u 
 
 J
 
 TEN NIGHTS IN A 
 BAR ROOM
 
 PS 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 NIGHT THE FIEST. FAGS 
 
 TH "SICKLE AND SHEAF" . 7 
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 
 THE CHANGES OF A YEAR 89 
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 
 JOE MORGAN'S CHILD 64 
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 
 DEATH OF LITTLE MART MORGAN 89 
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SOME OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF TAVERN-KEEP- 
 ING Ill 
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 
 MORE CONSEQUENCES 141 
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 
 BOWING THE WIND IPO
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. PAM 
 REAPING THE WHIRLWIND 203 
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 
 A FEABFUI, CONSUMMATION 232 
 
 NIGHT THE TENTH. 
 THE CLOSING SCENE AT THE " SICKLE AND 
 SHEA*" 246
 
 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 
 
 The "Sickle and Sheaf" 
 
 TEN years ago, business required me to 
 pass a day in Cedarville. It was late in the 
 afternoon when the stage set me down at 
 the " Sickle and Sheaf," a new tavern, just 
 opened by a new landlord, in a new house, 
 built with the special end of providing " ac- 
 commodations for man and beast." As I 
 stepped from the dusty old vehicle in which 
 I had been jolted along a rough road for 
 some thirty miles, feeling tired and hungry, 
 the good-natured face of Simon Slade, the 
 landlord, beaming as it did with a hearty 
 welcome, was really a pleasant sight to see, 
 and the grasp of his hand was like that of a 
 true friend. 
 
 I felt, as I entered the new and neatly 
 furnished sitting-room adjoining the bar, 
 that I had indeed found a comfortable rest- 
 ing-place after my wearisome journey. 
 
 All as nice as a new pin," said I, approv- 
 ingly, as I glanced around the room, up to 
 
 (7)
 
 8 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 the ceiling white as the driven snow 
 and over the handsomely carpeted floor. 
 ** Haven't seen anything so inviting as this. 
 How long have you been open ?" 
 
 " Only a few months," answered the grati- 
 fied landlord. " But we are not yet in good 
 going order. It takes time, you know, to 
 bring everything into the right shape. Have 
 you dined yet?" 
 
 " No. Everything looked so dirty at the 
 stage-house where we stopped to get dinner, 
 that I couldn't venture upon the experiment 
 of eating. How long before your supper 
 will be ready ?" 
 
 " In an hour," replied the landlord. 
 
 " That will do. Let me have a nice piece 
 of tender steak, and the loss of dinner will 
 soon be forgotten." 
 
 " You shall have that, cooked fit for an 
 alderman," said the landlord. " I call my 
 wife the best cook in Cedar ville." 
 
 As he spoke, a neatly dressed girl, about 
 sixteen years of age, with rather an attract- 
 ive countenance, passed through the room. 
 
 " My daughter," said the landlord, as she 
 vanished through the door. There was a 
 sparkle of pride in the father's eyes, and a 
 certain tenderness in the tones of his voice, 
 as he said "My daughter," that told me 
 she was very dear to him. 
 
 " You are a happy man to have so fair a 
 child," said I, speaking more in compliment 
 than with a careful choice of words.
 
 NIGHT TEE FIRST. 9 
 
 " I am a happy man," was the landlord's 
 smiling answer; his fair, round face, un- 
 wrinkled by a line of care or trouble, beam- 
 ing with self-satisfaction. U I have always 
 been a happy man, and always expect to be. 
 Simon Slade takes the world as it comes, 
 and takes it easy. My son, sir," he added, 
 as a boy in his twelfth year came in. 
 " Speak to the gentleman." 
 
 The boy lifted to mine a pair of deep blue 
 eyes, from which innocence beamed as he 
 offered me his hand and said, respectfully 
 " How do you do, sir?" I could not but re- 
 mark the girl-like beauty of his face, in 
 which the hardier firmness of the boy's char- 
 acter was already visible. 
 
 " What is your name ?" I asked. 
 
 " Frank, sir." 
 
 " Frank is his name," said the landlord 
 " we called him after his uncle. Frank and 
 Flora the names sound pleasant to our 
 ears. But, you know, parents are apt to be 
 a little partial and over-fond." 
 
 " Better that extreme than its opposite," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " Just what I always say. Frank, my son," 
 the landlord spoke to the boy, " there's some 
 one in the bar. You can wait on him as 
 well as I can." 
 
 The lad glided from the room in ready 
 obedience. 
 
 "A handy boy that, sir ; a very handy 
 boy. Almost as good in the bar as a man.
 
 10 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 He mixes a toddy or a punch just as well as 
 I can." 
 
 " But," I suggested, "are you not a little 
 afraid of placing one so young in the way of 
 temptation ?' ' 
 
 " Temptation !" The open brows of Simon 
 Slade contracted a little. "No, sir!" he re- 
 plied, emphatically. " The till is safer under 
 his care than it would be in that of one man 
 in ten. The boy comes, sir, of honest pa- 
 rents. Simon Slade never wronged anybody 
 out of a farthing." 
 
 "Oh," said I, quickly, "you altogether 
 misapprehend me. I had no reference to 
 the till, but to the bottle." 
 
 The landlord's brows were instantly un- 
 bent, and a broad smile circled over his 
 good-humored face. 
 
 "Is that all? Nothing to fear, I can as- 
 sure you. Frank has no taste for liquor, and 
 might pour it out for months without a drop 
 rinding its way to his lips. Nothing to ap- 
 prehend there, sir; nothing." 
 
 I saw that further suggestions of danger 
 would be useless, and so remained silent. 
 The arrival of a traveller called away the 
 landlord, and I was left alone for observa- 
 tion and reflection. The bar adjoined the 
 neat sitting-room, and I could see, through 
 the open door, the customer upon whom the 
 lad was attending. He was a well-dressed 
 young man or rather boy, for he did not 
 appear to be over nineteen years of age
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 11 
 
 with a fine, intelligent face, that was already 
 slightly marred by sensual indulgence. He 
 raised the glass to his lips with a quick, al- 
 most eager motion, and drained it at a single 
 draught. 
 
 " Just right," said he, tossing a sixpence 
 to the young bar-tender. " You are first- 
 rate at a brandy-toddy. Never drank a 
 better in my life." 
 
 The lad's smiling face told that he was 
 gratified by the compliment. To me the 
 sight was painful, for I saw that this youth- 
 ful tippler was on dangerous ground. 
 
 " Who is that young man in the bar ?" I 
 asked, a few minutes afterward, on being 
 rejoined by the landlord. 
 
 Simon Slade stepped to the door and 
 looked into the bar for a moment. Two or 
 three men were there by this time; but he 
 was at no loss in answering my question. 
 
 " Oh, that's a son of Judge Hammond, 
 who lives in the large brick house just as 
 you enter the village. Willy Hammond, as 
 everybody familiarly calls him, is about the 
 finest young man in our neighborhood. 
 There is nothing proud or put-on about him 
 nothing even if his father is a judge, and 
 rich into the bargain. Every one, gentle or 
 simple, likes Willy Hammond. And then 
 he is such good company. Always so cheer- 
 ful, and always with a pleasant story on his 
 tongue. And he's so high-spirited withal, 
 and so honorable. Willy Hammond would
 
 12 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 lose his right hand rather than be guilty of 
 a mean action." 
 
 " Landlord !" The voice came loud from 
 the road in front of the house, and Simon 
 Slade again left me to answer the demands 
 of some new-comer. I went into the bar- 
 room in order to take a closer observation 
 of Willy Hammond, in whom an interest, 
 not unmingled with concern, had already 
 been awakened in my mind. I found him 
 engaged in a pleasant conversation with a 
 plain-looking farmer, whose homely, terse, 
 common sense was quite as conspicuous as 
 his fine play of words and lively fancy. 
 The farmer was a substantial conservative, 
 and young Hammond a warm admirer of 
 new ideas and the quicker adaptation of 
 means to ends. I soon saw that his mental 
 powers were developed beyond his years, 
 while his personal qualities were strongly 
 attractive. I understood better, after being 
 a silent listener and observer for ten minutes, 
 why the landlord had spoken of him so 
 warmly. 
 
 " Take a brandy-toddy, Mr. H ?" said 
 
 Hammond, after the discussion closed, good- 
 humoredly. " Frank, our junior bar-keeper 
 here, beats his father in that line." 
 
 " I don't care if I do," returned the farmer, 
 and the two passed up to the bar. 
 
 "Now, Frank, my boy, don't belie my 
 praises," said the young man; "do your 
 nandsomest."
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 13 
 
 "Two brandy-toddies, did you say?" 
 Frank made the inquiry with quite a pro- 
 fessional air. 
 
 " Just what I did say ; and let them be 
 equal to Jove's nectar." 
 
 Pleased at this familiarity, the boy went 
 briskly to his work of mixing the tempting 
 compound, while Hammond looked on with 
 an approving smile. 
 
 " There," said the latter, as Frank passed 
 the glasses across the counter, " if you don't 
 call that first-rate, you're no judge." And 
 he handed one of them to the farmer, who 
 tasted the agreeable draught and praised its 
 flavor. As before, I noticed that Hammond 
 drank eagerly, like one athirst emptying 
 his glass without once taking it from his 
 lips. 
 
 Soon after, the bar-room was empty ; and 
 then I walked around the premises in com- 
 pany with the landlord, and listened to his 
 praise of everything and his plans and pur- 
 poses for the future. The house, yard, gar- 
 den and out-buildings were in the most per- 
 fect order, presenting, in the whole, a model 
 of a village tavern. 
 
 " Whatever I do, sir," said the talkative 
 Simon Slade, u I like to do well. I wasn't 
 just raised to tavern-keeping, you must 
 know ; but I'm one who can turn his hand 
 to almost anything." 
 
 " What was your business ?" I inquired. 
 
 " I'm a miller, sir, by trade," he answered
 
 14 TEN SIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " and a better miller, though I say it my- 
 self, is not to be found in Bolton County, 
 I've followed milling these twenty years, and 
 made some little money. But I got tired of 
 hard work, and determined to lead an easier 
 life. So I sold my mill and built this house 
 with the money. I always thought I'd like 
 tavern-keeping. It's an easy life, and, if 
 rightly seen after, one in which a man is 
 sure to make money." > .'' 
 
 " You were still doing a fair business with 
 your mill?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. Whatever I do, I do right. 
 Last year I put by a thousand dollars above 
 all expenses, which is not bad, I can assure 
 you, for a mere grist-mill. If the present 
 owner comes out even he'll do well!" 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " Oh, he's no miller. Give him the best 
 wheat that is grown, and he'll ruin it in 
 grinding. He takes the life out of every 
 grain. I don't believe he'll keep half the 
 custom that I transferred with the mill." 
 
 "A thousand dollars, clear profit, in so 
 useful a business ought to have satisfied 
 you," said I. 
 
 "There you and I differ," answered the 
 landlord. " Every man desires to make as 
 much money as possible, and with the least 
 labor. I hope to make two or three thou- 
 sand dollars a year, over and above all ex- 
 penses, at tavern-keeping. My bar alone 
 ought to yield me that sum. A man with
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 15 
 
 a wife and children very naturally tries to 
 do as well by them as possible." 
 
 " Very true ; but," I ventured to suggest, 
 " will this be doing as well by them as if 
 you had kept on at the mill?" 
 
 "Two or three thousand dollars a year 
 against one thousand ! Where are your fig- 
 ures, man ?" 
 
 " There may be something beyond the 
 money to take into the account, "said I. 
 
 "What?" inquired Slade, with a kind of 
 half credulity. 
 
 " Consider the different influences of the 
 two callings in life that of a miller and a 
 tavern-keeper." 
 
 "Well! say on." 
 
 " Will your children be as safe from temp- 
 tation here as in their former home?" 
 
 " Just as safe,'' was the unhesitating an- 
 swer. "Why not?" 
 
 I was about to speak of the alluring glass 
 in the case of Frank, but remembering that 
 I had already expressed a fear in that direc- 
 tion, felt that to do so again would be use- 
 less, and so kept silent. 
 
 "A tavern-keeper," said Slade, "is just as 
 
 Slade, and treat me in every way more as 
 if I were an equal than ever they did be- 
 fore." 
 
 " The change," said I, " may be due to the
 
 16 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 fact of your giving evidence of possessing 
 some means. Men are very apt to be cour- 
 teous to those who have property. The 
 building of the tavern has, without doubt, 
 contributed to the new estimation in which 
 you are held." 
 
 " That isn't all," replied the landlord. " It 
 is because I am keeping a good tavern, and 
 thus materially advancing the interests of 
 Cedarville, that some of our best people look 
 at me with different eyes." 
 
 "Advancing the interests of Cedarville ! In 
 what way ?" I did not apprehend his mean- 
 ing. 
 
 "A good tavern always draws people to a 
 place, while a miserable old tumbledown of 
 an affair, badly kept, such as we have had 
 for years, as surely repels them. You can 
 generally tell something about the condition 
 of a town by looking at its taverns. If they 
 are well kept, and doing a good business, 
 you will hardly be wrong in the conclusion 
 that the place is thriving. Why, already, 
 since I built and opened the 'Sickle and 
 Sheaf,' property has advanced over twenty 
 per cent, along the whole street, and not less 
 than five new houses have been commenced." 
 
 " Other causes, besides the simple opening 
 of a new tavern, may have contributed to 
 this result," said I. 
 
 '' None of which I am aware. I was talk- 
 ing with Judge Hammond only yesterday 
 he owns a great deal of ground on the street
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 17 
 
 and he did not hesitate to say that the 
 building and opening of a good tavern here 
 had increased the value of his property at 
 least five thousand dollars. He said, more- 
 over, that he thought the people of Cedar- 
 ville ought to present me with a silver 
 pitcher ; and that, for one, he would contrib- 
 ute ten dollars for the purpose." 
 
 The ringing of the supper-bell here inter- 
 rupted further conversation; and with the 
 best of appetites, I took my way to the room, 
 where a plentiful meal was spread. As I 
 entered, I met the wife of Simon Slade, just 
 passing out, after seeing that everything was 
 in order. I had not observed her before, 
 and now could not help remarking that she 
 had a flushed, excited countenance, as if she 
 had been over a hot fire, and was both wor- 
 ried and fatigued. And there was, moreover, 
 a peculiar expression of the mouth, never ob- 
 served in one whose mind is entirely at ease 
 an expression that once seen is never for- 
 gotten. The face stamped itself, instantly 
 on my memory ; and I can even now recall it 
 with almost the original distinctness. How 
 strongly it contrasted with that of her smil- 
 ing, self-satisfied husband, who took his 
 place at the head of his table with an air of 
 conscious importance. I was too hungry to 
 talk much, and so found greater enjoyment 
 in eating than in conversation. The land- 
 lord had a more chatty guest by his side, and 
 I left them to entertain each other, while I
 
 18 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 did ample justice to the excellent food with 
 which the table was liberally provided. 
 
 After supper I went to the sitting-room, 
 and remained there until the lamps were 
 lighted. A newspaper occupied my time for 
 perhaps half an hour; then the buzz of 
 voices from the adjoining bar-room, which 
 had been increasing for some time, attracted 
 my attention, and I went in there to see and 
 hear what was passing. The first person 
 upon whom my eyes rested was young Ham- 
 mond, who sat talking with a man older than 
 himself by several years. At a glance, I saw 
 that this man could only associate himself 
 with Willy Hammond as a tempter. Un- 
 scrupulous selfishness was written all over 
 his sinister countenance; and I wondered 
 that it did not strike every one, as it did me, 
 with instant repulsion. There could not be, 
 I felt certain, any common ground of asso- 
 ciation, for two such persons, but the dead 
 level of a village bar-room. I afterward 
 learned, during the evening, that this man's 
 name was Harvey Green, and that he was an 
 occasional visitor at Cedarville, remaining a 
 few days, or a few weeks at a time, as ap- 
 peared to suit his fancy, and having no osten- 
 sible business or special acquaintance with 
 anybody in the village. 
 
 " There is one thing about him," remarked 
 Simon Slade, in answering some question that 
 I put in reference to the man, " that I don't 
 object to ; he has plenty of money, and is
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 19 
 
 not at all niggardly in spending it. He used 
 to come here, so he told me, about once in 
 five or six months ; but his stay at the mis- 
 erably kept tavern, the only one then in 
 Cedarville, was so uncomfortable, that he 
 had pretty well made up his mind never to 
 visit us again. Now, however, he has en- 
 gaged one of my best rooms, for which he 
 pays me by the year, and I am to charge 
 him full board for the time he occupies it. 
 He says there is something about Cedarville 
 that always attracts him ; and that his health 
 is better while here than it is anywhere, ex- 
 cept South during the winter season. He'll 
 not leave less than two or three hundred 
 dollars a year in our village there is one 
 item, for you, of advantage to a place in 
 having a good tavern." 
 
 " What is his business ?" I asked. " Is he 
 engaged in any trading operations ?" 
 
 The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and 
 looked slightly mysterious, as he answered 
 
 " I never inquire about the business of a 
 guest. My calling is to entertain strangers. 
 If they are pleased with my house, and pay 
 my bills on presentation, I have no right to 
 seek further. As a miller, I never asked a 
 customer whether he raised, bought, or stole 
 his wheat. It was my business to grind it, 
 and I took care to do it well. Beyond that, 
 it was all his own affair. And so it will be 
 in my new calling. I shall mind my own 
 business and keep my own place."
 
 20 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 Besides young Hammond and this Harvey 
 Green, there were, in the bar-room, when I 
 entered, four others besides the landlord. 
 Among these was a Judge Lyman so he 
 was addressed a man between forty and 
 fifty years of age, who had a few weeks be- 
 fore received the Democratic nomination for 
 member of Congress. He was very talkative 
 and very affable, and soon formed a kind 
 of centre of attraction to the bar-room circle. 
 Among other topics of conversation that 
 came up was the new tavern, introduced by 
 the landlord, in whose mind it was, very 
 naturally, the uppermost thought. 
 
 " The only wonder to me is," said Judge 
 Lyman, " that nobody had wit enough to 
 see the advantage of a good tavern in Cedar- 
 ville ten years ago, or enterprise enough to 
 start one. I give our friend Slade the credit 
 of being a shrewd, far-seeing man; and, 
 mark my word for it, in ten years from 
 to-day he will be the richest man in the 
 county." 
 
 " Nonsense Ho ! ho ! " Simon Slade 
 laughed outright. " The richest man ! You 
 forget Judge Hammond." 
 
 "No, not even Judge Hammond, with all 
 deference for our clever friend Willy " and 
 Judge Lyman smiled pleasantly on the 
 young man. 
 
 " If he gets richer, somebody will be 
 poorer!" The individual who uttered these 
 words had not spoken before ; and I turned
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 21 
 
 to look at him more closely. A glance 
 showed him to be one of a class seen in all 
 bar-rooms ; a poor, broken-down inebriate, 
 with the inward power of resistance gone 
 conscious of having no man's respect, and 
 giving respect to none. There was a shrewd 
 twinkle in his eyes, as he fixed them on 
 Slade, that gave added force to the peculiar 
 tone in which his brief but telling sentence 
 was uttered. I noticed a slight contraction 
 on the landlord's ample forehead, the first 
 evidence I had yet seen of ruffled feelings. 
 The remark, thrown in so untimely (or, 
 timely, some will say), and with a kind of 
 prophetic malice, produced a temporary 
 pause in the conversation. No one answered 
 or questioned the intruder, who, I could per- 
 ceive, silently enjoyed the effect of his words. 
 But soon the obstructed current ran on 
 again. 
 
 " If our excellent friend, Mr. Slade," said 
 Harvey Green, " is not the richest man in 
 Cedarville at the end of ten years, he will at 
 least enjoy the satisfaction of having made 
 his town richer." 
 
 " A true word that," replied Judge Lyman 
 "as true a word as ever was spoken. 
 What a dead-and-alive place this has been 
 until within the last few months. All vig- 
 orous growth had stopped, and we were act- 
 ually going to seed." 
 
 "And the graveyard too " muttered the 
 individual who had before disturbed the
 
 22 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 self- satisfied harmony of the company, re- 
 marking upon the closing sentence of Har- 
 vey Green. "Come, landlord," he added, 
 as he strode across to the bar, speaking in a 
 changed, reckless sort of a way, u fix me up 
 a good hot whisky-punch, and do it right; 
 and there's another sixpence toward the for- 
 tune you are bound to make. It's the last 
 one left not a copper more in my pock- 
 ets " and he turned them inside-out, with 
 a half-solemn, half-ludicrous air. " I send 
 it to keep company in your till with four 
 others that have found their way into that 
 snug place since morning, and whicn will be 
 lonesome without their little friend." 
 
 I looked at Simon Slade ; his eyes rested 
 on mine for a moment or two, and then sunk 
 beneath my earnest gaze. I saw that his 
 countenance flushed, and that his motions 
 were slightly confused. The incident, it was 
 
 Slain, did not awaken agreeable thoughts. 
 nee I saw his hand move toward the six- 
 pence, that lay upon the counter; but, 
 whether to push it back, or draw it toward 
 the till, I could not determine. The whisky- 
 punch was in due time ready, and with it 
 the man retired to a table across the room, 
 and sat down to enjoy the tempting beverage. 
 As he did so, the landlord quietly swept the 
 poor unfortunate's last sixpence into his 
 drawer. The influence of this strong pota- 
 tion was to render the man a little more 
 talkative. To the free conversation passing
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 28 
 
 around him he lent an attentive ear, drop- 
 ping in a word, now and then, that always 
 told upon the company like a well-directed 
 blow. At last Slade lost all patience with 
 him, and said, a little fretfully, 
 
 " Look here, Joe Morgan, if you will be 
 ill-natured, pray go somewhere else, and not 
 interrupt good feeling among gentlemen." 
 
 " Got my last sixpence," retorted Joe, turn- 
 ing his pockets inside-out again. " No more 
 use for me here to-night. That's the way 
 of the world. How apt a scholar is our good 
 friend Dustycoat, in this new school ! Well, 
 he was a good miller no one ever disputed 
 that and it's plain to see that he is going to 
 make a good landlord. I thought his heart 
 was a little too soft; but the indurating pro- 
 cess has begun; and, in less than ten years, 
 if it isn't as hard as one of his old millstones, 
 Joe Morgan is no prophet. Oh, you needn't 
 knit your brows so, friend Simon, we're old 
 friends ; and friends are privileged to speak 
 plain." 
 
 " I wish you'd go home. You're not your- 
 self to-night," said the landlord, a little coax- 
 ingly for he saw that nothing was to be 
 gained by quarrelling with Morgan. " Maybe 
 my heart is growing harder," he added, with 
 affected good-humor ; " and it is time, per- 
 haps. One of my weaknesses, I have heard 
 even you say, was being too woman- 
 hearted." 
 
 " No danger of that now," retorted Joe
 
 24 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 Morgan. " I've known a good many land- 
 lords in my time, but can't remember one 
 that was troubled with the disease that once 
 afflicted you." 
 
 Just at this moment the outer door was 
 pushed open with a slow, hesitating mo- 
 tion ; then a little pale face peered in, and a 
 pair of soft blue eyes went searching about 
 the room. Conversation was instantly 
 hushed, and every face, excited with inter- 
 est, turned toward the child, who had now 
 stepped through the door. She was not 
 over ten years of age; but it moved the 
 heart to look upon the saddened expression 
 of her young countenance, and the forced 
 bravery therein, that scarcely overcame the 
 native timidity so touchingly visible. 
 
 " Father !" I have never heard this word 
 spoken in a voice that sent such a thrill 
 along every nerve. It was full of sorrowful 
 love full of a tender concern that had its 
 origin too deep for the heart of a child. 
 As she spoke, the little one sprang across 
 the room, and laying her hands upon the 
 arm of Joe Morgan, lifted her eyes, that 
 were ready to gush over with tears, to his 
 face. 
 
 " Come, father ! won't you come home ?" 
 I hear that low, pleading voice even now, 
 and my heart gives a quicker throb. Poor 
 child ! Darkly shadowed was the sky that 
 bent gloomily over thy young life. 
 
 Morgan arose, and 'suffered the child to
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 25 
 
 lead him from the room. He seemed pas- 
 sive in her hands. I noticed that he thrust 
 his fingers nervously into his pocket, and 
 that a troubled look went over his face as 
 they were withdrawn. His last sixpence 
 was in the till of Simon Slade ! 
 
 The first man who spoke was Harvey 
 Green, and this not for a minute after the 
 father and his child had vanished through 
 the door. 
 
 "If I was in your place, landlord" 
 his voice was cold and unfeeling " I'd 
 pitch that fellow out of the bar-room the 
 next time he stepped through the door. 
 He's no business here, in the first place; 
 and, in the second, he doesn't know how to 
 behave himself. There's no telling how 
 much a vagabond like him injures a respect- 
 able house." 
 
 "I wish he would stay away," said 
 Simon, with a perplexed air. 
 
 "I'd make him stay away," answered 
 Green. 
 
 '' That may be easier said than done," re- 
 marked Judge Lyman. "Our friend keeps 
 a public-house, and can't just say who shall 
 or shall not come into it." 
 
 " But such a fellow has no business here. 
 He's a good-for-nothing sot. If I kept a 
 tavern, I'd refuse to sell him liquor." 
 
 "That you might do," said Judge Lyman 
 " and I presume your hint will not be lost 
 on our friend Slade."
 
 16 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " He will have liquor, so long as he can 
 get a cent to buy it with," remarked one of 
 the company ; " and I don't see why our 
 landlord here, who has gone to so much ex- 
 pense to fit up a tavern, shouldn't have the 
 sale of it as well as anybody else. Joe talks 
 a little freely sometimes ; but no one can 
 say that he is quarrelsome. You've got to 
 take him as he is, that's all." 
 
 " I'm one," retorted Harvey Green, with 
 a slightly ruffled manner, " who is never 
 disposed to take people as they are when 
 they choose to render themselves disagree- 
 able. If I was Mr. Slade, as I remarked in 
 the beginning, I'd pitch that fellow into the 
 road the next time he put his foot over my 
 door-step." 
 
 " Not if I were present," remarked the 
 other, coolly. 
 
 Green was on his feet in a moment ; and 
 I saw, from the flash of his eyes, that he was 
 a man of evil passions. Moving a pace or 
 two in the direction of the other, he said, 
 sharply 
 
 " What is that, sir?" 
 
 The individual against whom his anger 
 was so suddenly aroused was dressed 
 plainly, and had the appearance of a work- 
 ing-man. He was stout and muscular. 
 
 " I presume you heard my words. They 
 were spoken distinctly," he replied, not 
 moving from where he sat, nor seeming to 
 be in the least disturbed. But there was
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 27 
 
 cool defiance in the tones of his voice and 
 in the steady look of his eyes, 
 
 " You're an impertinent fellow, and I'm 
 half tempted to chastise you." 
 
 Green had scarcely finished the sentence, 
 ere he was lying at full length upon the 
 floor! The other had sprung upon him 
 like a tiger, and with one blow from his 
 heavy fist, struck him down as if he had 
 .been a child. For a moment or two, Green 
 lay stunned and bewildered then, starting 
 up with a savage cry, that sounded more 
 bestial than human, he drew a long knife 
 from a concealed sheath, and attempted to 
 stab his assailant ; but the murderous pur- 
 pose was not accomplished, for the other 
 man, who had superior strength and cool- 
 ness, saw the design, and with a well-di- 
 rected blow almost broke the arm of Green, 
 causing the knife to leave his hand and 
 glide far across the room. 
 
 "I'm half tempted to wring your neck 
 off," exclaimed the man, whose name was 
 Lyon, now much excited ; and seizing Green 
 by the throat, he strangled him until his 
 face grew black. " Draw a knife on me, ha ! 
 You murdering villain !" And he gripped 
 him tighter. 
 
 Judge Lyman and the landlord now in- 
 terfered, and rescued Green from the hands 
 of his fully aroused antagonist. For some 
 time they stood growling at each other, like 
 two parted dogs, struggling to get free, in
 
 28 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-ROOM. 
 
 order to renew the conflict, but gradually 
 cooled off. In a little while Judge Lyman 
 drew Green aside, and the two men left the 
 bar-room together. In the door, as they 
 were retiring, the former slightly nodded to 
 Willy Hammond, who soon followed them, 
 going into the sitting-room, and from thence, 
 as I could perceive, upstairs, to an apartment 
 above. 
 
 " Not after much good," I heard Lyon 
 mutter to himself. "If Judge Hammond 
 don't look a little closer after that boy of his 
 he'll be sorry for it, that's all." 
 
 " Who is this Green?" I asked of Lyon, 
 finding myself alone with him in the bar- 
 room soon after. 
 
 "A blackleg, I take it," was his unhesi- 
 tating answer. 
 
 " Does Judge Lyman suspect his real 
 character ?' ' 
 
 "I don't know anything about that, but I 
 wouldn't be afraid to bet ten dollars that if 
 you could look in upon them now you 
 would find cards in their hands." 
 
 " What a school, and what teachers for the 
 youth who just went with them !" I could 
 not help remarking. 
 
 "Willy Hammond?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You may well say that. What can his 
 father be thinking about to leave him ex- 
 posed to such influences!" 
 
 " He's one of the few who are in raptures
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 29 
 
 about this tavern, because its erection has 
 slightly increased the value of his property 
 about here ; but if he is not the loser of fifty 
 per cent, for every one gained before ten 
 years go by, I'm very much in error." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " It will prove, I fear, the open door to 
 ruin for his son." 
 
 " That's bad," said I. 
 
 " Bad ! It is awful to think of. There is 
 not a finer young man in the country ; nor 
 one with better mind and heart than Willy 
 Hammond. So much the sadder will be his 
 destruction. Ah, sir ! this tavern-keeping is 
 a curse to any place." 
 
 " But I thought just now that you spoke 
 in favor of letting even the poor drunkard's 
 money go into our landlord's till in order to 
 encourage his commendable enterprise in 
 opening so good a tavern." 
 
 " We all speak with covert irony some- 
 times," answered the man, " as I did then. 
 Poor Joe Morgan! He is an old and early 
 friend of Simon Slade. They were boys to- 
 gether, and worked as millers under the 
 same roof for many years. In fact, Joe's 
 father owned the mill, and the two learned 
 their trade with him. When old Morgan 
 died, the mill came into Joe's hands. It 
 was in rather a worn-out condition, and Joe 
 went in debt for some pretty thorough repairs 
 and additions of machinery. By and by, 
 Simon Slade, who was hired by Joe to run
 
 30 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 the mill, received a couple of thousand dol 
 lars at the death of an aunt. This sum en- 
 abled him to buy a share in the mill, which 
 Morgan was very glad to sell in order to get 
 clear of his debt. Time passed on, and Joe 
 left his milling interest almost entirely in 
 the care of Slade, who, it must be said in his 
 favor, did not neglect the business. But it 
 somehow happened I will not say unfairly 
 that at the end of ten years Joe Morgan 
 no longer owned a share in the mill. The 
 whole property was in the hands of Slade. 
 People did not much wonder at this ; for 
 while Slade was always to be found at the 
 mill, industrious, active, and attentive to 
 customers, Morgan was rarely seen on the 
 premises. You would oftener find him in 
 the woods, with a gun over his shoulder, or 
 sitting by a trout-brook, or lounging at the 
 tavern. And yet everybody liked Joe, for 
 he was companionable, quick-witted, and 
 very kind-hearted. He would say sharp 
 things, sometimes, when people manifested 
 little meannesses; but there was so much 
 honey in his gall, that bitterness rarely pre- 
 dominated. 
 
 " A year or two before his ownership in 
 the mill ceased, Morgan married one of the 
 sweetest girls in our town Fannie Ellis, that 
 was her name, and she could have. had her 
 pick of the young men. Everybody affected 
 to wonder at her choice ; and yet nobody 
 >eally did wonder, for Joe was an attractive
 
 NIGHT THE Fizo*. 31 
 
 young man, take him as you would, and 
 just the one to win the heart of a girl like 
 Fanny. What if he had been seen, now and 
 then, a litle the worse for drink ! What if 
 he showed more fondness for pleasure than 
 for business ! Fanny did not look into the 
 future with doubt or fear. She believed 
 that her love was strong enough to win him 
 from all evil allurements ; and, as for this 
 world's goods, they were matters in which 
 her maiden fancies rarely busied them- 
 selves. 
 
 "Well. Dark days came for her, poor 
 soul ! And yet, in all the darkness of her 
 earthly lot, she has never, it is said, been 
 anything but a loving, forbearing, self-deny- 
 ing wife to Morgan. And he fallen as he 
 is, and powerless in the grasp of the monster 
 intemperance has never, I am sure, hurt 
 her with a cruel word. Had he added 
 these, her heart would, long ere this, have 
 broken. Poor Joe Morgan! Poor Fanny I 
 Oh, what a curse is this drink !" 
 
 The man, warming with his theme, had 
 spoken with an eloquence I had not expected 
 from his lips. Slightly overmastered by his 
 feelings, he paused for a moment or two, 
 and then added: 
 
 " It was unfortunate for Joe, at least, that 
 Slade sold his mill, and became a tavern- 
 keeper ; for Joe had a sure berth, and wages 
 regularly paid. He didn't always stick to 
 his work, but would go off on a spree every
 
 32 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 now and then ; but Slade bore with all this, 
 and worked harder himself to make up for 
 his hand's shortcoming. And no matter 
 what deficiency the little store-room at home 
 might show, Fanny Morgan never found her 
 meal barrel empty without knowing where 
 to get it replenished. 
 
 " But, after Slade sold the mill, a sad 
 change took place. The new owner was lit- 
 tle disposed to pay wages to a hand who 
 would not give him all his time during work- 
 ing hours ; and in less than two weeks from 
 the day he took possession, Morgan was dis- 
 charged. Since then; he has been working 
 about at one odd job and another, earning 
 scarcely enough to buy the liquor it requires 
 to feed the inordinate thirst that is consum- 
 ing him. I am not disposed to blame Simon 
 Slade for the wrong-doing of Morgan ; but 
 here is a simple fact in the case if he had 
 kept on at the useful calling of a miller, he 
 would have saved this man's family from 
 want, suffering, and a lower deep of misery 
 than that into which they have already 
 fallen. I merely state it, and you can draw 
 your own conclusion. It is one of the many 
 facts, on the other side of this tavern ques- 
 tion, which it will do no harm to mention. 
 I have noted a good many facts besides, and 
 one is, that before Slade opened the " Sickle 
 and Sheaf,'^ he did all in his power to save 
 his early friend from the curse of intemper- 
 ance; now he has become his tempter.
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 33 
 
 Heretofore, it was his hand that provided 
 the means for his family to live in some 
 small degree of comfort ; now he takes the 
 .poor pittance the wretched man earns, and 
 dropping it in his till, forgets the wife and 
 children at home who are hungry for the 
 bread this money should have purchased. 
 
 " Joe Morgan, fallen as he is, sir, is no 
 fool. His mind sees quickly yet ; and he 
 rarely utters a sentiment that is not full of 
 meaning. When he spoke of Sla'de's heart 
 growing as hard in ten years as one of his 
 old millstones, he was not uttering words at 
 random, nor merely indulging in a harsh 
 sentiment, little caring whether it were 
 closely applicable or not. That the indu- 
 rating process had begun, he, alas ! was too 
 sadly conscious." 
 
 The landlord had been absent from the 
 room for some time. He left soon after 
 Judge Lyman, Harvey Green, and Willy 
 Hammond withdrew, and I did not see him 
 again during the evening. His son Frank 
 was left to attend at the bar ; no very hard 
 task, for not more than half a dozen called 
 in to drink from the time Morgan left until 
 the bar was closed. 
 
 While Mr. Lyon was giving me the brief 
 history just recorded, I noticed a little inci- 
 dent that caused a troubled feeling to per- 
 vade my mind. After a man, for whom the 
 landlord's son had prepared a fancy drink, 
 had nearly emptied his glass, he sat it down 
 P.
 
 34 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 upon the counter and went out. A table- 
 spoon or two remained in the glass, and I 
 noticed .Frank, after smelling at it two or 
 three times, put the glass to his lips and sip 
 the sweetened liquor. The flavor proved 
 agreeable ; for after tasting it, he raised the 
 the glass again and drained every drop. 
 
 " Frank !" I heard a low voice, in a warn- 
 ing tone, pronounce the name, and glancing 
 toward a door partly opened, that led from 
 the inside of the bar to the yard, I saw the 
 face of Mrs. Slade. It had the same trou- 
 bled expression I had noticed before, but 
 now blended with more of anxiety. 
 
 The boy went out at the call of his mother 
 and when a new customer entered, I noticea 
 that Flora, the daughter, came in to wait 
 upon him. I noticed, too, that while she 
 poured out the liquor, there was a height- 
 ened color on her face, in which I fancied 
 that I saw a tinge of shame. It is certain 
 that she was not in the least gracious to the 
 person on whom she was waiting, and that 
 there was little heart in her manner of per- 
 forming the task. 
 
 Ten o'clock found me alone and musing 
 in the bar-room over the occurrences of the 
 evening. Of all the incidents, that of the 
 entrance of Joe Morgan's child kept the 
 most prominent place in my thoughts. The 
 picture of that mournful little face was ever 
 before me ; and I seemed all the while to 
 hear the word " Father," uttered so touch-
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 35 
 
 ingly, and yet with such a world of childish 
 tenderness. And the man, who would have 
 opposed the most stubborn resistance to his 
 fellow-men, had they sought to force him 
 from the room, going passively, almost 
 meekly out, led by that little child I could 
 not, for a time, turn my thoughts from the 
 image thereof! And then thought bore me 
 to the wretched home, back to which the 
 gentle, loving child had taken her father,, 
 and my heart grew faint in me as imagina- 
 tion busied itself with all the misery there. 
 
 And Willy Hammond. The little that I 
 had heard and seen of him greatly interested 
 me in his favor. Ah ! upon what dangerous 
 ground was he treading. How many pit- 
 falls awaited his feet how near they were 
 to the brink of a fearful precipice, down 
 which to fall was certain destruction ! How 
 beautiful had been his life-promise ! How 
 fair the opening day of his existence ! Alas I 
 the clouds were gathering already, and the 
 low rumble of the distant thunder presaged 
 the coming of a fearful tempest. Was there- 
 none to warn him of the danger? Alas I 
 all might now come too late, for so few who- 
 enter the path in which his steps were tread- 
 ing will hearken to friendly counsel, or heed 
 the solemn warning. Where was he now? 
 This question recurred over and over again. 
 He had left the bar-room with Judge Lyman 
 and Green early in the evening, and had not 
 made his appearance since. Who and what
 
 36 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 was Green? And Judge Lyman, was he a 
 man of principle ? One with whom it was 
 safe to trust a youth like Willy Hammond? 
 
 While I mused thus, the bar-room door 
 opened, and a man past the prime of life, 
 with a somewhat florid face, which gave a 
 strong relief to the gray, almost white hair 
 that, suffered to grow freely, was pushed 
 back, and lay in heavy masses on his coat 
 collar, entered with a hasty step. He was 
 almost venerable in appearance ; yet, there 
 was in his dark, quick eyes the brightness 
 of unquenched loves, the fires of which were 
 kindled at the altars of selfishness and sen- 
 suality. This I saw at a glance. There was 
 a look of concern on his face, as he threw 
 his eyes around the bar-room; and he 
 seemed disappointed, I thought, at finding 
 it empty. 
 
