, were 
 to him so far above those of other women, that he 
 never sought to fan into a fresh flame the smothered 
 embers of a first love. 
 
 SucbrflBtthe brief history of those long years of 
 wandering and absence. Now they had met, and 
 though standing almost upon the summit of life, they 
 found no diminution of that deep and earnest affec- 
 tion which had first bound them together.
 
 THE OLD ST1LL-UOUSK. 319 
 
 "Oh! shall I never hear of him again?" moaned 
 Mrs. Deacon Hill, and she laid her head on the 
 shoulder of Helen, one cold September evening. 
 After a few moments of silence she added. " Mrs. 
 Magoon told me to-day that she looked for Elsie by 
 every train, and there is the whistle now. Somehow, 
 when I think of her, I always think of him." 
 
 " Hope on, dear mother," replied Helen ; " I am 
 not willing to give him up yet." 
 
 A low sob made answer. 
 
 " Do you think we should know him, mother ? " 
 asked Helen, wishing to turn her mothers thoughts 
 in a more cheerful channel. 
 
 " Know him, Helen ? Does a mother ever forget ? " 
 answered Mrs. Hill, reproachfully. 
 
 " But he was not fully grown, mother ; and you 
 know William Eldon told us, seven years ago, how 
 much he had changed." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know ; but I could never forget those 
 eves, go deep and full of meaning, even when Fred 
 was a baby. I used to tell his father I did not know 
 how we came to have so beautiful a child. I often 
 wished, Helen, it had been you, instead of Fred." 
 
 "Why, mother?" answered Helen, with a silvery 
 laugh, more sad than merry. 
 
 " Because, Helen, it does better for girls to be pretty 
 than boys. Handsome girls almost always find good 
 husbands." 
 
 " And I am on your hands yet, and over thirty ! ' 
 continued Helen, glad to make her mother forget the 
 object of her sorrow.
 
 320 ELSIE M AGO ON; OR, 
 
 " Well, as to that," said Mrs. Hill, " I am sure I 
 ought to be thankful to the good Father for giving 
 you a homely face, or maybe I might have been left 
 alone." 
 
 " Oh ! now, mother, that is too bad, to credit all 
 my love to a homely face ; and now I am going to 
 tell you a secret, just to pay you for thinking it was 
 my want of beauty, and not my heart, that has kept 
 me without a home full of cares, so that I can fly to 
 you every time you are down with the rheumatics." 
 
 "Well, well! there child, I know;" and the 
 mother's eyes filled with tears as she thought of ten 
 years of careful kindness and unwearying affection 
 from her noble girl. 
 
 " You don't want to hear my secret, then ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! to be sure I do ; only I thought you 
 were taking me in earnest." 
 
 " Not at all, mother dear. Well, I have not had 
 time to talk with you since I came home. While I 
 was with Alice Walters, they received a visit from 
 Mr. Lincoln, Elsie's old beau ; and we had a nice 
 trip to Nahant, and up to the White Mountains, and 
 all around, as I told you ; only I did not tell you that 
 Mr. Lincoln was one of the party. We were together 
 six weeks ; and I don't know whether it was my great 
 hands, so used to hard work, or my plain dress, or 
 my homely face, that attracted him ; but he has offered 
 to give me a place as housekeeper in his beautiful 
 mansion in Fifth Avenue, New York. 
 
 " You did n't agree to go, did you ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Hill, in alarm.
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 321 
 
 "Well yes, mother; if you and father are willing." 
 
 "Why, child, I never can consent to your going out 
 to be a servant for anybody." 
 
 "Wht!*ot in a marble palace, mother?" asked 
 Helen, while her eyes danced with a mischievous 
 light that her mother's spectacles were too dull to 
 catch. 
 
 "J don't count a housekeeper in a marble palace 
 any higher up, Helen, than a cook in a good old brick 
 house like this; and I'm sure there is enough for us 
 all here." 
 
