BERKELEY 
 
 | LIBRARY 1 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
/09?rtr4*4l 
 
 /J. 
 
 
\ 
 
 N'ARKUX 
 
 N 
 
 p 
 
 3 U F F A LO : 
 CEO, rl. DERBY AND C9 
 
THE 
 
 SILVER CUP 
 
 or 
 
 SPARKLING DROPS, 
 
 MANY FOUNTAINS 
 
 FOE THE 
 
 of 
 
 EDITED BT 
 
 MISS C. B. PORTER. 
 
 "Bright as the dew, on early buds that glistens, 
 Sparkles each hope upon their flower-strewn path." 
 
 BUFFALO: 
 DERBY AND CO. 
 
 1852. 
 
IOAN STAGS 
 
 TO THB 
 
 FRIENDS OF TEMPERANCE. 
 
 THE WORLD OVER, 
 
 If- tittll 
 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
Jt 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by 
 
 GEO. H. DERBY AND CO. 
 
 fa the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Northern District 
 of New York. 
 
 Stereotyped by 
 
 BEADLE A BROTHER, 
 
 BUFFALO. 
 
 297 
 
f ttbli01)n'B Sntin 
 
 WE make no apology for presenting this, volume to 
 the public. The subject, to which a large portion of 
 its articles, relates, is all-important, and can not be too 
 frequently presented, nor too strongly urged upon the 
 consideration of community. 
 
 To all who desire the peace of families, and the purity 
 and happiness of society, we say, Hand round the SILVER 
 CUP among yourselves, and if, after having tasted of its 
 contents, you find it dashed with the true elixir, drink 
 therefrom to the health of its amiable compiler, and 
 pass the goblet to your neighbors. 
 
 BUFFALO, August, 1851. 
 
PAGE. 
 
 THE SILVER CUP, 7 
 
 Seed Time and Harvest, -------- 12 
 
 Sweet Mother, ----------.-33 
 
 The Mystic River, - ---..__. 37 
 
 There is Hope for the Fallen, -------39 
 
 The Happiest Land, -----__._ 5$ 
 
 Live to do Good, ----------- 57 
 
 Emma Alton, ----------- 59, 
 
 The Last Inebriate, ----------76 
 
 Once I was Happy, ---------- 78 
 
 Why Come these Mocking Breams, ----- 81 
 
 The Drunkard's Daughter, -------- 82 
 
 Did God so Will it, 99 
 
 Intemperance, ------------ 102 
 
 Take the Ruby Wine Away, -------103 
 
 The Knight of the Ringlet, 104 
 
 The Tree of Death, 123 
 
 The Shower, --.---..... 125 
 
 I '11 Pay My Rent in Music, -127' 
 
 Love, --..._ 132 
 
 The Irish Boy's Lament, ........ 134 
 
 The Rainy Day, -----...... 143 
 
 The Family Jewel, ---------- 144 
 
 Energy in Adversity, -----_... 145 
 
 The Dissipated Husband, 146 
 
 A Voice for the Poor, --------- 167 
 
 Intemperance, ----..--._ -171 
 
 The Broken Hearted, 172 
 
 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 What the Voice Said, 178 
 
 Wine on the Wedding Night, - - - - - - 181 
 
 To the Sons of Temperance, - - - - - - -183 
 
 Spirit Guests, --------_._ 195 
 
 Memories, ....... 197 
 
 Traffic in Ardent Spiritej ...... --200 
 
 Water, ---..... 226 
 
 The First and Last Prayer, ------- 228 
 
 Look at the Bright Side, -----._. 230" 
 
 The Words of Wisdom, - 231 
 
 The Widowed Bride, -------... 232 
 
 To My Child, ' .... 246 
 
 A Lament, - 248 
 
 Song of a Guardian Spirit^ --.-.--249 
 
 Jews Cast Off, ----- 250 
 
 The Night Cometh, ------..-. 256 
 
 The Power of Prayer, ----..... 257 
 
 The Hopes of Earth, 260 
 
 Extract, .....271 
 
 Come to the Fount of Love, --.---271 
 An Appeal on Temperance,- - - - - - - -272 
 
 A World Without Water, 291 
 
 The Poor Girl and the Angela, ------ 296 
 
 Give, 310 
 
 Well Doing, 311 
 
THE SILVER CUP 
 
 <yf 
 
 SPARKLING DROPS, 
 
 t i'iiirn 
 
 BY M. G. SLEEPER. 
 
 THE palace of the Duke de Montre was 
 decorated for a banquet. A thousand wax 
 lights burned in its stately rooms, making 
 them bright as mid-day. Along the walls 
 glowed the priceless tapestry of the Gobe- 
 lins, and beneath the foot lay the fabrics of 
 Persia. Rare vases filled with flowers stood 
 on the marble stands, and their breath went 
 up like incense before the life like pictures 
 shrined in their golden frames above. In 
 the great hall stood immense tables covered 
 with delicacies from all lands and climes. 
 Upon the sideboard glittered massive plate, 
 
8 THESILVEBCUP 
 
 and the rich glass of Murano. Music, now 
 low and soft, now bold and high, Hoated in 
 through the open casement, and was answered 
 at intervals by tones of magic sweetness. 
 
 All was ready. The noble and gifted 
 poured into the gorgeous saloons. Silks 
 rustled, plumes waved, and jeweled embroid- 
 eries flashed from Genoa velvets. Courtly 
 congratulations fell from every lip, for the 
 Duke de Montre had made a new step in the 
 path to power. Wit sparkled, the laugh 
 went round, and his guests pledged him in 
 wine that a hundred years had mellowed. 
 Proudly the duke replied; but his brow 
 darkened, and his cheek paled with passion, 
 for his son sat motionless before his untasted 
 cup. 
 
 " Wherefore is this ! " he angrily demanded. 
 "When did my first born learn to insult his 
 father ? " 
 
 The graceful stripling sprang from his seat, 
 and knelt meekly before his parent. His 
 sunny curls fell back from his upturned face, 
 and his youthful countenance was radiant 
 with a brave and generous, spirit. 
 
01? SPABKLING DEOPS. 9 
 
 "Father," he said, "I last night learned a 
 lesson that sunk into my heart. Let me re- 
 peat it, and then, at thy command, I will 
 drain the cup. I saw a laborer stand at the 
 door of a gay shop. He held in his hand 
 the earnings of a week, and his wife, with a 
 sickly babe and two famishing little ones, 
 clung to his garments, and besought him not 
 to enter. He tore himself away, for his 
 thirst was strong, and, but for the care of a 
 stranger, his family would have perished. 
 
 " We went on, and, father, a citizen of no- 
 ble air and majestic form descended the 
 wide steps of his fine mansion. His wife put 
 back the curtains, and watched him eagerly 
 and wishfully, as he rode away. She was 
 very, very lovely, fairer than any lady of the 
 court, but the shadow of a sad heart was fast 
 falling on her beauty. We saw her gaze 
 around upon the desolate splendor of her 
 saloon, and then clasp her hands in the wild 
 agony of despair. When we returned, her 
 husband lay helpless on a couch, and she sat 
 weeping beside him. 
 