 " Is Simon Slade here ?" 
 
 As I answered in the negative, Mrs. Slade 
 entered through the door that opened from 
 the yard, and stood behind the counter. 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Slade ! Good-evening, madam !" 
 he said. 
 
 " Good-evening, Judge Hammond !" 
 
 "Is your husband at home?" 
 
 "I believe he is," answered Mrs. Slade. 
 " I think he's somewhere about the house." 
 
 " Ask him to step here, will you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Slade went out. Nearly five minutes 
 went by, during which time Judge Ham- 
 mond paced the floor of the bar-room ua-
 
 NldET THE FIRST. 37 
 
 easily. Then the landlord made his appear- 
 ance. The free, open, manly, self-satisfied 
 expression of his countenance, which I had 
 remarked on alighting from the stage in the 
 afternoon, was gone. I noticed at once the 
 change, for it was striking. He did not look 
 steadily into the face of Judge Hammond, 
 who asked him, in a low voice, if his son had 
 been there during the evening. 
 
 " He was here," said Slade. 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "He came in some time after dark, and 
 stayed, maybe, an hour." 
 
 ''And hasn't been here since ?" 
 
 " It's nearly two hours since he left the 
 bar-room," replied the landlord. 
 
 Judge Hammond seemed perplexed. 
 There was a degree of evasion in Slade' a 
 manner that he could hardly help noticing. 
 To me it was all apparent, for I had lively 
 suspicions that made my observation acute. 
 
 Judge Hammond crossed his arms behind 
 him, and took three or four strides about the 
 floor. 
 
 " Was Judge Lyman here to-night ?" he 
 then asked. 
 
 " He was," answered Slade. 
 
 " Did he and Willy go out together?" 
 
 The question seemed an unexpected one 
 /or the landlord. Slade appeared slightly 
 confused, and did not answer promptly. 
 
 "I I rather think they did," he said, 
 after a brief hesitation.
 
 38 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 " Ah, well! Perhaps he is at Judge Ly- 
 man's. I will call over there." 
 
 And Judge Hammond left the har-room. 
 
 " Would you like to retire, sir?" said the 
 landlord, now turning to me, with a forced 
 smile I saw that it was forced. 
 
 " If you please," I answered. 
 
 He lit a candle and conducted me to my 
 room, where, overwearied with the day's 
 exertion, I soon fell asleep, and did not 
 awake until the sun was shining brightly 
 into my windows. 
 
 I remained at the village a portion of the 
 day, but saw nothing of the parties in whom 
 the incidents of the previous evening had 
 awakened a lively interest. At four o'clock 
 I left in the stage, and did not visit Cedar- 
 ville again for a year.
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 
 
 The Changes of a Year. 
 
 A CORDIAL grasp of the hand and a few 
 words of hearty welcome greeted me as I 
 alighted from the stage at the "Sickle and 
 Sheaf," on my next visit to Cedarville. At 
 the first glance, I saw no change in the coun- 
 tenance, manner, or general bearing of 
 Simon Slade, the landlord. With him, the 
 year seemed to have passed like a pleasant 
 summer day. His face was round, and full, 
 and rosy, and his eyes sparkled with that 
 good-humor which flows from intense self- 
 satisfaction. Everything about him seemed 
 to say " All right with myself and the- 
 world." 
 
 I had scarcely expected this. From what 
 I saw during my last brief sojourn at the 
 " Sickle and Sheaf,' ' the inference was natu- 
 ral that elements had been called into ac- 
 tivity which must produce changes adverse 
 to those pleasant states of mind that threw 
 an almost perpetual sunshine over the land- 
 lord's countenance. Howm any hundreds- 
 of times had I thought of Joe Morgan and 
 Willy Hammond of Frank and the tempta- 
 tions to which a bar-room exposed him. The 
 
 (39)
 
 40 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 heart of Slade must, indeed, be as hard as 
 one of his old millstones, if he could remain 
 an unmoved witness of the corruption and 
 degradation of these. 
 
 " My fears have outrun the actual pro- 
 gress of things," said I to myself, with a 
 sense of relief, as I mused alone in the still 
 neatly arranged sitting-room, after the land- 
 lord, who sat and chatted for a few minutes, 
 had left me. " There is, I am willing to be- 
 lieve, a basis of good in this man's charac- 
 ter, which has led him to remove, as far as 
 possible, the more palpable evils that ever 
 attach themselves to a house of public en- 
 tertainment. He had but entered on the 
 business last year. There was much to be 
 learned, pondered, and corrected. Experi- 
 ence, I doubt not, has led to many impor- 
 tant changes in the manner of conducting 
 the establishment, and especially in what 
 pertains to the bar." 
 
 As I thought thus, my eyes glanced 
 through the half-open door, and rested on 
 the face of Simon Slade. He was standing 
 behind his bar evidently alone in the 
 room with his head bent in a musing atti- 
 tude. At first I was in some doubt as to the 
 identity of the singularly changed counte- 
 nance. Two deep perpendicular seams lay 
 sharply denned on his forehead the arch 
 of his eyebrows was gone, and from each 
 corner of his compressed lips lines were 
 seen reaching half-way to the chin. Blend-
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 41 
 
 ing with a slightly troubled expression, was 
 a strongly marked selfishness, evidently 
 brooding over the consummation of its pur- 
 pose. For some moments I sat gazing on 
 this face, half-doubting at times if it were 
 really that of Simon Slade. Suddenly, a 
 gleam flashed over it an ejaculation was 
 uttered, and one clinched hand brought 
 down, with a sharp stroke into the open 
 palm of the other. The landlord's mind 
 had reached a conclusion, and was resolved 
 upon action. There were no warm rays in 
 the gleam light that irradiated his counte- 
 nance at least none for my heart, which 
 felt under them an almost icy coldness. 
 
 " Just the man I was thinking about," I 
 heard the landlord say, as some one entered 
 the bar, while his whole manner underwent 
 a sudden change. 
 
 " The old saying is true," was answered in 
 a voice, the tones of which were familiar to 
 my ears. 
 
 " Thinking of the old Harry ?" said Slade 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "True, literally, in the present case," I 
 heard the landlord remark, though in a 
 much lower tone; "for, if you are not the 
 devil himself, you can't be farther removed 
 than a second cousin." 
 
 A low, gurgling laugh met this little sally. 
 There was something in it so unlike a hu- 
 man laugh that it caused my blood to 
 trickle, for a moment, coldly along my veins.
 
 42 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 I heard nothing more except the murmur 
 of voices in the bar, for a hand shut the 
 partly open door that led from the sitting- 
 room. 
 
 Whose was that voice ? I recalled its 
 tones, and tried to fix in my thought the 
 person to whom it belonged, but was unable 
 to do so. I was not very long in doubt, for 
 on stepping out upon the porch in front of 
 the tavern, the well-remembered face of 
 Harvey Green presented itself. He stood in 
 the bar-room door, and was talking earnestly 
 to Slade, whose back was toward me. I saw 
 that he recognized me, although I had not 
 passed a word with him on the occasion of 
 my former visit; and there was a lighting 
 up his countenance as if about to speak 
 but I withdrew my eyes from his face to 
 avoid the unwelcome greeting. When I 
 looked at him again, I saw that he was re- 
 garding me with a sinister glance, which was 
 instantly withdrawn. In what broad, black 
 characters was the word TEMPTER written on 
 his face ! How was it possible for any one 
 to look thereon, and not read the warning 
 inscription 1 
 
 Soon after, he withdrew into the bar-room, 
 and the landlord came and took a seat near 
 me on the porch. 
 
 " How is the ' Sickle and Sheaf coming 
 on ?" I inquired. 
 
 "First-rate," was the answer " First- 
 rate."
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 43 
 
 " As well as you expected ?" 
 
 "Better." 
 
 " Satisfied with your experiment ?" 
 
 " Perfectly. Couldn't get me back to the 
 rumbling old mill again, if you were to 
 make me a present of it." 
 
 " What of the mill?" I asked. " How does 
 the new owner come on?" 
 
 " About as I thought it would be." 
 
 " Not doing very well?" 
 
 " How could it be expected, when he 
 didn't know enough of the milling business 
 to grind a bushel of wheat right. He lost 
 half of the custom I transferred to him in 
 less than three months. Then he broke his 
 main shaft, and it took over three weeks to 
 get in a new one. Half of his remaining 
 customers discovered by this time that they 
 could get far better meal from their grain at 
 Harwood's mill near Lynwood, and so did 
 not care to trouble him any more. The up- 
 shot of the whole matter is, he broke down 
 next, and had to sell the mill at a heavy 
 loss." 
 
 "Who has it now?" 
 
 "Judge Hammond is the purchaser." 
 
 " He is going to rent it, I suppose ?" 
 
 " No ; I believe he means to turn it into 
 gome kind of a factory and, I rather think, 
 will connect therewith a distillery. This is 
 a fine grain-growing country, as you know. 
 If he does set up a distillery, he'll make a 
 fine thing of it. Grain has been too low in
 
 44 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 this section for some years ; this all the far- 
 mers have felt, and they are very much 
 pleased at the idea. It will help them won- 
 derfully. I always thought my mill a great 
 thing for the farmers; but what I did for 
 them was a mere song compared to the ad- 
 vantage of an extensive distillery." 
 
 " Judge Hammond is one of your richest 
 men?'' 
 
 "Yes the richest in the county. And 
 what is more, he's a shrewd, far-seeing man, 
 and knows how to multiply his riches." 
 
 " How is his son Willy coming on ?" 
 
 "Oh! first-rate." 
 
 The landlord's eyes fell under the search- 
 ing look I bent upon him. 
 
 '"How old is he now?" 
 
 " Just twenty." 
 
 " A critical age," I remarked. 
 
 " So people say ; but I didn't find it so," 
 answered Slade, a little distantly. 
 
 "The impulses within and the tempta- 
 tions without are the measure of its dangers. 
 At his age, you were, no doubt, daily em- 
 ployed at hard work." 
 
 " I was, and no mistake." 
 
 " Thousands and hundreds of thousands 
 are indebted to useful work, occupying 
 many hours through each day, and leaving 
 them with wearied bodies at night, for their 
 safe passage from yielding youth to firm, re- 
 sisting manhood. It might not be with you 
 as it is now, had leisure and freedom to go
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 45 
 
 in and out when you pleased been offered 
 at the age of nineteen." 
 
 " I can't tell as to that," said the landlord, 
 shrugging his shoulders. " But I don't see 
 that Willy Hammond is in any especial 
 danger. He is a young man with many ad- 
 mirable qualities is social liberal gen- 
 erous almost to a fault but has good com- 
 mon sense, and wit enough, I take it, to keep 
 out of harm's way." 
 
 A man passing the house at the moment 
 gave Simon Slade an opportunity to break 
 off a conversation that was not, I could pee, 
 altogether agreeable. As he left me, I arose 
 and stepped into the bar-room. Frank, the 
 landlord's son, was behind the bar. He had 
 grown considerably in the year and from a 
 rather delicate, innocent-looking boy, to a 
 stout, bold lad. His face was rounder, and 
 had a gross, sensual expression, that showed 
 itself particularly about the mouth. The 
 man Green was standing beside the bar talk- 
 ingtohim, and I noticed that Frank laughed 
 heartily at some low, half-obscene remarks 
 that he was making. In the midst of these, 
 Flora, the sister of Frank, a really beautiful 
 girl, came in to get something from the bar. 
 Green spoke to her familiarly, and Flora 
 answered him with a perceptibly height- 
 ening color. 
 
 I glanced toward Frank, half-expecting to 
 see an indignant flush on his young face. 
 But no he looked on with a smile 1 u Ah 1"
 
 46 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 thought I, " have the boy's pure impulses so 
 soon died out in this fatal atmosphere? 
 Can he bear to see those evil eyes he knows 
 they are evil rest upon the face of his sis- 
 ter ? or to hear those lips, only a moment 
 since polluted with vile words, address her 
 with the familiarity of a friend ?" 
 
 " Fine girl, that sister of yours, Frank ! 
 Fine girl !" said Green, after Flora had with- 
 drawn speaking of her with about as much 
 respect in his voice as if he were praising a 
 fleet racer or favorite hound. 
 
 The boy smiled, with a pleased air. 
 
 " I must try and find her a good husband, 
 Frank. I wonder if she wouldn't have 
 me?" 
 
 "You'd better ask her," said the boy, 
 laughing. 
 
 " I would, if I thought there was any 
 chance for me." 
 
 " Nothing like trying. Faint heart never 
 won fair lady," returned Frank, more with 
 the air of a man than a boy. How fast he 
 was growing old I 
 
 " A banter, by George !" exclaimed Green, 
 slapping his hands together. " You're a 
 great boy, Frank ! a great boy ! I shall have 
 to talk to your father about you. Coming 
 on too fast. Have to be put back in your 
 lessons hey !" 
 
 And Green winked at the boy, and shook 
 his finger at him. Frank laughed in a pleased 
 way, as he replied
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 47 
 
 "I guess I'll do." 
 
 " I guess you will," said Green, as, satisfied 
 with his colloquy, he turned off and left the 
 bar-room. 
 
 " Have something to drink, sir ?" inquired 
 Frank, addressing me in a bold, free way. 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Here's a newspaper," he added. 
 
 I took the paper and sat down not to 
 read, but to observe. Two or three men soon 
 came in, and spoke in a very familiar way to 
 Frank, who was presently busy setting out 
 the liquors they had called for. Their con- 
 versation, interlarded with much that was 
 profane and vulgar, was of horses, horse- 
 racing, gunning, and the like, to all of which 
 the young bar-keeper lent an attentive ear, 
 putting in a word now and then, and show- 
 ing an intelligence in such matters quite be- 
 yond his age. In the midst thereof, Mr. 
 Slade made his appearance. His presence 
 caused a marked change in Frank, who re- 
 tired from his place among the men, a step 
 or two outside of the bar, and did not make 
 a remark while his father remained. It was 
 plain from this that Mr. Slade was not only 
 aware of Frank's dangerous precocity, but 
 had already marked his forwardness by re- 
 buke. 
 
 So far, all that I had seen and heard im- 
 pressed me unfavorably, notwithstanding 
 the declaration of Simon Slade that every 
 thing about the "Sickle and Sheaf" wa
 
 48 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 coming on "first-rate," and that he was 
 " perfectly satisfied " with his experiment. 
 Why, even if the man had gained, in money, 
 fifty thousand dollars by tavern-keeping in 
 a year, he had lost a jewel in the innocence 
 of his boy that was beyond all valuation. 
 " Perfectly satisfied ?" Impossible! He was 
 not perfectly satisfied. How could he be? 
 The look thrown upon Frank when he en- 
 tered the bar-room, and saw him " hale fel- 
 low, well met," with three or four idle, pro- 
 fane, drinking customers, contradicted that 
 assertion. 
 
 After supper I took a seat in the bar- 
 room, to see how life moved on in that place 
 of rendezvous for the surface-population of 
 Cedarville. Interest enough in the charac- 
 ters I had met there a year before remained 
 for me to choose this way of spending the 
 time, instead of visiting at the house of a 
 gentleman who had kindly invited me to 
 pass an evening with his family. 
 
 The bar-room custom, I soon found, had 
 largely increased in a year. It now required, 
 for a good part of the time, the active ser- 
 vices of both the landlord and his son to 
 meet the calls for liquor. What pained me 
 most was to see the large number of lads 
 and young men who came in to lounge and 
 drink; and there was scarcely one of them 
 whose face did not show marks of sensuality, 
 or whose language was not marred by ob- 
 scenity, profanity, or vulgar slang. The sub-
 
 NIGHT TEE SECOND. 49 
 
 jects of conversation were varied enough, 
 though politics was the most prominent. In 
 regard to politics, I heard nothing in the least 
 instructive; but only abuse of individuals 
 and dogmatism on public measures. They 
 were all exceedingly confident in assertion ; 
 but I listened in vain for exposition, or even 
 for demonstrative facts. He who asseverated 
 in the most positive manner, and swore the 
 hardest, carried the day in the petty contests. 
 I noticed, early in the evening, and at a 
 time when all the inmates of the room were 
 in the best possible humor with themselves, 
 the entrance of an elderly man, on whose 
 face I instantly read a deep concern. It was 
 one of those mild, yet strongly-marked faces, 
 that strike you at a glance. The forehead 
 was broad, the eyes large and far back in 
 their sockets, the lips full but firm. You 
 saw evidences of a strong but well-balanced 
 character. As he came in, I noticed a look 
 of intelligence pass from one to another; and 
 then the eyes of two or three were fixed upon 
 a young man who was seated not far from 
 me, with his back to the entrance, playing at 
 dominos. He had a glass of ale by his side. 
 The old man searched about the room for 
 some moments before his glance rested upon 
 the individual I have mentioned. My eyes 
 were full upon his face as he advanced to- 
 ward him, yet unseen. Upon it was not a 
 sign of angry excitement, but a most touch- 
 ing sorrow.
 
 50 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " Edward !" he said, as he laid his hand 
 gently on the young man's shoulder. The 
 latter started at the voice, and crimsoned 
 deeply. A few moments he sat irreso- 
 lute. 
 
 " Edward, my son !" It would have been 
 a oold, hard heart indeed that softened not 
 under the melting tenderness of these tones. 
 The call was irresistible, and obedience a 
 necessity. The powers of evil had yet too 
 feeble a grasp on the young man's heart to 
 hold him in thrall. Rising with a half-re- 
 luctant manner, and with a shamefacedness 
 that it was impossible to conceal, he retired 
 as quietly as possible. The notice of only a 
 few in the bar-room was attracted by the in- 
 cident. 
 
 " I can tell you what," I heard the indi- 
 vidual with whom the young man had been 
 playing at dominos, remark himself not 
 twenty years of age " if my old man were 
 to make a fool of himself in this way 
 sneaking around after me in bar-rooms 
 he'd get only his trouble for his pains. I'd 
 like to see him try it, though ! There'd be 
 a nice time of it, I guess. Wouldn't I creep 
 off with him as meek as a lamb ! Ho ! ho ! 
 
 " Who is that old gentleman who came in 
 just now?" I inquired of the person who 
 thus commented on the incident which had 
 just occurred. 
 
 " Mr. Hargrove is his name." 
 
 " And that was his son ?"
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 51 
 
 " Yes ; and I'm only sorry he doesn't pos- 
 sess a little more spirit." 
 
 " How old is he?" 
 
 " About twenty." 
 
 " Not of legal age, then ?" 
 
 " He's old enough to be his own master." 
 
 " The law says differently," I suggested. 
 
 In answer, the young man cursed the law, 
 snapping his fingers in its imaginary face as 
 he did so. 
 
 "At least you will admit," said I, " that 
 Edward Hargrove, in the use of a liberty to 
 go where he pleases and do what he pleases, 
 exhibits but small discretion." 
 
 " I will admit no such thing. What harm 
 is there, I would like to know, in a social 
 little game such as we were playing ? There 
 were no stakes we were not gambling." 
 
 I pointed to the half-emptied glass of ale 
 left by young Hargrove. 
 
 "Oh! oh!" half-sneered, half-laughed a 
 man, twice the age of the one I had ad- 
 dressed, who sat near by listening to our 
 conversation. I looked at him for a mo- 
 ment, and then said 
 
 "The great danger lies there, without 
 doubt. If it were only a glass of ale and a 
 game of dominos ; but it doesn't stop there, 
 and well the young man's father knows it." 
 
 " Perhaps he does," was answered. " I re- 
 member him in his younger days ; and a 
 pretty high boy he was. He didn't stop at 
 & glass of ale and a game at dominos ; not
 
 52 TEN KIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOX. 
 
 he ! I've seen him as drunk as a lord many 
 a time ; and many a time at a horse-race or 
 cock-fight, betting with the bravest. I was 
 only a boy, though a pretty old boy ; but I 
 can tell you, Hargrove was no saint." 
 
 " I wonder not, then, that he is anxious 
 for his son," was my remark. " He knows 
 well the lurking dangers in the path he seems 
 inclined to enter." 
 
 " I don't see that they have done him much 
 harm. He sowed his wild oats, then got mar- 
 ried and settled down into a good, substan- 
 tial citizen. A little too religious and phar- 
 isaical I always thought, but upright in 
 his dealings. He had his pleasures in early 
 life, as was befitting the season of youth-^- 
 why not let his son taste of the same agree- 
 able fruit? He's wrong, sir; wrong! And 
 I've said as much to Ned. I only wish the 
 boy had showed the right spunk this even- 
 ing, and told the old man to go home about 
 his business." 
 
 "So do I," chimed in the young disciple 
 in this bad school. " It's what I'd say to 
 my old man, in double-quick time, if he was 
 to come hunting after me." 
 
 "He knows better than to do that," said 
 the other, in a way that let me deeper into 
 the young man's character. 
 
 " Indeed he does. He's tried his hand on 
 me once or twice during the last year, but 
 fc'M.nd it wouldn't do, no how; Tom Peters 
 *' ''at of his leading-strings."
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 53 
 
 "And can drink his glass with any one, 
 and not be a grain the worse for it." 
 
 " Exactly, old boy !" said Peters, slapping 
 his preceptor on the knee. " Exactly ! I'm 
 not one of your weak-headed ones. Oh, 
 no!" 
 
 u Look here, Joe Morgan !" the half- 
 angry voice of Simon Slade now rung 
 through the bar-room" just take yourself 
 off home 1" 
 
 I had not observed the entrance of this 
 person. He was standing at the bar with an 
 emptied glass in his hand. A year had 
 made no improvement in his appearance. 
 On the contrary, his clothes were more worn 
 and tattered ; his countenance more sadly 
 marred. What he had said to irritate the 
 landlord, I know not ; but Blade's face was 
 fiery with passion, and his eyes glared 
 threateningly at the poor besotted one, who 
 showed not the least inclination to obey. 
 
 "Off with you, I say! And never show 
 your face here again. I won't have such 
 low vagabonds as you are about my house. 
 If you can't keep decent and stay decent, 
 don't intrude yourself here." 
 
 "A rum-seller talk of decency !" retorted 
 Morgan. " Pah ! You were a decent man 
 once, and a good miller into the bargain. 
 But that time's past and gone. Decency 
 died out when you exchanged the pick and 
 facing-hammer for the glass and muddler. 
 Decency 1 Pah ! How you talk ! As if it
 
 54 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 were any more decent to sell rum than to 
 drink it." 
 
 There was so much of biting contempt in 
 the tones as well as the words of the half- 
 intoxicated man, that Slade, who had him- 
 self been drinking rather more freely than 
 usual, was angered beyond self control. 
 Catching up an empty glass from the coun- 
 ter, he hurled it with all his strength at the 
 head of Joe Morgan. The missile just 
 grazed one of his temples, and flew by on 
 its dangerous course. The quick sharp cry 
 of a child startled the air, followed by ex- 
 clamations of alarm and horror from many 
 voices. 
 
 " It's Joe Morgan's child I" " He's killed 
 her!" "Good heavens!" Such were the 
 exclamations that rang through the room. 
 I was among the first to reach the spot where 
 a little girl, just gliding in through the door, 
 had been struck on the forehead by the 
 glass, which had cut a deep gash, and 
 stunned her into insensibility. The blood 
 flowed instantly from the wound, and 
 covered her face, which presented a shock- 
 ing appearance. As I lifted her from the 
 floor, upon which she had fallen, Morgan, 
 into whose very soul the piercing cry of his 
 child had penetrated, stood by my side, and 
 grappled his arms around her insensible 
 form, uttering as he did so heart-touching 
 moans and lamentations. 
 
 "What's the matter? Oh, what's tht.
 
 NIGHT THE SECON-D. 55 
 
 matter ?" It was a woman's voice,s peak- 
 ing in frightened tones. 
 
 " It's nothing ! Just go out, will you, 
 Ann ?" I heard the landlord say. 
 
 But his wife it was Mrs. Slade having 
 heard the shrieks of pain and terror uttered 
 by Morgan's child, had come running into 
 the bar-room heeded not his words, but 
 pressed forward into the little group that 
 stood around the bleeding girl. 
 
 " Run for Doctor Green, Frank," she cried 
 in an imperative voice, the moment her 
 eyes rested on the little one's bloody face. 
 
 Frank came around from behind the bar, 
 in obedience to the word; but his father 
 gave a partial countermand, and he stood 
 still. Upon observing which his mother re- 
 peated the order, even more emphatically. 
 
 " Why don't you jump, you young ras- 
 cal !" exclaimed Harvey Green. " The child 
 may be dead before the doctor can get 
 here." 
 
 Frank hesitated no longer, but disappeared 
 instantly through the door. 
 
 " Poor, poor child !" almost sobbed Mrs. 
 Slade, as she lifted the insensible form from 
 my arms. "How did it happen? Who 
 struck her?" 
 
 "Who? Curse him! Who but Simon 
 Slade?'' answered Joe Morgan, through his 
 clinched teeth. 
 
 The look of anguish, mingled with bitter 
 reproach, instantly thrown upon the land-
 
 66 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 lord by his wife, can hardly be forgotten by 
 any who saw it that night. 
 
 l< Oh, Simon! Simon! And has it come 
 to this already ?' ' What a world of bitter 
 memories, and sad forebodings of evil, did 
 that little sentence express. " To this al- 
 ready " Ah ! In the downward way, how 
 rapidly the steps do tread how fast the 
 progress ! 
 
 " Bring me a basin of water, and a towel, 
 quickly !" she now exclaimed. 
 
 The water was brought, and in a little 
 while the face of the child lay pure and 
 white as snow against her bosom. The 
 wound from which the blood had flowed so 
 freely was found on the upper part of the 
 forehead, a little to the side, and extending 
 several inches back, along the top of the 
 head. As soon as the blood stains were 
 wiped away, and the effusion partially 
 stopped, Mrs. Slade carried the still insensi- 
 ble body into the next room, whither the 
 distressed, and now completely sobered 
 father, accompanied her. I went with them, 
 but Slade remained behind. 
 
 The arrival of the doctor was soon fol- 
 lowed by the restoration of life to the inani- 
 mate body. He happened to be at home, 
 and came instantly. He had just taken the 
 last stitch in the wound, which required to 
 be drawn together, and was applying strips 
 of adhesive plaster, when the hurried en- 
 trance of some one caused me to look up.
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 57 
 
 What an apparition met my eyes ! A wo- 
 man stood in the door, with a face in which 
 maternal anxiety and terror blended fear- 
 fully. Her countenance was like ashes 
 her eyes straining wildly her lips apart, 
 while the panting breath almost hissed 
 through them. 
 
 "Joe! Joe! What is it? Where is Mary? 
 Is she dead ?" were her eager inquiries. 
 
 "No, Fanny," answered Joe Morgan, 
 starting up from where he was actually 
 kneeling by the side of the reviving one, and 
 going quickly to his wife. " She's better 
 now. It's a bad hurt, but the doctor says 
 it's nothing dangerous. Poor, dear child !" 
 
 The pale face of the mother grew paler 
 she gasped caught for breath two or three 
 times a low shudder ran through her frame 
 and then she lay white and pulseless in 
 the arms of her husband. As the doctor 
 applied restoratives, I had opportunity to 
 note more particularly the appearance of 
 Mrs. Morgan. Her person was very slender, 
 and her face so attenuated that it might al- 
 most be called shadowy. Her hair, which 
 was a rich chestnut brown, with a slight 
 golden lustre, had fallen from her comb, and 
 now lay all over her neck and bosom in 
 beautiful luxuriance. Back from her full 
 temples it had been smoothed away by the 
 hand of Morgan, that all the while moved 
 over her brow and temples with a caressing 
 motion that I saw was unconscious, ana
 
 58 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 which revealed the tenderness of feeling 
 with which, debased as he was, he regarded 
 the wife of his youth, and the long suffering 
 companion of his later and evil days. Her 
 dress was plain and coarse, but clean and 
 well-fitting; and about her whole person 
 was an air of neatness and taste. She could 
 not now be called beautiful; yet in her 
 marred features marred by suffering and 
 grief were many lineaments of beauty; 
 and much that told of a pure, true woman's 
 heart beating in her bosom. Life came 
 slowly back to the stilled heart, and it was 
 nearly half an hour before the circle of mo- 
 tion was fully restored. 
 
 Then, the twain, with their child, tenderly 
 borne in the arms of her father, went sadly 
 homeward, leaving more than one heart 
 heavier for their visit. 
 
 I saw more of the landlord's wife on this 
 occasion than before. She had acted with a 
 promptness and humanity that impressed 
 me very favorably. It was plain, from her 
 exclamations on learning that her husband's 
 hand inflicted the blow that came so near 
 destroying the child's life, that her faith for 
 good in the tavern-keeping experiment had 
 never been strong. I had already inferred 
 as much. Her face, the few times I had seen 
 her, wore a troubled look ; and I could never 
 forget its expression, nor her anxious, warn- 
 ing voice, when she discovered Frank sip- 
 ping the dregs from a glass in the bar-room.
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 59 
 
 It is rarely, I believe, that wives consent 
 freely to the opening of taverns by their hus- 
 bands; and the determination on the part 
 of the latter to do so is not unfrequently 
 attended with a breach of confidence and 
 good feeling, never afterward fully healed. 
 Men look close to the money result ; women 
 to the moral consequences. I doubt if there 
 be one dram-seller in ten, between whom and 
 his wife there exists a good understanding 
 to say nothing of genuine affection. And, 
 in the exceptional cases, it will generally be 
 found that the wife is as mercenary, or care- 
 less of the public good, as her husband. I 
 have known some women to set up grog- 
 shops ; but they were women of bad princi- 
 ples and worse hearts. I remember one case, 
 where a woman, with a sober, church-going 
 husband, opened a dram-shop. The hus- 
 band opposed, remonstrated, begged, threat- 
 ened but all to no purpose. The wife, by 
 working for the clothing stores, had earned 
 and saved about three hundred dollars. The 
 love of money, in the slow process of accumu- 
 lation, had been awakened; and, in minis- 
 tering to the depraved appetites of men who 
 loved drink and neglected their families, she 
 saw a quicker mode of acquiring the gold 
 she coveted. And so the dram-shop was 
 opened. And what was the result? The 
 husband quit going to church. He had no 
 heart for that ; for, even on the Sabbath-day, 
 the fiery stream was stayed not in his hous*
 
 60 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 Next he began to tipple. Soon, alas! the 
 subtle poison so pervaded his system that 
 morbid desire came; and then he moved 
 along quick-footed in the way to ruin. In 
 less than three years, I think, from the time 
 the grog shop was opened by his wife, he 
 was in a drunkard's grave. A year or two 
 more, and the pit that was digged for others 
 by the hands of the wife, she fell into her- 
 self. Ever breathing an atmosphere, poi- 
 soned by the fumes of liquor, the love of 
 tasting it was gradually formed, and she too, 
 in the end, became a slave to the Demon of 
 Drink. She died, at last, poor as a beggar 
 in the street. Ah! this liquor-selling is the 
 way to ruin ; and they who open the gates, 
 as well as those who enter the downward 
 path, alike go to destruction. But this is 
 digressing. 
 
 After Joe Morgan and his wife left the 
 " Sickle and Sheaf," with that gentle child, 
 who, as I afterward learned, had not, for a 
 year or more, laid her little head to sleep 
 until her father returned home and who, 
 ii he stayed out beyond a certain hour, 
 would go for him, and lead him back, a very 
 angel of love and patience I re-entered the 
 bar-room, to see how life was passing there. 
 Not one of all I had left in the room re- 
 mained. The incident which had occurred 
 was of so painful a nature that no further 
 unalloyed pleasure was to be had there dur- 
 ing the evening, and so each had retired. In
 
 SIGHT THE SECOND. 61 
 
 his little kingdom the landlord sat alone, 
 his head resting on his hand, and his face 
 shaded from the light. The whole aspect 
 of the man was that of one in self-humilia- 
 tion. As I entered he raised his head, and 
 turned his face toward me. Its expression 
 was painful. 
 
 " Rather an unfortunate affair," said he. 
 " I'm angry with myself, and sorry for the 
 poor child. But she'd no business here. 
 As for Joe Morgan, it would take a saint 
 to bear his tongue when once set a-going 
 by liquor. I wish he'd stay away from the 
 house. Nobody wants his company. Oh 
 dear !" 
 
 The ejaculation, or rather groan, that 
 closed the sentence, showed how little Slade 
 was satisfied with himself, notwithstanding 
 this feeble effort at self-justification. 
 
 " His thirst for liquor draws him hither," 
 I remarked. " The attraction of your bar to 
 his appetite is like that of the magnet to the 
 needle. He cannot stay away." 
 
 " He must stay away ["exclaimed the land' 
 lord, with some vehemence of tone, striking 
 his fist upon the table by which he sat. " He 
 must stay away ! There is scarcely an even- 
 ing that he does not ruffle my temper, and 
 mar good feelings in all the company. Just 
 see what he provoked me to do this evening. 
 I might have killed the child. It makes my 
 blood run cold to think of it! Yes, sir 
 he must stay away. If no better can be
 
 62 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 done, I'll hire a man to stand at the door 
 and keep him out." 
 
 " He never troubled you at the mill," said 
 I. " No man was required at the mill- 
 door?" 
 
 "No!" And the landlord gave emphasis 
 to the word by an oath, ejaculated with a 
 heartiness that almost startled me. I had 
 not heard him swear before. " No, the great 
 trouble was to get him and keep him there, 
 the good-for-nothing, idle fellow !" 
 
 " I'm afraid," I ventured to suggest, " that 
 things don't go on quite so smoothly here as 
 they did at the mill. Your customers are 
 of a different class." 
 
 "I don't know about that; why not?" 
 He did not just relish my remark. 
 
 "Between quiet, thrifty, substantial farm- 
 ers, and drinking bar-room loungers, are 
 many degrees of comparison." 
 
 " Excuse me, sir !" Simon Slade elevated 
 his person. " The men who visit my bar- 
 room, as a general thing, are quite as respec- 
 table, moral, and substantial as any who 
 came to the mill and I believe more so. 
 The first people in the place, sir, are to be 
 found here. Judge Lyman and Judge Ham- 
 mond ; Lawyer Wilks and Doctor Maynard ; 
 Mr. Grand and Mr. Lee; and dozens of 
 others all our first people. No sir ; you 
 mustn't judge all by vagabonds like Joe 
 Morgan." 
 
 There was a testy spirit manifested that I
 
 NIOHT THE SECOND. 63 
 
 did not care to provoke. I could have met 
 his assertion with facts and inferences of a 
 character to startle anyone occupying his 
 position, who was in a calm, reflective state ; 
 but to argue with him then would have been 
 worse than idle ; and so I let him talk on 
 until the excitement occasioned by my 
 words died out for want of new fuel.
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 
 
 Joe Morgan's Child. 
 
 " I DON'T see anything of your very par- 
 ticular friend, Joe Morgan, this evening," 
 said Harvey Green, leaning on the bar and 
 speaking to Slade. It was the night suc- 
 ceeding that on which the painful and ex- 
 citing scene with the child had occurred. 
 
 " No," was answered and to the word was 
 added a profane imprecation. " No ; and 
 if he'll just keep away from here, he may go 
 to on a hard trotting horse and a porcu- 
 pine saddle as fast as he pleases. He's tried 
 my patience beyond endurance, and my 
 mind is made up that he gets no more 
 drams at this bar. I've borne his vile 
 tongue and seen my company annoyed by 
 him just as long as I mean to stand it. 
 Last night decided me. Suppose I'd killed 
 that child ?" 
 
 "You'd have had trouble then, and no 
 mistake." 
 
 "Wouldn't I? Blast her little picture! 
 What business has she creeping in here every 
 night?" 
 
 " She must have a nice kind of a mother," 
 remarked Green with a cold sneer. 
 
 "I don't know what she is now," said 
 (64)
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 65 
 
 Blade, a slight touch of feeling in his voice 
 "heart-broken, I suppose. I couldn't 
 look at her last night; it made me sick. 
 But there was a time when Fanny Morgan 
 was the loveliest and best woman in Cedar- 
 ville. I'll say that for her. Oh dear ! What 
 a life her miserable husband has caused her 
 to lead." 
 
 " Better that he were dead and out of the 
 way." 
 
 " Better a thousand times," answered 
 Slade. " If he'd only fall down some night 
 and break his neck,* it would be a blessing 
 to his family." 
 
 "And to you in particular," laughed 
 Green. 
 
 " You may be sure it wouldn't cost me a 
 large sum for mourning," was the unfeeling 
 response. 
 
 Let us leave the bar-room of the " Sickle 
 and Sheaf," and its cold-hearted inmates, 
 and look in upon the family of Joe Morgan, 
 and see how it is in the home of the poor 
 inebriate. We will pass by a quick transi- 
 tion. 
 
 "Joe!" the thin white hand of Mrs. Mor- 
 gan clasps the arm of her husband, who has 
 arisen up suddenly, and now stands by the 
 partly opened door. " Don't go out to-night, 
 Joe. Please, don't go out." 
 
 "Father!" A feeble voice calls from the 
 corner of an old settee, where little Mary lies 
 with her head bandaged. 
 C
 
 66 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " Well, I won't then !" is replied not 
 angrily, nor even fretfully but in a kind 
 voice. 
 
 " Come and sit by me, father." How ten- 
 derly, yet how full of concern is that low, 
 sweet voice. " Come, won't you ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Now hold my hand, father." 
 
 Joe takes the hand of little Mary, that in- 
 stantly tightens upon his. 
 
 " You won't go away and leave me to- 
 night, will you, father? Say you won't." 
 
 " How very hot your hand is, dear. Does 
 your head ache ?" 
 
 "A little; but it will soon feel better." 
 
 Up into the swollen and disfigured face 
 of the fallen father, the large, earnest blue 
 eyes of the child are raised. She does not 
 see the marred lineaments, but only the 
 beloved countenance of her parent. 
 
 " Dear father !" 
 
 " What, love ?" 
 
 " I wish you'd promise me something." 
 
 "What, dear?" 
 
 "Will you promise?" 
 
 " I can't say until I hear your request If 
 I can promise, I will." 
 
 " Oh, you can promise you can, father 1" 
 
 How the large blue eyes dance and 
 sparkle. 
 
 "What is it, love?" 
 
 " That you'll never go into Simon Slade's 
 bar any more."
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 67 
 
 The child raises herself, evidently with a 
 gainful effort, and leans nearer to her father. 
 
 Joe shakes his head, and poor Mary drops 
 back upon her pillow with a sigh. Her lids 
 fall, and the long lashes lie strongly relieved 
 on her colorless cheeks. 
 
 " I won't go there to-night, dear. So let 
 your heart be at rest." 
 
 Mary's lids unclose, and two round drops, 
 released from their clasp, glide slowly over 
 her face. 
 
 " Thank you, father thank you. Mother 
 will be so glad." 
 