 " Well, mother, suppose I say he offered to make 
 me the lady of the house his wife." 
 
 " Helen, child, what makes you talk so ? " 
 
 " Because, mother, Mr. Lincoln has offered me his 
 hand, heart, and princely fortune. I only await your 
 consent." 
 
 " God bless the child ! what a trick she 's been 
 .playing on her old mother! " 
 
 The Deacon, who was ill, had been dozing on the 
 lounge ; but now, as it approached nine o'clock, he 
 arose and came to the fire, laid his old, time-worn 
 Bible upon the stand, and read his chapter and page 
 with fervent heart, closing his evening supplication 
 with the Lord's Prayer. When he came to the clause, 
 " Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors," his 
 voice trembled, and a tear rolled from the eyelids, 
 and slid down the furrowed cheek. The mother 
 sobbed, and Helen's heart was touched. As he con- 
 cluded the last words, and they rose from their knees, 
 a heavy rap at the door startled them.
 
 HI ELSIE MAG OS; OB, 
 
 "Wfc*mthat be, at this time of night?" asked 
 the Deacon. 
 
 " May be it s Red/* gasped his wife ; " something 
 fc^g been telling me all day he 'd come." 
 
 Helen had gone to the door and opened it. A tall 
 stranger passed by her, directly in, before the blazing 
 fire of the sitting-room. 
 
 a Oh ! Fred, my child, my darling ! " shrieked the 
 mother; and before he had passed half around the 
 room, the aged hand was resting on his bosom, and 
 the trembling form pressed to his heart. " I knew 
 it was he ! I knew the rap ! " exclaimed the mother, 
 disengaging herself! " Oh ! father, forgive him." 
 
 Her words were cat short. Fred advanced a step 
 towards his father, and stretched oat his arms. With 
 a cry of angnisli, the old man fell prostrate at 
 his feet. Frederick raised him. He seemed dead ; 
 bat on feeling his pulse, he was still alive. It was 
 half an hoar ere the old man showed any signs of 
 conscious life. Slowly he opened his eyes, and gazing 
 around him as if in search of something, ottered the 
 words, u Forgive him ! " 
 
 u Father/' said Helen, passing her hands over his 
 cold temples, " dear father, do you know n. 
 
 "Where is he?" feebly ejaculated the old man. 
 "Did I not see him ~Fred was he not here ? I 
 dreamed he came, and I forgave him." 
 
 Father, I am here," burst from the swelling heart 
 of the returned wanderer. The old man lifted np 
 his arm, as if to embrace him. Fred bent down, and 
 the quivering arm clasped his neck, while the low, 
 hollow voice uttered,
 
 THE OLD STILL-HOUSE. 323 
 
 " My son, my son, forgive your cruel father." 
 " My father, say not so; let me be forgiven." 
 "Oh, God! forgive us both," answered the old 
 man with fervor, and swooned away again upon the 
 breast of his boy. 
 
 It was some hours before the Deacon fully came to 
 himself, and became conscious of the presence of Fred. 
 Never was a heavier load lifted from any man's heart. 
 Alas ! what agony, what torture pride compels the 
 stubborn soul to bear, ere it will allow itself to yield 
 to the power of conscience and acknowledge a wrong ! 
 Slowly the old man recovered. Never was man 
 prouder of a son. Once, and once only, he told them 
 all how he had suffered, and begged them to forgive 
 him, and allude no more to the past 
 
 It is five years, the 10th of October, 1858, since 
 Frederick Hill and Elsie Magoon were married, and 
 the sunlight of wedded love beams as brightly to-day 
 in their home, as on that eventful eve when, his wan- 
 derings passed and her waitings ended, they joined 
 hands to live and love till death should part them. 
 
 Two beautiful children claim the noble mother's 
 care, and find a nestling-place in the grandmother's 
 lap. But they fill not all the measure of human love 
 in the hearts of either. 
 