 " Once more we paused. A carriage stood 
 
10 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 before a palace. It was rich with burnished 
 gold, and the armorial bearings of a duke 
 were visible in the moonbeams. We waited 
 for its owner to alight, but he did not move, 
 and he gave no orders. Soon the servants 
 came crowding out. Sorrowfully they lifted 
 him in their arms, and I saw that some of 
 the jewels were torn from his mantle, and 
 his plumed cap was crashed and soiled, as if 
 by the pressure of many footsteps. They 
 bore him into the palace, and I wondered if 
 his duchess wept like the beautiful wife of 
 the citizen. 
 
 "As I looked on all this, my tutor told me 
 that it was the work of the red wine, which 
 leaps gaily up, and laughs over its victims, 
 in demon merriment. I shuddered, father, 
 and resolved never again to taste it, lest I, 
 too, should fall. But your word is law to 
 me. Shall I drain the cup ? " 
 
 The duke looked wonderingly upon his 
 first born, and then placing his hand, gravely 
 yet fondly, upon his head, answered : 
 
 " No, my son, touch it not. It is poison 
 as thy tutor told thee. It fires the brain, 
 
OF SPAKKLlttG DROPS. 11 
 
 du*kens the intellect, destroys tlie soul. Put 
 it away from thee, and so thou shalt grow up 
 wise and good, a blessing to thyself and to 
 thy country." 
 
 He glanced around the circle. Surprise 
 and admiration were on every face, and, 
 moved by the same impulse, all arose, while 
 one of their number spoke : 
 
 "Thou hast done nobly, boy," he said, 
 " and thy rebuke shall not soon be forgotten. 
 We have congratulated thy father upon the 
 acquisition of honors, which may pass with 
 the passing season. We now congratulate 
 him upon that best of all possessions, a son 
 worthy of France, and of himself." 
 
 The haughty courtiers bowed a glowing 
 assent, and each clasped the hand of the boy. 
 But the father took him to his heart, and 
 even now, among the treasured relics of the 
 family, is numbered that silver cup. 
 
THE SILVER CUP 
 
 nb $inu anb 
 
 BY LUCIUS M. SARGENT. 
 
 IT must be nearly midnight, thought I, as 
 I walked rapidly along. I had traveled full 
 fourteen miles. The rain descended in tor- 
 rents ; and, finding ready admittance, at a 
 farmer's barn, I climbed upon a hay-mow, 
 and threw myself down, thoroughly wet, 
 weary, and sleepless. What an awful vis- 
 itor it is, thought I, at the poor cottager s 
 fireside ! How forcible and true are the 
 words of Holy Writ. If wine be " a mocker," 
 in the castles of the rich, among the habi- 
 tations of the poor, " strong drink is raging." 
 There was I, at the age of sixteen, turning 
 my back upon my birth-place, upon my home, 
 upon a mother and sister, whom I tenderly 
 loved. As the recollection of all they had 
 endured already, and the anticipation of their 
 future sufferings rushed upon my mind, I had 
 almost resolved to return : but, alas ! what 
 could I oppose to the ungovernable fury of 
 
OF SPABKLIKO DBOPS. 13 
 
 an unkind husband and an apostate father ! 
 No, thought I, I will fly from that, which I 
 can neither prevent nor endure. I will seek 
 my bread among strangers. By the kind 
 providence of Him, who hath prr\mised to 
 be the Father of the fatherless, and such, in 
 reality, I am, I may win, by honest industry, 
 the means of bringing comfort to her 'vho 
 bore me, when my father's intemperance and 
 prodigality shall have made havoc of all that 
 remains ; and when the last acre of the home- 
 stead shall have passed into the rum-seller's 
 hands. My resolution was fixed. Sleep was 
 gathering over my eyelids. I got upon my 
 knees to commit myself to God in prayer. 
 I could scarcely give form to my scattered 
 thoughts ; it seemed, under the condition 
 of high excitement, in which I then was, that 
 my father was before me, enraged at my de- 
 parture, and demanding who had taught me 
 to pray. It was. he himself, who first set me 
 upon my knees, and placed my infant hands 
 together, and put right words into my mouth, 
 and bade me ask of God to put right thoughts 
 into my heart. How often he had led his 
 
14 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 little household in morning and evening 
 prayer ! How often, as we walked to God's 
 house, in company together, had he led the 
 way ! How constantly, in our daily labors, 
 had he conducted our thoughts to serious 
 contemplation, by some sensible and devout 
 allusion to those employments, in which we 
 were .engaged ! Lost and gone, degraded 
 and changed, he was ; but he had been once 
 a kind father, a tender husband, a generous 
 neighbor, a faithful friend, a pious and a 
 professing Christian. 
 
 Rum and ruin, hand in hand, had entered 
 our dwelling together. The peace of our 
 fireside was gone. The rum-seller had laid 
 my poor, misguided father under the bonds 
 of an unrelenting and. fatal appetite ; he had 
 won away the little children's bread ; and 
 converted our once happy home into an 
 earthly hell, whose only portal of exit was 
 the silent grave. 
 
 It was very evident to me, that we were 
 going to destruction. My father's interest in 
 the welfare of us all, was at an end. Debts 
 were accumulating fast. His farm was heavily 
 
OF SPAKKLING DROPS. 15 
 
 mortgaged. His habits, long before, tad com- 
 pelled tlie church to exclude him from the 
 communion ; and the severest abuse was the 
 certain consequence, whenever my poor, old 
 mother went singly to the table of her Lord. 
 I could have borne my father's harsh treat- 
 ment of myself and of my poor sister Kachel; 
 but he returned home, at last, constantly in- 
 toxicated ; and, when opposed in any thing, 
 proceeded to swear, and rave, and break the 
 furniture, and abuse my old mother, who 
 bore it all, with the patience of a saint ; I 
 made up my mind, that I c,ould stand it no 
 longer. 
 
 I waited cautiously, for a favorable oppor- 
 tunity, and asked my father's permission to 
 go to sea. He flew into a terrible rage. The 
 next morning he seemed to be in a better 
 frame of mind, and, as I was chopping wood 
 before the door, he asked me of his own ac- 
 cord, what had induced me to wish to leave 
 home, and go to sea. I hesitated, for some 
 time ; but, as he urged me to speak out, and, 
 at the same time, appeared to be much calmer 
 than usual ; " Father," said I, u it kills me 
 
16 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 to see you and hear you talk and act so badly 
 to poor mother." He flew into, a greater 
 rage than before, and bade me never open 
 my mouth upon the subject again. 
 
 Thus matters continued to progress, from 
 bad to worse. Love is said not to stand still. 
 This saying is manifestly true in regard to 
 the love of strong drink. 
 