 The eyes closed again, and the father 
 moved uneasily. His heart is touched. 
 There is a struggle within him. It is on his 
 lips to say that he will never drink at the 
 "Sickle and Sheaf" again; but resolution 
 just lacks the force of utterance. 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 "Well, dear!" 
 
 " I don't think I'll be well enough to go 
 out in two or three days. You know the 
 doctor said that I would have to keep very 
 still, for I had a great deal of fever." 
 
 " Yes, poor child." 
 
 " Now, won't you promise me one thing?" 
 
 "What is it, dear?" 
 
 " Not to go out in the evening until I get 
 well." 
 
 Joe Morgan hesitated. 
 
 " Just promise me that, father. It won't be 
 long. I shall be up again in a little while.**
 
 68 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM^. 
 
 How well the father knows what is in the 
 heart of his child. Her fears are all for him. 
 Who is to go after her poor father, and lead 
 him home when the darkness of inebriety 
 is on his spirit, and external perception so 
 dulled that not skill enough remains to shun 
 the harm that lies in his path? 
 
 " Do promise just that, father, dear." 
 
 He cannot resist the pleading voice and 
 look. 
 
 " I promise it, Mary ; so shut your eyes 
 now and go to sleep. I'm afraid this fever 
 will increase." 
 
 " Oh, I'm so glad so glad !" 
 
 Mary does not clasp her hands, nor show 
 strong external signs of pleasure; but how 
 full of a pure, unselfish joy is that low mur- 
 mured ejaculation, spoken in the depths of 
 her spirit, as well as syllabled by her tonguel 
 
 Mrs. Morgan has been no unconcerned 
 witness of all this; but knowing the child's 
 influence over her father, she has not ven- 
 tured a word. More was to be gained, she 
 'was sure, by silence on her part; and so she 
 has kept silent. Now she comes nearer to 
 them, and says, as she lets a hand rest on 
 the shoulder of her husband 
 
 " You feel better for that promise already ; 
 I know you do." 
 
 He looks up to her, and smiles faintly. 
 He does feel better, but is hardly willing to 
 acknowledge it. 
 
 Soon after Mary is sleeping. It does not
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 69 
 
 escape the observation of Mrs. Morgan that 
 her husband grows restless ; for he gets up 
 suddenly, every now and then, and walks 
 quickly across the room, as if in search of 
 something. Then sits down, listlessly 
 sighs stretches himself, and says " Oh 
 dear!" What shall she do for him ? How 
 is the want of his accustomed evening stimu- 
 lus to be met? She thinks, and questions, 
 and grieves inwardly. Poor Joe Morgan ! 
 His wife understands his case, and pities 
 him from her heart. But what can she do? 
 Go out and get him something to drink? 
 "Oh, no! no! no! Never!" Sheanswered 
 the thought audibly almost, in the excite- 
 ment of her feelings. An hour has passed 
 Joe's restlessness has increased instead of 
 diminishing. What is to be done? Now 
 Mrs. Morgan has left the room. She has re- 
 solved upon something, for the case must be 
 met. Ah ! here she comes, after an absence 
 of five minutes, bearing in her hand a cup 
 of strong coffee. 
 
 "It was kind and thoughtful in yon, 
 Fanny," says Morgan, as with a gratified 
 look he takes the cup. But his hand trem- 
 bles, and he spills a portion of the contents 
 as he tries to raise it to his lips. How dread- 
 fully his nerves are shattered! Unnatural 
 stimulants have been applied so long that 
 all true vitality seems lost. 
 
 And now the hand of his wife is holding 
 the cup to his lips, and he drinks eagerly.
 
 70 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " This is dreadful dreadful ! Where will 
 it end ? What is to be done ?" 
 
 Fanny suppresses a sob, as she thus gives 
 vent to her troubled feelings. Twice already 
 has her husband been seized with the drunk- 
 ard's madness; and, in the nervous prostra- 
 tion consequent upon even a brief with- 
 drawal of his usual strong stimulants, she 
 sees the fearful precursor of another attack 
 of this dreadful and dangerous malady. In 
 the hope of supplying the needed tone she 
 has given him strong coffee ; and this, for 
 the time, produces the effect desired. The 
 restlessness is allayed, and a quiet state of 
 body and mind succeeds. It needs but a 
 suggestion to induce him to retire for the 
 night. After being a few minutes in bed, 
 sleep steals over him, and his heavy breath- 
 ing tells that he is in the world of dreams. 
 
 And now there comes a tap at the door. 
 
 " Come in," is answered. 
 
 The latch is lifted, the door swings open, 
 and a woman enters. 
 
 " Mrs. Slade I" The name is uttered in a 
 tone of surprise. 
 
 "Fanny, how are you this evening?" 
 Kindly, yet half-sadly, the words are said. 
 
 " Tolerable, I thank you." 
 
 The hands of the two women are clasped, 
 and for a few moments they gaze into each 
 other's face. What a world of tender com- 
 miseration is in that of Mrs. Slade I 
 
 " How is little Mary to-night?"
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 71 
 
 " Not so well, I'm afraid. She has a good 
 deal of fever." 
 
 "Indeed! Oh, I'm sorry I Poor child! 
 what a dreadful thing it was. Oh, Fanny I 
 you don't know how it has troubled me. 
 I've been intending to come around all day 
 to see how she was, but couldn't get off until 
 now." 
 
 " It came near killing her," said Mrs. Mor- 
 gan. 
 
 "It's in God's mercy she escaped. The 
 thought of it curdles the very blood in my 
 veins. Poor child I is this her on the settee ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Mrs. Slade takes a chair, and sitting by 
 the sleeping child, gazes long upon her pale, 
 sweet face. Now the lips of Mary part 
 words are murmured what is she saying? 
 
 " No, no, mother ; I can't go to bed yet. 
 Father isn't home. And it's so dark. There's 
 no one to lead him over the bridge. I'm not 
 afraid. Don't don't cry so, mother I'm 
 not afraid ! Nothing will hurt me." 
 
 The child's face flushes. She moans, and 
 throws her arms about uneasily. Hark again. 
 
 " I wish Mr. Slade wouldn't look so cross 
 at me. He never did when I went to the 
 mill. He doesn't take me on his knee now, 
 and stroke my hair. Oh dear ! I wish father 
 wouldn't go there any more. Don't I don't, 
 Mr. Slade. Oh! oh!" the ejaculation pro- 
 longed into a frightened cry, " My head ! my 
 head !''
 
 72 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-ROOM. 
 
 A few choking sobs are followed by low 
 moans ; and then the child breathes easily 
 again. But the flush does not leave her 
 cheek; and when Mrs. Slade, from whose 
 eyes the tears come forth drop by drop, and 
 roll down her face, touches it lightly, she 
 finds it hot with fever. 
 
 " Has the doctor seen her to-day, Fanny ?" 
 
 " No, ma'am." 
 
 " He should see her at once. I will go for 
 him ;" and Mrs. Slade starts up and goes 
 quickly from the room. In a little while she 
 returns with Doctor Green, who sits down 
 and looks at the child for some moments 
 with a sober, thoughtful face. Then he lays 
 his fingers on her pulse and times its beat 
 by his watch shakes his head, and looks 
 graver still. 
 
 ' ; How long has she had fever? 7 ' he asks. 
 All day." 
 
 You should have sent for me earlier." 
 : 0h doctor! She is not dangerous, I 
 hope?" Mrs. Morgan looks frightened. 
 
 ' She is a sick child, madam." 
 'You've promised, father" the dreamer 
 is speaking again " I'm not well enough 
 yet. Oh, don't go, father; don't! There! 
 He's gone! Well, well! I'll try and walk 
 there I can sit down and rest by the way. 
 Oh dear, how tired I am! Father! Father!" 
 
 The child starts up and looks about her 
 wildly. 
 
 " Oh, mother, is it you?" And she sinks
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD 78 
 
 back upon her pillow, looking now inquir- 
 ingly from face to face. 
 
 " Father where is father ?'' she asks. 
 
 "Asleep, dear." 
 
 "Oh! Is he? I'm glad." 
 
 Her eyes close wearily. 
 
 " Do you feel any pain, Mary ?" inquired 
 the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, sir in my head. It aches and beats 
 
 so." 
 
 The cry of "Father" has reached the 
 ears of Morgan, who is sleeping in the next 
 room, and roused him into consciousness. 
 He knows the doctor's voice. Why is he 
 here at this late hour ? " Do you feel any 
 pain, Mary?" The question he hears dis- 
 tinctly, and the faintly uttered reply also. 
 He is sober enough to have all his fears in- 
 stantly excited. There is nothing in the 
 world that he loves as he loves that child. 
 And so he gets up and dresses himself as 
 quickly as possible, the stimulus of anxiety 
 giving tension to his relaxed nerves. 
 
 " Oh father !" The quick ears of Mary de- 
 tect his entrance first, and a pleasant smile 
 welcomes him. 
 
 " Is she very sick, doctor ?" he asks, in a 
 voice full of anxiety. 
 
 " She's a sick child, sir ; you should have 
 sent for me earlier." The doctor speaks 
 rather sternly, and with a purpose to rebuke. 
 
 The reply stirs Morgan, and he seems to 
 cower half-timidly under the words, as if
 
 Y4 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 they were blows. Mary has already grasped 
 her father's hand, and holds on to it tightly. 
 After examining the case a little more close- 
 ly, the doctor prepares some medicine, and, 
 promising to call early in the morning, goes 
 away. Mrs. Slade follows soon after; but, 
 in parting with Mrs. Morgan, leaves some- 
 thing in her hand, which, to the surprise of 
 the latter, proves to be a ten-dollar bill. The 
 tears start to her eyes, and she conceals the 
 money in her bosom murmuring a fervent 
 "God bless her!" 
 
 A simple act of restitution is this on the 
 part of Mrs. Slade, prompted as well by 
 humanity as a sense of justice. With one 
 hand her husband has taken the bread from 
 the family of his old friend, and thus with 
 the other she restores it. 
 
 And now Morgan and his wife are alone 
 with their sick child. Higher the fever 
 rises, and partial delirium seizes upon her 
 over-excited brain. She talks for a time al- 
 most incessantly. All her trouble is about her 
 father, and she is constantly referring to his 
 promise not to go out in the evening until 
 she gets well. How tenderly and touchingly 
 she appeals to him ; now looking up into 
 his face in partial recognition, and now 
 calling anxiously after him, as if he had left 
 her and was going away. 
 
 " You'll not forget your promise, will you, 
 father?" she says, speaking so calmly thai 
 he thinks her mind has ceased to wander.
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 7& 
 
 *' No, dear ; I will not forget it," he an- 
 swers, smoothing her hair gently with his 
 hand. 
 
 " You'll not go out in the evening again, 
 until I get well ?" 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 "What, love?" 
 
 " Stoop down closer ; I don't want mother 
 to hear ; it will make her feel so bad." 
 
 The father bends his ear close to the lips 
 of Mary. How he starts and shudders ! 
 What has she said? Only these brief 
 words : 
 
 " I shall not got well, father ; I'm going 
 to die." 
 
 The groans, impossible to repress, that 
 issued through the lips of Joe Morgan, 
 startled the ears of his wife, and she came 
 quickly to the bedside. 
 
 " What is it ? What is the matter, Joe ? n 
 she inquired with a look of anxiety. 
 
 "Hush, father. Don't tell her. I only 
 said it to you." And Mary put a finger on 
 her lips, and looked mysterious. "There, 
 mother you go away; you've got trouble 
 enough, anyhow. Don't tell her, father." 
 
 But the words, which came to him like a 
 prophecy, awoke such pangs of fear and 
 remorse in the heart of Joe Morgan that it 
 was impossible for him to repress the signs 
 of pain. For some moments he gazed at 
 his wife then stooping forward, suddenly v
 
 76 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 he buried his face in the bedclothes and 
 sobbed bitterly. 
 
 A suggestion of the truth now flashed 
 through the mind of Mrs. Morgan, sending 
 a thrill of pain along every nerve. Ere she 
 had time to recover herself, the low, sweet 
 voice of Mary broke upon the hushed air 
 of the room, and she sung: 
 
 " Jesus can make a dying bed 
 
 Feel soft as downy pillows are, 
 While on his breast I lean my head, 
 
 And breathe my life out, sweetly, there." 
 
 It was impossible for Mrs. Morgan longer 
 to repress her feelings. As the softly 
 breathed strain died away, her sobs broke 
 forth, and for a time she wept violently. 
 
 " There," said the child," I didn't mean 
 to tell you. I only told father, because 
 because he promised not to go to the tavern 
 any more until I got well ; and I'm not go- 
 ing to get well. So, you see, mother, he'll 
 never go again never never never. Oh 
 dear 1 how my head pains. Mr. Slade threw 
 it so hard. But it didn't strike father: and 
 I'm so glad. How it would have hurt him 
 poor father ! But he'll never go there any 
 more; and that will be so good, won't it, 
 mother?" 
 
 A light broke over her face; but seeing 
 that her mother still wept, she said : 
 
 " Don't cry. Maybe I'll be better."
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 77 
 
 And then her eyes closed heavily, and she 
 slept again. 
 
 " Joe," said Mrs. Morgan, after she had in 
 a measure recovered herself she spoke 
 firmly. " Joe, did you hear what she said ?" 
 
 Morgan only answered with a groan. 
 
 "Her mind wanders; and yet she may 
 have spoken only the truth." 
 
 He groaned again. 
 
 " If she should die, Joe" 
 
 " Don't; oh, don't talk so, Fanny. She's 
 not going to die. It's only because she's a 
 little light-headed." 
 
 " Why is she light-headed, Joe ?" 
 
 " It' s "the fever only the fever, Fanny." 
 
 " It was the blow, and the wound on her 
 head, that caused the fever. How do we 
 know the extent of injury on the brain? 
 Doctor Green looked very serious. I'm 
 afraid, husband, that the worst is before us. 
 I've borne and suffered a great deal only 
 God knows how much I pray that I may 
 have strength to bear this trial also. Dear 
 child ! She is better fitted for heaven than 
 for earth, and it may be that God is about 
 to take her to himself. She's been a great 
 comfort to me and to you, Joe, more like 
 a guardian angel than a child." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan had tried to speak very 
 firmly ; but as sentence followed sentence, 
 her voice lost more and more of its even 
 tone. With the closing words all self-con- 
 trol vanished, and she wept bitterly. What
 
 78 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 could her feeble, erring husband do, but 
 weep with her ? 
 
 "Joe," Mrs. Morgan aroused herself as 
 quickly as possible, for she had that to say 
 which she feared she might not have the 
 heart to utter " Joe, if Mary dies, you can- 
 not forget the cause of her death." 
 
 " Oh, Fanny ! Fanny I" 
 
 " Nor the hand that struck the cruel 
 blow." 
 
 "Forget it? Never! And if I forgive 
 Simon Slade " 
 
 " Nor the place where the blow was dealt," 
 said Mrs. Morgan, interrupting him. 
 
 "Poor poor child!" moaned the con- 
 science-stricken man. 
 
 " Nor your promise, Joe nor your prom- 
 ise given to our dying child." 
 
 "Father! Father! Dear father!" Mary's 
 eyes suddenly unclosed, as she called her 
 father eagerly. 
 
 " Here I am, love. What is it?" And 
 Joe Morgan pressed up to the bedside. 
 
 "Oh! it's you, father! I dreamed that 
 you had gone out, and and but you 
 won't, will you, dear father?" 
 
 " No, love no." 
 
 " Never any more until I get well. " 
 
 " I must go out to work, you know, Mary." 
 
 " At night, father. That's what I mean. 
 You won't, will you?" 
 
 u No, dear, no." 
 
 A soft smile trembled over the child's
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 79 
 
 face ; her eyelids drooped wearily, and she 
 fell off into slumber again. She seemed not 
 so restless as before -did not moan, nor 
 throw herself about in her sleep. 
 
 " She's better, I think," said Morgan, as 
 he bent over her, and listened to her softer 
 breathing. 
 
 " It seems so," replied his wife. " And 
 now, Joe, you must go to bed again. I will 
 lie down here with Mary, and be ready to do 
 anything for her that she may want." 
 
 '*' I don't feel sleepy. I'm sure I couldn't 
 close my eyes. So let me sit up with Mary. 
 You are tired and worn out." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan looked earnestly into her 
 husband's face. His eyes were unusually 
 bright, and she noticed a slight nervous 
 restlessness about his lips. She laid one of 
 her hands on his, and perceived a slight 
 tremor. 
 
 "You must go to bed," she spoke firmly. 
 " I shall not let you sit up with Mary. So 
 go at once." And she drew him almost by 
 force into the next room. 
 
 " It's no use, Fanny. There's not a wink 
 of sleep in my eyes. I shall lie awake any- 
 how. So do you get a little rest." 
 
 Even as he spoke there were nervous 
 twitchings of his arms and shoulders ; and 
 as he entered the chamber, impelled by hia 
 wife, he stopped suddenly and said 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " Where ?" asked Mrs. Morgan.
 
 80 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing I see. Only one of 
 my old boots. I thought it a great black 
 cat." 
 
 Oh ! what a shudder of despair seized upon 
 the heart of the wretched wife. Too well 
 she knew the fearful signs of that terrible 
 madness from which, twice before, he had 
 suffered. She could have looked on calmly 
 and see him die but, " Not this not this ! 
 Oh, Father in heaven!" she murmured, with 
 such a heart-sinking that it seemed as if 
 life itself would go out. 
 
 " Get into bed, Joe ; get into bed as quickly 
 as possible." 
 
 Morgan was now passive in the hands of 
 his wife, and obe}red her almost like a child. 
 He had turned down the bedclothes, and 
 was about getting in, when he started back 
 with a look of disgust and alarm. 
 
 " There's nothing there, Joe. What's the 
 matter with you ?" 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know, Fanny," and his 
 teeth rattled together as he spoke. " I 
 thought there was a great toad under the 
 clothes." 
 
 " How foolish you are !" yet tears were 
 blinding her eyes as she said this. " It's 
 only fancy. Get into bed and shut your 
 eyes. I'll make you another cup of strong 
 coffee. Perhaps* that will do you good. 
 You're only a little nervous. Mary's sick- 
 ness has disturbed you." 
 
 Joe looked cautiously under the bed-
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 81 
 
 clothes, as he lifted them up still farther, 
 and peered beneath, 
 
 " You know there's nothing in your bed ; 
 see!" 
 
 And Mrs. Morgan threw, with a single 
 jerk, all the clothes upon the floor. 
 
 " There now I look for yourself. Now, 
 shut your eyes," she continued, as she spread 
 the sheet and quilt over him, after his head 
 was on the pillow. " Shut them tight and 
 keep them so until I boil the water and 
 make a cup of coffee. You know as well as 
 I do that it's nothing but fancy." 
 
 Morgan closed his eyes firmly, and drew 
 the clothes over his head. 
 
 " I'll be back in a very few minutes," said 
 his wife, going hurriedly to the door. Ere 
 leaving, however, she partly turned her head 
 and glanced back. There sat her husband, 
 upright and staring fearfully. 
 
 " Don't, Fanny ! don't go away!" he cried, 
 in a frightened voice. 
 
 " Joe^l Joe ! why will you be so foolish ? 
 It's nothing but imagination. Now do lie 
 down and shut your eyes. Keep them shut. 
 There now." 
 
 And she laid a hand over his eyes, and 
 pressed it down tightly. 
 
 " I wish Doctor Green was here," said the 
 wretched man. " He could give me some- 
 thing." 
 
 " Shall I go for him ?" 
 
 "Go, Fanny! Run over right quickly."
 
 82 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " But you won't keep in bed." 
 
 " Yes, I will. There now." And he drew 
 the clothes over his face. " There ; I'll lie 
 just so until you come back. Now run, 
 Fanny, and don't stay a minute." 
 
 Scarcely stopping to think, Mrs. Morgan 
 went hurriedly from the room, and drawing 
 an old shawl over her head, started with 
 swift feet for the residence of Doctor Green, 
 which was not very far away. The kind 
 doctor understood at a word the sad condi- 
 tion of her husband, and promised to attend 
 him immediately. Back she flew at even a 
 wilder speed, her heart throbbing with vague 
 apprehension. Oh ! what a fearful cry was 
 that which smote her ears as she came 
 within a few paces of home. She knew the 
 voice, changed as it was by terror, and a 
 shudder almost palsied her heart. At a 
 single bound she cleared the intervening 
 space, and in the next moment was in the 
 room where she had left her husband. But 
 he was not there ! With suspended breath, 
 and feet that scarcely obeyed her will, she 
 passed into the chamber where little Mary 
 lay. Not here ! 
 
 " Joe ! husband !" she called in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 " Here he is, mother." And now she saw 
 that Joe had crept into the bed behind the 
 sick child, and that her arm was drawn 
 tightly around his neck. 
 
 " You won't let them hurt me, will you,
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 83 
 
 dear?" said the poor, frightened victim of a 
 terrible mania. 
 
 " Nothing will hurt you, father," answered 
 Mary, in a voice that showed her mind to be 
 clear, and fully conscious of her parent's 
 true condition. 
 
 She had seen him thus before. Ah ! what 
 an experience for a child ! 
 
 " You are an angel my good angel, 
 Mary," he murmured in a voice yet trem- 
 bling with fear. " Pray for me, my child. 
 Oh, ask your Father in heaven to save me 
 from these dreadful creatures. There now !" 
 he cried, rising up suddenly, and looking 
 toward the door. "Keep out! Go away I 
 You can't come in here. This is Mary's 
 room ; and she's an angel. Ah, ha ! I knew 
 you wouldn't dare come in here 
 
 "A single saint can put to flight 
 Ten thousand blustering sons of night," 
 
 he added in a half-wandering way, yet with 
 an assured voice, as he laid himself back 
 upon his pillow, and drew the clothes over 
 his head. 
 
 "Poor father!" sighed the child, as she 
 gathered both arms about his neck. " I 
 will be your good angel. Nothing shall 
 hurt you here." 
 
 u I knew I would.be safe where you were," 
 he whispered back " I knew it, and so I 
 came. Kiss me, love."
 
 84 TEN NIGHTS IN A EAR-ROOM. 
 
 How pure and fervent was the kiss laid 
 instantly upon his lips ! There was a power 
 in it to remand the evil influences that were 
 surrounding and pressing in upon him like 
 a flood. All was quiet now, and Mrs. Mor- 
 gan neither by word nor movement disturbed 
 the solemn stillness that reigned in the apart- 
 ment. In a few minutes the deepened 
 breathing of her husband gave a blessed in- 
 timation that he was sinking into sleep. 
 Oh, sleep ! sleep ! How tearfully, in times 
 past, had she prayed that he might sleep; 
 and yet no sleep came for hours and days 
 even though powerful opiates were given 
 until exhausted nature yielded ; and then 
 sleep had a long, long struggle with death. 
 Now the sphere of his loving, innocent child 
 seemed to have overcome, at least for the 
 time, the evil influences that were getting 
 possession even of his external senses. Yes, 
 yes. he was sleeping ! Oh, what a fervent 
 "Thank God!" went up from the heart of 
 his stricken wife. 
 
 Soon the quick ears of Mrs. Morgan de- 
 tected the doctor's approaching footsteps, 
 and she met him at the door with a finger on 
 her lips. A whispered word or two ex- 
 plained the better aspect of affairs, and the 
 doctor said, encouragingly, 
 
 " That's good, if he will only sleep on." 
 
 "Do you think he will, doctor?" was 
 asked, anxiously. 
 
 "He may. But we cannot hope to?
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 85 
 
 strongly. It would be something very un- 
 usual." 
 
 Both passed noiselessly into the chamber. 
 Morgan still slept, and by his deep breathing 
 it was plain that he slept soundly. And 
 Mary, too, was sleeping, her face now laid 
 against her father's, and her arms still about 
 his neck. The sight touched even the doc- 
 tor's heart and moistened his eyes. For 
 nearly half an hour he remained ; and then, 
 as Morgan continued to sleep, he left medi- 
 cine to be given immediately, and went 
 home, promising to call early in the morning. 
 
 It is now past midnight, and we leave the 
 lonely, sad-hearted watcher with her sick 
 
 I was sitting, with a newspaper in my 
 hand not reading, but musing at the 
 "Sickle and Sheaf," late in the evening 
 marked by the incidents just detailed. 
 
 "Where's your mother?" I heard Simon 
 Slade inquire. He had just entered an ad- 
 joining room. 
 
 "She's gone out somewhere," was an- 
 swered by his daughter Flora. 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " How long has she been away ?" 
 
 " More than an hour." 
 
 "And you don't know where she went 
 to?"
 
 86 TUN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 Nothing more was said, but I heard the 
 landlord's heavy feet moving backward and 
 forward across the room for some minutes. 
 
 " Why, Ann I where have you been ?" 
 The door of the next room had opened and 
 shut. 
 
 " Where I wish you had been with me," 
 was answered in a very firm voice. 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " To Joe Morgan's." 
 
 "Humph!" Only this ejaculation met 
 my ears. But something was said in a low 
 voice, to which Mrs. Slade replied with some 
 warmth, 
 
 " If you don't have his child's blood cling- 
 ing for life to your garments, you may be 
 thankful." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 " All that my words indicate. Little Mary 
 is very ill!" ' 
 
 "Well, what of it?" 
 
 " Much. The doctor thinks her in great 
 danger. The cut on her head has thrown 
 her into a violent fever, and she is delirious. 
 Oh, Simon ! if you had heard what I heard 
 to-night." 
 
 " What?" was asked, in a growling tone. 
 
 " She is out of her mind, as I said, and 
 talks a great deal. She talked about you." 
 
 " Of me ! Well, what had she to say ?" 
 
 " She said so pitifully' I wish Mr. Slade 
 wouldn't look so cross at me. He never did
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 87 
 
 when I went to the mill. He doesn't take 
 me on his knee now, and stroke my hair. 
 Oh dear!' Poor child ! She was always so 
 good." 
 
 "Did she say that?" Slade seemed 
 touched. 
 
 " Yes, and a great deal more. Once she 
 screamed out, ' Oh don't, don't, Mr. Slade 1 
 don't! My head! my head !' It made my 
 very heart ache. I can never forget her pale, 
 frightened face, nor her cry of fear. Simon 
 if she should die!" 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 " If we were only back to the mill." It 
 was Mrs. Slade's voice. 
 
 " There, now ! I don't want to hear that 
 again," quickly spoke out the landlord. " I 
 made a slave of myself long enough." 
 
 " You had at least a clear conscience," his 
 wife answered. 
 
 " Do hush, will you !" Slade was now 
 angry. " One would think, by the way you 
 talk sometimes, that I had broken every 
 command of the Decalogue." 
 
 "You will break hearts as well as Com- 
 mandments, if you keep on for a few years 
 as you have begun and ruin souls as well 
 as fortunes." 
 
 Mrs. Slade spoke calmly, but with marked 
 severity of tone. Her husband answered 
 with an oath, and then left the room, bang- 
 ing the door after him. In the hush that 
 foPowed I retired ti my chamber, and lay
 
 88 TEN NIGHTS IN A BA E-ROOM. 
 
 for an hour awake, pondering on all I had 
 just heard. What a revelation was in that 
 brief passage of words between the landlord 
 and his excited companion 1
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 
 
 Death of Little Mary Morgan. 
 
 "WHERE are you going, Ann?" It was 
 the landlord's voice. Time a little after 
 dark. 
 
 "I'm going over to see Mrs. Morgan," 
 answered his wife. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " I wish to go," was replied. 
 
 " Well, / don't wish you to go," said Slade, 
 in a very decided way. 
 
 "I can't help that, Simon. Mary, I'm 
 told, is dying, and Joe is in a dreadful way. 
 I'm needed there and so are you, as to 
 that matter. There was a time when, if 
 word came to you that Morgan or his family 
 were in trouble " 
 
 '' Do hush, will you ?" exclaimed the land- 
 lord, angrily. " I won't be preached to in 
 this way any longer." 
 
 "Oh, well; then don't interfere with my 
 movements, Simon ; that's all I have to say. 
 I'm needed over there, as I just said, and 
 I'm going." 
 
 There were considerable odds against him, 
 and Slade, perceiving this, turned off, mut- 
 tering something that his wife did not hear, 
 and she went on her way. A hurried walk 
 
 (89)
 
 90 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 brought her to the wretched home of the 
 poor drunkard, whose wife met her at the 
 door. 
 
 " How is Mary ?" was the visitor's earnest 
 inquiry. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan tried to answer the question ; 
 but, though her lips moved, no sounds issued 
 therefrom. 
 
 Mrs. Slade pressed her hands tightly in 
 both of hers, and then passed in with her 
 to the room where the child lay. A glance 
 sufficed to tell Mrs. Slade that Death had 
 already laid his icy fingers upon her brow. 
 
 " How are you, dear?" she asked, as she 
 bent over and kissed her. 
 
 " Better, I thank you," replied Mary, in a 
 low whisper. 
 
 Then she fixed her eyes upon her mother's 
 face, with a look of inquiry. 
 
 "What is it, love?" 
 
 " Hasn't father waked up yet?" 
 
 " No, dear." 
 
 " Won't he wake up soon ?" 
 
 " He's sleeping very soundly. I wouldn't 
 like to disturb him." 
 
 " Oh, no ; don't disturb him. I thought, 
 maybe, he was awake." 
 
 And the child's lids drooped languidly, 
 until the long lashes lay close against her 
 cheeks. 
 
 There was silence for a little while, and 
 then Mrs. Morgan said, in a half-whisper to 
 Mrs. Slade :
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 91 
 
 " Oh, we've had such a dreadful time with 
 poor Joe. He got in that terrible way again 
 last night. I had to go for Doctor Green 
 and leave him all alone. When I came 
 back, he was in bed with Mary; and she, 
 dear child ! had her arms around his neck, 
 and was trying to comfort him ; and would 
 you believe it, he went off to sleep, and 
 slept in that way for a long time. The doc- 
 tor came, and when he saw how it was, left 
 some medicine for him, and went away. I 
 was in such hopes that he would sleep it all 
 off. But about twelve o'clock he started up, 
 and sprung out of bed with an awful scream. 
 Poor Mary ! she too had fallen asleep. The 
 cry wakened her, and frightened her dread- 
 fully. She's been getting worse ever since, 
 Mrs. Slade. 
 
 " Just as he was rushing out of the room 
 I caught him by the arm, and it took all my 
 strength to hold him. 
 
 " ' Father ! father !' Mary called after him, 
 as soon as she was awake enough to under- 
 stand what was the matter ' Don't go out, 
 father 1 , there's nothing here.' 
 
 " He looked back toward the bed, in a 
 frightful way. 
 
 " * See, father !' and the dear child turned 
 down the quilt and sheet, in order to con- 
 vince him that nothing was in the bed. 
 4 I'm here,' she added. ' I'm not afraid. 
 Come, father. If there's nothing here to 
 hurt me, there's nothing to hurt you.'
 
 92 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 " There was something so assuring in this, 
 that Joe took a step or two toward the bed, 
 looking sharply into it as he did so. From 
 the bed his eyes wandered up to the ceiling, 
 and the old look of terror came into his 
 face. 
 
 " ' There it is now ! Jump out of bed, quick ! 
 Jump out, Mary !' he cried. ' See ! it's right 
 over your head." 
 
 u Mary showed no sign of fear as she lifted 
 her eyes to the ceiling, and gazed steadily, 
 for a few moments, in that direction. 
 
 " ' There's nothing there, father,' said she, 
 in a confident voice. 
 
 '"It's gone now,' Joe spoke in a tone of 
 relief. ' Your angel-look drove it away. 
 Aha! There it is now, creeping along the 
 floor! he suddenly exclaimed, fearfully, 
 starting away from where he stood. 
 
 "'Here, father! Here!' Mary called to 
 him, and he sprung into the bed again; 
 while she gathered her arms about him 
 tightly, saying, in a low, soothing voice 
 * Nothing can harm you here, father.' 
 
 " Without a moment's delay, I gave him 
 the morphine left by Doctor Green. He took 
 it eagerly, and then crouched down in the 
 bed, while Mary continued to assure him of 
 perfect safety. So long as he was clearly 
 conscious as to where he was, he remained 
 perfectly still. But, as soon as partial slum- 
 ber came, he would scream out, and spring 
 from the bed in terror, and then it would
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 93 
 
 take us several minutes to quiet him again. 
 Six times during the night did this occur ; 
 and as often, Mary coaxed him back. The 
 morphine I continued to give, as the doctor 
 had directed. By morning the opiates had 
 done their work, and he was sleeping 
 soundly. W T hen the doctor came, we re- 
 moved him to his own bed. He is still 
 asleep ; and I begin to fell uneasy, lest he 
 should never awake again. I have heard of 
 this happening." 
 
 "See if father isn't awake," said Mary, 
 raising her head from the pillow. She had 
 not heard what passed between her mother 
 and Mrs. Slade, for the conversation was car- 
 ried on in low voices. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan stepped to the door, and 
 looked into the room where her husband lay. 
 
 " He is still asleep, dear," she remarked, 
 coming back to the bed. 
 
 "Oh! I wish he was awake. I want to 
 see him so much. Won't you call him, 
 mother?" 
 
 " I have called him a good many times. 
 But you know the doctor gave him opium. 
 He can't wake up yet." 
 
 "He's been sleeping a very long timej 
 don't you think so, mother?" 
 
 " Yes, dear, it does seem a long time. But 
 it's best for him. He'll be better when he 
 wakes." 
 
 Mary closed her eyes, wearily. How 
 deathly white was her face how sunken
 
 94 TEN NIGHTS IN A SAB-BOOM. 
 
 her eyes how sharply contracted her feat- 
 ures I 
 
 " I've given her up, Mrs. Slade," said Mrs. 
 Morgan, in a low, rough, choking whisper, 
 as she leaned nearer to her friend. " I've 
 given her up! The worst is over; but, oh! 
 it seemed as though my heart would break 
 in the struggle. Dear child ! In all the 
 darkness of my way, she has helped and 
 comforted me. Without her, it would have 
 been the blackness of darkness." 
 
 ''Father! father!" The voice of Mary 
 broke out with a startling quickness. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan turned to the bed, and laying 
 her hand on Mary's arm said 
 
 "He's still sound asleep, dear." 
 
 " No, he isn't, mother. I heard him move. 
 Won't you go in and see if he is awake ?" 
 
 In order to satisfy the child, her mother 
 left the room. To her surprise, she met the 
 eyes of her husband as she entered the 
 chamber where he lay. He looked at her 
 calmly. 
 
 "What does Mary want with me?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "She wishes to see you. She's called you 
 so many, many times. Shall I bring her in 
 here?" 
 
 44 No. I'll get up and dress myself." 
 
 " I wouldn't do that. You've been sick." 
 
 " Oh, no. I don't feel sick." 
 
 "Father! father!" The clear, earnest voice 
 of Mary was heard calling.
 
 NIGHT THE FOVK^s:. 95 
 
 "I'm coming, dear," answered Morgan. 
 
 "Come quick, father, won't you?'' 
 
 "Yes, love." And Morgan got up and 
 dressed himself but with unsteady hands, 
 and every sign of nervous prostration. In a 
 little while, with the assistance of his wife, 
 he was ready, and, supported by her, came 
 tottering into the room where Mary was 
 lying. 
 
 "Oh, father!" What a light broke over 
 her countenance " I've been waiting for 
 you so long. I thought you were never 
 going to wake up. Kiss me, father." 
 
 " What can I do for you, Mary ?" asked 
 Morgan, tenderly, as he laid his face down 
 upon the pillow beside her. 
 
 " Nothing, father. I don't wish for any- 
 thing. I only wanted to see you." 
 
 " I'm here, now, love." 
 
 "Dear father!" How earnestly, yet ten- 
 derly she spoke, laying her small hand upon 
 his face. You've always been good to me, 
 father." 
 
 " Oh, no. I've never been good to any- 
 body," sobbed the weak, broken-spirited 
 man, as he raised himself from the pillow. 
 
 How deeply touched was Mrs. Slade, as 
 she sat, the silent witness of this scene! 
 
 " You haven't been good to yourself, father 
 but you've always been good to us." 
 
 " Don't, Mary ! don't say anything about 
 that," interposed Morgan. "Say that I've 
 been very bad very wicked. Oh, Mary,
 
 96 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 dear! I only wish that I was as good as 
 you are ; I'd like to die, then, and go right 
 away from this evil world. I wish there was 
 no liquor to drink no taverns no bar- 
 rooms. Oh dear ! Oh dear ! I wish I was 
 dead." 
 
 And the weak, trembling, half-palsied man 
 laid his face again upon the pillow beside 
 his child and sobbed aloud. 
 
 What an oppressive silence reigned for a 
 time through the room ! 
 
 " Father." The stillness was broken by 
 Mary. Her voice was clear and even. 
 " Father, I want to tell you something." 
 
 " What is it, Mary ?" 
 
 " There'll be nobody to go for you, father." 
 The child's lips now quivered, and tears 
 filled into her eyes. 
 
 " Don't talk about that, Mary. I am not 
 going out in the evening any more until you 
 get well. Don't you remember I prom- 
 ised?" 
 
 " But, father "She hesitated. 
 
 "What, dear?" 
 
 " I'm going away to leave you and 
 mother." 
 
 "Oh, no no no, Mary! Don't say 
 that" the poor man's voice was broken. 
 "Don't say that! We can't let you go, 
 dear." 
 
 " God has called me." The child's voice 
 had a solemn tone, and her eyes turned rev- 
 erently upward.
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 97 
 
 " I wish he would call me ! Oh, I wish he 
 would call me !" groaned Morgan, hiding his 
 face in his hands. " What shall I do when 
 you are gone? Oh dear ! Oh dear !" 
 
 " Father !' ' Mary spoke calmly again. 
 " You are not ready to go yet. God will let 
 you live here longer, that you may get 
 ready." 
 
 " How can I get ready without you to 
 help me, Mary? My angel child !" 
 
 " Haven't I tried to help you, father, oh, 
 so many times?" said Mary. 
 
 "Yes yes you've always tried. 
 
 " But it wasn't any use. You would go 
 out you would go to the tavern. It seemed 
 almost as if you couldn't help it." 
 
 Morgan groaned in spirit. 
 
 "Maybe I can help you better, father, 
 after I die. I love you so much, that I am 
 sure God will let me come to you, and stay 
 with you always, and be your angel. Don't 
 you think he will, mother?" 
 
 But Mrs. Morgan's heart was too full. She 
 did not even try to answer, but sat, with 
 streaming eyes, gazing upon her child 1 s 
 face. 
 
 "Father, I dreamed something about 
 you, while I slept to-day." Mary again 
 turned to her father. 
 
 "What was it, dear?" 
 