 Elsie, the elder, still pursues the even tenor of her 
 way, still bears her testimony against intemperance 
 and wrong, and implores the mothers of the land to 
 be up and doing in this great work that is to redeem 
 BO many millions of the living, and of those yet un- 
 born, from fearful ruin.
 
 324 ELSIE MA GOON. 
 
 Elsie, the younger, finds it quite as easy to work 
 for the world, with her home, and husband, and babes, 
 as it would be to make fashionable calls, or go to 
 parties and operas, and quite as compatible with duty 
 to give her leisure to the wants of others, as to the 
 amusement of herself. She still perversely insists that 
 it takes her no longer to make a lecture than to listen 
 while Gen. Gary, or John B. Gough, or Neal Dow 
 gives one ; and that, indeed, it costs no effort to pre- 
 pare a temperance speech : " Just open your mouth," 
 she says, "and if you love temperance and abhor 
 intemperance, thoughts will not be wanting ; for ' out 
 of the abundance of the heart the mouth will speak.' >; 
 
 THE END.
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINOOTT & 00. 
 
 Will be sent by Mail on receipt of price. 
 
 NOVELS BY "OUIDA." 
 
 Chandos. 
 
 A Novel, by "OciDA," author of "Strathmore," "Granville 
 de Vigne," etc. 1 vol. STO. Cloth, $2.00. 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK FIRST. Chapter I. Pythian; or, Mephistophelcs. IT. "La 
 Comete et sa Queue." III. A Prime Minister at Homo. IV. Tho 
 Queen of Lilies. V. Poesie du Beau Sexe. VI. "The Many Years 
 of Pain that Taught me Art" VII. Latet Anguis in llerba. VIII. 
 A Jester who hated both Prince and Palace. 
 
 BOOK SECOND. Chap. I. Under the Waters of Nile. II. The Dark 
 Dia;lem. III. Butterflies on the Pin. IV. "Straight was a Path of 
 Gold for Him." V. Clareneieux. VI. The Poem among the Violets. 
 VII. The Poem as Women read it. VIII. In the Rose Gardens. 
 IX. The Watchers for the Fall of Ilion. 
 
 BOOK THIRD. Chap. I. "Spes et Fortuna Valete." II. "Tout est 
 perdu fors 1'Honneur." III. Tho Love of Woman. IV. The Last 
 Night among the Purples. V. The Death of the Titan. VI. "And 
 the Spoilers came down." VII. The Few who were Faithful. VIII. 
 The Crowd in the Cour des Princes. 
 
 BOOK FOURTH. Chap. I. "Facilis Descensus Averni." II. "Where 
 all Life Dies Death Lives." III. In the Net of the Retiarius. IV. 
 "Sin shall not have Dominion over You." 
 
 BOOK FIFTH. Chap. I. In Exile. II. In Triumph. 
 
 BOOK SIXTH. Chap. I. "Primavera! Gioventu dell' Anno !" II. 
 Castalia. III. "Gioventu! Primavera della Vita!" IV. " Seigneur! 
 ayez Pitie !" 
 
 BOOK SEVENTH. Chap. I. "Do well unto Thyself and Men will 
 speak good of Thee." II. The Throne of the Exile. III. " He who 
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 "Ne chercher qu'un Regard, qu'une Fleur, qu'un Soleil." VI. "Nihil 
 Humani a me alicnum puto." VII. "Pale, comiuo un beau Soir 
 d'Autoronc." VIII. "Record One Lost Soul More." 
 
 BOOK EIGHTH. Chap. I. The Claimant of the Porphyry Chamber. 
 II. "Majrister do Vivis Lapidibus." III. "To Tell of Spring Tide 
 Past." IV. "To Thine Own Self bo True." V. The Codes of Arthur. 
 VI. "Et tu, Brute." VII. Liberia. VIIL Lex Talionia. IX. "King 
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