 Our domestic misery continued to increase, 
 from week to week. There were intervals, 
 in which, my father was more like himself, 
 more like the good", kind parent and hus- 
 band, whose out goings, in the morning, had 
 been a source of affectionate regret, and 
 whose incomings, at night, had been a sub- 
 ject of joy to the wife of his bosom and the 
 children of his loins. I have seen the faint 
 smile of satisfaction brighten upon my poor 
 mother's pale features, upon such occasions ; 
 and I have marked the sigh, half suppressed, 
 which told the secret of an agonized spirit, 
 and which seemed to say, How precious, how 
 brief is this little interval of joy ! 
 
 It was indeed like the parting sunbeam, 
 the last, lingering light of a summer day, 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 17 
 
 which plays upon the cold grave, where the 
 treasure and the heart are destined to slumber 
 together. 
 
 In such an example of domestic wretched- 
 ness as ours, the operation of cause and effect 
 was perfectly intelligible. Rum excited into 
 action all that was contentious in the nature 
 of ray parent. A keen perception of his own 
 blarneworthiness, notwithstanding the stupe- 
 rying tendency of the liquor he had drunken, 
 increased the irritability of his temper. A 
 word, look, or gesture, from any member of 
 the household, which indicated the slightest 
 knowledge of his unhappy condition, when 
 he returned, at night, under the influence 
 of strong drink, was surely interpreted into 
 an intentional affront. He would often anti- 
 cipate reproof; and, as it were, repay it 
 beforehand, by the harshness of his manners. 
 
 The habit of drinking, which is invariably 
 the prolific mother of sin and sloth, wretched- 
 ness and rags, is sure to be maintained and 
 kept alive, by the beggarly progeny, to which 
 it has given birth. Whenever my unhappy 
 father was dunned for the interest on his 
 
18 TJ1E811,VKRCUP 
 
 mortgage, or any other debt, which, at last, he 
 had no means to pay, he was in the habit, 
 almost mechanically, as soon as the creditor 
 had departed, of turning to the jug of rum, 
 for relief and oblivion. 
 
 The gloom and ill-nature, which had hith- 
 erto been occasionally interspersed with exhi- 
 bitions of kindlier feelings to us all, appeared 
 to have become unvarying and fixed. There 
 was less and less, from week to week, of an 
 April sky. All was chill and drear, like 
 November. One evening, my mother and 
 sister had been busily engaged, as usual, in 
 such housewifery, as might best contribute 
 to keep our poor wreck of a domicil together, 
 as long as possible. I had learned to write a 
 fair hand, and was engaged in copying some 
 papers, for our squire, who paid me by the 
 sheet. It had gotten to be nearly ten o'clock. 
 My mother put on her spectacles, and, open- 
 ing the Bible, began to read. Rachel and I 
 sat by the fire, listening to the words of 
 truth and soberness. My poor mother had 
 fallen upon a portion of Scripture, which, 
 from its applicability to her own situation 
 
OF SPARKLING DEOPS. 19 
 
 and that of her children, had affected her 
 feelings, and the tears were in her eyes, when 
 the loud tramp upon the door-step announced* 
 the return of my father. His whole appear- 
 ance was unusually ominous of evil. My 
 mother stirred the fire, and I placed him a 
 chair, which he kicked over, and threw him- 
 self down upon the bed, and called for supper. 
 Mother told him, in a gentle manner, that 
 there was nothing in the house but some 
 bread. He told her she lied, and swore ter- 
 ribly. She sat silently by the fire ; I 
 looked up in her face : she wept, but said 
 nothing. " Don 7 t cry so, dear mother," said 
 Rachel. "Wife," said my father, setting 
 upon the edge of the bed, " when will you 
 leave off crying ? " " Whenever you leave 
 off drinking, husband," replied my mother in 
 her kindest manner. My father sprang up, 
 in a hurricane of wrath, and with a dreadful 
 oath, hurled a chair at my mother's head. I 
 sprang forward, and received its full force 
 upon my shoulder. Rachel and my mother 
 fled to a neighbor's house, and my father 
 struck me several blows with his feet and 
 
20 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 fists ; and, as I made my escape, I left Mm 
 dashing the furniture to pieces, with the fury 
 'of a madman. I rushed forth to seek shelter 
 amid the driving storm from the tempest 
 of a drunken father's wrath. I went, as 
 speedily as possible, to the squire's house, 
 and begged him to take compassion on my 
 poor mother and sister. Having received his 
 promise, that he would go instantly over to 
 our cottage, I took the resolution, which I 
 have already stated. 
 
 After I had passed a comfortless night in 
 the farmer's barn, I pushed forward to the 
 city. I had a trifle of change in my pocket ; 
 I bought a biscuit of a traveling baker, and 
 I had no relish for any other than the bever- 
 age of God's appointment, which was near at 
 hand. When I reached the city, I directed 
 my course to one of the wharves, and found 
 no difficulty, as I was unusually stout for my 
 years, in obtaining a voyage, as a green hand, 
 in a ship bound to China. Three days passed, 
 before the ship sailed. I wrote to my mother 
 and sister, bidding them keep up their spirits, 
 and put their trust, as I did, in the God of 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 21 
 
 the widow and the fatherless, for such, and 
 even worse, was our condition. I asked them 
 to say to father, when he was sober, that, al- 
 though I scarcely expected to see him again 
 in this world, I freely forgave all his ill- 
 treatment to myself. 
 
 I worked hard and strove to please the 
 captain. I soon found that plowing the sea 
 was a very different affair from plowing the 
 land. I had a good constitution, and a cheer- 
 ful temper. I had been taught, at all times, 
 by my dear mother, and by my poor, un- 
 happy father, also, till he became intemperate, 
 to put the fullest confidence in the promises 
 of God. When we arrived in China, though 
 we had shipped out and home, the voyage 
 was broken up, and the ship sold. The cap- 
 tain settled with the crew to their entire 
 satisfaction ; and I shall always be grateful 
 for his kindness to me. He got me a voyage 
 to England. I laid out my wages by his ad- 
 vice. I could not have followed a shrewder 
 counselor. He was born and bred, so far as 
 regards his land learning, in one of the most 
 thrifty villages in Connecticut. We had a 
 
THE 8ILVEE CUP 
 
 most boisterous voyage from Canton to Liver- 
 pool ; but, whenever I pulled a rope, I always 
 pulled a little harder for the sake of my old 
 mother and sister Rachel. I had saved 
 every penny of my wages, that I could lay 
 by, and my little investment in Canton turned 
 out far beyond my expectations. I do not 
 think I was avaricious ; but I felt it to be my 
 duty, under existing circumstances, to save 
 my earnings for my honored mother. Never- 
 theless, I felt myself authorized to indulge 
 in one luxury, at least ; so, upon my arrival 
 in Liverpool, I went into the first bookstore 
 and bought me a pocket Bible. 
 