 " I thought it was night, and that I was 
 still sick. You promised not to go out again 
 until I was well. But you did go out ; and 
 D
 
 98 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 I thought you went over to Mr. Slade'a 
 tavern. When I knew this, I felt as strong 
 as when I was well, and I got up and dressed 
 myself, and started out after you. But I 
 hadn't gone far, before I met Mr. Slade's 
 great bull-dog Nero, and he growled at me 
 so dreadfully that I was frightened and ran 
 back home. Then I started again, and went 
 away round by Mr. Mason's. But there was 
 Nero in the road, and this time he caught 
 my dress in his mouth and tore a great piece 
 out of the skirt. I ran back again, and he 
 chased me all the way home. Just as I got 
 to the door, I looked around, and there was 
 Mr. Slade, setting Nero on me. As soon as 
 I saw Mr. Slade, though he looked at me 
 very wicked, I lost all my fear, and turning 
 around, I walked past Nero, who showed his 
 teeth, and growled as fiercely as ever, but 
 didn't touch me. Then Mr. Slade tried to 
 stop me. But I didn't mind him, and kept 
 right on, until I came to the tavern, and 
 there you stood in the door. And you were 
 dressed so nice. You had on a new hat and 
 a new coat; and your boots were new, and 
 polished just like Judge Hammond's. I 
 said '0 father! is this you?' And then 
 you took me up in your arms and kissed me, 
 and said ' Yes, Mary, I am your real father. 
 Not old Joe Morgan but Mr. Morgan now.' 
 It seemed all so strange, that I looked into 
 the bar-room to see who was there. But it 
 Wasn't a bar-room any longer, but a store
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 9tf 
 
 full of goods. The sign of the Sickle and 
 Sheaf was taken down ; and over the door I 
 now read your name, father. Oh ! I was BO 
 glad, that I awoke and then I cried all to 
 myself, for it was only a dream." 
 
 The last words were said very mornfully, 
 and with a drooping of Mary's lids, until 
 the tear-gemmed lashes lay close upon her 
 cheeks. Another period of deep silence fol- 
 lowed for the oppressed listeners gave na 
 utterance to what was in their hearts. Feel- 
 ing was too strong for speech. Nearly five 
 minutes glided away, and then Mary whis- 
 pered the name of her father, but without 
 opening her eyes. 
 
 Morgan answered and bent down his ear. 
 
 "You will only have mother left," she 
 said " only mother. And she cries so much 
 when you are away." 
 
 " I won't leave her, Mary, only when I go- 
 to work," said Morgan, whispering back to- 
 the child. " And I'll never go out at night 
 any more." 
 
 " Yes ; you promised me that." 
 
 "And I'll promise more." 
 
 "What, father?" 
 
 " Never to go into a tavern again." 
 
 "Never?" 
 
 " No, never. And I'll promise still 
 more." 
 
 "Father!" 
 
 " Never to drink a drop of liquor as long 
 as I live."
 
 100 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " Oh, father ! dear, dear father !" And with 
 & cry of joy Mary started up and flung her- 
 self upon his breast. Morgan drew his arms 
 tightly around her, and sat for a long time, 
 with his lips pressed to her cheek while she 
 lay against his bosom as still as death. As 
 death ? Yes ; for, when the father unclasped 
 his arms, the spirit of his child was with the 
 angels of the resurrection ! 
 
 It was my fourth evening in the bar-room 
 of the "Sickle and Sheaf." The company 
 was not large, nor in very gay spirits. All 
 had heard of little Mary's illness, which 
 followed so quickly on the blow from the 
 tumbler, that none hesitated about connect- 
 ing the one with the other. So regular had 
 been the child's visits, and so gently exerted, 
 yet powerful, her influence over her father, 
 that most of the frequenters at the " Sickle 
 and Sheaf had felt for her a more than 
 common interest, which the cruel treat- 
 ment she received, and the subsequent ill- 
 ness, materially heightened. 
 
 " Joe Morgan hasn't turned up this even- 
 ing," remarked some one. 
 
 " And isn't likely to for a while," was an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Why not ?" inquired the first speaker. 
 
 " They say, the man with the poker is 
 after him." 
 
 "Oh, dear! that's dreadful. It's the sec- 
 ond or third chase, isn't it?"
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 101 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He'll be likely to catch him this time." 
 "I shouldn't wonder." 
 "Poor devil! It won't be much matter. 
 His family will be a great deal better with- 
 out him." 
 
 " It will be a blessing to them if he dies." 
 
 " Miserable, drunken wretch !" muttered 
 
 Harvey Green, who was present. " He's 
 
 only in the way of everybody. The sooner 
 
 he's off, the better." 
 
 The landlord said nothing. He stood 
 leaning across the bar, looking more sober 
 than usual. 
 
 " That was rather an unlucky affair of 
 yours, Simon. They say the child is going 
 to die." 
 
 " Who says so?" Slade started, scowled, 
 and threw a quick glance upon the speaker. 
 " Doctor Green." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Doctor Green never said ? ay 
 such thing." 
 
 " Yes, he did, though." 
 "Who heard him?" 
 " I did." 
 "You did?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 " He wasn't in earnest." A jlight pale- 
 ness overspread the countenance of the land- 
 lord. 
 
 " He was, though. They had an awful 
 time there last night." 
 "Where?"
 
 102 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " At Joe Morgan's. Joe has the mania, 
 and Mrs. Morgan was alone with him and 
 her sick girl all night." 
 
 ''He deserves to have it; that's all I've 
 .got to say." Slade tried to speak with a 
 kind of rough indifference. 
 
 " That's pretty hard talk," said one of the 
 company. 
 
 " I don't care if it is. It's the truth. What 
 else could he expect?" 
 
 " A man like Joe is to be pitied," remarked 
 the other. 
 
 " I pity his family," said Slade. 
 
 " Especially little'Mary." The words were 
 uttered tauntingly, and produced murmurs 
 of satisfaction throughout the room. 
 
 Slade started back from where he stood, in 
 an impatient manner, saying something that 
 I did not hear. 
 
 " Look here, Simon, I heard some strong 
 suggestions over at Lawyer Phillips' office 
 to-day." 
 
 Slade turned his eyes upon the speaker. 
 
 " If that child should die, you'll probably 
 have to stand a trial for manslaughter." 
 
 " No girl-slaughter," said Harvey Green, 
 with a cold, inhuman chuckle. 
 
 " But, I'm in earnest," said the other. 
 " Mr. Phillips said that a case could be made 
 out of it." ' 
 
 " It was only an accident, and all the law- 
 yers in Christendom can't make anything 
 more of it," remarked Green, taking the side
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 103 
 
 of the landlord, and speaking with more 
 gravity than before. 
 
 "Hardly an accident," was replied. 
 
 " He didn't throw at the girl." 
 
 " No matter. He threw a heavy tumbler 
 at her father's head. The intention was to 
 do an injury, and the law will not stop to 
 make any nice discriminations in regard to 
 the individual upon whom the injury was 
 wrought. Moreover, who is prepared to say 
 that he didn't aim at the girl?" 
 
 " Any man who intimates such a thing is 
 a cursed liar!" exclaimed the landlord, half- 
 maddened by the suggestion. 
 
 " I won't throw a tumbler at your head," 
 coolly remarked the individual whose plain 
 speaking had so irritated Simon Slade. 
 " Throwing tumblers I never thought a very 
 creditable kind of argument though, with 
 some men, when cornered, it is a favorable 
 mode of settling a question. Now, as for 
 our friend the landlord, I am sorry to say 
 that his new business doesn't seem to have 
 improved either his manners or his temper a 
 great deal. As a miller, he was one of the 
 best-tempered men in the world, and 
 wouldn't have harmed a kitten. But now 
 he can swear, and bluster, and throw glasses 
 at people's heads, and all that sort of thing, 
 with the best of brawling rowdies. I'm 
 afraid he's taking lessons in a bad school 
 I am." 
 
 " I don't think you have any right to insult
 
 104 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 a man in his own house," answered Slade, 
 in a voice dropped to a lower key than the 
 one in which he had before spoken. 
 
 " I had no intention to insult you," said 
 the other. " I was only speaking suppositi- 
 tiously, and in view of your position on a 
 trial for manslaughter, when I suggested that 
 no one could prove, or say, that you didn't 
 mean to strike little Mary when you threw 
 the tumbler." 
 
 " Well, I didn't mean to strike her; and I 
 don't believe there is a man in this bar room 
 who thinks that I did not one." 
 
 " I'm sure I do not," said the individual 
 with whom he was in controversy. "Nor 
 I " " Nor I " went round the room. 
 
 " But, as I wished to set forth," was con- 
 tinued, " the case will not be so plain a one 
 when it finds its way into court, and twelve 
 men, to each of whom you may be a stranger, 
 come to sit in judgment upon the act. The 
 slightest twist in the evidence, the prepos- 
 sessions of a witness, or the bad tact of the 
 prosecution, may cause things to look so 
 dark on your side as to leave you but little 
 chance. For my part, if the child should 
 die, I think your chances for a term in the 
 State's prison are as eight to ten, and I should 
 call that pretty close cutting." 
 
 I looked attentively at the man who said 
 this, all the while he was speaking, but could 
 not clearly make out whether he were alto- 
 gether in earnest, or merely trying to worry
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 105 
 
 the mind of Slade. That he was successful 
 in accomplishing the latter, was very plain ; 
 for the landlord's countenance steadily lost 
 color, and became overcast with alarm. 
 With that evil delight which some men take 
 in giving pain, others, seeing Slade's anxious 
 looks, joined in the persecution, and soon 
 made the landlord's case look black enough, 
 and the landlord himself almost as fright- 
 ened as a criminal just under arrest. 
 
 " It's bad business, and no mistake," said 
 one. 
 
 " Yes, bad enough. I wouldn't be in his 
 shoes for his coat," remarked another. 
 
 "For his coat? No, not for his whole 
 wardrobe," said a third. 
 
 " Nor for the Sickle and Sheaf thrown into 
 the bargain," added the fourth. 
 
 " It will be a clear case of manslaughter, 
 and no mistake. What is the penalty ?" 
 
 " From two to ten years in the peniten- 
 tiary," was readily answered. 
 
 " They'll give him five, I reckon." 
 
 " No not more than two. It will be hard 
 to prove malicious intention." 
 
 " I don't know that. I've heard him curse 
 the girl and threaten her many a time. 
 Haven't you?" 
 
 " Yes " " Yes " " I have often," ran 
 around the bar-room. 
 
 " You'd better hang me at once," said 
 , affecting to laugh. 
 
 At this moment the door behind Slad
 
 106 TEN MIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 opened, and I saw his wife's anxious face 
 thrust in for a moment. She said something 
 to her husband, who uttered a low ejacula- 
 tion of surprise, and went out quickly. 
 
 " What's the matter now?" asked one of 
 another. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if little Mary Mor- 
 gan was dead," was suggested. 
 
 " I heard her say dead," remarked one 
 who was standing near the bar. 
 
 "What's the matter, Frank?" inquired 
 several voices, as the landlord's son came in 
 through the door out of which his father 
 had passed. 
 
 " Mary Morgan is dead," answered the 
 fcoy. 
 
 " Poor child ! Poor child 1" sighed one, in 
 genuine regret at the not unlooked-for intel- 
 ligence. " Her trouble is over." 
 
 And there was not one present, but Har- 
 vey Green, who did not utter some word of 
 pity or sympathy. He shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and looked as much of contempt and 
 indifference as he thought it prudent to ex- 
 press. 
 
 " See here, boys," spoke out one of the 
 company, "can't we do something for poor 
 Mrs. Morgan? Can't we make up a purse 
 for her?" 
 
 " That's it," was quickly responded ; " I'm 
 good for three dollars ; and there they are," 
 drawing out the money and laying it upon 
 the counter.
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 107 
 
 " And here are five to go with them/' said 
 I, quickly stepping forward, and placing a 
 five-dollar bill alongside of the first contri- 
 bution. 
 
 " Here are five more," added a third indi- 
 vidual. And so it went on, until thirty dol- 
 lars were paid down for the benefit of Mrs. 
 Morgan. 
 
 " Into whose hands shall this be placed?" 
 was next asked. 
 
 " Let me suggest Mrs. Slade," said I. " To 
 my certain knowledge, she has been with 
 Mrs. Morgan to-night. I know that she feela 
 in her a true woman's interest." 
 
 " J ust the person ," was answered. " Frank, 
 tell your mother we would like to see her. 
 Ask her to step into the sitting-room." 
 
 In a few moments the boy came back, 
 and said that his mother would see us in 
 the next room, into which we all passed. 
 Mrs. Slade stood near the table, on which 
 burned a lamp. I noticed that her eyes 
 were red, and that there was on her counte- 
 nance a troubled and sorrowful expression. 
 
 " We have just heard," said one of the 
 company, " that little Mary Morgan is dead." 
 
 " Yes it is too true," answered Mrs. 
 Slade, mournfully. " I have just left there. 
 Poor child! she has passed from an evil 
 world." 
 
 " Evil it has indeed been to her," was re- 
 marked. 
 
 " You may well say that. And yet, amid
 
 108 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 all the evil, she has been an angel of mercy. 
 Her last thought in dying was of her miser- 
 able father. For him, at any time, she would 
 have laid down her life willingly." 
 
 " Her mother must be nearly broken- 
 hearted. Mary is the last of her children." 
 
 " And yet the child's death may prove a 
 blessing to her." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Her father promised Mary, just at the 
 last moment solemnly promised her that, 
 henceforth, he would never taste liquor. 
 That was all her trouble. That was the 
 thorn in her dying pillow. But he plucked 
 it out, and she went to sleep, lying against 
 his heart. Oh, gentlemen ! it was the most 
 touching sight I ever saw." 
 
 All present seemed deeply moved. 
 
 " They are very poor and wretched," was 
 said. 
 
 " Poor and miserable enough," answered 
 Mrs. Slade. 
 
 " We have just been taking up a collection 
 for Mrs. Morgan. Here is the money, Mrs. 
 Slade thirty dollars we place it in your 
 hands for her benefit. Do with it for her as 
 you may see best." 
 
 " Oh, gentlemen ! " What a quick gleam 
 went over the face of Mrs. Slade. " I thank 
 you from my heart, in the name of that un- 
 happy one for this act of true benevolence. 
 To you the sacrifice has been small; to her 
 the benefit will be great indeed. A new life
 
 NIGHT THE FOURTH. 109 
 
 will, I trust, be commenced by her husband, 
 and this timely aid will be something to rest 
 upon, until he can get into better employ- 
 ment than he now has. Oh, gentlemen ! let 
 me urge on you, one and all, to make com- 
 mon cause in favor of Joe Morgan. His 
 purposes are good now; he means to keep 
 his promise to his dying child means to 
 reform his life. Let the good impulses that 
 led to this act of relief further prompt you 
 to watch over him, and, if you see him about 
 going astray, to lead him kindly back into 
 the right path. Never oh ! never encour- 
 age him to drink ; but rather take the glass 
 from his hand if his own appetite lead him 
 aside, and by all the persuasive influence 
 you possess induce him to go out from the 
 place of temptation. 
 
 " Pardon my boldness in saying so much," 
 added Mrs. Slade, recollecting herself and 
 coloring deeply as she did so. " My feelings 
 have led me away." 
 
 And she took the money from the table 
 where it had been placed and retired toward 
 the door. 
 
 " You have spoken well, madam," was 
 answered, " and we thank you for reminding 
 us of our duty." 
 
 " One word more and forgive the earnest 
 heart from which it comes " said Mrs. 
 Slade, in a voice that trembled on the worda 
 she uttered. " I cannot help speaking, gen- 
 tlemen ! Think if some of you be not enter-
 
 110 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 ing the road wherein Joe Morgan has so long 
 been walking. Save him, in heaven's name I 
 but see that ye do not yourselves become 
 castaways!" 
 
 As she said this she glided through the 
 door, and it closed after her. 
 
 "I don't know what her husband would 
 say to that," was remarked after a few mo- 
 ments of surprised silence. 
 
 " I don't care what he would say; but I'll 
 tell you what 7 will say," spoke out a man 
 whom I had several times noticed as rather 
 a free tippler. " The old lady has given us 
 capital advice, and I mean to take it, for 
 one. I'm going to try to save Joe Morgan, 
 and myself too. I've already entered the 
 road she referred to ; but I'm going to turn 
 back. So good-night to you all; and if 
 Simon Slade gets no more of my sixpences he 
 may thank his wife for it God bless her 1" 
 
 And the man drew his hat with a jerk over 
 his forehead and left immediately. 
 
 This seemed the signal for dispersion, and 
 all retired not by way of the bar-room, but 
 put into the hall and through the door lead- 
 ing upon the porch that ran along in front 
 of the house. Soon after the door was closed, 
 and a dead silence reigned throughout the 
 house. I saw no more of Slade tnat night. 
 Early in the morning I left Cedarville ; the 
 landlord looked very sober when he bade 
 me good-bye through the stage-door, and 
 wished me a pleasant journey.
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 
 
 Some of the Consequences of Tavern-Keeping. 
 
 NEARLY five years glided away before 
 business again called me to Cedarville. I 
 knew little of what passed there in the inter- 
 val, except that Simon Slade had actually 
 been indicted for manslaughter, in causing 
 the death of Morgan's child. He did not 
 stand a trial, however, Judge Lyman having 
 used his influence successfully in getting the 
 indictment quashed. The judge, some people 
 said, interested himself in Slade more than 
 was just seemly especially as he had on 
 several occasions in the discharge of his offi- 
 cial duties displayed what seemed an over- 
 righteous indignation against individuals 
 arraigned for petty offences. The impres- 
 sion made upon me by Judge Lyman had 
 not been favorable. He seemed a cold, sel- 
 fish, scheming man of the world. That he 
 was an unscrupulous politician \vas plain to 
 me, in a single evening's observation of his 
 sayings and doings among the common herd 
 of a village bar-room. 
 
 As the stage rolled, with a gay flourish of 
 our driver's bugle, into the village, I noted 
 here and there familiar objects, and marked 
 the varied evidences of change. Our way 
 
 (111 )
 
 112 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 was past the elegant residence and grounds 
 of Judge Hammond, the most beautiful and 
 highly cultivated in Cedarville. At least 
 such it was regarded at the time of my pre- 
 vious visit. But the moment my eyes rested 
 upon the dwelling and its varied surround- 
 ings I perceived an altered aspect. Was it 
 the simple work of time? or had familiarity 
 with other and more elegantly arranged 
 suburban homes marred this in my eyes by 
 involuntary contrast? Or had the hand of 
 cultivation really been stayed, and the 
 marring fingers of neglect suffered undis- 
 turbed to trace on everything disfiguring 
 characters ? 
 
 Such questions were in my thoughts, when 
 I saw a man in the large portico of the dwell- 
 ing, the ample columns of which, capped in 
 rich Corinthian, gave the edifice the aspect 
 of a Grecian temple. He stood leaning 
 against one of the columns, his hat off, and 
 his long gray hair thrown back and resting 
 lightly on his neck and shoulders. His head 
 was bent down upon his breast, and he 
 seemed in deep abstraction. Just as the 
 coach swept by he looked up, and in the 
 changed features I recognized Judge Ham- 
 mond. His complexion was still florid, but 
 his face had grown thin, and his eyes were 
 sunken. Trouble was written in every line- 
 ament. Trouble? How inadequately does 
 the word express my meaning ! Ah ! at a 
 eingle glance what a volume of suffering was
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 113 
 
 opened to the gazer's eye. Not lightly had 
 the foot of time rested there, as if treading 
 on odorous flowers, but heavily, and with 
 iron-shod heel.^ This I saw at a glance ; and 
 then, only the image of the man was present 
 to my inner vision, for the swiftly rolling 
 stage-coach had borne me onward past the 
 altered home of the wealthiest denizen of 
 Dedarville. In a few minutes our driver 
 reined up before the " Sickle and Sheaf," and 
 as I stepped to the ground, a rotund, coarse, 
 red-faced man, whom I failed to recognize as 
 Simon Slade until he spoke, grasped my 
 hand and pronounced my name. I could 
 not but contrast in thought his appearance 
 with what it was when I first saw him some 
 six years previously, nor help saying to my- 
 self 
 
 " So much for tavern-keeping!" 
 As marked a change was visible every- 
 where in and around the " Sickle and Sheaf." 
 It, too, had grown larger by additions of 
 wings and rooms; but it had also grown 
 coarser in growing larger. When built, all 
 the doors were painted white, and the shut- 
 ters green, giving to the house a neat, even 
 tasteful appearance. But the white and 
 green had given place to a dark, dirty brown, 
 that to my eyes was particularly unattractive. 
 The bar-room had been extended, and now 
 a polished brass rod or railing, embellished 
 the counter, and sundry ornamental attrac- 
 tions had been given to the shelving behind
 
 114 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 the bar, such as mirrors, gilding, etc. Pict- 
 ures, too, were hung upon the walls, or, more 
 accurately speaking, coarse-colored litho- 
 graphs, the subjects of which, if not really 
 obscene, were flashing, or vulgar. In the 
 sitting-room, next to the bar, I noticed little 
 change of objects, but much in their condi- 
 tion. The carpet, chairs and tables were the 
 same in fact, but far from being the same 
 in appearance. The room had a close, greasy 
 odor, and looked as if it had not been thor* 
 oughly swept and dusted for a week. 
 
 A smart young Irishman was in the bar. 
 and handed me the book in which passen~ 
 gers' names were registered. After I had 
 recorded mine, he directed my trunk to be 
 carried to the room designated as the one I 
 was to occupy. I followed the porter, who 
 conducted me to the chamber which had 
 been mine at previous visits. Here, too, were 
 evidences of change ; but not for the better. 
 Then the room was as sweet and clean as it 
 could be; the sheets and pillow-cases as 
 white as snow, and the furniture shining 
 with polish. Now all was dusty and dingy, 
 the air foul, and the bed-linen scarcely 
 whiter than tow. No curtain made softer 
 the light as it came through the window; 
 nor would the shutters entirely keep out the 
 glare, for several of the slats were broken. 
 A feeling of disgust came over me at the close 
 smell and foul appearance of everything ; so 
 after washing my hands and face, and brush-
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 115 
 
 ing the dust from my clothes, I went down- 
 stairs. The sitting-room was scarcely more 
 attractive than my chamber, so I went out 
 upon the porch and took a chair. Several 
 loungers were here; hearty, strong-looking, 
 but lazy fellows, who, if they had anything 
 to do, liked idling better than working. One 
 of them had leaned his chair back against 
 the wall of the house, and was swinging his 
 legs with a half-circular motion, and hum- 
 ming "Old Folks at Home." Another sat 
 astride of his chair, with his face turned to- 
 ward, and his chin resting upon, the back. 
 He was in too lazy a condition of body and 
 mind for motion or singing. A third had 
 slidden down in his chair until he sat on his 
 back, while his feet were elevated above his 
 head and resting against one of the pillars 
 that supported the porch, while a fourth lay 
 stretched out on a bench, sleeping, his hat 
 over his face to protect him from buzzing 
 and biting flies. 
 
 Though all but the sleeping man eyed me 
 inquisitively, as I took my place among 
 them, not one changed his position. The 
 rolling of eyeballs cost but little exertion, 
 and with that effort they were contented. 
 
 " Hallo 1 who's that?" one of these loungers 
 suddenly exclaimed as a man went swiftly 
 by in a light sulky; and he started up and 
 gazed down the road, seeking to penetrate 
 the cloud of dust which the fleet rider had 
 swept up with hoofs and wheels.
 
 116 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-ROOM. 
 
 " I didn't see." The sleeping man aroused 
 himself, rubbed his eyes, and gazed along 
 the road. 
 
 " Who was it, Matthew ?" The Irish bar- 
 keeper now stood in the door. 
 
 " Willy Hammond," was answered by 
 Matthew. 
 
 " Indeed ! Is that his new three-hundred- 
 dollar horse ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 u My ! but he's a screamer !" 
 
 " Isn't he 1 Most as fast as his young 
 master." 
 
 " Hardly," said one of the men, laughing. 
 " I don't think anything in creation can beat 
 Hammond. He goes it with a perfect rush." 
 
 "Doesn't he! Well, you may say what 
 you please of him, he's as good-hearted a 
 fellow as ever walked; and generous to a 
 fault." 
 
 " His old dad will agree with you in the 
 last remark," said Matthew. 
 
 " No doubt of that, for he has to stand the 
 bil]s/' was answered. 
 
 " Yes, whether he will or no, for I rather 
 think Willy has, somehow or other, got the 
 upper hand of him." 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " It's Hammond and Son, over at the mill 
 and distillery." 
 
 " I know; but what of that?" 
 
 " Willy was made the business man 
 Btensibly in order, as the old man thought,
 
 NIQHT THE FIFTH. 117 
 
 to get him to feel the responsibility of the 
 new position, and thus tame him down." 
 
 "Tame him down! Oh, dear! It will 
 take more than business to do that. The 
 curb was applied too late." 
 
 "As the old gentleman has already dis- 
 covered, I'm thinking, to his sorrow." 
 
 " He never comes here any more ; does he 
 Matthew ?" 
 
 " Who ?" 
 
 "Judge Hammond." 
 
 "Oh, dear, no. He and Slade had all 
 sorts of a quarrel about a year ago, and he's 
 never darkened our doors since." 
 
 " It was something about Willy and " 
 the speaker did not mention any name, but 
 winked knowingly and tossed his head 
 toward the entrance of the house, to indicate 
 some member of Slade's family. 
 
 " I believe so." 
 
 " D'ye think Willy really likes her?" 
 
 Matthew shrugged his shoulders, but made 
 no answer. 
 
 " She's a nice girl," was remarked in an 
 undertone, "and good enough for Ham- 
 mond's son any day; though, if she were 
 my daughter, I'd rather see her in Jericho 
 than fond of his company." 
 
 " He'll have plenty of money to give her. 
 She can live like a queen." 
 
 " For how long ?" 
 
 " Hush !" came from the lips of Matthew. 
 " There she is now."
 
 118 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 I looked up and saw, at a short distance 
 from the house, and approaching, a young 
 lady, in whose sweet, modest face I at once 
 recognized Flora Slade. Five years had de- 
 veloped her into a beautiful woman. In her 
 alone, of all that appertained to Simon 
 Slade, there was no deterioration. Her eyes 
 were as mild and pure as when first I met 
 her at gentle sixteen, and her father said 
 " My daughter" with such a mingling of 
 pride and affection in his tone. She passed 
 near where I was sitting, and entered the 
 house. A closer view showed me some marks 
 of thought and suffering; but they only 
 heightened the attractions of her face. I 
 failed not to observe the air of respect with 
 which all returned her slight nod and smile 
 of recognition. 
 
 " She's a nice girl, and no mistake the 
 flower of this flock," was said, as soon as she 
 passed into the house. 
 
 " Too good for Willy Hammond, in my 
 opinion," said Matthew, " clever and gen- 
 erous as people call him." 
 
 "Just my opinion," was responded. 
 "She's as pure and good, almost, as an 
 angel; and he ? I can tell you what he's 
 not the clear thing. He knows a little too 
 much of the world on its bad side, I 
 mean." 
 
 The appearance of Slade put an end to 
 this conversation. A second observation of 
 his person and countenance did not remove
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 11S 
 
 the first unfavorable impression. His face 
 had grown decidedly bad in expression, as 
 well as gross and sensual. The odor of hia 
 breath, as he took a chair close to where I 
 was sitting, was that of one who drank habit- 
 ually and freely ; and the red, swimming 
 eyes evidenced, too surely, a rapid progress 
 toward the sad condition of a confirmed in- 
 ebriate. There was, too, a certain thickness 
 of speech, that gave another corroborating 
 sign of evil progress. 
 
 " Have you seen anything of Frank this 
 afternoon ?" he inquired of Matthew, after we 
 had passed a few words. 
 
 " Nothing," was the bar-keeper's answer. 
 
 " I saw him with Tom Wilkins as I came 
 over," said one of the men who was sitting 
 on the porch. 
 
 " What was he doing with Tom Wilkins ?" 
 said Slade, in a fretted tone of voice. " He 
 doesn't seem very choice of his company." 
 
 " They were gunning." 
 
 "Gunning!" 
 
 " Yes. They both had fowling-pieces. I 
 wasn't near enough to ask where they were 
 going." 
 
 This information disturbed Slade a good 
 deal. After muttering to himself for a little 
 while, he started up and went into the house. 
 
 " And I could have told him a little more, 
 had I been so inclined," said the individual 
 who mentioned the fact that Frank was with 
 Tom Wilkins.
 
 120 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " What more ?" inquired Matthew. 
 
 " There was a buggy in the case ; and a 
 champagne basket. What the latter con- 
 tained you can easily guess." 
 
 " Whose buggy ?" 
 
 " I don't know anything about the buggy ; 
 but if 'Lightfoot' doesn't sink in value a 
 hundred dollars or so before sundown, call 
 me a false prophet." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Matthew, incredulously 
 " Frank wouldn't do an outrageous thing 
 like that. Lightfoot won't be in a condition 
 to drive for a month to come." 
 
 "I don't care. She's out now; and tht 
 way she was putting it down when I sa^ 
 her would have made a locomotive lool 
 cloudy." 
 
 " Where did he get her ?" was inquired, 
 
 " She's been in the six- acre field, over by 
 Mason's Bridge, for the last week or so,'" 
 Matthew answered. " Well ; all I have to 
 say," he added, " is that Frank ought to be 
 slung up and well horsewhipped. I never 
 saw such a young rascal. He cares for no 
 good, and fears no evil. He's the worst boy 
 I ever saw." 
 
 " It would hardly do for you to call him a 
 boy to his face," said one of the men, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " I don't have much to say to him in any 
 way," replied Matthew, " for I know very 
 well, that if we ever do get into a quarrel, 
 there'll be a hard time of it. The same house
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 121 
 
 will not hold us afterward that's certain. 
 So I steer clear of the young reprobate." 
 
 " I wonder his father don't put him to 
 some business," was remarked. "The idle 
 life he now leads will be his ruin." 
 
 " He was behind the bar for a year or two." 
 " Yes ; and was smart at mixing a glass 
 but" 
 
 " Was himself becoming too good a cus- 
 tomer?" 
 
 " Precisely. He got drunk as a fool before 
 reaching his fifteenth year." 
 
 "Good gracious!" I exclaimed, involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 " It's true, sir," said the last speaker, turn- 
 ing to me. " I never saw anything like it. 
 And this wasn't all. Bar-room talk, as you 
 maybe know, isn't the most refined and vir- 
 tuous in the world. I wouldn't like my son 
 to hear much of it. Frank was always an 
 eager listener to everything that was said, 
 and in a very short time became an adept in 
 slang and profanity. Fm no saint myself; 
 but it's often made my blood run cold to 
 hear him swear." 
 
 "I pity his mother," said I, for my 
 thought turned naturally to Mrs. Slade. 
 
 "You may well do that,'' was answered. 
 " I doubt if Cedarville holds a sadder heart 
 It was a dark day for her, let me tell you, 
 when Simon Slade sold his mill and built 
 his tavern. She was opposed to it in the be- 
 ginning."
 
 122 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " I have inferred as much." 
 
 " I know it," said the man. " My wife has 
 been intimate with her for years. Indeed, 
 they have always been like sisters. I re- 
 member very well her coming to our house, 
 about the time the mill was sold, and crying 
 about it as if her heart would break. She 
 saw nothing but trouble and sorrow ahead. 
 Tavern-keeping she had always regarded as 
 a low business; and the change from a re- 
 spectable miller to a lazy tavern-keeper, as 
 she expressed it, was presented to her mind 
 as something disgraceful. I remember, very 
 well, trying to argue the point with her as- 
 suming that it was quite as respectable to 
 keep tavern as to do anything else ; but I 
 might as well have talked to the wind. She 
 was always a pleasant, hopeful, cheerful 
 woman before that time ; but, really, I don't 
 think I've seen a true smile on her face 
 Bince." 
 
 " That was a great deal for a man to lose," 
 said I. 
 
 " What ?" he inquired, not clearly under- 
 standing me. 
 
 " The cheerful face of his wife." 
 
 " The face was but an index of her heart," 
 said he. 
 
 " So much the worse." 
 
 " True enough for that. Yes, it was a 
 great deal to lose." 
 
 " What has he gained that will make up 
 for this?"
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 123 
 
 The man shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " What has he gained ?" I repeated. " Can 
 you figure it up?" 
 
 " He's a richer man, for one thing." 
 
 "Happier?" 
 
 There was another shrug of the shoulders, 
 M I wouldn't like to say that."' 
 
 "How much richer?" 
 
 " Oh, a great deal. Somebody was saying, 
 only yesterday, that he couldn't be worth 
 less than thirty thousand dollars.'' 
 
 " Indeed? So much." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How has he managed to accumulate so 
 rapidly?" 
 
 " His bar has a large run of custom. And, 
 you know, that pays wonderfully." 
 
 " He must have sold a great deal of liquor 
 in six years." 
 
 " And he has. I don't think I'm wrong 
 in saying that in the six years which have 
 gone by since the 'Sickle and Sheaf was 
 opened more liquor has been drank than in 
 the previous twenty years.' ' 
 
 " Say forty,'' remarked a man who had 
 been a listener to what we said. 
 
 " Let it be forty then," was the according 
 answer. 
 
 "How comes this?" I inquired. "You 
 had a tavern here before the Sickle and 
 Sheaf was opened." 
 
 " I know we had, and several places be- 
 sides where liquor was sold. But, everybody
 
 124 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 far and near knew Simon Slade the miller, 
 and everybody liked him. He was a gooa 
 miller, and a cheerful, social, chatty sort of 
 a man, putting everybody in a good humor 
 who came near him. So it became the talk 
 everywhere, when he built this house, which 
 he fitted up nicer than anything that had 
 been seen in these parts. Judge Hammond, 
 Judge Lyman, Lawyer Wilson, and all the 
 big-bugs of the place at once patronized the 
 new tavern ; and, of course, everybody else 
 did the same. So, you can easily see how 
 he got such a run." 
 
 " It was thought in the beginning," said I, 
 " that the new tavern was going to do won- 
 ders for Cedarville.' 1 
 
 " Yes," answered the man laughing, " and 
 so it has." 
 
 "In what respect?" 
 
 " Oh, in many. It has made some men 
 richer, and some poorer." 
 
 " Who has it made poorer?" 
 
 " Dozens of people. You may always take 
 it for granted, when you see a tavern-keeper, 
 who has a good run at his bar, getting rich, 
 that a great many people are getting poor." 
 
 "How so?" I wished to hear in what 
 way the man, who was himself, as was plain 
 to see, a good customer at somebody's bar, 
 reasoned on the subject. 
 
 " He does not add to the general wealth. 
 He produces nothing. He takes money from 
 his customers, but gives them no article of
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 125 
 
 value in return nothing that can be called 
 property, personal or real. He is just so 
 much richer and they just so much poorer 
 for the exchange. Is it not so?" 
 
 I readily assented to the position as true, 
 and then said 
 
 " Who, in particular, is poorer?" 
 
 " Judge Hammond, for one." 
 
 " Indeed ! I thought the advance in his 
 property, in consequence of the building of 
 this tavern, was so great, that he was reap- 
 ing a rich pecuniary harvest." 
 
 '' There was a slight advance in property 
 along the street after the Sickle and Sheaf 
 was opened, and Judge Hammond was ben- 
 efited thereby. Interested parties made a 
 good deal of noise about it; but it didn't 
 amount to much, I believe." 
 
 "What has caused the judge to grow 
 poorer?" 
 
 " The opening of this tavern, as I just 
 said." 
 
 " In what way did it affect him?" 
 
 " He was among Slade's warmest support- 
 ers, as soon as he felt the advance in the 
 price of building lots, called him one of the 
 most enterprising men in Cedarville a real 
 benefactor to the place and all that stuff. 
 To set a good example of patronage, he came 
 over every day and took his glass of brandy, 
 and encouraged everybody else that he could 
 influence to do the same. Among those who 
 followed his example was his son Willy.
 
 126 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 There was not, let me tell you, in all the 
 country for twenty miles around, a finer 
 young man than Willy, nor one of so much 
 promise, when this man-trap" he let his 
 voice fall, and glanced around, as he thus 
 designated Blade's tavern " was opened ; 
 and now, there is not one dashing more reck- 
 lessly along the road to ruin. When too late, 
 his father saw that his son was corrupted, and 
 that the company he kept was of a danger- 
 ous character. Two reasons led him to pur- 
 chase Blade's old mill, and turn it into a fac- 
 tory and a distillery. Of course, he had to 
 make a heavy outlay for additional build- 
 ings, machinery, and distilling apparatus. 
 The reasons influencing him were the pros- 
 pect of realizing a large amount of money, 
 especially in distilling, and the hope of sav- 
 ing Willy, by getting him closely engaged 
 and interested in business. To accomplish, 
 more certainly, the latter end, he unwisely 
 transferred to his, son, as his own capital, 
 twenty thousand dollars, and then formed 
 with him a regular copartnership giving 
 Willy an active business control. 
 
 "But the experiment, sir," added the man, 
 emphaticall}'-, " has proved a failure. I heard 
 yesterday that both mill and distillery were 
 to be shut up, and offered for sale." 
 
 " They did not prove as money-making as 
 Was anticipated ?" 
 
 " No, not under Willy Hammond's man- 
 agement. He had made too many bad ao-
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 127 
 
 quaintances men who clung to him because 
 he had plenty of money at his command, 
 and spent it as freely as water. One half of 
 his time he was away from the mill, and 
 while there, didn't half attend to business. 
 I've heard it said and I don't much doubt 
 its truth that he's squandered his twenty 
 thousand dollars, and a great deal more be- 
 sides." 
 
 u How is that possible?" 
 
 " Well, people talk, and not always at ran- 
 dom. There's been a man staying here, most 
 of his time, for the last four or five years, 
 named Green. He does not do anything, and 
 don't seem to have any friends in the nigh- 
 borhood. Nobody knows where he came 
 from, and he is not at all communicative on 
 that head himself. Well, this man became 
 acquainted with young Hammond after 
 Willy got to visiting the bar here, and at- 
 tached himself to him at once. They have, 
 to all appearance, been fast friends ever 
 since ; riding about, or going off on gunning 
 or fishing excurr'ons almost every day, and 
 secluding themselves somewhere nearly 
 every evening. That man, Green, sir, it is 
 whispered, is a gambler; and I believe it. 
 Granted, and there is no longer a mystery as 
 to what Willy does with his own and his 
 father's money." 
 
 I readily assented to this view of the case. 
 
 ''And so assuming that Green is a gam- 
 bler," said I, " he has grown richer, in con-
 
 128 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 sequence of the opening of a new and more 
 attractive tavern in Cedarville." 
 
 " Yes, and Cedarville is so much the poorer 
 for all his gains ; for I've never heard of his 
 buying a foot of ground, or in any way en- 
 couraging productive industry. He's only 
 a blood-sucker." 
 
 " It is worse than the mere abstraction of 
 money," I remarked ; " he corrupts his vic- 
 tims, at the same time that he robs them." 
 
 "True." 
 
 "Willy Hammond may not be his only 
 victim,"*! suggested. 
 
 "Nor is he, in my opinion. I've been 
 coming to this bar, nightly, for a good many 
 years a sorry confession for a man to make, 
 I must own," he added, with a slight tinge 
 of shame; " but so it is. Well, as I was say- 
 ing, I've been coming to this bar, nightly, for 
 a good many years, and I generally see all 
 that is going on around me. Among the 
 regular visitors are at least half a dozen 
 young men, belonging to our best families 
 who have been raised with care, and well 
 educated. That their presence here is un- 
 known to their friends, I am quite certain 
 or, at least, unknown and unsuspected by 
 some of them. They do not drink a great 
 deal yet; but all try a glass or two. Toward 
 nine o'clock, often at an earlier hour, you 
 will see one and another of them go quietly 
 out of the bar, through the sitting-room, pre- 
 ceded, or soon followed, by Green and Slade.
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 129 
 
 At any hour of the night, up to one or two, 
 and sometimes three o'clock, you can see 
 light streaming through the rent in a cur- 
 tain drawn before a particular window, 
 which I know to be in the room of Harvey 
 Green. These are facts, sir, and you can 
 draw your own conclusion. I think it a 
 very serious matter." 
 
 " Why doesSladego out with these young 
 men ?" I inquired. u Do you think he gam- 
 bles, also?" 
 
 " If he isn't a kind of a stool-pigeon for 
 Harvey Green, then I'm mistaken again." 
 
 " Hardly. He cannot, already, have be- 
 come so utterly unprincipled." 
 
 " It's a bad school, sir, this tavern-keep- 
 ing," said the man. 
 
 I readily grant you that." 
 
 "And it's nearly seven years since he 
 commenced to take lessons. A great deal 
 may be learned, sir, of good or evil, in seven 
 years, especially if any interest be taken in 
 the studies." 
 
 "True." 
 
 "And it's true in this case, you may de- 
 pend upon it. Simon Slade is not the man 
 he was seven years ago. Anybody with 
 half an eye can see that. He's grown sel- 
 fish, grasping, unscrupulous and passionate. 
 There could hardly be a greater difference 
 between men than exists between Simon 
 Slade the tavern-keeper, and Simon Slade 
 the miller." 
 
 E
 
 130 TEN NIGHTS IF A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 " And intemperate, also ?" I suggested. 
 
 " He's beginning to take a little too much," 
 was answered. 
 
 " In that case, he'll scarcely be as well off 
 five years hence as he is now." 
 
 " He's at the top of the wheel, some of us 
 think." 
 
 " What has led to this opinion ?" 
 
 " He's beginning to neglect his house, for 
 one thing." 
 
 " A bad sign." 
 
 " And there is another sign. Heretofore, 
 he has always been on hand, with the cash, 
 when desirable property went off, under 
 forced sale, at a bargain. In the last three 
 or four months several great sacrifices have 
 been made, but Simon Slade showed no in- 
 clination to buy. Put this fact against an- 
 other, week before last he sold a house and 
 lot in the town for five hundred dollars less 
 than he paid for them a year ago and for 
 just that sum less than their true value." 
 
 " How came that ?" I inquired. 
 
 "Ah! there's the question I He wanted 
 money, though for what purpose he has not 
 intimated to any one, as far as I can learn." 
 
 " What do you think of it ?" 
 
 " Just this. He and Green have been 
 hunting together in times past ; but the pro- 
 fessed gambler's instincts are too strong to 
 let him spare even his friend in evil. They 
 have commenced playing one against th 
 other."
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 131 
 
 " Ah ! you think so ?" 
 
 " I do ; and if I conjecture rightly, Simon 
 Slade will be a poorer man, in a year from 
 this time, than he is now." 
 
 Here our conversation was interrupted. 
 Some one asked my talkative friend to go 
 and take a drink, and he, nothing loath, left 
 me without ceremony. 
 
 Very differently served was the supper I 
 partook of on that evening, from the one 
 set before me on the occasion of my first 
 visit to the " Sickle and Sheaf." The table- 
 cloth was not merely soiled, but offensively 
 dirty ; the plates, cups and saucers, dingy 
 and sticky; the knives and forks unpol- 
 ished ; and the food of a character to satisfy 
 the appetite with a very few mouthfuls. 
 Two greasy-looking waiteresses tended on the 
 table, at which neither landlord nor land- 
 lady presided. I was really hungry when 
 the supper-bell rang ; but the craving of my 
 stomach soon ceased in the atmosphere of 
 the dining-room, and I was the first to leave 
 the table. 
 
 Soon after the lamps were lighted, com- 
 pany began to assemble in the spacious 
 bar-room, where were comfortable seats, 
 with tables, newspapers, backgammon- 
 boards, dominos, etc. The first act of 
 nearly every one who came in was to call 
 for a glass of liquor; and sometimes the 
 same individual drank two or three times in 
 the course of half an hour, on the invitation
 
 132 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 of new-comers who were conviviaily In- 
 clined. 
 
 Most of those who came in were strangers 
 to me. I was looking from face to face to 
 see if any of the old company were present, 
 when one countenance struck me as famil- 
 iar. I was studying it, in order, if possible, 
 to identify the person, when some one ad- 
 dressed him as " Judge." 
 
 Changed as the face was, I no-tf recognized 
 it as that of Judge Lyman. Five years had 
 marred that face terribly. It seemed twice 
 the former size ; and all its bright expression 
 was gone. The thickened and protruding 
 eyelids half-closed the leaden eyes, and the 
 swollen lips and cheeks gave to his counte- 
 nance a look of all-predominating sensual- 
 ity. True manliness had bowed itself in 
 debasing submission to the bestial. He 
 talked loudly, and with a pompous dogma- 
 tism mainly on political subjects but 
 talked only from memory ; for any one 
 could see that thought came into but feeble 
 activity. And yet, derationalized, so to 
 speak, as he was, through drink, he had 
 been chosen a representative in Congress, at 
 the previous election, on the anti-temper- 
 ance ticket, and by a very handsome major- 
 ity. He was the rum candidate ; and the 
 rum interest, aided by the easily swayed 
 " indifferents," swept aside the claims of 
 law, order, temperance, and good morals; 
 and the district from which he was chosen
 
 NIGHT TEE FIFTH. 133 
 
 as a National Legislator sent him up to the 
 National Councils, and said in the act 
 " Look upon him we have chosen as out 
 representative, and see in him a type of our 
 principles, our quality, and our condition as 
 a community." 
 
 Judge Lyman, around whom a little circle 
 soon gathered, was very severe on the tem- 
 perance party, which for two years had op- 
 posed his election, and which at the last 
 struggle showed itself to be a rapidly grow< 
 ing organization. During the canvass a 
 paper was published by this party, in which 
 his personal habits, character, and moral 
 principles were discussed in the freest man- 
 ner, and certainly not in a way to elevate 
 him in the estimation of men whose opinion 
 was of any value. 
 
 It was not much to be wondered at that 
 he assumed to think temperance issues 
 at the polls were false issues, and that when 
 temperance men sought to tamper with elec- 
 tions the liberties of the people were in dan- 
 ger; nor that he pronounced the whole body 
 of temperance men as selfish schemers and 
 canting hypocrites. "The next thing we 
 will have," he exclaimed, warming with his 
 theme, and speaking so loud that his voice 
 eounded throughout the room and arrested 
 every one's attention, " will be laws to fine 
 any man who takes a chew of tobacco or 
 lights a cigar. Touch the liberties of the 
 people in the smallest particular and all
 
 134 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 guarantees are gone. The Stamp Act, against 
 which our noble forefathers rebelled, was a 
 light measure of oppression to that contem- 
 plated by these worse than fanatics." 
 
 "You are right there, judge; right for 
 once in your life, if you (hie) were never 
 right before !" exclaimed a battered-looking 
 specimen of humanity, who stood near the 
 speaker, slapping Judge Lyman on the 
 shoulder familiarly as he spoke. " There's 
 no telling what they will do. There's (hie) 
 my old uncle Josh Wilson, who's been keeper 
 of the poor-house these ten years. Well, 
 they're going to turn him out, if ever they 
 get the upper hand in Bolton county." 
 
 " If? That word involves a great deal, 
 Harry," said Lyman. " We mus'n't let 
 them get the upper hand. Every man has a 
 duty to perform to his country in this mat- 
 ter, and every one must do his duty. But 
 what have they got against your Uncle 
 Joshua ? What has he been doing to offend 
 this righteous party ?" 
 
 " They've nothing against him (hie), I be- 
 lieve. Only, they say, they're not going to 
 have a poor-house in the county at all." 
 
 " What ! Going to turn the poor wretc'hes 
 out to starve ?" said one. 
 
 " Oh, no ! (hie)," and the fellow grinned, 
 half-shrewdly and half-maliciously, as he 
 answered "no, not that. But when they 
 carry the day, there'll be no need of poor- 
 houses. At least that's their talk and I
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 135 
 
 guess maybe there's something in it, for I 
 never knew a man to go to the poor-house 
 who hadn't (hie) rum to blame for his pov- 
 erty. But, you see, I'm interested in this 
 matter. I go for keeping up the poor-house 
 (hie) ; for I guess I'm travelling that road, 
 and I shouldn't like to get to the last mile- 
 stone (hie) and find no snug quarters no 
 Uncle Josh. You're safe for one vote, any- 
 how, old chap, on next election day 1" And 
 the man's broad hand slapped the member's 
 shoulder again. " Huzza for the rummies ! 
 That's (hie) the ticket! Harry Grimes 
 never deserts his friends. True as steel." 
 
 "You're a trump !" returned Judge Ly- 
 nn an, with low familiarity. " Never fear 
 about the poor-house and Uncle Josh. 
 They're all safe." 
 
 " But look here, judge," resumed the man. 
 " It isn't only the poor-house ; the jail is to 
 go next." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Yes, that's their talk; and I guess they 
 ain't far out of the way neither. What 
 takes men to jail? You can tell us some- 
 thing about that, judge, for you've jugged a 
 good many in your time. Didn't pretty 
 much all of 'em drink rum (hie)?" 
 
 But the judge answered nothing. 
 
 "Silence (hie) gives consent," resumed 
 Grimes. "And they say more; once give 
 'em the upper hand and they're confident 
 of beating us and the court-house will be
 
 136 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 to let. As for judges and lawyers, they'll 
 starve or go into some better business. So 
 you see (hie), judge, your liberties are in 
 danger. But fight hard, old fellow, and if 
 you must die (hie) die game !" 
 
 How well Judge Lyman relished this 
 mode of presenting the case was not very 
 apparent; he was too good a politician and 
 office-seeker to show any feeling on the sub- 
 ject, and thus endanger a vote. Harry 
 Grimes's vote counted one, and a single vote 
 sometimes gained or lost an election. 
 
 " One of their gags," he said, laughing. 
 " But I'm too old a stager not to see the 
 flimsiness of such pretensions. Poverty and 
 crime have their origin in the corrupt heart, 
 and their foundations are laid long and long 
 before the first step is taken on the road to 
 inebriety. It is easy to promise results, for 
 only the few look at causes and trace them 
 to their effects." 
 
 " Rum and ruin (hie). Are they not cause 
 and effect?" asked Grimes. 
 
 "Sometimes they are," was the half- 
 extorted answer. 
 
 " Oh, Green ! is that you ?" exclaimed the 
 judge, as Harvey Green came in with a soft, 
 cat-like step. He was evidently glad of a 
 chance to get rid of his familiar friend and 
 elector. 
 
 I turned my eyes upon the man, and read 
 his face closely. It was unchanged. The 
 same cold, sinister eye ; the same chiselled
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 137 
 
 mouth, so firm now, and now yielding so 
 elastically; the same smile "from the teeth 
 outward the same lines that revealed his 
 heart's deep, dark selfishness. If he had 
 indulged in drink during the five interven- 
 ing years, it had not corrupted his blood, 
 nor added thereto a single degree of heat. 
 
 "Have you seen anything of Hammond 
 this evening?" asked Judge Lyman. 
 
 " I saw him an hour or two ago," answered 
 Green. 
 
 " How does he like his new horse ?" 
 
 " He's delighted with him." 
 
 "What was the price?" 
 
 " Three hundred dollars." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 The judge had already arisen, and he and 
 Green were now walking side by side across 
 the bar-room floor. 
 
 "I want to speak a word with you," I 
 heard Lyman say. 
 
 And then the two went out together. I 
 saw no more of them during the evening. 
 
 Not long afterward Willy Hammond came 
 in. Ah ! there was a sad change here ; a 
 change that in no way belied the words of 
 Matthew the bar-keeper. He went up to 
 the bar, and I heard him ask for Judge Ly- 
 man. The answer was in so low a voice 
 that it did not reach my ear. 
 
 With a quick, nervous motion, Hammond 
 threw his hand toward a row of decanters 
 on the shelf behind the bar-keeper, who im-
 
 138 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 mediately set one of them containing brandy 
 before him. From this he poured a tumbler 
 half full, and drank it off at a single draught, 
 unmixed with water. 
 
 He then asked some further question, 
 which I could not hear, manifesting, as it 
 .appeared, considerable excitement of mind. 
 In answering him, Matthew glanced his 
 *eyes upward, as if indicating some room in 
 the house. The young man then retired, 
 hurriedly, through the sitting-room. 
 
 " What's the matter with Willy Hammond 
 ^to-night?" asked some one of the bar-keeper. 
 " Who's he after in such a hurry?'' 
 
 "He wants to see Judge Lyman," replied 
 Matthew. 
 
 " Oh !" 
 
 "I guess they're after no good" was re- 
 marked. 
 
 " Not much, I'm afraid." 
 
 Two young men, well dressed, and with 
 faces marked by intelligence, came in at the 
 moment, drank at the bar, chatted a little 
 while familiarly with the bar-keeper, and 
 then quietly disappeared through the door 
 leading into the sitting-room. I met the 
 eyes of the man with whom I had talked 
 during the afternoon, and his knowing wink 
 brought to mind his suggestion that in one 
 of the upper rooms gambling went on 
 nightly, and that some of the most promis- 
 ing young men of the town had been drawn, 
 \through the bar attraction, into this vortex
 
 NIGHT THE FIFTH. 139 
 
 of ruin. I felt a shudder creeping along my 
 nerves. 
 
 The conversation that now went on among 
 the company was of such an obscene and 
 profane character that, in disgust, I went 
 out. The night was clear, the air soft, and 
 the moon shining down brightly. I walked 
 for some time in the porch, musing on what 
 I had seen and heard, while a constant 
 stream of visitors came pouring into the bar- 
 room. Only a few of these remained. The 
 larger portion went in quickly, took their 
 glass, and then left, as if to avoid observation 
 as much as possible. 
 
 Soon after I commenced walking in the 
 porch I noticed an elderly lady go slowly 
 by, who, in passing, slightly paused, and evi- 
 dently tried to look through the bar-room 
 door. The pause was but for an instant. In 
 less than ten minutes she came back, again 
 stopped this time longer and again moved 
 off slowly, until she passed out of sight. I 
 was yet thinking about her, when, on lifting 
 my eyes from the ground, she was advancing 
 along the road, but a few rods distant. I 
 almost started at seeing her, for there no 
 longer remained a doubt on my mind that 
 she was some trembling, heart-sick mother 
 in search of an erring son whose feet were 
 in dangerous paths. Seeing me, she kept 
 on, though lingeringly. She went but a short 
 distance before returning ; and this time she 
 moved in closer to the house, and reached a
 
 L40 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 position that enabled her eyes to range 
 through a large portion of the bar-room. A 
 nearer inspection appeared to satisfy her. 
 She retired with quicker steps, and did not 
 again return during the evening. 
 
 Ah ! what a commentary upon the uses 
 of an attractive tavern was here ! My heart 
 ached as I thought of all that unknown 
 mother had suffered, and was doomed to 
 suffer. I could not shut out the image of 
 her drooping form as I lay upon my pillow 
 that night; she even haunted me in my 
 dreams.
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 
 
 More Consequences. 
 
 THE landlord did not make his appear- 
 ance on the next morning until nearly ten 
 o'clock, and then he looked like a man who 
 had been on a debauch. It was eleven be- 
 fore Harvey Green came down. Nothing 
 about him indicated the smallest deviation 
 from the most orderly habit. Clean shaved, 
 with fresh linen, and a face every line of 
 which was smoothed into calmness, he 
 looked as if he had slept soundly on a quiet 
 conscience, and now hailed the new day 
 with a tranquil spirit. 
 
 The first act of Slade was to go behind the 
 bar and take a stiff glass of brandy and 
 water ; the first act of Green, to order beef- 
 steak and coffee for his breakfast. I noticed 
 the meeting between the two men, on the 
 appearance of Green. There was a slight 
 reserve on the part of Green, and an uneasy 
 embarrassment on the part of Slade. Not 
 even the ghost of a smile was visible in 
 either countenance. They spoke a few words 
 together, and then separated as if from a 
 sphere of mutual repulsion. I did not ob- 
 .serve them again in company during the 
 lay. 
 
 (141)
 
 142 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 "There's trouble over at the mill," was 
 remarked by a gentleman with whom I had 
 some business transactions in the afternoon. 
 He spoke to a person who sat in his office, 
 
 " Ah ! what's the matter ?" said the other. 
 
 " All the hands were discharged at noon, 
 and the mill ehut down." 
 
 " How comes that ?" 
 
 ''They've bten losing money from the 
 Start." 
 
 " Rather bad practice, I should say." 
 
 " It involves some bad practices, no 
 doubt." 
 
 "On Willy's part?" 
 
 "Yes. He is reported to have squan- 
 dered the means placed in his hands, after 
 a shameless fashion." 
 
 " Is the loss heavy ?" 
 
 " So it is said." 
 
 " How much ?" 
 
 "Reaching to thirty 01 forty thousand 
 dollars. But this is rumor,. *nd, of course, 
 an exaggeration." 
 
 " Of course. No such loss as that could 
 have been made. But what was done with the 
 money? How could Willy have spent it? 
 He dashes about a great deal, buys fast 
 horses, drinks rather freely, and all that; 
 but thirty or forty thousand dollars couldn't 
 escape in this way." 
 
 At the moment a swift trotting horse, 
 bearing a light sulky and a man, went by. 
 
 "There goes young Hammond's three
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 143 
 
 hundred dollar animal," said the last 
 speaker. 
 
 " It was Willy Hammond's yesterday. 
 But there has been a change of ownership 
 since then, I happen to know." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 "Yes. The man Green, who has been 
 loafing about Cedarville for the last few 
 years after no good, I can well believe 
 came into possession to-day." 
 
 " Ah ? Willy must be very fickle-minded. 
 Does the possession of a coveted object so 
 soon bring satiety ?" 
 
 "There is something not clearly under- 
 stood about the transaction. I saw Mr. Ham- 
 mond during the forenoon, and he looked 
 terribly distressed." 
 
 " The embarrassed condition of things at 
 the mill readily accounts for this." 
 
 " True ; but I think there are causes of 
 trouble beyond the mere embarrassments." 
 
 " The dissolute, spendthrift habits of his 
 son," was suggested. " These are sufficient 
 to weigh down the father's spirits, 1 to bow 
 him to the very dust." 
 
 "To speak out plainly," said the other, 
 " I am afraid that the young man adds an- 
 other vice that of drinking and idleness." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Gaming." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " There is little doubt of it in my mind. 
 And it is further my opinion, that his fine
 
 144 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-ROOM. 
 
 horse, for which he paid three hundred dol- 
 lars only a few days ago, has passed into the 
 hands of this man Green in payment of a 
 debt contracted at the gaming table." 
 
 " You shock me. Surely, there can be no 
 grounds for such a belief." 
 
 " I have, I am sorry to say, the gravest 
 reasons for what I allege. That Green is a 
 professional gambler, who was attracted here 
 by the excellent company that assembled at 
 the ' Sickle and Sheaf in the beginning of 
 the lazy miller's pauper-making experi- 
 ment, I do not in the least question. Grant 
 this, and take into account the fact that 
 young Hammond has been much in his 
 company, and you have sufficient cause for 
 the most disastrous effects." 
 
 " If this be really so," observed the gen- 
 tleman, over whose face a shadow of con- 
 cern darkened, " then Willy Hammond may 
 not be his only victim." 
 
 " And is not, you may rest assured. If 
 rumor be true, other of our promising young 
 men are being drawn into the whirling cir- 
 cles that narrow toward a vortex of ruin." 
 
 In corroboration of this, I mentioned the 
 conversation I had held with one of the fre- 
 quenters of Slade's bar-room on this very 
 subject; and also what I had myself ob- 
 served on the previous evening. 
 
 The man, who had until now been sitting 
 quietly in a chair, started up, exclaiming as 
 he did so
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 145 
 
 " Merciful heavens ! I never dreamed of 
 this ! Whose sons are safe ?" 
 
 " No man's," was the answer of the gen- 
 tleman in whose office we were sitting " no 
 man's while there are such open doors to 
 ruin as you may find at the ' Sickle and 
 Sheaf.' Did not you vote the anti-temper- 
 ance ticket at the last election?" 
 
 "I dM," was the answer; "and from 
 principle." 
 
 " On what were your principles based?" 
 was inquired. 
 
 " On the broad foundations of civil lib- 
 erty." 
 
 " The liberty to do good or evil, just as 
 the individual may choose?" 
 
 " I would not like to say that. There are 
 certain evils against which there can be no 
 legislation that would not do harm. No 
 civil power in this country has the right to 
 say what a citizen shall eat or drink." 
 
 " But may not the people, in any commu- 
 nity, pass laws, through their delegated law- 
 makers, restraining evil-minded persons 
 from injuring the common good ?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly certainly." 
 
 " And are you prepared to affirm that a 
 drinking-shop, where young men are cor- 
 rupted ay, destroyed, body and soul does 
 .lot work an injury to the common good?" 
 
 " Ah I but there must be houses of public 
 entertainment." 
 
 " No one denies this. But can that be a
 
 146 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 really Christian community which provide* 
 for the moral debasement of strangers, at 
 the same time that it entertains them ? Is 
 it necessary that, in giving rest and enter- 
 tainment to the traveller, we also lead him 
 into temptation ?" 
 
 "Yes but but it is going too far to 
 legislate on what we are to eat and drink. 
 It is opening too wide a door for fanatical 
 oppression. We must inculcate temperance 
 as a right principle. We must teach our 
 children the evils of intemperance, and send 
 them out into the world as practical teachers 
 of order, virtue and sobriety. If we do this 
 the reform becomes radical, and in a few 
 years there will be no bar-rooms, for none 
 will crave the fiery poison." 
 
 " Of little value, my friend, will be, in far 
 too many cases, your precepts, if temptation 
 invites our sons at almost every step of their 
 way through life. Thousands have fallen, 
 and thousands are now tottering, soon to 
 fail. Your sons are not safe, nor are mine. 
 We cannot tell the day nor the hour when 
 they may weakly yield to the solicitation of 
 some companion, and enter the wide-open 
 door of ruin. And are we wise and good 
 citizens to commission men to do the evil 
 work of enticement? To encourage them to 
 get gain in corrupting and destroying our 
 children ? To hesitate over some vague ideal 
 of human liberty when the sword is among 
 us, slaying our best and dearest ? Sir ! while
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 147 
 
 you hold back from the work of staying the 
 flood that is desolating our fairest homes, 
 the black waters are approaching your own 
 doors." 
 
 There was a startling emphasis in the 
 tones with which this last sentence was ut- 
 tered, and I did not wonder at the look of 
 anxious alarm that it called to the face of 
 him whose fears it was meant to excite. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir?" was inquired. 
 
 "Simply, that your sons are in equal dan- 
 ger with others." 
 
 "And is that all?" 
 
 " They have been seen of late in the bar- 
 room of the ' Sickle and Sheaf.' " 
 
 "Who says so?" 
 
 " Twice within a week I have seen them 
 going in there," was answered. 
 
 " Good heavens ! No !" 
 
 "It is true, my friend. But who is safe? If 
 we dig pits, and conceal them from view, what 
 marvel if our own children fall therein ?" 
 
 " My sons going to a tavern !" The man 
 seemed utterly confounded. "How can I 
 believe it? You must be in error, sir." 
 
 " No. What I tell you is the simple truth. 
 And if they go there " 
 
 The man paused not to hear the conclu- 
 sion of the sentence, but went hastily from 
 the office. 
 
 "We are beginning to reap as we have 
 sown," remarked the gentleman, turning to 
 me as his agitated friend left the office. "As
 
 148 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 I told them in the commencement it would 
 be, so it is happening. The want of a good 
 tavern in Cedarville was over and over again 
 alleged as one of the chief causes of our want 
 of thrift, andwhenSlade opened the 'Sickle 
 and Sheaf,' the man was almost glorified. 
 The gentleman who has just left us failed 
 not in laudation of the enterprising landlord, 
 the more particularly, as the building of the 
 new tavern advanced the price of ground on 
 the street, and made him a few hundred dol- 
 lars richer. Really, for a time, one might 
 have thought, from the way people went on, 
 that Simon Slade was going to make every 
 man's fortune in Cedarville. But all that 
 has been gained by a small advance in prop- 
 erty is as a grain of sand to a mountain 
 compared with the fearful demoralization 
 that has followed." 
 
 I readily assented to this, for I had myself 
 seen enough to justify the conclusion. 
 
 As I sat in the bar-room of the " Sickle 
 and Sheaf" that evening, I noticed, soon 
 after the lamps were lighted, the gentleman 
 referred to in the above conversation, whose 
 sons were represented as visitors to the bar, 
 come in quietly and look anxiously about 
 the room. He spoke to no one, and after 
 satisfying himself that those he sought were 
 not there, went out. 
 
 " What sent him here, I wonder ?" mut- 
 tered Slade, speaking partly to himself and 
 partly aside to Matthew, the bar-keeper.
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH, 149 
 
 *' After the boys, I suppose," was answered. 
 
 " I guess the boys are old enough to take 
 care of themselves"." 
 
 " They ought to be," returned Matthew. 
 
 " And are," said Slade. " Have they been 
 here this evening?" 
 
 " No, not yet." 
 
 While they yet talked together, two young 
 men whom I had seen on the night before, 
 and noticed particularly as showing signs of 
 intelligence and respectability beyond the 
 ordinary visitors at a bar-room, came in. 
 
 " John," I heard Slade say, in a low, con- 
 fidential voice to one of them, " your old man 
 was here just now." 
 
 " No !" The young man looked startled 
 almost confounded. 
 
 " It's a fact. So you'd better keep shady." 
 
 "What did he want?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " What did he say ?" 
 
 "Nothing. He just came in, looked 
 around, and then went out." 
 
 " His face was dark as a thunder-cloud," 
 remarked Matthew. 
 
 " Is No. 4 vacant?" inquired one of the 
 young men. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Send us up a bottle of wine and some 
 cigars. And when Bill Harding and Harry 
 Lee come in, tell them where they can find 
 us." 
 
 "All right," said Matthew. "And now
 
 150 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 take a friend's advice and make yourselves 
 scarce." 
 
 The young men left the room hastily. 
 Scarcely had they departed ere I saw the 
 same gentleman come in, whose anxious face 
 had, a little while before, thrown its shadow 
 over the apartment. He was the father in 
 search of his sons. Again he glanced 
 around, nervously, and this time appeared to 
 be disappointed. As he entered, Slade went 
 out. 
 
 " Have John and Wilson been here this 
 evening?" he asked, coming up to the bar 
 and addressing Matthew. 
 
 " They are not here," replied Matthew, 
 evasively. 
 
 " But haven't they been here?" 
 
 " They may have been here ; I only came 
 in from my supper a little while ago." 
 
 " I thought I saw them entering only a 
 moment or two ago." 
 
 " They're not here, sir." Matthew shook 
 his head and spoke firmly. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Slade?" 
 
 " In the house, somewhere." 
 
 " I wish you would ask him to step here " 
 
 Matthew went out, but in a little while 
 came back with word that the landlord was 
 not to be found. 
 
 "You are sure the boys are not here?" 
 said the man, with a doubting, dissatisfied 
 manner. 
 
 "See for yourself, Mr. Harrison!"
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 151 
 
 "Perhaps they are in the parlor?" 
 
 "Step in, sir," coolly returned Matthew. 
 The man went through the door into the 
 sitting-room, but came back immediately. 
 
 "Not there?" said Matthew. The man 
 shook his head. " I don't think you will 
 find them about here," added the bar-keeper. 
 
 Mr. Harrison this was the name by 
 which Matthew had addressed him stood 
 musing and irresolute for some minutes. 
 He could not be mistaken about the entrance 
 of his sons, and yet they were not there. 
 His manner was much perplexed. At length 
 he took a seat, in a far corner of the bar- 
 room, somewhat beyond the line of observa- 
 tion, evidently with the purpose of waiting 
 to see if those he sought would come in. 
 He had not been there long before two 
 young men entered, whose appearance at 
 once excited his interest. They went up to 
 the bar and called for liquor. As Matthew 
 set the decanter before him, he leaned over 
 the counter and said something in a whis- 
 per. 
 
 "Where?" was instantly ejaculated, in 
 surprise, and both of the young men glanced 
 uneasily about the room. They met the 
 eyes of Mr. Harrison, fixed intently upon 
 them. I do not think, from the way they 
 swallowed their brandy and water, that it 
 was enjoyed very much. 
 
 " What the deuce is he doing here ?" I 
 heard one of them say, in a low voice.
 
 152 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 " After the boys, of course." 
 
 " Have they come yet?" 
 
 Matthew winked as he answered, " All 
 safe." 
 
 "In No. 4?" 
 
 " Yes. And the wine and cigars all wait- 
 ing for you." 
 
 " Good." 
 
 "You'd better not go through the parlor. 
 Their old man's not at all satisfied. He 
 half suspects they're in the house. Better 
 go off down the street, and come back and 
 enter through the passage." 
 
 The young men, acting on this hint, at 
 once retired, the eyes of Harrison following 
 them out. 
 
 For nearly an hour Mr. Harrison kept his 
 position, a close observer of all that trans- 
 pired. I am very much in error, if, before 
 leaving that sink of iniquity, he was not 
 fully satisfied as to the propriety of legislat- 
 ing on the liquor question. Nay, I incline 
 to the opinion that, if the power of suppres- 
 sion had rested in his hands, there would 
 not have been, in the whole State, at the 
 expiration of an hour, a single dram-selling 
 establishment. The goring of his ox had 
 opened his eyes to the true merits of the 
 question. While he was yet in the bar- 
 room, young Hammond made his appear- 
 ance. His look was wild and excited. First 
 he called for brandy, and drank with the 
 eagerness of a man long athirst.
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 153 
 
 " Where is Green ?" I heard him inquire, 
 as he set his glass upon the counter. 
 
 " Haven't seen anything of him since sup- 
 per," was answered by Matthew. 
 
 " Is he in his room ?" 
 
 " I think it, probable." 
 
 " Has Judge Lyman been about here to- 
 night?" 
 
 " Yes. He spouted here for half an hour 
 against the temperance party, as usual, and 
 then" Matthew tossed his head toward the 
 door leading to the sitting-room. 
 
 Hammond was moving toward this door, 
 when, in glancing around the room, he en- 
 countered the fixed gaze of Mr. Harrison a 
 gaze that instantly checked his progress. 
 Returning to the bar, and leaning over the 
 counter, he said to Matthew, 
 
 " What has sent him here ?" 
 
 Matthew winked knowingly. 
 
 " After the boys ?" inquired Hammond. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where are they ?" 
 
 "Upstairs." 
 
 " Does he suspect this ?" 
 
 "I can't tell. If he doesn't think them 
 here now, he is looking for them to come 
 in." 
 
 " Do they know he is after them ?" 
 
 " O yes." 
 
 " All safe then ? 
 
 " As an iron chest. If you want to see 
 them, just rap at No. 4."
 
 154 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 Hammond stood for some minutes lean- 
 ing on the bar, and then, not once again 
 looking toward that part of the room where 
 Mr. Harrison was seated, passed out through 
 the door leading to the street. Soon after- 
 ward Mr. Harrison departed. 
 
 Disgusted, as on the night before, with 
 the unceasing flow of vile, obscene, and pro- 
 fane language, I left my place of observa- 
 tion in the bar-room and sought the open 
 air. The sky was unobscured by a single 
 cloud, and the moon, almost at the full, 
 shone abroad with more than common 
 brightness. I had not been sitting long in 
 the porch, when the same lady, whose move- 
 ments had attracted my attention, came in 
 sight, walking very slowly the deliberate 
 pace assumed, evidently, for the purpose of 
 better observation. On coming opposite the 
 tavern, she slightly paused, as on the even- 
 ing before, and then kept on, passing down 
 the street, until she was beyond observation. 
 
 "Poor mother!" I was still repeating to 
 myself, when her form again met my eyes. 
 Slowly she advanced, and now came nearer 
 to the house. The interest excited in my 
 mind was so strong that I could not repress 
 the desire I felt to address her, and so stepped 
 from the shadow of the porch. She seemed 
 startled, and retreated backward several 
 paces. 
 
 "Are you in search of any one? 1 ' I in- 
 quired, respectfully.
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 155 
 
 <* 
 
 The woman now stood in a position that 
 let the moon shine full upon her face, re- 
 vealing every feature. She was far past the 
 meridian of life ; and there were lines of 
 suffering and sorrow on her fine counte- 
 nance. I saw that her lips moved, but it 
 was some time before I distinguished the 
 words. 
 
 " Have you seen my son to-night ? They 
 say he comes here." 
 
 The manner in which this was said caused 
 a cold thrill to run over me. I perceived 
 that the woman's mind wandered. I an- 
 swered 
 
 " No, ma'am ; I haven't seen anything 
 of him." 
 
 My tone of voice seemed to inspire her 
 with confidence, for she came up close to 
 me, and bent her face toward mine. 
 
 " It's a dreadful place," she whispered, 
 huskily. *' And they say he comes here. 
 Poor boy 1 He isn't what he used to be." 
 
 " It is a very bad place." said I. " Come" 
 and I moved a step or two in the direction 
 from which I had seen her approaching 
 " come, you'd better go away as quickly as 
 possible.'" 
 
 "But if he's here," she answered, not 
 moving from where she stood, " I might save 
 him, you know." 
 
 " I am sure you won't find him, ma'am," 
 I urged. " Perhaps he is home, now." 
 
 "Oh, no I no!" And she shook her head
 
 156 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAE-EOOM. 
 
 mournfully. " He never comes home until 
 long after midnight. I wish I could see in- 
 side of the bar-room. I'm sure he must be 
 there." 
 
 " If you will tell me his name I will go in 
 and search for him." 
 
 After a moment of hesitation, she an- 
 swered, 
 
 " His name is Willy Hammond." 
 
 How the name, uttered so sadly, and yet 
 with such moving tenderness by the mother's 
 lips, caused me to start almost to tremble. 
 
 " If he is in the house, ma'am," said I, 
 firmly, " I will see him for you." And I left 
 her and went into the bar. 
 
 " In what room do you think I will find 
 young Hammond?" I asked of the bar- 
 keeper. 
 
 He looked at me curiously, but did not 
 answer. The question had come upon him 
 unanticipated. 
 
 " In Harvey Green's room ?" I pursued. 
 
 " I don't know, I am sure. He isn't in 
 the house to my knowledge. I saw him go 
 out about half an hour since.'' 
 
 " Green's room is No. ?" 
 
 " Eleven," he answered. 
 
 " In the front part of the house ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 I asked no further question, but went to 
 No. 11, and tapped on the door. But no 
 one answered the summons. I listened, but 
 could not distinguish the slightest sound
 
 NIGHT THE SIXTH. 157 
 
 within. Again I knocked ; but louder. If 
 my ears did not deceive me, the chink of 
 coin was heard. Still there was neither 
 voice nor movement. 
 
 I was disappointed. That the room had 
 inmates, I felt sure. Remembering, now, 
 what I had heard about light being seen in 
 this room through a rent in the curtain, I 
 went down-stairs, and out into the street 
 A short distance beyond the house I saw, 
 dimly, the woman's form. She had only 
 just passed in her movements to and fro. 
 Glancing up at the window, which I now 
 knew to be the one in Green's room, light 
 through the torn curtain was plainly visi- 
 ble. Back into the house I went, and up to 
 No. 11. This time I knocked imperatively, 
 and this time made myself heard. 
 
 " What's wanted ?" came from within. I 
 knew the voice to be that of Harvey Green. 
 
 I only knocked louder. A hurried move- 
 ment and a low murmur of voices was heard 
 for some moments ; then the door was un- 
 locked and held partly open by Green, 
 whose body so filled the narrow aperture 
 that I could not look into the room. See- 
 ing me, a dark scowl fell upon his counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " What d'ye want ?" he inquired, sharply. 
 
 tc Is Mr. Hammond here ? If so, he is 
 wanted down-stairs." 
 
 " No, he's not," was the quick answer. 
 a What sent you here for him, hey ?"
 
 158 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 " The fact that I expected to find him in 
 your room," was my firm answer. 
 
 Green was about shutting the door in my 
 face, when some one placed a hand on his 
 shoulder and said something to him that I 
 could not hear. 
 
 " Who wants to see him ?" he inquired of 
 me. 
 
 Satisfied, now, that Hammond was in the 
 room, I said, slightly elevating my voice, 
 
 " His mother." 
 
 The words were an "open sesame" to the 
 room. The door was suddenly jerked open, 
 and with a blanching face the young man 
 confronted me. 
 
 " Who says my mother is down-stairs ? 9 
 he demanded. 
 
 " I come from her in search of you," said 
 I. "You will find her in the road, walking 
 up and down in front of the tavern." 
 
 Almost with a bound he swept by me, 
 and descended the stairway at two or three 
 long strides. As the door swung open, I 
 saw, besides Green and Hammond, the land- 
 lord and Judge Lyman. It needed not the 
 loose cards on a table near which the latter 
 were sitting to tell me of their business in 
 that room. 
 
 AB quickly as seemed decorous, I followed 
 Hammond. On the porch I met him, 'com- 
 ing in from the road. 
 
 " You have deceived me, sir,'* said he, 
 sternly almost menacingly.
 
 NIGHT TEE SITU *.. 159 
 
 "No, sir," I replied. "What I told you 
 was but too true. Look ! There she is now." 
 
 The young man sprung around, and stood 
 before the woman, a few paces distant. 
 
 " Mother ! oh, mother ! what has brought 
 you here?" he exclaimed, in an undertone, 
 as he caught her arm, and moved away. He 
 spoke not roughly, nor angrily but with 
 respect half reproachfulness and an un- 
 mistakable tenderness. 
 
 "Oh, Willy! Willy I" I heard her answer. 
 "Somebody said you came here at night, 
 and I couldn't rest. Oh, dear! They'll 
 murder you! I know they will. Don't, 
 oh!" 
 
 My ears took in the sense no further, 
 though her pleading voice still reached my 
 ears. A few moments, and they were out 
 of sight. 
 
 Nearly two hours afterward, as I was as- 
 cending to my chamber, a man brushed 
 quickly by me. I glanced after him, and 
 recognized the person of young Hammond. 
 He was going to the room of Har^v Green !
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Sowing the Wind. 
 
 THE state of affairs in Cedarville, it waa 
 plain, from the partial glimpses I had re- 
 ceived, was rather desperate. Desperate, I 
 mean, as regarded the .various parties 
 brought before my observation. An eating 
 cancer was on the community, and so far as 
 the eye could mark its destructive progress, 
 the ravages were fearful. That its roots 
 were striking deep, and penetrating, con- 
 cealed from view, in many unsuspected di- 
 rections, there could be no doubt. What 
 appeared on the surface was but a milder 
 form of the disease, compared with its hid- 
 den, more vital, and more dangerous ad- 
 vances. 
 