 Five years had now gone by, in which I 
 had sailed many thousands of miles, and vis- 
 ited various corners of the world. During 
 this period, I had gotten together a larger 
 sum of money, than I ever expected to pos- 
 sess at twenty-one ; besides having made 
 several remittances to the squire, for my old 
 mother's use, to whom I wrote upon every 
 convenient opportunity. They all came to 
 hand, as I afterward learned, saving one, in 
 gold, which went to bottom, with poor Tom 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 23 
 
 Johnson, who was lost at sea. If I was for- 
 tunate enough to save my hard earnings, just 
 let me say, for the advantage of every brother 
 sailor, that there are four things which I 
 never did ; I never suffered a drop of grog to 
 go down my hatches, blow high or blow low ; 
 I never rolled a stinking weed, like a sweet 
 morsel, under my tongue ; I never crossed 
 hands with a drunken landlord ; and I never 
 bore away from a poor fellow, whose ham- 
 mock was harder than my own. 
 
 My five years' absence from home might 
 have extended to fifty, but for many re- 
 collections of my mother and sister, which 
 became more forcible, from day to day. My 
 remembrance of my father was of the most 
 painful character: the very recollection of 
 his tenderness, in the days of my childhood, 
 which often brought tears into my eyes, 
 served only to render the image of a cruel 
 and degraded parent more frightful and re- 
 volting. 
 
 I had shipped, about this time, on board 
 the Swiftsure, from London to Oporto. One 
 afternoon, two or three of us, a day or two 
 
S4 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 before the ship sailed, had strolled over the 
 south side of the Thames, to look at the 
 king's dockyards at Deptfbrd. As I was 
 rambling among the docks, I received a smart 
 slap on the shoulder, and, turning suddenly 
 round, whom should I see but old Tom John- 
 son, an honest fellow as ever broke bread or 
 wore a tarpaulin ! He was born in our vil- 
 lage ; had followed the sea for nearly forty 
 years ; and, once in the course of three or 
 four, he contrived to find his way to the old 
 spot, and spend a few days in the valley 
 where he was born. " Why, Bob," said he, 
 " 1 'm heartily glad to see you, my lad ; so 
 you Ve taken leg bail of the old folks, and 
 turned rover, in good earnest, ey ? " I told 
 him, I hoped he did n't think I 'd left my old 
 mother to shirk for herself, in her old age. 
 " Not a jot," replied the old sailor ; " Squire 
 Seely has told me the whole story, and says 
 he has put the sweat of your brow, more 
 than once or twice either, into the old lady's 
 hand, and made her old weather-beaten heart 
 leap for joy, to hear you was so thoughtful a 
 lad. I saw your mother about a year ago, 
 
OF SFAEKLING BED PS, 25 
 
 your sister Rachel. " I shook old Tom 
 Johnson by the hand ; I could not restrain 
 my feelings, for this was the first news I had 
 received from home, for more than five 
 years. "Gome, Bob," said the old fellow, 
 "*' do n't be for opening your scuppers and 
 making crooked faces ; though it blows hard 
 enough now, it may get to be calm weather 
 ^affcer all." " How is my father doing now ? w 
 I enquired. " Why, as to that," answered 
 Tom Johnson, " it 's about a twelvemonth 
 since I was thera I told the old lady I 
 might cross your hawse in some part of the 
 world. She has a rough time of it, my boy. 
 The old man holds on to mischief, like a 
 heavy kedge in a clay bottom. The cold 
 water folks began, about a year ago, to 
 scatter their seed in the village, in the shape 
 of tracts, and tales, and newspapers. Some 
 of them were thrown at your father's door, 
 and at the door of old Deacon Flint, the dis- 
 tiller. There, as you may suppose, the seed 
 fell in stony places. Your father was in a 
 great rage, and swore he'd shoot the first 
 person, 'that left another of their rascally 
 
26 THE SILVER GUI 
 
 publications before his door. I'i/\ afraid it 
 will be a long while, my lad, before the tern- 
 perance folks get the weather gage of the 
 rum-sellers, and ruin-drinkers, in our village. 
 They have had a miserable seed time, and 
 the Devil and Deacon Flint, I am afraid, will 
 have the best of the harvest." 
 
 As Tom Johnson was to sail, in about a 
 week, for the United States, I sent by him a 
 few lines of comfort and a small remittance 
 for my mother. As I have already stated r 
 they never reached the place of their desti- 
 nation. The Oranoke, of which this poor 
 fellow was first mate, foundered at sea, and 
 the whole crew perished. 
 
 After our arrival at Oporto, the crew of 
 the Swiftsure were discharged ; and, finding 
 a favorable chance, I shipped for Phila- 
 delphia, where we arrived, after an extremely 
 short and prosperous passage. I directed 
 my course, once more, toward my native 
 hamlet. My feelings were of the most pain- 
 ful and perplexing character. In accumu- 
 lated years, and even in the little property,, 
 which I had gathered, I felt conscious of 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 27 
 
 something like a power and influence ; which, 
 by God's grace, I hoped to exert for the 
 protection of my mother. Yet when I re- 
 collected the ungovernable violence of my 
 father's temper, under the stimulus of liquor, 
 I almost despaired of success. At any rate, 
 I could behold the face of her who bore me, 
 and receive her blessing once more before 
 she died. 
 
 Having sent my luggage forward, I per- 
 formed a considerable part of my journey on 
 foot. I had arrived in the village, adjoining 
 our own. I paused, for an instant, to look at 
 the barn, in which, five years before, I had 
 passed a most miserable night. It brought 
 before me, with a painful precision, the mel- 
 ancholy record of the past. Every mile of 
 my lessening way abated something of that 
 confidence, which I had occasionally cher- 
 ished, of being the instrument, under God x of 
 bringing happiness again into the dwelling of 
 my wretched parents. 
 
 I had arrived within two miles of the little 
 river, which forms one of the boundary lines 
 of our village. I wa^ passing a little groceiy, 
 
28 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 or tipplery, and, standing at the door, I re- 
 cognized the very individual, who formerly 
 kept the grog-shop in our town, and from 
 whom my father had purchased his rum, for 
 many years. Although it was already gray 
 twilight, I knew him immediately ; and, how- 
 ever painful to approach a person, in whom I 
 could not fail to behold the destroyer of my 
 father, I could not repress my earnest desire 
 to learn something of my family. I accosted 
 him, and he remembered me at once. His 
 manners were those of a surly and dissatis- 
 fied man. In reply to my enquiries, he in- 
 formed me, that my parents and my sister 
 were alive, and added, with a sneer, that my 
 father had set up for a cold-water man 
 " but," continued he, with a forced and spite 
 ful laugh, "it will take him all his days, ] 
 guess, to put off the old man : they that have 
 gotten the relish of my rum, are not so very 
 apt to change it for cold water." Upon fur- 
 ther enquiry, I ascertained, that there had 
 been a temperance movement in our village ; 
 and that the seed, as poor Tom Johnson said, 
 had been scattered there, with an unsparing 
 
OF SPAEKLING DEOPS. 29 
 
 hand. I also gathered the information from 
 this ruin-seller, that the selectmen had re- 
 fused to approbate any applicant for a license 
 to sell ardent spirit in our village ; and that 
 he, himself, had therefore been obliged to 
 quit his old stand, and take the new one, 
 which he now occupied. 
 