 I could not but feel a strong interest in 
 some of these parties. The case of young 
 Hammond had from the first awakened con- 
 cern ; and now a new element was added in 
 the unlooked-for appearance of his mother 
 on the stage, in a state that seemed one of 
 partial derangement. The gentleman at 
 whose office I met Mr. Harrison on the day 
 before the reader will remember Mr. H. 
 as having come to the " Sickle and Sheaf" 
 in search of his sons was thoroughly con- 
 (160)
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 161 
 
 versant with the affairs of the village, and I 
 called upon him early in the day in order to 
 make some inquiries about Mrs. Hammond. 
 My first question, as to whether he knew the 
 lady, was answered by the remark 
 
 "Oh, yes. She is one of my earliest 
 friends." 
 
 The allusion to her did not seem to 
 awaken agreeable states of mind. A slight 
 shade obscured his face, and I noticed that 
 he sighed involuntarily. 
 
 " Is Willy her only child ?" 
 
 " Her only living child. She had four ; 
 another son and two daughters ; but she lost 
 all but Willy when they were quite young. 
 And," he added, after a pause "it would 
 have been better for her, and for Willy too, 
 if he had gone to the better land with them." 
 
 " His course of life must be to her a terri- 
 ble affliction," said I. 
 
 " It is destroying her reason," he replied, 
 with emphasis. "He was her idol. No 
 mother ever loved a son with more self-de- 
 votion than Mrs. Hammond loved her beau- 
 tiful, fine-spirited, intelligent, affectionate 
 boy. To say that she was proud of him, is 
 but a tame expression. Intense love al- 
 most idolatry was the strong passion of 
 her heart. How tender, how watchful was 
 her love ! Except when at school, he was 
 scarcely ever separated from her. In order 
 to keep him by her side, she gave up her 
 thoughts to the suggestion and maturing of 
 F
 
 162 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 plans for keeping his mind active and inter- 
 ested in her society and her success was 
 perfect. Up to the age of sixteen or seven- 
 teen, I do not think he had a desire for 
 other companionship than that of his 
 mother. But this, you know, could not 
 last. The boy's maturing thought must go 
 beyond the home and social circle. The 
 great world, that he was soon to enter, was 
 before him ; and through loopholes that 
 opened here and there he obtained partial 
 .glimpses of what was beyond. To step 
 forth into this world where he was soon to 
 be a busy actor and worker, and to step 
 forth alone, next came in the natural order 
 of progress. How his mother trembled 
 with anxiety as she saw him leave her side. 
 Of the dangers that would surround his 
 path, she knew too well ; and these were 
 magnified by her fears at least so I often 
 said to her. Alas ! how far the sad reality 
 has outrun her most fearful anticipations. 
 
 " When Willy was eighteen he was then 
 reading law I think I never saw a young 
 man of fairer promise. As I have often 
 heard it remarked of him, he did not appear 
 to have a single fault. But he had a dan- 
 gerous gift rare conversational powers, 
 united with great urbanity of manner. 
 Every one who made his acquaintance be- 
 came charmed with his society ; and he soon 
 found himself surrounded by a circle of 
 young men, some of whom were not the best
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 163- 
 
 companions he might have chosen. Still, 
 his own pure instincts and honorable prin- 
 ciples were his safeguard ; and I never have 
 believed that any social allurements would 
 have drawn him away from the right path 
 if this accursed tavern had not been opened 
 by Slade." 
 
 "There was a tavern here before the 
 'Sickle and Sheaf was opened," said I. 
 
 " Oh, yes. But it was badly kept, and the 
 bar-room visitors were of the lowest class. 
 No respectable young man in Cedarville 
 would have been seen there. It offered na 
 temptations to one moving in Willy's circle. 
 But the opening of the 'Sickle and Sheaf * 
 formed a new era. Judge Hammond him- 
 self not the purest man in the world, I'm 
 afraid gave his countenance to the estab- 
 lishment, and talked of Simon Slade as an 
 enterprising man who ought to be encour- 
 aged. Judge Lyman and other men of posi- 
 tion in Cedarville followed his bad example 
 and the bar-room of the ' Sickle and Sheaf 
 was at once voted respectable. At all times 
 of the day and evening you could see the 
 flower of our young men going in and out, 
 sitting in front of the bar-room, or talking 
 hand and glove with the landlord, who, from 
 a worthy miller, regarded as well enough in 
 his place, was suddenly elevated into a man 
 of importance, Avhom the best in the village 
 were delighted to honor. 
 
 " In the beginning Willy went with thp
 
 164 TEN NIGHT* IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 tide, and in an incredibly short period was 
 acquiring a fondness for drink that startled 
 and alarmed his friends. In going in 
 through Blade's open door he entered the 
 downward way, and has been moving onward 
 with fleet footsteps ever since. The fiery 
 poison inflamed his mind at the same time 
 that it dimmed his noble perceptions. Fond- 
 ness for mere pleasure followed, and this led 
 him into various sensual indulgences and 
 exciting modes of passing the time. Every 
 one liked him he was so free, so compan- 
 ionable, and so generous and almost every 
 one encouraged, rather than repressed, his 
 dangerous proclivities. Even his father for 
 -a time treated the matter lightly, as only the 
 first flush of young life. ' I commenced 
 sowing my wild oats at quite as early an 
 age,' I have heard him say. ' He'll cool off, 
 and do well enough. Never fear.' But his 
 mother was in a state of painful alarm from 
 the beginning. Her truer instincts, made 
 doubly acute by her yearning love, perceived 
 the imminent danger, and in all possible 
 ways did she seek to lure him from the path 
 in which he was moving at so rapid a pace. 
 Willy was always very much attached to his 
 mother, and her influence over him was 
 strong; but in this case he regarded her 
 fears as chimerical. The way in which he 
 walked was to him so pleasant, and the 
 companions of his journey so delightful, that 
 he could not believe in the prophesied evil;
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 165> 
 
 and when his mother talked to him in her 
 warning voice, and with a sad countenance, 
 lie smiled at her concern and made light of 
 her fears. 
 
 " And so it went on, month after month, 
 and year after year, until the young man's 
 sad declensions were the town talk. In. 
 order to throw his mind into a new channel 
 to awaken, if possible, a new and better 
 interest in life his father ventured upon, 
 the doubtful experiment we spoke of yester- 
 day: that of placing capital in his hands, 
 and making him an equal partner in the 
 business of distilling and cotton-spinning. 
 The disastrous I might say disgraceful re- 
 sult you. know. The young man squan- 
 dered his own capital, and heavily embar- 
 rassed his father. 
 
 " The effect of all this upon Mrs. Ham- 
 mond has been painful in the extreme. We 
 can only dimly imagine the terrible suffer- 
 ing through which she has passed. Her 
 present aberration was first visible after a 
 long period of sleeplessness, occasioned by 
 distress of mind. During the whole of two 
 weeks, I am told, she did not close her eyes; 
 the most of that time walking the floor of 
 her chamber and weeping. Powerful ano- 
 dynes, frequently repeated, at length brought 
 relief. But when she awoke from a pro- 
 longed period of unconsciousness, the bright- 
 ness of her reason was gone. Since then 
 she has never been clearly conscious of what
 
 166 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 was passing around her ; and well for her, I 
 have sometimes thought it was, for even 
 obscurity of intellect is a blessing in her 
 case. Ah me ! I always get the heartache 
 when I think of her." 
 
 " Did not this event startle the young man 
 from his fatal dream, if I may so call his 
 mad infatuation ?" I asked. 
 
 " No. He loved his mother, and was 
 deeply afflicted by the calamity ; but it 
 .seemed as if he could not stop. Some ter- 
 rible necessity appeared to be impelling him 
 onward. If he formed good resolutions 
 and I doubt not that he did they were 
 blown away like threads of gossamer the 
 moment he came within the sphere of old 
 associations. His way to the mill was by 
 the ' Sickle and Sheaf;' and it was not easy 
 for him to pass there without being drawn 
 into the bar, either by his own desire for 
 drink, or through the invitation of some 
 pleasant companion who was lounging in 
 front of the tavern." 
 
 " There may have been something even 
 more impelling than his love of drink," said 
 
 '"What?" 
 
 I related, briefly, the occurrences of the 
 preceding night. 
 
 "I feared nay, I was certain that he 
 was in the toils of this man. And yet your 
 confirmation of the fact startles and con- 
 founds me," said he, moving about his office
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 16T 
 
 in a disturbed manner. " If my mind has 
 questioned and doubted in regard to young 
 Hammond, it questions and doubts na 
 longer. The word 'mystery' is not now 
 written over the door of his habitation. 
 Great Father ! and is it thus that our young 
 men are led into temptation ; thus that their 
 ruin is premeditated, secured ; thus that the 
 fowler is permitted to spread his net in the 
 open day, and the destroyer licensed to work 
 ruin in darkness? It is awful to contem- 
 plate!" 
 
 The man was strongly excited. 
 
 " Thus it is," he continued ; "and we who* 
 see the whole extent, origin, and downward 
 rushing force of a widely sweeping desola- 
 tion, lift our voices of warning almost in, 
 vain. Men who have everything at stake 
 sons to be corrupted and daughters to be- 
 come the wives of young men exposed to- 
 corrupting influences stand aloof, question- 
 ing and doubting as to the expediency of 
 protecting the innocent from the wolfish de- 
 signs of bad men, who, to compass their 
 own selfish ends, would destroy them body 
 and soul. We are called fanatics, ultraists, 
 designing, and all that, because we ask our 
 law-makers to stay the fiery ruin. Oh, no ! 
 we must not touch the traffic. All the dearest 
 and best interests of society may suffer, but 
 the rum-seller must be protected. He must 
 be allowed to get gain, if the jails and poor- 
 houses are filled and the graveyards made
 
 168 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 fat with the bodies of young men stricken 
 down in the flower of their years, and of 
 wives and mothers who have died of broken 
 hearts. Reform, we are told, must commence 
 at home. We must rear temperate children, 
 and then we shall have temperate men. 
 That when there are none to desire liquor, 
 the rum-seller's traffic will cease. And all 
 the while society's true benefactors are en- 
 gaged in doing this, the weak, the unsus- 
 pecting, and the erring must be left an easy 
 prey, even if the work requires for its accom- 
 plishment a hundred years. Sir ! a human 
 soul destroyed through the rum-seller's in- 
 fernal agency is a sacrifice priceless in value. 
 No considerations of worldly gain can, for 
 an instant, be placed in comparison there- 
 with. And yet souls are destroyed by thou- 
 sands every year ; and they will fall by tens 
 of thousands ere society awakens from its 
 fatal indifference and lays its strong hand 
 of power on the corrupt men who are scat- 
 tering disease, ruin and death broadcast over 
 the land ! 
 
 " I always get warm on this subject," he 
 added, repressing his enthusiasm. " And 
 who that observes and reflects can help grow- 
 ing excited ? The evil is appalling, and the 
 indifference of the community one of the 
 strangest facts of the day." 
 
 While he was yet speaking, the elder Mr. 
 Hammond came in. He looked wretched. 
 The redness and humidity of his eves
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 169 
 
 showed want of sleep, and the relaxed mus- 
 cles of his face exhaustion from weariness 
 and suffering. He drew the person with 
 whom I had been talking aside, and contin- 
 ued in earnest conversation with him for 
 many minutes often gesticulating violently. 
 I could see his face, though I heard nothing 
 of what he said. The play of his features 
 was painful to look upon, for every changing 
 muscle showed a new phase of mental suf- 
 fering. 
 
 " Try and see him, will you not ?" he said, 
 as he turned,- at length, to leave the office. 
 
 " I will go there immediately," was 
 answered. 
 
 " Bring him home, if possible." 
 
 " My very best efforts shall be made." 
 
 Judge Hammond bowed, and went out 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " Do you know the number of the room 
 occupied by the man Green?" asked the 
 gentleman as soon as his visitor had retired. 
 
 "Yes. It is No. 11." 
 
 "Willy has not been home since last 
 night. His father, at this late day, suspects 
 Green to be a gambler. The truth flashed 
 upon him only yesterday; and this, added 
 to his other sources of trouble, is driving 
 him, so he says, almost mad. As a friend, 
 he wishes me to go to the ' Sickle and Sheaf* 
 and try and find Willy. Have you seen 
 anything of him this morning ? n 
 
 I answered in the negative.
 
 170 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 "Nor of Green?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Was Slade about when you left the tav- 
 ern?" 
 
 " I saw nothing of him." 
 
 " What Judge Hammond fears may be all 
 too true that in the present condition of 
 Willy's affairs, which have reached the point 
 of disaster, his tempter means to secure the 
 largest possible share of property yet in his 
 power to pledge or transfer; to squeeze from 
 his victim the last drop of blood that re- 
 mains, and then fling him ruthlessly from 
 his hands." 
 
 "The young man must have been ren- 
 dered almost desperate, or he would never 
 have returned as he did last night. Did you 
 mention this to his father?" 
 
 " No. It would have distressed him the 
 more without effecting any good. He is 
 wretched enough. But time passes, and 
 none is to be lost now. Will you go with 
 me?" 
 
 I walked to the tavern with him, and we 
 went into the bar together. Two or three 
 men were at the counter, drinking. 
 
 " Is Mr. Green about this morning ?" was 
 asked by the person who had come in search 
 
 of young Hammond. 
 " Haven' 
 
 t seen anything of him." 
 "Is he in his room?" 
 "I don't know." 
 " Will you ascertain for me ?"
 
 NIGHT THE SE VENTH. 171 
 
 " Certainly. Frank," and he spoke to 
 the landlord's son, who was lounging on a 
 settee, " I wish you would see if Mr. Green 
 is in his room." 
 
 " Go and see yourself. I'm not your 
 waiter," was growled back, in an ill-natured 
 voice. 
 
 " In a moment I'll ascertain for you, 35 
 said Matthew, politely. 
 
 After waiting on some new customers, 
 who were just entering, Matthew went up- 
 stairs to obtain the desired information. 
 As he left the bar-room, Frank got up and 
 went behind the counter, where he mixed 
 himself a glass of liquor, and drank it off, 
 evidently with real enjoyment. 
 
 " Rather a dangerous business for one so 
 young as you are," remarked the gentleman 
 with whom I had come, as Frank stepped 
 out of the bar and passed near where we 
 were standing. The only answer to this was 
 an ill-natured frown, and an expression of 
 face which said, almost as plainly as words, 
 " It's none of your business." 
 
 " Not there," said Matthew, now coming 
 in. 
 
 "Are you certain?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 But there was a certain involuntary hesi- 
 tation in the barkeeper's manner which led 
 to a suspicion that his answer was not in 
 accordance with the truth. We walked out 
 together, conferring on the subject, and both
 
 172 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-ROOM. 
 
 concluded that his word was not to be re- 
 lied upon. 
 
 " What is to be done ?" was asked. 
 
 " Go to Green's room," I replied, " and 
 knock at the door. If he is there, he may 
 answer, not suspecting your errand." 
 
 " Show me the room." 
 
 I went with him, and pointed out No. 11. 
 He knocked lightly, but there came no 
 sound from within. He repeated the knock ; 
 all was silent. Again and again he knocked, 
 but there came back only a hollow reverbe- 
 ration. 
 
 "There's no one there," said he, return- 
 ing to where I stood, and we walked down- 
 stairs together. On the landing, as we 
 reached the lower passage, we met Mrs. 
 Slade. I had not, during this visit at Ce- 
 darville, stood face to face with her before. 
 Oh ! what a wreck she presented, with her 
 pale, shrunken countenance, hollow, lustre- 
 less eyes, and bent, feeble body. I almost 
 shuddered as I looked at her. What a 
 haunting and sternly rebuking spectre she 
 must have moved, daily, before the eyes of 
 her husband. 
 
 " Have you noticed Mr. Green about, this 
 morning ?" I asked. 
 
 " He hasn't come down from his room 
 yet," she replied. 
 
 " Are you certain ?" said my companion. 
 "I knocked several times at the door just 
 now, but received no answer."
 
 NIGHT TEE SEVENTH. 173 
 
 " What do you want with him ?" asked 
 Mrs. Slade, fixing her eyes upon us. 
 
 " We are in search of Willy Hammond, 
 and it has been suggested that he is with 
 Green." 
 
 " Knock twice lightly, and then three 
 times more firmly," said Mrs. Slade; and as 
 she spoke she glided past us with a noiseless 
 tread. 
 
 " Shall we go up together?" 
 
 I did not object, for, although I had no 
 delegated right of intrusion, my feelings 
 were so much excited in the case that I went 
 forward, scarcely reflecting on the propriety 
 of so doing. 
 
 The signal knock found instant answer. 
 The door was softly opened, and the un- 
 shaven face of Simon Slade presented itself. 
 
 " Mr. Jacobs !" he said, with surprise in 
 his tones. " Do you wish to see me?" 
 
 " No, sir; I wish to see Mr. Green," and 
 with a quick, firm pressure against the door, 
 he pushed it wide open. The same party 
 was there that I had seen on the night be- 
 fore, Green, young Hammond, Judge Ly- 
 man, and Slade. On the table at which the 
 three former were sitting were cards, slips 
 of paper, an inkstand and pens, and a pile 
 of bank-notes. On a side-table, or, rather, 
 butler's tray, were bottles, decanters ana 
 glasses. 
 
 "Judge Lyman ! Is it possible ? r ex- 
 claimed Mr. Jacobs, the name of my com- 

 
 174 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 panion ; " I did not expect to find you 
 here." 
 
 Green instantly swept his hands over the 
 table to secure the money and bills it con- 
 tained ; but, ere he had accomplished his 
 purpose young Hammond grappled three 
 or four narrow strips of paper and hastily 
 tore them into shreds. 
 
 "You're a cheating scoundrel !" cried Green, 
 fiercely, thrusting his hand into his bosom 
 as if to draw from thence a weapon ; but the 
 words were scarcely uttered ere Hammond 
 sprung upon him with the fierceness of a 
 tiger, bearing him down upon the floor. 
 Both hands were already about the gam- 
 bler's neck, and, ere the bewildered specta- 
 tors could interfere, and drag him off, Green 
 was purple in the face, and nearly stran- 
 gled. 
 
 " Call me a cheating scoundrel !'' said 
 Hammond, foaming at the mouth as he 
 spoke. " Me ! whom you have followed 
 like a thirsty bloodhound. Me ! whom you 
 have robbed, and cheated, and debased 
 from the beginning ! Oh ! for a pistol to rid 
 the earth of the blackest-hearted villain that 
 walks its surface. Let me go, gentlemen! 
 I have nothing left in the world to care for, 
 there is no consequence I fear. Let me 
 do society one good service before I die!" 
 
 And with one vigorous effort he swept 
 .himself clear of the hands that were pinion- 
 ing him, and sprung again upon the gambler
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 175 
 
 with the fierce energy of a savage beast. 
 By this time Green had got his knife free 
 from its sheath, and, as Hammond was clos- 
 ing upon him in his blind rage, plunged it 
 into his side. Quick almost as lightning 
 the knife was withdrawn, and two more 
 stabs inflicted ere we could seize and disarm 
 the murderer. As we did so, Willy Ham- 
 mond fell over with a deep groan, the blood 
 flowing from his side. 
 
 In the terror and excitement that followed 
 Green rushed from the room. The doctor, 
 who was instantly summoned, after care- 
 fully examining the wound and the condi- 
 tion of the unhappy young man, gave it a8 
 his opinion that he was fatally injured. 
 
 Oh ! the anguish of the father, who had 
 quickly heard of the dreadful occurrence, 
 when this announcement was made. I 
 never saw such fearful agony in any human 
 countenance. The calmest of all the anx- 
 ious group was Willy himself. On his 
 father's face his eyes were fixed as if by a 
 kind of fascination. 
 
 " Are you in much pain, my poor boy ?" 
 sobbed the old man, stooping over him, until 
 his long white hair mingled with the damp 
 locks of the sufferer. 
 
 "Not much, father," was the whispered 
 reply. " Don't speak of this to mother yet. 
 I'm afraid it will kill her." 
 
 What could the father answer ? Nothing ! 
 And he was silent.
 
 176 TEN NIGHTS IN A SAB-BOOM. 
 
 " Does she know of it ?" A shadow went 
 over his face. 
 
 Mr. Hammond shook his head. 
 
 Yet, even as he spoke, a wild cry of dis- 
 tress was heard below. Some indiscreet per- 
 son had borne to the ears of the mother the 
 fearful news about her son, and she had 
 come wildly flying toward the tavern, and 
 was just entering. 
 
 " It is my poor mother," said Willy, a 
 flush coming into his pale face. " Who 
 could have told here of this?" 
 
 Mr. Hammond started for the door, but 
 ere he had reached it the distracted mother 
 entered. 
 
 " Oh! Willy, my boy! my boy!" she ex- 
 claimed, in tones of anguish that made the 
 heart shudder. And she crouched down on 
 the floor, the moment she reached the bed 
 whereon he lay, and pressed her lips oh, so 
 tenderly and lovingly! to his. 
 
 "Dear mother! Sweet mother! Best of 
 mothers !" He even smiled as he said this, 
 and into the face that now bent over him 
 looked up with glances of unutterable fond- 
 ness. 
 
 "Oh, Willy ! Willy ! Willy 1 my son, my 
 son 1" And again her lips were laid closely 
 to his. 
 
 Mr. Hammond now interfered, and en- 
 deavored to remove his wife, fearing for the 
 consequence upon his son. 
 
 " Don't, father !" said Willy ; " let her re-
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 177 
 
 main. I am not excited nor disturbed. I 
 am glad that she is here now. It will be 
 best for us both." 
 
 "You must not excite him, dear," gaid 
 Mr. Hammond " he is very weak." 
 
 "I'll not excite him," answered the mother. 
 ' I'll not speak a word. There, love y" and 
 she laid her fingers softly upon the lips of 
 her son " don't speak a single word." 
 
 For only a few moments did she sit with 
 the quiet formality of a nurse who feels how 
 much depends on the repose of her patient. 
 'Then she began weeping, moaning, and 
 wringing her hands. 
 
 "Mother!" The feeble voice of Willy 
 -stilled instantly the tempest of feeling. 
 " Mother, kiss me I" 
 
 She bent down and kissed him. 
 
 "Are you there, mother?" His eyes 
 moved about, with a straining motion. 
 
 "Yes, love, here I am." 
 
 " I don't see you, mother. It's getting so 
 dark. Oh, mother ! mother !" he shouted, 
 suddenly starting up and throwing himself 
 forward upon her bosom " save me 1 save 
 me !" 
 
 How quickly did the mother clasp her 
 arms around him how eagerly did she 
 strain him to her bosom ! The doctor, fear- 
 ing the worst consequences, now came for- 
 ward, and endeavored to release the arms of 
 Mrs. Hammond, but she resisted every at- 
 tempt to do so.
 
 178 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " I will save you, my son," she murmured 
 in the ears of the young man. " Your 
 mother will protect you. Oh ! if you had 
 never left her side, nothing on earth could 
 have done you harm." 
 
 "He is dead!" I heard the doctor whis- 
 per, and a thrill of horror went through me. 
 The words reached the ears of Mr. Ham- 
 mond, and his groan was one of almost mor- 
 tal agony. 
 
 "Who says he is dead?" came sharply 
 from the lips of the mother as she pressed 
 the form of her child back upon the bed 
 from which he had sprung to her arms, and 
 looked wildly upon his face. One long 
 scream of horror told of her convictions, and 
 she fell lifeless across the body of her dead 
 son I 
 
 All in the room believed that Mrs. Ham- 
 mond had only fainted. But the doctor's 
 perplexed, troubled countenance as he or- 
 dered her carried into another apartment, 
 and the ghastliness of her face when it was 
 upturned to the light, suggested to every one 
 what proved to be true. Even to her ob- 
 scured perceptions the consciousness that 
 her son was dead came with a terrible vivid- 
 ness so terrible that it extinguished her 
 life. 
 
 Like fire among dry stubble ran the news 
 of this fearful event through Cedarville. 
 The whole town was wild with excitement. 
 The prominent fact that Willy Hammond
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 179 
 
 had been murdered by Green, whose real 
 profession was known by many, and now 
 declared to all, was on every tongue ; but a 
 hundred different and exaggerated stories as 
 to the cause and the particulars of the event 
 were in circulation. By the time prepara- 
 tions to remove the dea'd bodies of mother 
 and son from the "Sickle and Sheaf" 
 to the residence of Mr. Hammond were om- 
 pleted, hundreds of people men, wo >ien, 
 and children were assembled around the 
 tavern; and many voices were clamorous 
 for Green, while some called out for Judge 
 Lyman, whose name, it thus appeared, had 
 become associated in the minds of the peo- 
 ple with the murderous affair. The appear- 
 ance, in the midst of this excitement, of the 
 two dead bodies, borne forth on settees, 
 did not tend to allay the feverish state of 
 indignation that prevailed. From more than 
 one voice I heard the words, "Lynch the 
 scoundrel!" 
 
 A part of the crowd followed the sad pro- 
 cession, while the greater portion, consisting 
 of men, remained about the tavern. All 
 bodies, no matter for what purpose assem- 
 bled, quickly find leading spirits who, 
 feeling the great moving impulse, give it 
 voice and direction. It was so in this case. 
 Intense indignation against Green was firing 
 every bosom; and when a man elevated 
 himself a few feet above the agitated mass 
 of humanity, and cried o'lt
 
 180 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 <( The murderer must not escape !" 
 
 A wild, resounding shout, terrible in its 
 fierceness, made the air quiver. 
 
 " Let ten men be chosen to search the 
 house and premises," said the leading spirit. 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! Choose them ! Name them !" 
 was quickly answered. 
 
 Ten men were called by name, who in- 
 stant <y stepped in front of the crowd. 
 
 "fiaarch everywhere; from garret to cel- 
 lar; from hayloft to dog-kennel. Every- 
 where! everywhere 1" cried the man. 
 
 And instantly the ten men entered the 
 house. For nearly a quarter of an hour the 
 crowd waited with increasing signs of impa- 
 tience. These delegates at length appeared, 
 with the announcement that Green was no- 
 where about the premises. It was received 
 with a groan. 
 
 " Let no man in Cedarville do a stroke of 
 work until the murderer is found," now 
 shouted the individual who still occupied 
 his elevated position. 
 
 "Agreed! agreed! No work in Cedar- 
 ville until the murderer is found," rang our 
 fiercely. 
 
 " Let all who have horses, saddle and 
 bridle them as quickly as possible, and as- 
 semble, mounted, at the Court House." 
 
 About fifty men left the crowd hastily. 
 
 " Let the crowd part in the centre, up and 
 down the road, starting from a line in front 
 of me."
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 181 
 
 This order was obeyed. 
 
 " Separate again, taking the centre of the 
 road for a line." 
 
 Four distinct bodies of men stood now in 
 front of the tavern. 
 
 " Now search for the murderer in every 
 nook and corner, for a distance of three 
 miles from this spot, each party keeping to 
 its own section ; the road being one divid- 
 ing line, and a line through the centre of 
 this tavern the other. The horsemen will 
 pursue the wretch to a greater distance." 
 
 More than a hundred- acquiescing voices 
 responded to this, as the man sprung down 
 from his elevation and mingled with the 
 crowd, which began instantly to move away 
 on its appointed mission. 
 
 As the hours went by, one, and another, 
 and another of the searching party returned 
 to the village, wearied with their efforts, or 
 confident that the murderer had made good 
 his escape. The horsemen, too, began to 
 come in, during the afternoon, and by sun- 
 down the last of them, worn out and disap- 
 pointed, made their appearance. 
 
 For hours after the exciting events of the 
 forenoon there were but few visitors at the 
 "Sickle and Sheaf." Slade, who did not 
 show himself among the crowd, came down 
 soon after its dispersion. He had shaved 
 and put on clean linen, but still bore many 
 evidences of a night spent without sleep. 
 His eyes were red and heavy and the eye-
 
 loJ TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 lids swollen, while his skin was relaxed 
 and colorless. As he descended the stairs I 
 was walking in the passage. He looked shy 
 at me, and merely nodded. Guilt was 
 written plainly on his countenance, and 
 with it was blended anxiety and alarm. 
 That he might be involved in trouble he 
 had reason to fear, for he was one of the 
 party engaged in gambling in Green's room, 
 as both Mr. Jacobs and I had witnessed. 
 
 " This is dreadful business," said he, as 
 we met, face to face, half an hour afterward. 
 He did not look me steadily in the eyes. 
 
 " It is horrible !" I answered. " To cor- 
 rupt and ruin a young man, and then mur- 
 der him ! There are few deeds in the cata- 
 logue of crime blacker than this." 
 
 " It was done in the heat of passion," said 
 the landlord, with something of apology in 
 his manner. " Green never meant to kill 
 him." 
 
 "In peaceful intercourse with his fellow- 
 men, why did he carry a deadly weapon? 
 There was murder in his heart, sir." 
 
 " That is speaking very strongly." 
 
 " Not stronger than facts will warrant," I 
 replied. " That Green is a murderer in 
 heart, it needed not this awful consumma- 
 tion to show. With a cool, deliberate pur- 
 pose, he has sought, from the beginning, to 
 destroy young Hammond." 
 
 " It is hardly fair," answered Slade, " in 
 the present feverish excitement against
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 183 
 
 Green, to assume such a questionable posi- 
 tion. It may do him a great wrong." 
 
 " Did Willy Hammond speak only idle 
 words when he accused Green of having 
 followed him like a thirsty bloodhound? 
 of having robbed, and cheated, and debased 
 him from the beginning ?" 
 
 " He was terribly excited at the moment." 
 
 " Yet," said I, "no ear that heard his words 
 could for an instant doubt that they were 
 truthful utterances wrung from a maddened 
 heart." 
 
 My earnest, positive manner had its effect 
 upon Slade. He knew that what I asserted 
 the whole history of Green's intercourse with 
 young Hammond would prove ; and he had, 
 moreover, the guilty consciousness of being 
 a party to the young man's ruin. His eyes 
 cowered beneath the steady gaze I fixed 
 upon him. I thought of him as one impli- 
 cated in the murder, and my thought must 
 have been visible in my face. 
 
 "One murder will not justify another," 
 said he. 
 
 " There is no justification for murder on 
 any plea," was my response. 
 
 "And yet, if these infuriated men find 
 Green they will murder him." 
 
 " I hope not. Indignation at a horrible 
 crime has fearfully excited the people. But 
 I think their sense of justice is strong 
 enough to prevent the consequences you 
 apprehend."
 
 184 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 " I would not like to be in Green's shoes, 5 * 
 said the landlord, with an uneasy movement. 
 
 I looked him closely in the face. It was 
 the punishment of the man's crime that 
 seemed so fearful in his eyes not the crime 
 itself. Alas ! how the corrupting traffic had 
 debased him. 
 
 My words were so little relished by Slade 
 that he found some ready excuse to leave 
 me. I saw but little more of him during 
 the day. 
 
 As evening began to fall, the gambler's 
 unsuccessful pursuers, one after another, 
 found their way to the tavern, and by the 
 time night fairly closed in the bar-room 
 was crowded with excited and angry men, 
 chafing over their disappointment, and loud 
 in their threats of vengeance. That Green had 
 made good his escape was now the general 
 belief, and the stronger this conviction be- 
 came, the more steadily did the current of 
 passion begin to set in a new direction. It 
 had become known to every one that be- 
 sides Green and young Hammond, Judge 
 Lyman and Slade were in the room engaged 
 in playing cards. The merest suggestion as 
 to the complicity of these two men with 
 Green in ruining Hammond, and thus driv- 
 ing him mad, was enough to excite strong 
 feeling against them ; and now that the mob 
 had been cheated of its victim, its pent-up 
 indignation sought eagerly some new chan- 
 nel.
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 185 
 
 " Where's Slade ?" some one asked, in a 
 loud voice, from the centre of the crowded 
 bar-room. " Why does he keep himself out 
 of sight?" 
 
 " Yes ; where's the landlord ?" half a dozen 
 voices responded. 
 
 i " Did he go on the hunt?" some one in- 
 quired. 
 
 " No !" " No !" " No !" ran around the 
 room. "Not he." 
 
 "And yet the murder was committed in 
 his own house, and before his own eyes !" 
 
 " Yes, before his own eyes!" repeated one 
 another indignantly. 
 
 " Where's Slade ? Where's the landlord ? 
 Has anybody seen him to-night? Matthew, 
 where's Simon Slade?" 
 
 From lip to lip passed these interrogations, 
 while the crowd of men became agitated, 
 and swayed to and fro. 
 
 " I don't think he's home," answered the 
 bar-keeper in a hesitating manner, and with 
 visible alarm. 
 
 " How long since he was here?" 
 
 "I haven't seen him for a couple of 
 hours." 
 
 " That's a lie !" was sharply said. 
 
 " Who says it's a lie ?" Matthew affected 
 to be strongly indignant. 
 
 "I do !" And a rough, fierce-looking man 
 confronted him. 
 
 "What right have you to say so?" asked 
 Matthew, cooling off considerably.
 
 186 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-ROOM. 
 
 " Because you lie I" said the man, boldly. 
 " You've seen him within a less time than 
 half an hour, and well you know it. Now, 
 if you wish to keep yourself out of this 
 trouble, answer truly. We are in no mood 
 to deal with liars or equivocators. Where is 
 Simon Slade?" 
 
 " I do not know," replied Matthew, firmly. 
 
 "Is he in the house?" 
 
 " He may be, or he may not be. I am 
 just as ignorant of his exact whereabouts as 
 you are." 
 
 " Will you look for him ?" 
 
 Matthew stepped to the door, opening 
 from behind the bar, and called the name of 
 Frank. 
 
 " What's wanted ?" growled the boy. 
 
 " Is your father in the house ?" 
 
 "I don't know, nor don't care," was re- 
 sponded in the same ungracious manner. 
 
 " Some one bring him into the bar-room, 
 and we'll see if we can't make him care a 
 little." 
 
 The suggestion was no sooner made than 
 two men glided behind the bar and passed 
 into the room from which the voice of Frank 
 had issued. A moment after they reap- 
 peared, each grasping an arm of the boy, and 
 bearing him like a weak child between them. 
 He looked thoroughly frightened at this 
 unlooked-for invasion of his liberty. 
 
 " See here, young man.'' One of the lead- 
 ing spirits of the crowd addressed him as
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 187 
 
 soon as he was brought in front of the 
 counter. " If you wish to keep out of 
 trouble, answer our questions at once, and to 
 the point. We are in no mood for trifling. 
 Where's your father?" 
 
 " Somewhere about the house, I believe," 
 Frank replied, in an humbled tone. He was 
 no little scared at the summary manner in 
 which he had been treated. 
 
 " How long since you saw him ?" 
 
 " Not long ago." 
 ' Ten minutes ?" 
 ' No ; nearly half an hour." 
 ' Where was he, then ?" 
 { He was going upstairs." 
 ' Very well, we want him. See him and 
 tell him so." 
 
 Frank went into the house, but came back 
 into the bar-room, after an absence of nearly 
 five minutes, and said that he could not 
 find his father anywhere." 
 
 " Where is he, then ?" was angrily de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Indeed, gentlemen, I don't know." 
 Frank's anxious look and frightened manner 
 ohowed that he spoke truly. 
 
 "There's something wrong about this 
 something wrong wrong," said one of the 
 men. "Why should he be absent now? 
 Why has he taken no steps to secure the 
 man who committed a murder in his own 
 house, and before his own eyes?" 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if he aided him to
 
 188 TEN NIGHTS IN A SAB-BOOM. 
 
 escape," said another, making this serious 
 charge with a restlessness and want of evi- 
 dence that illustrated the reckless and un- 
 just spirit by which a mob is ever governed. 
 
 "No doubt of it in the least!" was the 
 quick and positive response. And at once 
 this erroneous conviction seized upon every 
 one. Not a single fact was presented. The 
 simple, bold assertion that no doubt existed 
 in the mind of one man as to Blade's having 
 aided Green to escape was sufficient for the 
 unreflecting mob. 
 
 "Where is he? Where is he? Let us 
 find him. He knows where Green is, and 
 he shall reveal the secret." 
 
 This was enough. The passions of the 
 crowd were at fever heat again. Two or 
 three men were chosen to search the house 
 and premises, while others dispersed to take 
 a wider range. One of the men who volun- 
 teered to go over the house was a person 
 named Lyon, with whom I had formed some 
 acquaintance, and several times conversed 
 with on the state of affairs in Cedarville. 
 He still remained too good a customer at 
 the bar. I left the bar at the same time 
 that he did, and went up to my room. We 
 walked side by side, and parted at my door, 
 I going in and he continuing on to make 
 his searches. I felt, of course, anxious and 
 much excited, as well in consequence of the 
 events of the day as the present aspect of 
 things. My head was aching violently, and
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH, 189 
 
 in the hope of getting relief I laid myself 
 down. I had already lighted a candle and 
 turned the key in my door to prevent intru- 
 sion. Only for a short time did I lie listen- 
 ing to the hum of voices that came with a 
 hoarse murmur from below, to the sound of 
 feet moving along the passages, and to the 
 continual opening and shutting of doors, 
 when something like suppressed breathing 
 reached my ears. I started up instantly 
 and listened ; but my quickened pulses 
 were now audible to my own sense, and ob- 
 scured what was external. 
 
 " It is only imagination," I said to myself. 
 Still I sat upright, listening. 
 
 Satisfied at length that all was mere fancy, 
 I laid myself back on the pillow and triea 
 to turn my thoughts away from the sug- 
 gested idea that some one was in the room. 
 Scarcely had I succeeded in this when my 
 heart gave a new impulse, as a sound like a 
 movement fell upon my ears. 
 
 "Mere fancy !" I said to myself, as some 
 one went past the door at the moment. "My 
 mind is over-excited." 
 
 Still I raised my head, supporting it with 
 my hand, and listened, directing my atten- 
 tion inside and not outside of the room. I 
 was about letting my head fall back upon 
 the pillow when a slight cough, so distinct 
 as not to be mistaken, caused me to spring 
 to the floor and look under the bed. The 
 mystery was explained. A pair of eyes
 
 190 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 glittered in the candlelight. The fugitive, 
 Green, was under my bed. For some mo- 
 ments I stood looking at him, so astonished 
 that I had neither utterance nor decision, 
 while he glared at me with a fierce defiance. 
 I saw that he was clutching a revolver. 
 
 " Understand," he said, in a grating whis- 
 per, " that I am not to be taken alive." 
 
 I let the blanket, which had concealed 
 him from view, fall from my hand, and then 
 tried to collect my thoughts. 
 
 " Escape is impossible," said I, again lift- 
 ing the temporary curtain by which he was 
 hid. " The whole town is armed and on the 
 search, and should you fall into the hands 
 of the mob in its present state of exaspera- 
 tion, your life would not be safe an instant. 
 Remain, then, quiet where you are until I 
 can see the sheriff, to whom you had better 
 resign yourself, for there's little chance for 
 you except under his protection." 
 