 I turned from the dram-seller's door and 
 proceeded on my way. It was quite dark ; 
 but the road was familiar to my feet. It af- 
 forded me unspeakable pleasure to learn, that 
 my mother and sister were alive and well. 
 But I was exceedingly perplexed, by the 
 rum-seller's statement in relation to my father. 
 Can it be possible, thought I, that he has be- 
 come a cold-water man? How true is the 
 rum-seller's remark, that few, who have got- 
 ten a taste of his rum, are apt to change it 
 for cold water ! For. more than twelve years, 
 my father had been an intemperate man ; 
 and, even if he had abandoned ardent spirit, 
 for a time, how little reliance could be -placed 
 upon a drunkard's reformation ! Besides, 
 Tom Johnson had expressly stated, that my 
 
30 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 father had been exceedingly hostile to the 
 temperance movement, from the beginning. 
 
 With these and similar reflections, niy 
 mind continued to be occupied, until I en- 
 tered our village. It was about half past 
 nine, when I came within a few rods of the 
 old cottage. A light was still gleaming forth 
 from the window. I drew slowly and silently 
 near to the door. I thought I heard a 
 voice. I listened attentively. It was my 
 father's. My mother appeared not to reply : 
 such was her constant habit, whenever, un- 
 der the influence of liquor, he gave a loose 
 rein to his tongue, and indulged in unkind 
 and abusive language. I drew still nearer 
 and, passing softly into the entry, I listened 
 more attentively, at the inner door. Can it 
 be possible ! thought I. He was engaged 
 in prayer ! in fervent and pious prayer. 
 He prayed, with a trembling voice, for the 
 restoration of an absent son ! There was 
 a pause. From the movement within, it was 
 evident they had risen from their knees. I 
 gently raised the latch, and opened the door. 
 
OF SP-AKKLING DEO PS. 31 
 
 The father, the mother, the brother, the 
 
 mister, were locked in the arms of one an- 
 
 7 
 
 -other ! My regenerated old father fell 
 once more upon his knees ; we all followed 
 his example ; and before a word of congrat- 
 ulation had passed from one to the other, he 
 poured forth such a touching strain of thanks- 
 giving and praise to the Giver of every good 
 ^and perfect gift, for my safe return, as would 
 iave melted the heart of the most obdurate 
 offender. It came directly from the heart of 
 a truly penitent sinner, and it went straight- 
 way to the God of mercy. I gazed upon 
 my poor old father. It seemed like the mo- 
 xal resurrection of one, already dead and 
 buried, in his trespasses and sins. I glanced 
 rapidly about me : all was peace, all was or- 
 der ; where all had been strife and confusion 
 before. The rum-jug no longer occupied its 
 .accustomed place upon the table : the ex- 
 panded volume of eternal life was there in its 
 stead ! 
 
 I gazed with inexpressible joy, upon the 
 liappy faces about me ; my father, to all out- 
 ward appearance, such as he had been in 
 
32 THE SILYER OFF" 
 
 better days, sitting in silence, and evidently 
 restraining the emotions^ his soul ; poor 
 Rachel upon rny knee, her features bathed 
 with happy tears ; and ray dear old mothei 
 turning her countenance, full of gratitude 
 and love, alternately toward Heaven and 
 upon a long gone child, returned at last. 
 
 Six years have now gone by, since a raei- 
 ciful God softened the stubborn soil in ray 
 father's heart. The seed did not fall alto- 
 gether, as Tom Johnson supposed, upon stony 
 places. Some of them have sprung up, as in? 
 our highly-favored heritage, and borne fruit 
 an hundred fold. Let us thank God, then,, 
 who hath enabled us abundantly to gather 
 the HARVEST ; for peace is once more at our 
 fire-side ; the wife has regained he/ husband r 
 and the orphans have found then father. 
 SARGENT'S TEMPERANCE TALES, 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 33 
 
 Irani -Ifiotfrn. 
 
 BY MRS. E. 0. JUDSOX. 
 
 THE wild, south-west Monsoon has risen, 
 With broad, gray wings of gloom, 
 
 While here, from out my dreary prison, 
 I look, as from a tomb Alas ! 
 My heart another tomb. 
 
 Upon the low-thatched roof, the rain, 
 
 With ceaseless patter, falls ; 
 My choicest treasures bear its stain 
 
 Mold gathers on the walls Would Heaven 
 
 'Twere only on the walls! 
 
 Sweet Mother! I am here alone^ 
 
 In sorrow, and in pain; 
 The sunshine from my heart has flown, 
 
 It feels the driving rain Ah, me ! 
 
 The chill, and mold, and rain. 
 
 Four laggard months have wheeled their round 
 
 Since love upon it smiled ; 
 And every thing of earth has frowned 
 
 On thy poor, stricken child sweet friend," 
 
 Thy weary, suffering child. 
 2* 
 
34 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 I 'd watched my loved one, night and day, 
 Scarce breathing when he slept ; 
 
 And as my hopes were swept away, 
 I 'd on his bosom wept 0, God ! 
 How had I prayed and wept! 
 
 They bore him from me to the ship, 
 
 As bearers bear the dead; 
 I kissed his speechless, quivering lip, 
 
 And left him on his bed Alas ! 
 
 It seemed a coffin-bed! 
 
 When from my gentle sister's tomb, 
 
 In all our grief, we came, 
 Rememberest thou her vacant room? 
 
 Well, his was just the same, that day, 
 
 The very, very same. 
 
 Then, Mother, little Charley came 
 Our beautiful fair boy, 
 
 With my own Father's cherished name 
 But 0, he brought no joy! My child 
 Brought mourning, and no joy. 
 
 His little grave I cannot see, 
 
 Though weary months have sped 
 
 Since pitying lips bent over me, 
 And whispered, "He is dead!" Alas! 
 'Tis dreadful to be dead! 
 
<OF SPARKLING DROPS. 35 
 
 I! do not mean for one like me, 
 
 So weary, worn, and weak, 
 Death's shadowy paleness seems to be, 
 
 Even now, upon my cheek his seal 
 On form, and brow, and cheek. 
 
 But for a bright-winged bird like him, 
 
 To hush his joyous song, 
 And prisoned, in a coffin dim, 
 
 Join Death's pale, phantom throng My boy 
 
 To join that grizzly throng! 
 
 O, Mother, I can scarcely bear 
 
 To think of tkis to-day! 
 It was so exquisitely fair, 
 
 That little form of clay my heart 
 Still lingers by his clay. 
 
 And when for one loved far, far more, 
 
 Came thickly gathering tears, 
 My star of faith is clouded o'er, 
 
 I sink beneath my fears sweet friend, 
 
 My heavy weight of fears. 
 
 O, should he not return to me, 
 Drear, drear must be life's night! 
 
 And, Mother, I can almost see, 
 
 Even now the gathering blight my soul 
 Faints, stricken by the blight. * 
 
36 CtHE SILVEK CtTF 
 
 O, but to feel thy fond arms twine 
 
 Around me, once again ! 
 It almost seems those lips of thine 
 
 Might kiss away the pain might soothe* 
 
 This dull, cold, heavy pain. 
 
 But, gentle Mother, through life's storms, 
 
 I may not lean on thee, 
 For helpless, cowering little forms 
 
 Cling trustingly to me Poor babes I 
 
 To have no guide but me! 
 
 "With weary foot, and broken wing, 
 With bleeding heart, and sore, 
 
 Thy Dove looks backward, sorrowing, 
 But seeks the ark no more thy breast 
 Seeks never, never more. 
 
 Sweet Mother, for the wanderer pray, 
 That loftier faith be given; 
 
 Her broken reeds all swept away, 
 
 That she may lean on Heaven her soul 
 Grow strong on Christ and Heaven. 
 
 All fearfully, all tearfully, 
 
 Alone and sorrowing, 
 My dim eye lifted to the sky, 
 
 Fast to the cross I cling 0, Christ! 
 % To thy dear cross I cling. 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 37 
 
 BY H. R. TAYLOB. 
 
 There's a brightly lucent river 
 
 Flowing gently, beauty-drest, 
 And a thousand leaflets quiver 
 
 In the breeze that courts its breast. 
 Far on a hill its fountains leap, 
 
 The groveling world above; 
 The hill is Faith, (sublimest steep,) 
 
 And the river's source is Love. 
 
 And charming banks, all verdure-clad, 
 
 On either hand are seen, 
 Which render every bosom glad, 
 
 With their lovely, fadeless green. 
 These banks that bound the mystic stream, 
 
 Gladden the Sage and Youth, 
 And pleasing like a happy dream, 
 
 Are types of Friendship and of Truth. 
 
 Innumerable flowers give 
 
 Their perfume to the gale, 
 Which the mild voyagers receive, 
 
 As they travel down the vale. 
 They serve to mark the calm delights 
 
38 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 That friendship can impart; 
 While Memory their impress writes 
 On the tablet of their heart. 
 
 On the river's bosom, ever 
 
 There rests a peaceful shade, 
 And its tranquil rest, oh! never 
 
 Can the giddy world invade! 
 There's no gloom in all its quiet, 
 
 ' Tis with cheerful objects fraught 
 (It no man's been known to buy yet,) 
 
 ' Tis the shade of chastened Thought 
 
 The limpid ripples as they play 
 
 For ever there in glee, 
 A likeness to the mind convey, 
 
 Of the good man's Purity; 
 No darkened thoughts obscure the gleam 
 
 Of sunshine in this heart, 
 But like the ripple on the stream, 
 
 He gaily bears his part 
 
 There white-sailed barques in safety glide, 
 
 And reek nor shrouds nor rope; 
 Borne by the breeze, how calm they ride- 
 
 Those little barques of Hope, 
 The breeze is always; though we feel 
 
 Affliction's heavy rod, 
 Its balmy touch our pain shall heal; 
 
 The breeze is the breath of God! 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 39 
 
 Oh ! trace that river to its source ; 
 
 With meek enquiry go, 
 See whence its glowing waters course, 
 
 And whitherward they flow; 
 You '11 find its springs are wells eterne, 
 
 Its beauties never cease; 
 And, gliding down the stream, you'll learn, 
 
 Its name is the River of Peace. 
 
 m w lope for tjj? 
 
 IT was on the morning succeeding a cold, 
 stormy night of November, 18- , that a 
 stage rattled through the streets of the 
 quiet little village of Roseland, rousing the 
 slumbering echoes and sleeping inhabitants, 
 and drew up before the " Traveler's Home." 
 Two persons alighted, and, giving directions 
 concerning their baggage, entered the " bar- 
 room." A bright, blazing fire was burning 
 cheerily, and the benumbed travelers lost not 
 a moment in availing themselves of the vacant 
 seats, which stood so invitingly before it. 
 
40 THE SILVER OTTP 
 
 Mr. STANLEY, whose " frosted locks," alone, 
 gave evidence of declining years, was of no- 
 ble and majestic mien. Old time liad passed 
 lightly by him, and left not his impress on 
 the broad smooth brow, nor destroyed the 
 pleasing effect of the benevolent smile that, 
 ever and anon, played over his manly features. 
 
 The dark, lustrous eye, the intellectual 
 brow, and the firm expression of the finely 
 chiseled mouth of HENRY STANLEY bespoke 
 him a son, not unworthy such a father. Half 
 an hour elapsed, during which time they con- 
 versed earnestly and pleasantly together, 
 when the door opened, and a man, whose 
 bloated face, and staggering air fully marked 
 him, the drunkard, entered, and stepped di- 
 rectly to the bar. He was accosted by the 
 attendant, with, 
 
 " Well, MORDUANT, what will you have, 
 this morning ? " 
 
 " Oh, any thing, Jenkins, that warms the 
 blood, this miserably cold day ; " he an- 
 swered, shivering as he spoke. 
 
 Mr. Stanley arose from his seat at the 
 last word, and approaching Morduant, as he 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 41 
 
 raised the glass to his lip, laid his hand 
 upon his arm. Surprised at the interruption, 
 Morduant paused, and, turning quickly round, 
 beheld Mr. Stanley gazing upon him, with 
 an expression of mingled sorrow and pity. 
 
 " Friend," said he, in an earnest, but kind 
 tone, " you are selling your soul at a fearful 
 price ! " 
 
 There was that in the manner and tone of 
 the stranger, which caused Morduant to start 
 and tremble, but, recovering, he angrily 
 asked, 
 
 " And who are you, that you should dictate 
 to me ? * 
 
 " A friend, who would save you from ruin, 
 and the drunkard's grave ; " mildly replied 
 Mr. Stanley. 
 
 Morduant seemed half inclined to listen, 
 but there were those present, drinkers, like 
 himself, and boon companions, and his was 
 no spirit to be convinced of error before 
 them. He became very angry, uttered a 
 terrible oath, struck his clenched hand upon 
 the counter, with a violence that threatened 
 to demolish it, then saying, in a voice choked 
 
42 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 with passion, " You '11 repent this, sir ;" 
 turned upon his heel,* and strode out of the 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Stanley sighed deeply as he joined his 
 son, at the window. They watched the re- 
 ceding form of Morduant, and saw him enter 
 a miserable house, far up the street, in the 
 outskirts of the village. 
 
 Mr. Stanley was a " Son of Temperance,' 7 
 one of those active and consistent members 
 of the Order, who never omit an opportunity 
 to promote the great cause to which it is de- 
 voted. He was seconded and assisted in his 
 benevolent efforts by his son, who was no less 
 active than himself, though it was only a 
 few months since he had been " initiated." 
 