 After a brief parley he consented that 
 things should take this course, and I went 
 out, locking the room door after me, and 
 started in search of the sheriff. On the in- 
 formation I gave the sheriff acted promptly. 
 With five officers, fully armed for defence in 
 case an effort were made to get the prisoner 
 out of their hands, he repaired immediately 
 to the " Sickle and Sheaf." I had given the 
 key of my room into his possession. 
 
 The appearance of the sheriff with his 
 posse was sufficient to start the suggestion
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 191 
 
 that Green was somewhere concealed in the 
 house, and a suggestion was only needed to 
 cause the fact to be assumed and unhesitat- 
 ingly declared. Intelligence went through 
 the reassembling crowd like an electric cur- 
 rent, and ere the sheriff could manacle and 
 lead forth his prisoner the stairway down 
 which he had to come was packed with 
 bodies and echoing with oaths and maledic- 
 tions. 
 
 " Gentlemen, clear the way !" cried the 
 sheriff, as he appeared with the white and 
 trembling culprit at the head of the stairs. 
 " The murderer is now in the hands of the 
 law, and will meet the sure consequences of 
 his crime." 
 
 A shout of execration rent the air ; but 
 not a single individual stirred. 
 
 " Give way there ! Give way !" And the 
 sheriff took a step or two forward, but the 
 prisoner held back. 
 
 " Oh, the murdering villain ! The cursed 
 blackleg ! Where's Willy Hammond ?' ' was 
 heard distinctly above the confused ming- 
 ling of voices. 
 
 " Gentlemen ! the law must have its 
 course, and no good citizen will oppose the 
 law. It is made for your protection for 
 mine and for that of the prisoner." 
 
 "Lynch law is good enough for him," 
 shouted a savage voice. " Hand him over 
 to us, sheriff, and we'll save you the trou- 
 ble of hanging him, and the county the
 
 192 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 cost of a gallows. We'll do the business 
 right." 
 
 Five men, each armed with a revolver, 
 now ranged themselves around the sheriff, 
 and the latter said firmly, 
 
 " It is my duty to see this man safely con- 
 veyed to prison, and I'm going to do my 
 duty. If there is any more blood shed here, 
 the blame will rest with you." And the 
 body of officers pressed forward, the mob 
 slowly retreating before them. 
 
 Green, overwhelmed with terror, held 
 back. I was standing where I could see his 
 face. It was ghastly with mortal fear. 
 Grasping his pinioned arms, the sheriff 
 forced him onward. After contending with 
 the crowd for nearly ten minutes, the officers 
 gained the passage below ; but the mob was 
 denser here, and blocking up the door, 
 resolutely maintained their position. 
 
 Again and again the sheriff appealed to 
 the good sense and justice of the people. 
 
 " The prisoner will have to stand a trial, 
 and the law will execute sure vengeance." 
 
 "No, it wont!" was sternly responded. 
 
 "Who'll be judge in the case?" was 
 asked. 
 
 " Why, Judge Lyman !" was contemptu- 
 ously answered. 
 
 "A blackleg himself!" was shouted by 
 two or three voices. 
 
 "Blackleg judge, and blackleg lawyers! 
 Oh, yes! The law will execute sure ven-
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 193 
 
 geance! Who was in the room gambling 
 with Green and Hammond ?" 
 
 " Judge Lyman !" " Judge Lyman !" was 
 answered back. 
 
 " It won't do, sheriff I There's no law in 
 the country to reach the case but Lynch 
 law, and that the scoundrel must nave. 
 Give him to us!" 
 
 "Never! On, men, with the prisoner I" 
 cried the sheriff, resolutely, and the posse 
 made a rush toward the door, bearing back 
 the resisting and now infuriated crowd. 
 Shouts, cries, oaths and savage imprecations 
 blended in wild discord, in the midst of 
 which my blood was chilled by the sharp 
 crack of a pistol. Another and another shot 
 followed, and then, as a cry of pain thrilled 
 the air, the fierce storm hushed its fury in 
 an instant. 
 
 "Who's shot? Is he killed?" 
 
 There was a breathless eagerness for the 
 answer. 
 
 " It's the gambler !" was replied. " Some- 
 body has shot Green." 
 
 A low muttered invective against the vic- 
 tim was heard here and there ; but the an- 
 nouncement was not received with a shout 
 of exultation, though there was scarcely a 
 heart that did not feel pleasure at the sacri- 
 fice of Harvey Green's life. 
 
 It was true as had been declared. Whether 
 the shot was aimed deliberately, or guided 
 by an unseen hand to the heart of the gam- 
 
 G
 
 194 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-ROOM. 
 
 bier, was never known ; nor did the most 
 careful examination, instituted afterward by 
 the county, elicit any information that even 
 directed suspicion toward the individual 
 who became the agent of his death. 
 
 At the coroner's inquest, held over the 
 dead body of Harvey Green, Simon Slade 
 was present. Where he had concealed him- 
 self while the mob were in search of him 
 was not known. He looked haggard, and 
 his eyes were anxious and restless. Two 
 murders in his house, occurring in a single 
 day, were quite enough to darken his spirits, 
 and the more so as his relations with both 
 the victims were not of a character to awaken 
 anything but self-accusation. 
 
 As for the mob, in the death of Green its 
 eager thirst for vengeance was satisfied. 
 Nothing more was said against Slade, as a 
 participator in the ruin and death of young 
 Hammond. The popular feeling was one of 
 
 Eity rather than indignation toward the 
 indlord, for it was seen that he was deeply 
 troubled. 
 
 One thing I noticed, and it was that the 
 drinking at the bar was not suspended for a 
 moment. A large proportion of those who 
 made up the crowd of Green's angry pur- 
 suers were excited by drink as well as in- 
 dignation, and I am very sure that, but for 
 the maddening effects of liquor, the fatal 
 shot would never have been fired. After 
 the fearful catastrophe, and when every
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 195 
 
 mind was sobered, or ought to have been 
 sobered, the crowd returned to the bar-room, 
 where the drinking was renewed. So rapid 
 were the calls for liquor, that both Matthew 
 and Frank, the landlord's son, were kept 
 busy mixing the various compounds de- 
 manded by the thirsty customers. 
 
 From the constant stream of human beings 
 that flowed toward the " Sickle and Sheaf," 
 after the news of Green's discovery and 
 death went forth, it seemed as if every man 
 and boy within a distance of two or three 
 miles had received intelligence of the event. 
 Few, very, of those who came but went first 
 into the bar-room, and nearly all who en- 
 tered the bar-room called for liquor. In an 
 hour after the death of Green, the fact that 
 his dead body was laid out in the room im- 
 mediately adjoining seemed utterly to pass 
 from the consciousness of every one in the 
 bar. The calls for liquor were incessant; 
 and, as the excitement of drink increased, 
 voices grew louder, and oaths more plenti- 
 ful, while the sounds of laughter ceased not 
 for an instant. 
 
 " They're giving him a regular Irish 
 wake," I heard remarked, with a brutal 
 laugh. 
 
 I turned to the speaker, and to my great 
 surprise saw that it was Judge Lyman, more 
 under the influence of drink than I remem- 
 bered to have seen him. He was about the 
 last man I expected to find here. If he knew
 
 196 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 of the strong indignation expressed toward 
 him a little while before by some of the very 
 men now excited with liquor, his own free 
 drinking had extinguished fear. 
 
 " Yes, curse him 1" was the answer. " If 
 they have a particularly hot corner ' away 
 down below,' I hope he's made its acquaint- 
 ance before this." 
 
 " Most likely he's smelled brimstone," 
 chuckled the judge. 
 
 "Smelled it! If old Clubfoot hasn't 
 treated him with a brimstone bath long be- 
 fore this, he hasn't done his duty. If I 
 thought as much, I'd vote for sending his 
 majesty a remonstrance forthwith." 
 
 *Ha1 ha!" laughed the judge. "You're 
 warm on the subject." 
 
 "Ain't I? The blackleg scoundrel ! Hell's 
 too good for him." 
 
 " H-u-s-h ! Don't let your indignation run 
 into profanity," said Judge Lyman, trying 
 to assume a serious air ; but the muscles of 
 his face but feebly obeyed his will's feeble 
 effort. 
 
 " Profanity ! Pooh ! I don't call that pro- 
 fanity. It's only speaking out in meeting, 
 as they say it's only calling black black 
 and white 'white. You believe in a hell, 
 don't you, judge?" 
 
 " I suppose there is one, though I don't 
 know very certain." 
 
 " You'd better be certain !" said the other, 
 meaningly.
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 197 
 
 "Why SO?" 
 
 " Oh ! because if there is one, and you 
 don't cut your cards a little differently, 
 you'll be apt to find it at the end of your 
 journey." 
 
 " What do you mean by that?" asked the 
 judge, retreating somewhat into himself and 
 trying to look dignified. 
 
 " Just what I say," was unhesitatingly an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Do you mean to insinuate anything?" 
 asked the judge, whose brows were begin- 
 ning to knit themselves. 
 
 " Nobody thinks you a saint," replied the 
 man, roughly. 
 
 " I never professed to be." 
 
 " And it is said" the man fixed his gaze 
 almost insultingly upon Judge Lyman's face 
 " that you'll get about as hot a corner in 
 the lower regions as is to be found there, 
 whenever you make the journey in that di- 
 rection." 
 
 " You are insolent !" exclaimed the judge, 
 his face becoming inflamed. 
 
 " Take care what you say, sir !" The man 
 spoke threateningly. 
 
 " You'd better take care what you say." 
 
 " So I will," replied the other. " But" 
 
 "What's to pay here?" inquired a third 
 party, coming up at the moment, and inter- 
 rupting the speaker. 
 
 " The devil will be to pay," said Judge 
 Lyman. " if somebody don't look out sharp."
 
 198 TEN NIGHTS IN A SAB-ROOM. 
 
 "Do you mean that for me, ha?" The 
 man between whom and himself this slight 
 contention had so quickly sprung up began 
 stripping back his coat-sleeves, like one 
 about to commence boxing. 
 
 " I mean it for anybody who presumes to 
 offer me an insult." 
 
 The raised voices of the two men now 
 drew toward them the attention of every one 
 in the bar-room. 
 
 " The devil ! There's Judge Lyman I" I 
 heard some one exclaim, in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " Wasn't he in the room with Green when 
 Willy Hammond was murdered?" asked 
 another. 
 
 " Yes, he was ; and what's more, it is said 
 he had been playing against him all night, 
 he and Green sharing the plunder." 
 
 This last remark came distinctly to the 
 ears of Lyman, who started to his feet in- 
 stantly, exclaiming fiercely 
 
 " Whoever says that is a cursed liar!" 
 
 The words were scarcely out of his mouth 
 before a blow staggered him against the wall, 
 near which he was standing. Another blow 
 felled him; and then his assailant sprang 
 over his prostrate body, kicking him and 
 stamping upon his face and breast in the 
 most brutal, shocking manner. 
 
 "Kill him! He's worse than Green!" 
 somebody cried out, in a voice so full of 
 cruelty and murder that it made my blood 
 curdle. " Remember Willy Hammond '"
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 199 
 
 The terrible scene that followed, in which 
 were heard a confused mingling of blows, 
 cries, yells, and horrible oaths, continued for 
 several minutes, and ceased only when the 
 words " Don't, don't strike him any more! 
 He's dead !" were repeated several times. 
 Then the wild strife subsided. As the crowd 
 parted from around the body of Judge Ly- 
 man, and gave way, I caught a single glance 
 at his face. It was covered with blood, and 
 every feature seemed to have been literally 
 trampled down, until all was a level surface I 
 Sickened at the sight, I passed hastily from 
 the room into the open air, and caught my 
 breath several times before respiration again 
 went on freely. As I stood in front of the 
 tavern, the body of Judge Lyman was borne 
 out by three or* four men and carried off in 
 the direction of his dwelling. 
 
 " Is he dead ?" I inquired of those who 
 had him in charge. 
 
 " No," was the answer. " He's not dead, 
 but terribly beaten," and they passed on. 
 
 Again the loud voices of men in angry 
 strife arose in the bar-room. I did not re.- 
 turn there to learn the cause, or to witness 
 the fiend-like conduct of men, all whose 
 worst passions were stimulated by drink into 
 the wildest fervor. As I was entering my 
 room, the thought flashed through my 
 mind that, as Green was found there, it 
 needed only the bare suggestion that I 
 had aided in his concealment to direct
 
 200 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 toward me the insane fury of the drunken 
 mob. 
 
 " It is not safe to remain here." I said 
 this to myself, with the emphasis of a strong 
 internal conviction. 
 
 Against this my mind opposed a few fee- 
 ble arguments ; but the more I thought of 
 the matter the more clearly did I become 
 satisfied that to attempt to pass the night 
 in that room was to me a risk it was not 
 prudent to assume. 
 
 So I went in search of Mrs. Slade, to ask 
 her to have another room prepared for me. 
 But she was not in the house ; and I learned, 
 upon inquiry, that since the murder of 
 young Hammond she had been suffering 
 from repeated hysterical and fainting fits, 
 and was now, with her daughter, at the 
 house of a relative, whither she had been 
 carried early in the afternoon. 
 
 It was on my lip to request the chamber- 
 maid to give me another room ; but this I 
 felt to be scarcely prudent, for if the popular 
 indignation should happen to turn toward 
 me, the servant would be the one questioned, 
 most likely, as to where I had removed my 
 quarters. 
 
 " It isn't safe to stay in the house," said I, 
 speaking to myself. " Two, perhaps three, 
 murders, have been committed already-. 
 The tiger's thirst for blood has been stimu- 
 lated, and who can tell how quickly he ma*' 
 spring again, or in what direction ?"
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 201 
 
 Even while I said this, there came up 
 from the bar-room louder and madder 
 shouts. Then blows were heard, mingled 
 with cries and oaths. A shuddering sense 
 of danger oppressed me, and I went nastily 
 down stairs and out into the street. As I 
 gained the passage I looked into the sitting- 
 room, where the body of Green was laid out. 
 Just then the bar-room door was burst open 
 by a fighting party who had been thrown, 
 in their fierce contention, against it. I paused 
 only for a moment or two, and even in that 
 brief period of time saw blows exchanged 
 over the dead body of the gambler! 
 
 " This is no place for me," I said, almost 
 aloud, and hurried from the house, and took 
 my way to the residence of a gentleman 
 who had shown me many kindnesses dur- 
 ing my visits at Cedarville. There was 
 needed scarcely a word of representation 
 on my part to secure a cordial tender of a 
 bed. 
 
 What a change ! It seemed almost like a 
 passage from Pandemonium to a heavenly 
 region, as I seated myself alone in the quiet 
 chamber a cheerful hospitality had assigned 
 me, and mused on the exciting and terrible 
 incidents of the day. They that sow the 
 wind shall reap the whirlwind. How marked 
 had been the realization of this prophecy, 
 couched in such strong but beautiful im- 
 agery ! 
 
 On the next day I was to leave Cedarville.
 
 202 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-EOOM. 
 
 Early in the morning I repaired to the 
 "Sickle and Sheaf." The storm was over, 
 and all was calm and silent as desolation. 
 Hours before the tempest had subsided, 
 but the evidences left behind of its ravaging 
 fury were fearful to look upon. Doors, 
 chairs, windows and tables were broken, 
 and even the strong brass rod that orna- 
 mented the bar had been partially wrenched 
 from its fastenings by strong hands, under 
 an impulse of murder that only lacked a 
 weapon to execute its fiendish purpose. 
 Stains of blood, in drops, marks, and even 
 dried-up pools, were to be seen all over the 
 bar-room and passage floors, and in many 
 places on the porch. 
 
 In the sitting-room still lay the body of 
 Green. Here, too, were many signs to indi- 
 cate a fierce struggle. The looking-glass was 
 smashed to a hundred pieces, and the shiv- 
 ered fragments lay yet untouched upon the 
 floor. A chair, which it was plain had been 
 used as a weapon of assault, had two of its 
 legs broken short off, and was thrown into 
 a corner. And even the bearers on which 
 the dead man lay were pushed from their 
 true position, showing that even in its mor- 
 tal sleep the body of Green had felt the 
 jarring strife of elements he had himself 
 helped to awaken into mad activity. From 
 his face the sheet had been drawn aside, 
 but no hand ventured to replace it, and there 
 it lay, in its ghastly paleness, exposed to the
 
 NIGHT TEE SEVENTH. 208 
 
 light, and covered with restless flies, attracted 
 by the first faint odors of putridity. With gaze 
 averted, I approached the body and drew 
 the covering decently over it. 
 
 No person was in the bar. I went out into 
 the stable yard, where I met the hostler, with 
 his head bound up. There was a dark blue 
 circle around one of his eyes, and an ugly- 
 looking red scar on his cheek. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Slade ?" I inquired. 
 
 " In bed, and likely to keep it for a week," 
 was answered. 
 
 " How comes that?" 
 
 "Naturally enough. There was righting 
 all around last night, and he had to come in 
 for a share. The fool ! If he'd just held his 
 tongue he might have come out of it with a 
 whole skin. But, when the rum is in, the 
 wit is out, with him. It's cost me a black 
 eye and a broken head, for how could I stand 
 by and see him murdered outright?" 
 
 "Is he very badly injured?" 
 
 " I rather think he IB. One eye is clean 
 gone." 
 
 "Oh, shocking!" 
 
 " It's shocking enough, and no mistake." 
 
 "Lost an eye!" 
 
 " Too true, sir. The doctor saw him this 
 morning, and says the eye was fairly gouged 
 out and broken up. In fact, when we car- 
 ried him upstairs for dead last night his 
 eye was lying upon his cheek. I pushed it 
 back with my own hand !"
 
 204 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 "Oh, horrible!" The relation made me 
 sick. " Is he otherwise much injured ?" 
 
 " The doctor thinks there are some bad 
 hurts inside. Why, they kicked and tram- 
 pled upon him as if he had been a wild 
 beast ! I never saw such a pack of blood- 
 thirsty devils in my life." 
 
 " So much for rum," said I. 
 
 " Yes, sir; so much for rum," was the em- 
 phatic response. " It was the rum, and 
 nothing else. Why, some of the very men 
 who acted the most like tigers and devils 
 are as harmless persons as you will find in 
 Cedarville when sober. Yes, sir ; it was the 
 rum, and nothing else. Rum gave me this 
 broken head and black eye." 
 
 " So you had been drinking also ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes. There's no use in denying 
 that." 
 
 " Liquor does you harm." 
 
 " Nobody knows that better than I do." 
 
 " Why do you drink, then?" 
 
 "Oh, just because it comes in the way. 
 Liquor is under my eyes and nose all the 
 time, and it's as natural as breathing to take 
 a little now and then. And when I don't 
 think of it myself, somebody will think of it 
 for me, and say 'Come, Sam, let's take 
 something.' So you see, for a body such as 
 I am, there isn't much help for it." 
 
 " But ain't you afraid to go on in this 
 way? Don't you know where it will all 
 end ?"
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 205 
 
 " Just as well as anybody. It will make 
 an end of me or of all that is good in me. 
 Rum and ruin, you know, sir. They go to- 
 gether like twin brothers." 
 
 " Why don't you get out of the way of 
 temptation ?" said I. 
 
 " It's easy enough to ask that question, 
 sir ; but how am 1 to get out of the way of 
 temptation ? Where shall I go and not find 
 a bar in my road, and somebody to say 
 ' Come, Sam, let's take a drink ?' It can't be 
 done, sir, nohow. I'm a hostler, and don't 
 know how to be anything else." 
 
 " Can't you work on a farm ?" 
 
 " Yes, I can do something in that way. 
 But when there are taverns and bar-rooms, 
 as many as three or four in every mile all 
 over the country, how are you to keep clear 
 of them? Figure me out that." 
 
 " I think you'd better vote on the Maine 
 Law side at next election," said I. 
 
 " Faith, and I did it last time 1" replied 
 the man, with a brightening face " and if 
 I'm spared, I'll go the same ticket next 
 year." 
 
 "What do you think of the Law?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Think of it ! Bless your heart ! if I was 
 a praying man, which I'm sorry to say I 
 ain't my mother was a pious woman, sir " 
 his voice fell and slightly trembled " if I 
 was a praying man, sir, I'd pray night and 
 morning, and twenty times every day of my
 
 206 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 life, for God to put it into the hearts of the 
 people to give us that Law. I'd have some 
 hope then. But I haven't much as it is. 
 There's no use in trying to let liquor alone." 
 
 " Do many drinking men think as you 
 do?" 
 
 "lean count up a dozen or two myself. 
 It isn't the drinking men who are so much 
 opposed to the Maine law as your politi- 
 cians. They throw dust in the people's eyes 
 about it, and make a great many who know 
 nothing at all of the evils of drinking in 
 themselves believe some bugbear story about 
 trampling on the rights of I don't know 
 who, nor they either. As for rum-sellers' 
 rights, I never could see any right they had 
 to get rich by ruining poor devils such as I 
 am. I think, though, that we have some 
 right to be protected against them." 
 
 The ringing of a bell here announced the 
 arrival of some traveller, and the hostler left 
 me. 
 
 I learned during the morning that Mat- 
 thew the bar-keeper, and also the son of 
 Mr. Slade, were both considerably hurt 
 during the affrays in the bar-room, and were 
 confined, temporarily, to their beds. Mrs. 
 Slade still continued in a distressing and 
 dangerous state. Judge Lyman, though 
 shockingly injured, was not thought to be in 
 a critical condition. 
 
 A busy day the sheriff had of it, making 
 arresta of various parties engaged in the last
 
 NIGHT THE SEVENTH. 207 
 
 night's affairs. Even Slade, unable as he 
 was to lift his head from his pillow, was re- 
 quired to give heavy bail for his appearance 
 at court. Happily I escaped the inconve- 
 nience of being held to appear as a witness, 
 and early in the afternoon had the satisfac- 
 tion of finding myself rapidly borne away 
 in the stage-coach. It was two years before 
 I entered the pleasant village of Cedar ville 
 again.
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 
 
 Reaping the Whirlwind. 
 
 I WAS in Washington City during the suc- 
 ceeding month. It was the short or closing 
 session of a regular Congressional term. 
 The implication of Judge Lyman in the 
 affair of Green and young Hammond had 
 brought him into such bad odor in Cedar- 
 ville, and the whole district from which he 
 had been chosen, that his party deemed it 
 wise to set him aside and take up a candi- 
 date less likely to meet with so strong, and, 
 it might be, successful an opposition. By 
 so doing they were able to secure the elec- 
 tion once more against the growing temper- 
 ance party, which succeeded, however, in 
 getting a Maine Law man into the State 
 Legislature. It was, therefore, Judge Ly- 
 man's last winter at the Federal capital. 
 
 While seated in the reading-room at Ful- 
 ler's Hotel, about noon, on the day after my 
 arrival in Washington, I noticed an indi- 
 vidual, whose face looked familiar, come in 
 and glance about, as if in search of some 
 one. While yet questioning in my mind 
 who he could be, I heard a man remark to a 
 person with whom he had been conversing 
 ( 103}
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 203 
 
 " There's that vagabond member away 
 from his place in the House, again." 
 
 " Who? 1 ' inquired the other. 
 
 " Why, Judge Lyman," was answered. 
 
 " Oh I" said the other, indiflferently " it 
 isn't of much consequence. Precious little 
 wisdom does he add to that intelligent 
 body." 
 
 " His vote is worth something at least, 
 when important questions are at stake." 
 
 " What does he charge for it ?" was coolly 
 inquired. 
 
 There was a shrug of the shoulders and 
 an arching of the eyebrows, but no answer. 
 
 " I'm in earnest, though, in the question," 
 said the last speaker. 
 
 '* Not in saying that Lyman will sell his 
 vote to the highest bidders ?" 
 
 " That will depend altogether upon whom 
 the bidders may be. They must be men 
 who have something to lose as well as gain 
 men not at all likely to bruit the matter, 
 and in serving whose personal interests no 
 abandonment of party is required. Judge 
 Lyman is always on good terms with the 
 lobby members, and may be found in com- 
 
 E any with some of them daily. Doubtless 
 is absence from the House now is for the 
 purpose of a special meeting with gentle- 
 men who are ready to pay well for votes in 
 favor of some bill making appropriations 
 of public money for private or corporate 
 benefit."
 
 210 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 " You certainly cannot mean all you say 
 to be taken in its broadest sense," was re- 
 plied to this. 
 
 "Yes; in its very broadest. Into just 
 this deep of moral and political degradation 
 has this man fallen, disgracing his constitu- 
 ents and dishonoring his country." 
 
 " His presence at Washington doesn't 
 speak very highly in favor of the community 
 he represents." 
 
 " No ; still, as things are now, we cannot 
 judge of the moral worth of a community 
 by the men sent from it to Congress. Repre- 
 sentatives show merely the strength of 
 parties. The candidate chosen in party 
 primary meetings is not selected because he 
 is the best man they have, and the one fittest 
 to legislate wisely in national affairs ; but 
 he who happens to have the strongest per- 
 sonal friends among those who nominate, or 
 who is most likely to poll the highest vote. 
 This is why we find, in Congress, such a 
 large preponderance of tenth-rate men.'* 
 
 " Men, such as you represent Judge Ly- 
 man to be, would sell their country like an- 
 other Arnold." 
 
 "Yes; if the bid were high enough." 
 
 " Does he gamble ?" 
 
 " Gambling, I might say, is a part of his 
 profession. Very few nights pass, I am told, 
 without finding him at the gaming table." 
 
 I heard no more. At all this, I was not in 
 the least surprised, for my knowledge of the
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 211 
 
 man's antecedents had prepared me for alle- 
 gations quite as bad as these. 
 
 During the week I spent at the Federal 
 Capital I had several opportunities of see- 
 ing Judge Lyman, in the House and out of 
 it, in the House only when the yeas and 
 nays were called on some important meas- 
 ure, or a vote taken on a bill granting special 
 privileges. In the latter case his vote, as I no- 
 ticed, was generally cast on the affirmative 
 side. Several times I saw him staggering 
 on the Avenue, and once brought into the 
 House for the purpose of voting, in so 
 drunken a state that he had to be supported 
 to his seat. And even worse than this 
 when his name was called, he was asleep, 
 and had to be shaken several times before he 
 was sufficiently aroused to give his vote ! 
 
 Happily, for the good of his country, it 
 was his last winter in Washington. At the 
 next session a better man took his place. 
 
 Two years from the period of my last visit 
 to Cedarville I found myself approaching 
 that quiet village again. As the church- 
 spire came in view, and house after house 
 became visible, here and there, standing out 
 in pleasant relief against the green back- 
 ground of woods and fields, all the exciting 
 events which rendered my last visit so mem- 
 orable came up fresh in my mind. I was 
 yet thinking of Willy Hammond's dreadful
 
 212 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 death, and of his broken-hearted mother, 
 whose life went out with his, when the stage 
 rolled by their old homestead. Oh, what a 
 change was here ! Neglect, decay and di- 
 lapidation were visible, let the eye fall where 
 it would. The fences were down, here and 
 there ; the hedges, once so green and nicely 
 trimmed, had grown rankly in some places, 
 but were stunted and dying in others ; all 
 the beautiful walks were weedy and grass- 
 grown, and the box-borders dead ; the gar- 
 den, rainbow-hued in its wealth of choice 
 and beautiful flowers when I first saw it, 
 was lying waste, a rooting-ground for hogs. 
 A glance at the house showed a broken 
 chimney, the bricks unremoved from the 
 spot where they struck the ground ; a moss- 
 grown roof, with a large limb from a light- 
 ning-rent tree lying almost balanced over 
 the eaves, and threatening to fall at the 
 touch of the first wind-storm that swept 
 over. Half of the vines that clambered 
 about the portico were dead, and the rest, 
 untrained, twined themselves in wild disor- 
 der, or fell grovelling to the earth. One of 
 the pillars of the portico was broken, as 
 were, also, two of the steps that went up to 
 it. The windows of the house were closed, 
 but the door stood open, and as the stage 
 went by my eyes rested for a moment 
 upon an old man seated in the hall. He 
 was not near enough to the door for me to 
 get a view of his face, but the white flowing
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 213 
 
 hair left me in no doubt as to his identity. 
 It was Judge Hammond. 
 
 The " Sickle and Sheaf" was yet the stage- 
 house of Cedarville, and there, a few min- 
 utes afterward, I found myself. The hand 
 of change had been here also. The first ob- 
 ject that attracted my attention was the 
 sign-post, which, at my earlier arrival, some 
 eight or nine years before, stood up in its new 
 white garment of paint as straight as a 
 plummet-line, bearing proudly aloft the 
 golden sheaf and gleaming sickle. Now, 
 the post, dingy and shattered, and worn 
 from the frequent contact of wheels and 
 gnawing of restless horses, leaned from its 
 Li'im perpendicular at an angle of many de- 
 grees, as if ashamed of the faded, weather- 
 worn, lying symbol it bore aloft in the sun- 
 shine. Around the post was a filthy mud- 
 pool, in which a hog lay grunting out its 
 sense of enjoyment. Two or three old empty 
 whisky barrels lumbered up the dirty porch, 
 on which a coarse, bloated, vulgar-looking 
 man sat leaning against the wall his chair 
 tipped back on its hind legs squinting at 
 me from one eye, as I left the stage and 
 came forward toward the house. 
 
 " Ah ! is this you ?" said he, as I came 
 near to him, speaking thickly, and getting 
 up with a heavy motion. I now recognized 
 the altered person of Simon Slade. On look- 
 ing at him closer, I saw that the eye which 
 I had thought only shut was in fact de-
 
 214 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 stroyed. How vividly, now, uprose in im- 
 agination the scenes I had witnessed during 
 my last night in his bar-room the night 
 when a brutal mob, whom he had inebri- 
 ated with liquor, came near murdering 
 him. 
 
 " Glad to see you once more, my boy ! 
 Glad to see you ! I I I'm not just you 
 see. How are you ? How are you ?" 
 
 And he shook my hand with a drunken 
 show of cordiality. 
 
 I felt shocked and disgusted. Wretched 
 man ! down the crumbling sides of the pit 
 he had digged for other feet he was himself 
 sliding, while not enough strength remained 
 even to struggle with his fate. 
 
 I tried for a few minutes to talk with' him, 
 but his mind was altogether beclouded, and 
 his questions and answers incoherent, so I 
 left him and entered the bar-room. 
 
 " Can I get accommodations here for a 
 couple of days?" I inquired of a stupid, 
 sleepy-looking man, who was sitting in a 
 chair behind the bar. 
 
 "I reckon so," he answered, but did not 
 rise. 
 
 I turned, and walked a few paces toward 
 the door, and then walked back again. 
 
 " I'd like to get a room," said I. 
 
 The man got up slowly, and going to a 
 desk, fumbled about in it for awhile. At 
 length he brought out an old, dilapidated 
 blank-book, and throwing it open on the
 
 NIQHT THE EIGHTH. 215 
 
 counter, asked me, in an indifferent man- 
 ner, to write down my name. 
 
 " I'll take a pen, if you please." 
 
 " Oh, yes !" And he hunted about again 
 in the desk, from which, after awhile, he 
 brought forth the blackened stump of a 
 quill, and pushed it toward me across the 
 counter. 
 
 " Ink," said I fixing my eyes upon him 
 with a look of displeasure. 
 
 "I don't believe there is any," he mut- 
 tered. "Frank," and he called the land- 
 lord's son, going to the door behind the bar 
 as he did so. 
 
 "What d'ye want?" a rough, ill-natured 
 voice answered. 
 
 "Where's the ink?" 
 
 " Don't know anything about it." 
 
 " You had it last. What did you do with 
 it?" 
 
 " Nothing !" was growled back. 
 
 " Well, I wish you'd find it." 
 
 " Find it yourself, and " I cannot re- 
 peat the profane language he used. 
 
 " Never mind," said I. " A pencil will do 
 just as well." And I drew one from my 
 pocket. The attempt to write with this, on 
 the begrimed and greasy page of the register 
 was only partially successful. It would 
 have puzzled almost any one to make out 
 the name. From the date of the last entry 
 it appeared that mine was the first arrival for 
 over a week of any person desiring a room.
 
 216 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 As I finished writing my name Frank 
 came stalking in, with a cigar in his mouth 
 and a cloud of smoke around his head. He 
 had grown into a stout man though his 
 face presented little that was manly, in the 
 true sense of the word. It was disgustingly 
 sensual. On seeing me a slight flush tinged 
 his cheeks. 
 
 " How do you do?" he said, offering me 
 his hand. " Peter," he turned to the lazy- 
 looking bar-keeper " tell Jane to have No. 
 11 put in order for a gentleman immedi- 
 ately, and tell her to be sure and change the 
 bed-linen." 
 
 " Things look rather dull here," I re- 
 marked, as the bar-keeper went out to do as 
 he had been directed. 
 
 " Rather ; it's a dull place, anyhow." 
 
 " How is your mother ?" I inquired. 
 
 A slight, troubled look came into his face 
 as he answered 
 
 "No better." 
 
 "She's sick, then?" 
 
 " Yes ; she's been sick a good while, and 
 I'm afraid will never be much better." His 
 manner was not altogether cold and indiffer- 
 ent, but there was a want of feeling in his 
 voice. 
 
 "Is she at home?" 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 As he showed no inclination to say mote 
 on the subject, I asked no further questions, 
 and he soon found occasion to leave me.
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 217 
 
 The bar-room had undergone no material 
 change, so far as its furniture and arrange- 
 ments were concerned; but a very great 
 change was apparent in the condition of 
 these. The brass rod around the bar, which 
 at my last visit was brightly polished, was 
 now a greenish-black, and there came from 
 it an unpleasant odor of verdigris. The 
 walls were fairly coated with dust, smoke 
 and fly-specks, and the windows let in the 
 light but feebly, through the dirt- obscured 
 glass. The floor was filthy. Behind the 
 bar, on the shelves designed for a display of 
 liquors, was a confused mingling of empty 
 or half-filled decanters, cigar-boxes, lemons 
 and lemon-peel, old newspapers, glasses, a 
 broken pitcher, a hat, a soiled vest, and a 
 pair of blacking-brushes, with other incon- 
 gruous things, not now remem bered. The air 
 of the room was loaded with offensive vapors. 
 
 Disgusted with everything about the bar, 
 I went into the sitting-room. Here tbere 
 was some order in the arrangement of the 
 Jingy furniture; but you might have writ- 
 ten your name in dust on the looking-glass 
 and table. The smell of the torpid atmos- 
 phere was even worse than that of the bar- 
 room. So I did not linger here, but passed 
 through the hall and out upon the porch, 
 to get a draught of pure air. 
 
 Slarle still sat leaning against the wall. 
 
 " Fine day this," said he, speaking in a 
 mumbling kind of voice.
 
 218 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 " Very fine," I answered. 
 
 " Yes, very fine." 
 
 "Not doing so well as you were a fe* 
 years ago," said I. 
 
 " No you see these these 'ere blamed 
 temperance people are ruining everything." 
 
 "Ah I Is that so?" 
 
 " Yes. Cedarville isn't what it was when 
 fou first came to the 'Sickle and Sheaf.' I 
 I you see. Curse the temperance peo- 
 ple! They've ruined everything, you see. 
 Everything ! Ruined" 
 
 And he muttered and mouthed his words 
 in such a way that I could understand but 
 little he said, and in that little there was 
 scarcely any coherency. So I left him, with 
 a feeling of pity in my heart for the wreck 
 he had become, and went into the town to 
 call upon one or two gentlemen with whom 
 I had business. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon I learned 
 that Mrs. Slade was in an insane asylum 
 about five miles from Cedarville. The ter- 
 rible events of the day on which young 
 Hammond was murdered completed the 
 work of mental ruin, begun at the time her 
 husband abandoned the quiet, honorable 
 calling of a miller and became a tavern- 
 keeper. Reason could hold its position no 
 longer. When word came to her that Willy 
 and his mother were both dead she uttered 
 a wild shriek and fell down in a fainting fit. 
 From that period the balance of her mind
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 219 
 
 was destroyed. Long before this her friends 
 saw that reason wavered. Frank had been 
 her idol. A pure, bright, affectionate boy 
 he was when she removed with him from 
 their pleasant cottage-home, where all the 
 surrounding influences were good, into a 
 tavern, where an angel could scarcely re- 
 main without corruption. From the mo- 
 ment this change was decided on by her 
 husband a shadow fell upon her heart. She 
 saw before her husband, her children and 
 herself a yawning pit, and felt that in a very 
 few years all of them must plunge down 
 into its fearful darkness. 
 
 Alas ! how quickly began the realization 
 of her worst fears in the corruption of her 
 worshipped boy ! And how vain proved all 
 effort and remonstrance looking to his 
 safety, whether made with himself or his 
 father ! From the day the tavern was 
 opened, and Frank drew into his lungs full 
 draughts of the changed atmosphere by 
 which he was now surrounded, the work of 
 moral deterioration commenced. The very 
 smell of the liquor exhilarated him unnatu- 
 rally ; while the subjects of conversation, so 
 new to him, that found discussion in the 
 bar-room, soon came to occupy a prominent 
 place in his imagination, to the exclusion of 
 those humane, childlike, tender and heav- 
 enly thoughts and impressions it had been 
 the mother's care to impart and awaken. 
 
 Ah! with what an eager zest does the
 
 320 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAE-ROOM. 
 
 Heart <irink in of evil. And how almost 
 hopeless is the case of a boy surrounded, as 
 Frank was, by the corrupting, debasing as- 
 sociations of a bar-room ! Had his father 
 meditated his ruin, he could not have more 
 surely laid his plans for the rearful consum- 
 mation; and he reaped ass he had sown. 
 With a selfish desire to get gain he embarked 
 in the trade of corruption, ruin and death, 
 weakly believing that he and his could pass 
 through the fire harmless. How sadly A few 
 years demonstrated his error we have seen. 
 
 Flora, I learned, was with her mother, de- 
 voting hor life to her. The dreadful death 
 of Willy Hammond, for whom she had con- 
 ceived a stiong attachment, came near de- 
 priving her of *eason also. Since the day 
 on which that oiwful tragedy occurred she 
 had never even looked upon her old home. 
 She went away with her unconscious mother, 
 and ever since had remained with her, de- 
 voting her life to her comfort. Long befor-o 
 this all her own and mother's influence over 
 her brother had come to an end. It mat- 
 tered not how she sought ic &tay his feet, So. 
 swiftly moving along the downward way, 
 whether by gentle entreaty, earnest remon- 
 strance, or tears ; in either case, wounds fo* 
 her own heart were the sure consequences, 
 while his steps never lingered a moment. A' 
 swift destiny seemed hurrying him on to 
 ruin. The change in her father once so 
 tender, so cheerful in his tone, so proud of
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 221 
 
 and loving toward his daughter was an- 
 other source of deep grief to her pure young 
 spirit. Over him, as well as over her brother, 
 all her power was lost ; and he even avoided 
 her, as though her presence were an offence 
 to him. And so when she went out from 
 her unhappy home she took with her no de- 
 oire to return. Even when imagination bore 
 her back to the "Sickle and Sheaf," she felt 
 an intense, heart-sickening repulsion toward 
 the place where she had first felt the poi- 
 soned arrows of life; and in the depths of 
 her spirit she prayed that her eyes might 
 never look upon it again. In her almost 
 cloister-like seclusion she sought to gather 
 the mantle of oblivion about her heart. 
 
 Had not her mother's condition made 
 Flora's duty a plain one, the true, unselfish 
 instincts of her heart would have doubtless 
 led her back to the polluted home she had 
 left, there, in a kind of living death, to min- 
 ister as best she could to the comfort of a 
 debased father and brother. But she was 
 spared that trial that fruitless sacrifice. 
 
 Evening found me once more in the bar- 
 room of the " Sickle and Sheaf." The sleepy, 
 indifferent bar-keeper was now more in his 
 element, looked brighter, and had quicker 
 motions. Slade, who had partially recov- 
 ered from the stupefying effects of the heavy 
 draughts of ale with which he washed down 
 his dinner, was also in a better condition, 
 though not inclined to talk. He was sitting
 
 222 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 at a table, alone, with his eyes wandering 
 about the room. Whether his thoughts were 
 agreeable or disagreeable it was not easy to 
 determine. Frank was there, the centre of a 
 noisy group of coarse fellows, whose vulgar 
 sayings and profane expletives continually 
 rung through the room. The noisiest, 
 coarsest and most profane was Frank Slade, 
 yet did not the incessant volume of bad lan- 
 guage that flowed from his tongue appear in 
 the least to disturb his father. 
 
 Outraged, at length, by this disgusting ex- 
 hibition, that had not even the excuse of an 
 exciting cause, I was leaving the bar-room, 
 when I heard some one remark to a young 
 man who had just come in 
 
 " What ! you here again, Ned? Ain't you 
 afraid your old man will be after you, as 
 usual?" 
 
 "No," answered the person addressed, 
 chuckling inwardly, "he's gone to a prayer- 
 meeting." 
 
 " You'll at least have the benefit of his 
 prayers," was lightly remarked. 
 
 I turned to observe the young man more 
 closely. His face I remembered, though I 
 could not identify him at first. But when I 
 heard him addressed soon after as Ned Har- 
 grove, I had a vivid recollection of a little 
 incident that occurred some years before, 
 and which then made a strong impression. 
 The reader has hardly forgotten the visit of 
 Mr. Hargrove to the bar-room of the "Sickle
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTS. 22b 
 
 and Sheaf," and the conversation among 
 some of its inmates, which his withdrawal, 
 in company with his son, then occasioned. 
 The father's watchfulness over his boy, and 
 his efforts to save him from the allurements 
 and temptations of a bar-room, had proved, 
 as now appeared, unavailing. The son 
 was several years older ; but it was sadly 
 evident, from the expression of his face, 
 that he had been growing older in evil faster 
 than in years. 
 
 The few words that I have mentioned as 
 passing between this young man and an- 
 other inmate of the bar-room caused me to 
 turn back from the door, through which I 
 was about passing, and take a chair near to 
 where Hargrove had seated himself. As I 
 did so, the eyes of Simon Slade rested on 
 the last-named individual. 
 
 " Ned Hargrove 1 " he said, speaking 
 roughly " if you want a drink, you'd better 
 get it and make yourself scarce." 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself," retorted the 
 young man, " you'll get your money for the 
 drink in good time." 
 
 This irritated the landlord, who swore at 
 Hargrove violently, and said something 
 about not wanting boys about his place who 
 couldn't stir from home without having 
 " daddy or mammy running after them." 
 
 "Never fear!" cried out the person who 
 had first addressed Hargrove " his old 
 man's gone to a prayer-meeting. We shan't
 
 224 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-EOOM. 
 
 have the light of his pious countenance here 
 to-night." 
 
 I fixed my eyes upon the young man to 
 see what effect this coarse and irreverent al- 
 lusion to his father would have. A slight 
 tinge of shame was in his face ; but I saw 
 that he had not sufficient moral courage to 
 resent the shameful desecration of a parent's 
 name. How should he, when he was him- 
 self the first to desecrate that name? 
 
 " If he were forty fathoms deep in the in- 
 fernal regions," answered Slade, " he'd find 
 out that Ned was here, and get half an 
 hour's leave of absence to come after him. 
 The fact is, I'm tired of seeing his solemn, 
 sanctimonious face here every night. If the 
 boy hasn't spirit enough to tell him to mind 
 his own business, as I have done more than 
 fifty times, why let the boy stay away him- 
 self." 
 
 " Why don't you send him off with a flea 
 in his ear, Ned ?" said one of the company, 
 a young man scarcely his own age. " My 
 old man tried that game with me, but he 
 soon found that I could hold the winning 
 cards." 
 
 " Just what I'm going to do the very next 
 time he comes after me." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! So you've said twenty times," 
 remarked Frank Slade, in a sneering, inso- 
 lent manner. 
 
 Edward Hargrove had not the spirit to 
 resent this ; he only answered,
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 225 
 
 " Just let him show himself here to-night, 
 and you will see." 
 
 " No, we won't see," sneered Frank. 
 
 " Wouldn't it be fun I" was exclaimed. 
 " I hope to be on hand, should it ever come 
 off." 
 
 " He's as 'fraid as death of the old chap," 
 laughed a sottish-looking man, whose age 
 ought to have inspired him with some re- 
 spect for the relation between father and 
 eon; and doubtless would, had not a long 
 course of drinking and familiarity with de- 
 basing associates blunted his moral sense. 
 
 " Now for it I" I heard uttered, in a quick, 
 delighted voice. " Now for fun 1 Spunk up 
 to him, Ned ! Never say die 1" 
 
 I turned toward the door, and there stood 
 the father of Edward Hargrove. How well 
 I remembered the broad, fine forehead, the 
 steady yet mild eyes, the firm lips, the ele- 
 vated, superior bearing of the man I had 
 once before seen in that place, and on a like 
 errand. His form was slightly bent now, 
 his hair was whiter, his eyes farther back in 
 his head, his face thinner and marked with 
 deeper lines, and there was in the whole ex- 
 pression of his face a touching sadness. 
 Yet, superior to the marks of time and suf- 
 fering, an unflinching resolution was visible 
 in his countenance that gave to it a dignity 
 and extorted involuntary respect. He stood 
 still, after advancing a few paces, and then, 
 his searching eyes having discovered his son, 
 
 TI
 
 226 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 he said mildly, yet firmly, and with such 
 a strength of parental love in his voice that 
 resistance was scarcely possible: 
 
 " Edward I Edward 1 Come, my son." 
 
 "Don't go." The words were spoken in 
 an undertone, and he who uttered them 
 turned his face away from Mr. Hargrove, so 
 that the old man could not see the motion 
 of his lips. A little while before he had 
 spoken bravely against the father of Ed- 
 ward, now he could not stand up in his 
 presence. 
 
 I looked at Edward. He did not move 
 from where he was sitting, and yet I saw 
 that to resist his father cost him no light 
 struggle. 
 
 " Edward." There was nothing impera- 
 tive nothing stern nothing commanding 
 in the father's voice, but its great, its almost 
 irresistible power, lay in its expression of 
 the father's belief that his son would in- 
 stantly leave the place. And it was this 
 power that prevailed. Edward arose, and, 
 with eyes cast upon the floor, was moving 
 away from his companions, when Frank 
 Slade exclaimed, 
 
 " Poor, weak fool !" 
 
 It was a lightning flash of indignation, 
 rather than a mere glance from the human 
 eye, that Mr. Hargrove threw instantly upon 
 Frank, while his fine form sprung up erect. 
 He did not speak, but merely transfixed him 
 with a look. Frank curled his lip impo-
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 227 
 
 tently, as he tried to return the old man's- 
 withering glances. 
 
 " Now look here !" said Simon Slade, in 
 some wrath, " there's been just about enough, 
 of this. I'm getting tired of it. Why don't 
 you keep Ned at home ? Nobody wants 
 him here." 
 
 " Refuse to sell him liquor," returned Mr. 
 Hargrove. 
 
 ''It's my trade to sell liquor," answered 
 Slade, boldly. 
 
 " I wish you had a more honorable call- 
 ing," said Hargrove, almost mournfully. 
 
 " If you insult my father I'll strike you 
 down !" exclaimed Frank Slade, starting up 
 and assuming a threatening aspect. 
 
 " I respect filial devotion, meet it where I 
 will," calmly replied Mr. Hargrove, "I 
 only wish it had a better foundation in this- 
 case. I only wish the father had merited ' x 
 
 I will not stain my page with the fearful 
 oath that Frank Siade yelled, rather than 
 uttered, as with clenched fist he sprung to- 
 ward Mr. Hargrove. But ere he had reached 
 the unruffled old man who stood looking 
 at him as one would look into the eyes of a. 
 wild beast, confident that he could not stand 
 the gaze a firm hand grasped his arm, and 
 a rough voice said 
 
 " Avast there, young man ! Touch a hair 
 of that white head, and I'll wring vour neck 
 off." 
 
 " Lyon !" As Frank uttered the man'&
 
 228 TEN NIGHTS IN A DAB-ROOM. 
 
 name he raised his fist to strike him. A 
 moment the clenched hand remained poised 
 in the air, then it fell slowly to his side, and 
 he contented himself with an oath and a vile 
 epithet. 
 
 u You can swear to your heart's content. 
 Tt will do nobody any harm but yourself," 
 Coolly replied Mr. Lyon, whom I now recog- 
 nized as the person with whom I had held 
 several conversations during previous visits. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Lyon/' said Mr. Har- 
 grove, " for this manly interference. It is 
 no more than I should have expected from 
 you." 
 
 " I never suffer a young man to strike an 
 old man,' 1 said Lyon, firmly. " Apart from 
 that, Mr. Hargrove, there are other reasons 
 why your person must be free from violence 
 where I am." 
 
 " This is a bad place for you, Lyon," said 
 Mr. Hargrove, " and I've said so to you a 
 good many times." He spoke in rather an 
 undertone. " Why will you come here ?" 
 
 "It's a bad place, I know," replied Lyon, 
 speaking out boldly, " and we all know it. 
 But habit, Mr. Hargrove habit. That's the 
 cursed thing! If the bar-rooms were all 
 shut up there would be another story to tell. 
 Get us the Maine law, and there will be some 
 chance for us." 
 
 " Why don't you vote the temperance 
 ticket ?'' asked Mr. Hargrove. 
 
 "Why did I? you'd better ask," said Lyon.
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 22 
 
 " I thought you voted against us." 
 
 "Not I. Ain't quite so blind to my own 
 interests as that. And, if the truth were 
 known, I should not at all wonder if every 
 man in this room, except Slade and his son, 
 voted on your side of the house." 
 
 " It's a little strange, then," said Mr. Har- 
 grove, " that with the drinking men on our 
 side, we failed to secure the election." 
 
 " You must blame that on your moderate 
 men, who see no danger and go blind with 
 their party," answered Lyon. " We have 
 looked the evil in the face, and know its 
 direful quality." 
 
 "Come! I would like to talk with you, 
 Mr. Lyon." 
 
 Mr. Hargrove, his son, and Mr. Lyon went 
 out together. As they left the room, Frank 
 Slade said 
 
 ' What a cursed liar and hypocrite he isP 
 'Who?" was asked. 
 
 'Why, Lyon," answered Frank, boldly. 
 ' You'd better say that to his face." 
 ' It wouldn't be good for him," remarked 
 one of the company. 
 
 At this Frank started to his feet, stalked 
 about the room, and put on all the disgust- 
 ing airs of a drunken braggart. Even hi 
 father saw the ridiculous figure he cut, and 
 growled out 
 
 " There, Frank, that'll do. Don't make a 
 miserable fool of yourself!" 
 
 At which Frank retorted with so much of
 
 230 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 insolence that his father flew into a tower- 
 ing passion, and ordered him to leave the 
 bar-room. 
 
 " You can go out yourself if you don't 
 like the company. I'm very well satisfied," 
 answered Frank. 
 
 " Leave this room, you impudent young 
 scoundrel!" 
 
 " Can't go, my amiable friend," said 
 Frank, with a cool self-possession that mad- 
 dened his father, who got up hastily and 
 moved across the bar-room to the place 
 where he was standing. 
 
 " Go out, I tell you ." Slade spoke reso- 
 lutely. 
 
 " Would be happy to oblige you," Frank 
 said, in a taunting voice, "but, 'pon my 
 word, it isn't at all convenient." 
 
 Half-intoxicated as he was, and already 
 nearly blind with passion, Slade lifted his 
 hand to strike his son, and the blow would 
 have fallen had not someone caught his arm 
 and held him back from the meditated vio- 
 lence. Even the debased visitors of this bar- 
 room could not stand by and see nature out- 
 raged in a bloody strife between father and 
 eon, for it was plain from the face and quickly 
 assumed attitude of Frank that if his father 
 had laid his hand upon him he would have 
 struck him in return. 
 
 I could not remain to hear the awful im- 
 precations that father and son in their im- 
 potent rage called down from heaven upon
 
 NIGHT THE EIGHTH. 231 
 
 each other's heads. It was the most shock- 
 ing exhibition of depraved human nature- 
 that I had ever seen. And so I left the bar- 
 room, glad to escape from its stifling atmos- 
 phere and revolting scenes.
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 
 
 A Fearful Consummation. 
 
 NEITHER Slade nor his son was present at 
 the breakfast table on the next morning. 
 As for myself, I did not eat with much appe- 
 tite. Whether this defect arose from the 
 state of my mind or the state of the food set 
 before me I did not stop to inquire, but left 
 the stifling, offensive atmosphere of the din- 
 ing-room in a very few moments after enter- 
 ing that usually attractive place for a hungry 
 man. 
 
 A few early drinkers were already in the 
 bar-room men with shattered nerves and 
 cadaverous faces, who could not begin the 
 day's work without the stimulus of brandy 
 or whisky. They came in with gliding foot- 
 steps, asked for what they wanted in low 
 voices, drank in silence, and departed. It 
 was a melancholy sight to look upon. 
 
 About nine o'clock the landlord made his 
 appearance. He, too, came gliding into the 
 bar-room, and his first act was to seize upon 
 a brandy decanter, pour out nearly half a 
 pint of the fiery liquid and drink it off. 
 How badly his hand shook so badly that 
 he spilled the brandy both in pouring it out 
 and in lifting the glass to his lips ! What a 
 (232)
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 233 
 
 shattered wreck he was ! He looked really 
 worse now than he did on the day before, 
 when drink gave an artificial vitality to his 
 system, a tension to his muscles, and light 
 to his countenance. The miller of ten years 
 ago, and the tavern-keeper of to-day ! Who 
 could have identified them as one ? 
 
 Slade was turning from the bar when a 
 man came in. I noticed an instant change 
 in the landlord's countenance. He looked 
 startled, almost frightened. The man drew 
 a small package from his pocket, and after 
 selecting a paper therefrom, presented it to 
 Slade, who received it with a nervous reluc- 
 tance, opened and let his eye fall upon the 
 writing within. I was observing him closely 
 at the time, and saw his countenance flush 
 deeply. In a moment or two it became pale 
 again paler even than before. 
 
 " Very well all right. I'll attend to it," 
 said the landlord, trying to recover himself, 
 yet swallowing with every sentence. 
 
 The man, who was no other than the 
 sheriffs deputy, and who gave him a sober, 
 professional look, then went out with a firm 
 step and an air of importance. As he passed 
 through the outer door Slade retired from 
 the bar-room. 
 
 " Trouble coming," I heard the bar-keeper 
 remark, speaking partly to himself and 
 partly with the view, as was evident from his 
 manner, of leading me to question him. 
 But this I did not feel that it was right to do.
 
 234 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-BOOM. 
 
 " Got the sheriff on him at last," added 
 the bar-keeper. 
 
 "What's the matter, Bill?" inquired a 
 man who now came in with a bustling, im- 
 portant air, and leaned familiarly over the 
 bar. " Who was Jenkins after ?" 
 
 " The old man," replied the bar-keeper, in 
 a voice that showed pleasure rather than re- 
 gret. 
 
 "No!" 
 
 "It's a fact." Bill, the bar-keeper, act- 
 ually smiled. 
 
 " What's to pay ?" said the man. 
 
 " Don't know, and don't care much." 
 
 "Did he serve a summons or an execu- 
 tion?" 
 
 " Can't tell." 
 
 " Judge Lyman 's suit went against him." 
 
 "Did it?"' 
 
 " Yes ; and I heard Judge Lyman swear 
 that if he got him on the hip he'd sell him 
 out, bag and basket. And he's the man to 
 keep his word." 
 
 " I never could just make out," said the 
 bar-keeper, " how he ever came to owe Judge 
 Lyman so much. I've never known of any 
 business transactions between them." 
 
 " It's been dog eat dog, I rather guess," 
 said the man. 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" inquired 
 the bar-keeper. 
 
 " You've heard of dogs hunting in pairs ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes."
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 235 
 
 " Well, since Harvey Green got his de- 
 serts, the business of fleecing our silly young 
 fellows who happened to have more money 
 than wit or discretion has been in the hands 
 of Judge Lyman and Slade. They hunted 
 together, Slade holding the game while the 
 Judge acted as blood-sucker. But that busi- 
 ness was interrupted about a year ago, and 
 game got so scarce that, as I suggested, dog 
 began to eat dog. And here comes the end 
 of the matter, if I'm not mistaken. So mix 
 us a stiff toddy. I want one more good 
 drink at the 'Sickle and Sheaf before the 
 colors are struck." 
 
 And the man chuckled at his witty effort. 
 
 During the day I learned that affairs stood 
 pretty much as this man had conjectured. 
 Ly man's suits had been on sundry notes, 
 payable on demand ; but nobody knew of 
 any property transactions between him and 
 Slade. On the part of Slade no defence had 
 been made, the suit going by default. The 
 visit of the sheriff's officer was for the pur- 
 pose of serving an execution. 
 
 As I walked through Cedarville on that 
 day the whole aspect of the place seemed 
 changed. I questioned with myself often 
 whether this were really so or only the effect 
 of imagination. The change was from cheer- 
 fulness and thrift to gloom and neglect. 
 There was to me a brooding silence in the 
 air, a pause in the life-movement, a folding 
 of the hands, so to speak, because hope had
 
 236 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 failed from the heart. The residence of Mr. 
 Harrison, who some two years before had 
 suddenly awakened to a lively sense of the 
 evil of rum-selling, because his own sons 
 were discovered to be in danger, had been 
 one of the most tasteful in Cedarville. I had 
 often stopped to admire the beautiful shrub- 
 bery and flowers with which it was sur- 
 rounded ; the walks so clear the borders 
 so fresh and even the arbors so cool and 
 inviting. There was not a spot upon which 
 the eye could rest that did not show the 
 hand of taste. When I now came opposite 
 to this house I was no longer in doubt as to 
 the actuality of a change. There was no 
 marked evidences of neglect, but the high 
 cultivation and nice regard for the small de- 
 tails were lacking. The walks were cleanly 
 swept; but the box-borders were not so 
 carefully trimmed. The vines and bushes, 
 that in former times were cut and tied so 
 evenly, could hardly have felt the keen 
 touch of the pruning-knife for months. 
 
 As I paused to note the change, a lady, 
 somewhat beyond the middle age, came from 
 the house. I was struck by the deep gloom 
 that overshadowed her countenance. Ah ! 
 said I to myself, as I passed on, how many 
 dear hopes that once lived in that heart 
 must have been scattered to the winds. As 
 I conjectured, this was Mrs. Harrison, and I 
 was not unprepared to hear, as I did a few 
 hours afterward, that her two sons had fallen
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 23} 
 
 into drinking habits ; and not only this, had 
 been enticed to the gaming-table. Unhappy 
 mother! What a lifetime of wretchedness 
 was compressed for thee into a few short 
 years ! 
 
 I walked on, noting here and there 
 changes even more marked than appeared 
 about the residence of Mr. Harrison. Judge 
 Lyman's beautiful place showed utter ne- 
 glect ; and so did one or two others that on 
 my first visit to Cedarivlle charmed me with 
 their order, neatness, and cultivation. In 
 every instance I learned, on inquiring, that 
 the owners of these, or some members of 
 their families, were, or had been, visitors at 
 the u Sickle and Sheaf," and that the ruin, 
 in progress or completed, began after the 
 establishment of that point of attraction in 
 the village. 
 
 Something of a morbid curiosity, excited 
 by what I saw, led me on to take a closer 
 view of the residence of Judge Hammond 
 than I had obtained on the day before. The 
 first thing that I noticed on approaching the 
 old, decaying mansion were handbills posted 
 on the gate, the front door, and on one of the 
 windows. A nearer inspection revealed their 
 import. The property had been seized, and 
 was now offered at sheriff's sale! 
 
 Ten years before Judge Hammond was 
 known as the richest man in Cedarville ; 
 and now the homestead he had once so loved 
 to beautify where all that was dearest to
 
 238 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 him in life once gathered worn, disfigured 
 and in ruins, was about being wrested from 
 him. I paused at the gate, and leaning over 
 it looked with saddened feelings upon the 
 dreary waste within. No sign of life was 
 visible. The door was shut the windows 
 closed not the faintest wreath of smoke was 
 seen above the blackened chimney-tops. 
 How vividly did imagination restore the life, 
 and beauty, and happiness that made their 
 home there only a few years before the 
 mother and her noble boy, one looking with 
 trembling hope, the other with joyous confi- 
 dence, into the future the father proud of 
 his household treasures, but not their wise 
 and jealous guardian. 
 
 Ah ! that his hands should have unbarred 
 the door and thrown it wide for the wolf to 
 enter that precious fold ! I saw them all in 
 their sunny life before me, yet even as I 
 looked upon them their sky began to darken. 
 I heard the distant mutterings of the storm, 
 and soon the desolating tempest swept down 
 fearfully upon them. I shuddered, as it 
 passed away, to look upon the wrecks left 
 scattered around. What a change! 
 
 " And all this," said I, " that one man. 
 tired of being useful and eager to get gain^ 
 might gather in accursed gold !" 
 
 Pushing open the gate I entered the yard 
 and walked around the dwelling, my foot- 
 steps echoing in the hushed solitude of the de- 
 serted place. Hark! was that a human voice?
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 239 
 
 I paused to listen. 
 
 The sound came once more distinctly to 
 my ears. I looked around, above, every- 
 where, but perceived no living sign. For 
 nearly a minute I stood still, listening. 
 Yes, there it was again a low, moaning 
 voice, as of one in pain or grief. I stepped 
 onward a few paces, and now saw one of the 
 doors standing ajar. As I pushed this door 
 wide open the moan was repeated. Follow- 
 ing the direction from which the sound 
 came, I entered one of the large drawing- 
 rooms. The atmosphere was stifling, and 
 all as dark as if it were midnight. Groping 
 my way to a window, I drew back the bolt 
 and threw open a shutter. Broadly the light 
 fell across the dusty, uncarpeted floor, and 
 on the dingy furniture of the room. As it 
 did so the moaning voice which had drawn 
 me thither swelled on the air again, and now 
 I saw lying upon an old sofa the form of a 
 man. It needed no second glance to tell me 
 that this was Judge Hammond. I put my 
 hand upon him and uttered his name, but 
 he answered not. I spoke more firmly, and 
 slightly shook him, but only a piteous moan 
 was returned. 
 
 "Judge Hammond !" I now called aloud, 
 and somewhat imperatively. 
 
 But it availed nothing. The poor old man 
 aroused not from the stupor in which mind 
 and body were enshrouded. 
 
 " He is dying I" thought I, and instantly
 
 240 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAB-ROOM. 
 
 left the house in search of some friends to 
 take charge of him in his last sad extremity. 
 The first person to whom I made known the 
 fact shrugged his shoulders, and said it was 
 no affair of his, and that I must find some- 
 body whose business it was to attend to him. 
 My next application was met in the same 
 spirit, and no better success attended my 
 reference of the matter to a third party. No 
 one to whom I spoke seemed to have any 
 sympathy for the broken-down old man. 
 Shocked by this indifference, I went to one 
 of the county officers, who, on learning the 
 condition of Judge Hammond, took imme- 
 diate steps to have him removed to the 
 Almshouse, some miles distant. 
 
 " But why to the Almshouse?" I inquired, 
 on learning his purpose. "He has property." 
 
 "Everything has been seized for debt," 
 was the reply. 
 
 " Will there be nothing left after his cred- 
 itors are satisfied ?" 
 
 " Very few, if any, will be satisfied," he 
 answered. "There will not be enough to 
 pay half the judgments against him." 
 
 " And is there no friend to take him in, 
 no one, of all who moved by his side in the 
 days of prosperity, to give a few hours' shel- 
 ter and soothe the last moments of his un- 
 happy life ?" 
 
 " Why did you make application here?" 
 was the officer's significant question. 
 
 I was silent.
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 241 
 
 "Your earnest appeals for the poor old 
 man met with no words of sympathy ?" 
 
 " None." 
 
 " He has, indeed, fallen low. In the days 
 of his prosperity he had many friends, so- 
 called. Adversity has shaken them all like 
 dead leaves from sapless branches." 
 
 " But why ? This is not always so.'' 
 
 " Judge Hammond was a selfish, worldly 
 man. People never liked him much. His 
 favoring so strongly the tavern of Slade, and 
 his distillery operations, turned from him 
 some of his best friends. The corruption 
 and terrible fate of his son and the insanity 
 and death of his wife all were charged 
 upon him in people's minds, and everyone 
 seemed to turn from him instinctively after 
 the fearful tragedy was completed. He 
 never held up his head afterward. Neigh- 
 bors shunned him as they would a criminal. 
 And here has come the end at last. He 
 will be taken to the Poorhouse, to die there 
 a pauper !" 
 
 "And all," said I, partly speaking to my- 
 self, '' because a man too lazy to work at an 
 honest calling must needs go to rum- 
 selling." 
 
 " The truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
 but the truth," remarked the officer with 
 emphasis, as he turned from me to see that 
 his directions touching the removal of Mr. 
 Hammond to the Poorhouse were promptly 
 executed.
 
 242 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 In my wanderings about Cedarville during 
 that day I noticed a small bw* very neat 
 cottage a little way from the centre of the 
 village. There was not around it a great 
 profusion of flowers and shrubbery, but the 
 few vines, flowers and bushes that grew 
 green and flourishing about the door and 
 along the clean walks added to the air of 
 taste and comfort that so peculiarly marked 
 the dwelling. 
 
 "Who lives in that pleasant little spot?" 
 I asked of a man whom I had frequently 
 seen in Slade's bar-room. He happened to 
 be passing the house at the same time that 
 I was. 
 
 "Joe Morgan," was answered. 
 
 "Indeed!" I spoke in some surprise. 
 " And what of Morgan ? How is he doing ?" 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 "Doesn't he drink?" 
 
 " No. Since the death of his child he 
 has never taken a drop. That event sobered 
 him, and he has remained sober ever sb3e." 
 
 "What is he doing?" 
 
 " Working at his old trade." 
 
 "That of a miller?" 
 
 "Yes. After Judge Hammond broke 
 down, the distillery apparatus and cotton- 
 spinning machinery were all sold and re- 
 moved from Cedarville. The purchaser of 
 what remained, having something of the fear 
 of God, as well as regard for man in his 
 heart, set himself to the restoration of the
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 243 
 
 old order of things, and in due time the re- 
 volving millwheel was at its old and bettei 
 work of grinding corn and wheat for bread. 
 The only two men in Cedarville competent 
 to take charge of the mill were Simon Slade 
 and Joe Morgan. The first could not be 
 had, and the second came in as a matter of 
 course. 
 
 " And he remains sober and industrious?" 
 
 " As any man in the village," was the an- 
 Bwer. 
 
 I saw but little of Slade or his son during 
 the day. But both were in the bar-room at 
 night, and both in a condition sorrowful to 
 look upon. Their presence, together, in the 
 bar-room, half-intoxicated as they were, 
 seemed to revive the unhappy temper of the 
 previous evening as freshly as if the sun 
 had not risen and set upon their anger. 
 
 During the early part of the evening con- 
 siderable company was present, though not 
 of a very select class. A large proportion 
 were young men. To most of them the fact 
 that Slade had fallen into the sheriff's hands 
 was known ; and I gathered from some aside 
 conversation which reached my ears that 
 Frank's idle, spendthrift habits had hast- 
 ened the present crisis in his father's affairs. 
 He too was in debt to Judge Lyman on 
 what account it was not hard to infer. 
 
 It was after nine o'clock, and there was 
 not half a dozen persons in the room, when 
 I noticed Frank Slade go behind the bar for
 
 244 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 the third or fourth time. He was just lift- 
 Ing a decanter of brandy when his father, 
 who was considerably under the influence 
 of drink, started forward and laid his hand 
 upon that of his son. Instantly a fierce 
 light gleamed from the eyes of the young 
 man. 
 
 " Let go of my hand !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " No, I won't. Put up that brandy bottle 
 you're drunk now." 
 
 '" Don't meddle with me, old man 1" an- 
 grily retorted Frank. " I'm not in the mood 
 to bear anything more from you." 
 
 "You're drunk as a fool now," returned 
 Slade, who had seized the decanter. " Let go 
 the bottle!" 
 
 For only an instant did the young man 
 hesitate. Then he drove his half clenched 
 hand against the breast of his father, who 
 went staggering away several paces from the 
 counter. Recovering himself, and now al- 
 most furious, the landlord rushed forward 
 upon his son, his hand raised to strike him. 
 
 "Keep off!" cried Frank. "Keep off! 
 If you touch me. I'll strike you down !" at 
 the same time raising the half-filled bottle 
 threateningly. 
 
 But his father was in too maddened a 
 stafra to fear any consequences, and so 
 prOsed forward upon his son, striking him 
 >r ihe face the moment he came near enough 
 
 do so. 
 
 Instantly the young man, infuriated by
 
 NIGHT THE NINTH. 245 
 
 drink and evil passions, threw the bottle at 
 his father's head. The dangerous missile 
 fell, crashing upon one of his temples, shiv- 
 ering it into a hundred pieces. A heavy, 
 jarring fall too surely marked the fearful 
 consequences of the blow. When we gath- 
 ered around the fallen man, and made an 
 effort to lift him from the floor, a thrill of 
 horror went through every heart. A mortal 
 paleness was already on his marred face and 
 the death-gurgle in his throat ! In three 
 minutes from the time the blow was struck 
 his spirit had gone upward to give an ac- 
 count of the deeds done in the body. 
 
 " Frank Slade, you have murdered your 
 father!" 
 
 Sternly were these terrible words uttered. 
 It was some time before the young man 
 seemed to comprehend their meaning. But 
 the moment he realized the awful truth he 
 uttered an exclamation of horror. Almost 
 at the same instant a pistol-shot came sharply 
 on the ear. But the meditated self-destruc- 
 tion was not accomplished. The aim was 
 not surely taken, and the ball struck harm- 
 lessly against the ceiling. 
 
 Half an hour afterward and Frank Slade 
 was a lonely prisoner in the county jail ! 
 
 Does the reader need a word of 'comment 
 on this fearful consummation ? No : and 
 we will offer none.
 
 NIGHT THE TENTH. 
 
 The Closing Scene at the "Sickle and Sheaf." 
 
 ON the day that succeeded the evening 
 of this fearful tragedy, placards were to be 
 seen all over the village announcing a mass 
 meeting at the "Sickle and Sheaf" that 
 night. 
 
 By early twilight the people commenced 
 assembling. The bar, which had been closed 
 all day, was now thrown open and lighted, 
 and in this room where so much of evil had 
 been originated, encouraged and consum- 
 mated, a crowd of earnest-looking men were 
 soon gathered. Among them I saw the fine 
 person of Mr. Hargrove. Joe Morgan or 
 rather Mr. Morgan was also of the number. 
 The latter I would scarcely have recognized 
 had not some one near me called him by 
 name. He was well dressed, stood erect, 
 and, though there were many deep lines on 
 his thoughtful countenance, all traces of his 
 former habits were gone. While I was ob- 
 serving him he arose, and addressing a few 
 words to the assemblage, nominated Mr. 
 Hargrove as chairman of the meeting. To 
 this a unanimous assent was given. 
 
 On taking the chair, Mr. Hargrove made a 
 brief address, something to this effect : 
 ( 246 )
 
 NIGHT THE TENTH. 247 
 
 " Ten years ago," said he, his voice evinc- 
 ing a slight unsteadiness as he began, but 
 growing firmer as he proceeded, " there was 
 not a happier spot in Bolton county than 
 Cedarville. Now the marks of ruin are 
 everywhere. Ten years ago there was a 
 kind-hearted, industrious miller in Cedar- 
 ville, liked by everyone, and as harmless as 
 a little child. Now his bloated, disfigured 
 body lies in that room. His death was vio- 
 lent, and by the hand of his own son 1" 
 
 Mr. Hargrove's words fell slowly, dis- 
 tinctly, and marked by the most forcible em- 
 phasis. There was scarcely one present who 
 did not feel a low shudder run along his 
 nerves as the last words were spoken in a 
 huksy whisper. 
 
 " Ten years ago," he proceeded, "the mil- 
 ler had a happy wife and two innocent, 
 glad-hearted children. Now his wife, bereft 
 of reason, is in a mad-house, and his son 
 the occupant of a felon's cell, charged with 
 the awful crime of parricide !" 
 
 Briefly he paused, while his audience 
 etood gazing upon him with half-suspended 
 respiration. 
 
 " Ten years ago," he went on, " Judge 
 Hammond was accounted the richest man 
 in Cedarville. Yesterday he was carried, a 
 friendless pauper, to the Almshouse, and to- 
 day he is the unmourned occupant of a 
 pauper's grave ! Ten years ago his wife was 
 the proud, hopeful, loving mother of a most
 
 248 TEN NIGHTS IN A BAR-ROOM. 
 
 promising son. I need not describe what 
 Willy Hammond was. All here knew him 
 well. Ah ! what shattered the fine intellect 
 of that noble-minded woman? Why did 
 her heart break? Where is she? Where 
 is Willy Hammond ?" 
 
 A low, half-repressed groan answered the 
 speaker. 
 
 "Ten years ago you, sir," pointing to a 
 sad-looking old man and calling him by 
 name, " had two sons generous, promising, 
 manly-hearted boys. What are they now? 
 You need not answer the question. Too 
 well is their history and your sorrow known. 
 Ten years ago I had a son, amiable, kind, 
 loving, but weak. Heaven knows how I 
 sought to guard and protect him ! But he 
 fell also. The arrows of destruction dark- 
 ened the very air of our once secure and 
 happy village. And who was safe? Not 
 mine, nor yours ! 
 
 " Shall I go on ? Shall I call up and pass 
 in review before you, one after another, all 
 the wretched victims who have fallen in 
 Cedarville during the last ten years ? Time 
 does not permit. It would take hours for 
 the enumeration ! No, I will not throw ad- 
 ditional darkness into the picture. Heaven 
 knows it is black enough already I But 
 what is the root of this great evil ? Where 
 lies the fearful secret? Who understands 
 the disease ? A direful pestilence is in the 
 air it walketh in darkness and wasteth at
 
 NIGHT THE TENTH. 249 
 
 noonday. It is slaying the first-born in our 
 houses, and the cry of anguish is swelling 
 on every gale. Is there no remedy ?" 
 
 "Yesl yes! There is a remedy I" was the 
 spontaneous answer from many voices. 
 
 " Be it our task, then, to find and apply it 
 .,this night," answered the chairman, as he 
 took his seat. 
 
 " And there is but one remedy," said Mor- 
 gan, as Mr. Hargrove sat down. " The ac- 
 cursed traffic must cease among us. You 
 must cut off the fountain if you would dry 
 up the stream. If you would save the 
 young, the weak and the innocent on you 
 God has laid the solemn duty of their pro- 
 tection you must cover them from the 
 tempter. Evil is strong, wily, fierce and 
 active in the pursuit of its ends. The young, 
 the weak and the innocent can no more re- 
 sist its assaults than the lamb can resist the 
 wolf. They are helpless, if you abandon 
 them to the powers of evil. Men and breth- 
 ren 1 as one who has himself been wellnigh 
 lost as one who daily feels and trembles at 
 the dangers that beset his path I do con- 
 jure you to stay the fiery stream that is 
 bearing everything good and beautiful among 
 you to destruction. Fathers ! for the sake of 
 your young children, be up now and doing. 
 Think of Willy Hammond, Frank Slade, and 
 a dozen more whose names I could repeat, 
 and hesitate no longer 1 Let us resolve this 
 night that from henceforth the traffic shall
 
 250 TEN NIGHT3 IN A BAR-BOOM. 
 
 cease in Cedarville. Is there not a large ma- 
 jority of citizens in favor of such a measure ? 
 And whose rights or interests can be affected 
 by such a restriction? Who, in fact, has 
 any right to sow disease and death in our 
 community ? The liberty, under sufferance 
 to do so, wrongs the individual who uses it 
 as well as those who become its victims. 
 Do you want proof of this ? Look at Simon 
 Slade, the happy, kind-hearted miller, and 
 at Simon Slade, the tavern-keeper. Was he 
 benefited by the liberty to work harm to 
 his neighbor? No ! no! In heaven's name, 
 then, let the traffic cease I To this end I 
 offer these resolutions : 
 
 " Be it resolved by the inhabitants of 
 Cedarville, That from this day henceforth no 
 more intoxicating drink shall be sold within 
 the limits of the corporation. 
 
 " Resolved, further, That all the liquors in 
 the 'Sickle and Sheaf be forthwith de- 
 stroyed, and that a fund be raised to pay the 
 creditors of Simon Slade therefor, should 
 they demand compensation. 
 
 " Resolved, That in closing up all other 
 places where liquor is sold regard shall be 
 had to the right of property which the law 
 secures to every man. 
 
 " Resolved, That with the consent of the 
 legal authorities all the liquor for sale in 
 Cedarville be destroyed, provided the owners 
 thereof be paid its full value out of a fund 
 specially raised for that purpose."
 
 NIOHT THE TENTH. 251 
 
 But for the calm yet resolute opposition 
 of one or two men these resolutions would 
 have passed by acclamation. A little sober 
 argument showed the excited company that 
 no good end is ever secured by the adoption 
 of wrong means. 
 
 There were in Cedarville regularly consti- 
 tuted authoritieSjWhich alone had the power 
 to determine public measures, or to say what 
 business might or might not be pursued by 
 individuals. And through these authorities 
 they must act in an orderly way. 
 
 There was some little chafing at this view 
 of the case. But good sense and reason 
 prevailed. Somewhat modified, the resolu- 
 tions passed, and the more ultra-inclined 
 contented themselves with carrying out the 
 second resolution to destroy forthwith all 
 the liquor to be found on the premises 
 which was immediately done. After which 
 the people dispersed to their homes, each 
 with a lighter heart and better hopes for the 
 future of their village. 
 
 On the next day, as I entered the stage 
 that was to bear me from Cedarville, I saw 
 a man strike his sharp axe into the worn, 
 faded and leaning post that had for so many 
 years borne aloft the "Sickle and Sheaf;" 
 and just as the driver gave word to his 
 horses, the false emblem which had invited 
 so many to enter the way of destruction fell 
 crashing to the earth.
 
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