 " Henry," said Mr. Stanley, with much em- 
 phasis, after a long pause " Henry, I have 
 it. This is the very place for a 4 Division ;' 
 and I will go, this day, and see if there are 
 not at least ' ten men to save the city,' and 
 thus obtain a Charter/ 
 
 Henry concurred, joyfully, and they began 
 planning their business for the day. Break- 
 fast was soon announced, when they retired 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 43 
 
 to the little back parlor of the inn, where we 
 will take leave* of them, for a time, and ac- 
 quaint our readers a little more intimately 
 with Mr. Morduant. 
 
 Twenty years before the date of our story, 
 he had graduated at college, with hon- 
 ors. He was a handsome man, with fine 
 taste, and brilliant talents was a connoiseur 
 in drawing and painting, an exquisite per- 
 former on the flute and guitar, and was 
 acknowledged, by all, to be a most elegant 
 and fascinating fellow. He was wealthy, and 
 hi gratification of his desires, traveled far and 
 wide, wherever fancy pointed the way. He 
 had stood upon Gibraltar's Rock, and beheld 
 the scene of the " Moor's last sigh" had lin- 
 gered on the banks of the Tiber, and viewed 
 the " city of the seven hills " had traversed 
 the burning plains of Egypt, for a sight of 
 her towering pyramids, and turned upon his 
 homeward path to seek for pleasure in his 
 native land. Here he became intimate with 
 a circle of unprincipled young men of dissi- 
 pated habits. They saw him to be generous, 
 and thoughtless of expense, and were not 
 
44 THE SILVER CUP . 
 
 long in ascertaining the extent of his pro- 
 perty, or of devising means for transferring it 
 to their own possession. He was unsuspect- 
 ing, and too fond of pleasure to see their 
 design, and they led him on, as they listed, 
 until he was ready to join them in their 
 wildest revels. 
 
 It was the latter part of summer, as they 
 entered upon a fishing excursion, and tempo- 
 rarily located themselves in the little village 
 of Koseland, which was delightfully situated 
 upon a broad, stream. Here they were well 
 pleased, and remained some weeks, fishing, as 
 inclination prompted, and, by degrees, in- 
 troducing themselves into the quiet, but 
 intellectual, society of the place. Morduant 
 had never been much captivated by fashion- 
 able beauties, they were too much of his own 
 stamp to excite great interest but sweet 
 Alice Leslie more beautiful than the most 
 admired city belle, with such simplicity, such 
 amiability, so much good sense, and refine- 
 ment where might there be found one to 
 compare with her ? and why should not his 
 heart be captured ? He thought her most 
 
OF S^ABKLING DftOPS. 45 
 
 Wonderfully fascinating, and gave himself up 
 to her charms. Alice was not wealthy. Her 
 father had died some years before, leaving 
 his business in an unsettled state, and now 
 she and her mother were making the best of 
 a bare competency. 
 
 Morduant was so well pleased with Alice 
 that he lingered many weeks at Roseland, 
 was often in her society, and determined to 
 win her for his bride. He was not unsuccess- 
 ful in his suit, and ere he returned to the 
 city, they had plighted their faith, with full 
 consent of the widowed mother. He wished 
 to take her at once to the city, where, he 
 knew, her beauty and accomplishments, uni- 
 ted to his wealth, would secure her a high 
 place in society. But to this, neither Mrs. 
 Leslie nor Alice could be induced to con- 
 sent so they parted for a time, and he 
 went alone to the city, to make definite ar- 
 rangements for their future home, where 
 they might have life's best luxuries around 
 them. 
 
 Ere long, he returned to Roseland. He 
 had left all at the cottage bright and cheer- 
 
46 THESILVEBCUP 
 
 ful, with the sunshine of hope and pros- 
 perity but a heavy cloud had passed over, 
 and their path was darkened. Mrs. Leslie 
 had been rendered helpless by a paralytic 
 stroke, and Alice was overwhelmed with 
 sorrow and anxiety. Morduant strove to 
 comfort them. He had nothing but good to 
 communicate. He had succeeded in pur- 
 chasing a pleasant little villa, just out of the 
 city had given directions for repairs and 
 improvements throughout the house and 
 grounds had selected his furniture, and 
 procured a person of taste and judgment to 
 oversee its arrangement. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie's faculties were unimpaired by 
 her severe visitation, but all were fearful of 
 another, and fatal attack. The one earnest 
 desire of her heart, was to see her daughter 
 united to Morduant, before she died. She 
 urged it upon her, with almost childish im- 
 patience Morduant seconded her wishes, 
 with an urgency that would take no denial, 
 end Alice consented, though she was very 
 sad. Slight preparations were made, a few 
 choice friends invited in, and the blooming, 
 
OF SPARKLING DBOPS. 4? 
 
 beautiful Alice became the bride of the 
 wealthy Morduant. Directly after the mar- 
 riage ceremony, with a smile on her lip, but 
 a tear in her eye, she knelt beside the sofa, 
 where reclined her helpless, dying mother, 
 and fervently imprinted upon her wan cheek 
 a daughter's bridal kiss. Morduant followed 
 her example, and, with an effort to win all 
 from sadness, playfully urged that he loved 
 her quite as well as Alice, and claimed the 
 affection and standing of a son, for all after 
 life. 
 
 But the excitement had been too much for 
 Mrs. Leslie, and, ere the few sympathizing 
 guests departed, the dreaded, fearful stroke 
 descended, and the released spirit was borne 
 to its home on high. 
 
 Time passed on Mr. and Mrs. Morduant 
 repaired to their new home, and the sorrow- 
 ful heart of Alice was cheered by the kind- 
 ness and affection ,of the husband that she 
 loved. He had surrounded her with com- 
 forts, and with luxuries, until nothing earthly 
 was left for the heart to desire. She was a 
 happy wife; and, as Morduant saw her ming- 
 
48 THE SILVER CUP . 
 
 ling in the gay society of the city, never was 
 there a prouder husband. And they received 
 a new tie to bind them together, and to their 
 happy home. A daughter claimed their cares 
 and awoke within them an unknown fount 
 of joy. Then, indeed, did their lives seem to 
 pass like a dream of fairy-land. The day 
 dawned but in happiness, and the night 
 closed over them in peace. 
 
 Oh ! the record of these few years of 
 uninterrupted enjoyment should be traced in 
 characters of gold, for they ended, and there 
 came a sad reverse. 
 
 Morduant's dissipated companions deter- 
 mined not to give him up. From the time 
 of his first acquaintance with Alice until 
 now, he had resisted all their temptations. 
 Though he had often taken, with them, a 
 social glass, he had not joined in their mid- 
 night revels, and had refused again to take 
 his seat at the gaming table. But now, 
 with renewed earnestness, they determined to 
 win him over, and, alas ! too fatally did 
 they succeed. 
 
 Many long, weary evenings did Alice it 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 49 
 
 -mlone, beside the crib of her sleeping Ellen ; 
 yet her trusting heart forboded no ill her 
 husband's invariable plea of Imswess was 
 readily believed. But the veil of conceal- 
 ment could not always be worn ; it was 
 withdrawn, and then came sorrow and sore 
 ^anguish. 
 
 It was evening the clock rung out the 
 lour of ten, and Alice threw down her book, 
 -and casting a mother's look of love upon her 
 sleeping Ellen, approached the window. The 
 stars were smiling in their clear blue depths, 
 the full moon shed a soft light on garden and 
 lawn, seeming to rest with peculiar bright- 
 'ness on a bower which Morduant, with his 
 own hand, had made so fairy-like and beau- 
 tiful. Alice sighed, as she thought how 
 much -of late he had staid away from his 
 happy home, how his brow had darkened, 
 and his eye grown anxious, when, night after 
 night, he had told her, " business detained 
 him." She wondered if he were perplexed, 
 and in trouble ; and if so, why he did not 
 tell her, that she might strive to lessen his 
 ^anxieties, as well as share his joys. Her 
 
50 THE SILVEK CUP 
 
 thoughts grew sad, and she turned from the 
 scene without, to the little erib of Tier lovely 
 child. A smile was dimpling her round, 
 healthy cheek. The mother stooped, and, 
 lightly kissing her, exclaimed : " The angels 
 are watching thy slumbers, sweet one ! "" 
 Presently, an expression of delight passed 
 over her, before thoughtful, face, and she 
 said, aloud, " To-morrow is my Ellen's third 
 birth-day, and I had like to have forgotten^ 
 her present." She seated herself at the work- 
 stand, and, with much animation, commenced 
 dressing a large doll, the child's favorite toy. 
 Hour after hour passed on, and Alice grew 
 weary, and oppressed with anxiety. The 
 clock struck two ; and, as its mournful sound 
 died away upon the night air, she stepped 
 out into the broad moonlight, and wandered 
 toward the gate. But, what a sight met her 
 there ! Her husband, who had just been 
 lifted from a carriage by two gentlemen, was- 
 borne toward her. She uttered no cry, nor 
 did she faint ; but surprise, and fear, and 
 suspense, almost overpowered her. In a 
 
OF SPAEKLING DEOP8. 51 
 
 voice low and hoarse with anguish, she en- 
 quired : 
 
 " Is he dead ? Do you bring my husband 
 to me, dead ? " 
 
 They both exclaimed, at once : " No, no ; 
 not dead ; but let us get him to the house." 
 
 She led the way ; and, as they placed him 
 upon the sofa, and turned to speak encour- 
 agingly to the almost paralyzed wife, he 
 began to mutter, and stammered out 
 "Don't, don't be afraid Al-Al-Alice. It 
 is n't the the wine." 
 
 Poor Alice ! A strange light broke in 
 upon her spirit. She needed not now to be 
 told what had happened, or why he had 
 been brought home in this way. The gentle- 
 men tried to comfort her with kind words ; 
 but they were themselves too much bewild- 
 ered, by the wine they had taken, to speak 
 sensibly, and, bidding her " good night," re- 
 turned to their carriage. 
 
 It is useless to attempt a description of 
 that night of sorrow and sore trial. Bitterly 
 did the stricken wife mourn over her fallen 
 husband ! and dark were her fears, that he 
 
52 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 was irreclaimably A DRUNKARD ! Most earn- 
 estly did she plead with him, and weep over 
 him, when he again became conscious, and 
 many were his promises of reform. 
 
 It would be an oft-repeated tale> to trace 
 the steps of the fallen man, as he descended 
 to the lowest grade of misery and degrada- 
 tion. Let us advance ten years, and see the 
 result of his life of dissipation. Stripped of 
 their wealth, they have again returned to 
 Roseland, and found shelter in that once 
 comfortable cottage. But, alas ! how changed 
 were they. What a depth of meaning is 
 conveyed in that one sentence a drunken 
 Jmsbamd and father! 
 
 And was the proud, the gifted Morduant 
 irreclaimable ? " It was supposed so but 
 we shall see. 
 
 And here, let us return to Mr. Stanley and 
 Henry, whom we left in the little back par- 
 lor of the inn. They canvassed the matter 
 of forming a " Division," and then started 
 out, upon their errand of love. Mr. Stanley 
 really found " the ten," and, with their assist- 
 ance, obtained a " Charter," formed the said 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 53 
 
 " Division, 1 ' and, in a short time, a " Hall " 
 was fitted up in fine style. At every weekly 
 meeting new members were received, until 
 " The sons "of Temperance" became a popular 
 Order, and the little village of Roseland 
 assumed a new and brighter aspect 
 
 Again let us leave the plodding present, 
 and advance five years. 
 
 As we enter Koseland, and look for the 
 uninviting, wood-colored " Traveler's Home," 
 we behold, in its place, a spacious Temper- 
 ance Hotel and instead of the crumbling, 
 time-worn sign-post, there gushes up cheerily 
 a fountain of sparkling . bright water. On 
 the opposite side of the street, where stood 
 that filthy rum-selling grocery, now towers 
 up a splendid edifice, with the motto, " Love, 
 Purity, and Fidelity," traced in bold charac- 
 ters on its front, designating it, at once, as 
 the " Hall " of " The Sons of Temperance." 
 The whole village is greatly improved, as 
 well as enlarged. But, let us call at this 
 beautiful cottage, which nestles so lovingly 
 among the tall elms, and choice, though 
 abundant, shrubbery. 
 
54 TIIE SILVER CUP 
 
 In the vine-shaded portico are seated two 
 gentlemen ; one of whom we cannot fail to 
 recognize as Mr. Stanley. His whitened head 
 bears evident marks of advanced age, but 
 the same benevolent smile lingers on his no- 
 ble face, and the same kind, earnest voice 
 wins the ear to listen. His companion, you 
 will say you have never seen before, and yet, 
 there is a something about him not wholly 
 unknown. It is the reclaimed, the again 
 refined, talented Morduant. Ask him, what 
 has caused the change, and he will point you 
 to Mr. Stanley as his preserver ; tell you of 
 his admission into the Order of the " Sons of 
 Temperance," and of their untiring efforts to 
 keep him from a second fall. 
 
 Enter the parlor ; and here you will re- 
 cognize Henry Stanley, in the the gentleman 
 so interestedly gazing upon a fair young crea- 
 ture, sitting at the piano. He seems no less 
 delighted with her, than with her perform- 
 ance and who is she? I hope, "my dear 
 reader, you have not forgotten Ellen Mor- 
 duant, the little girl who smiled in her sleep 
 and was so tenderly cared for by a fond 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 55 
 
 Another. That mother, bowed down with 
 many sorrows, occasioned by a husband's 
 intemperance, has long since found rest in the 
 grave and Ellen, as the wife of Henry 
 Stanley, enjoys those privileges and luxuries 
 cf wealth which were denied her as the pov- 
 erty-stricken daughter of a drunkard. 
 
 Thrown over an arm of the sofa is a re- 
 cently finished, white satin banner, with 
 u Love, Purity, Fidelity," most elegantly em- 
 broidered upon it The work of" Ellen's 
 fingers. 
 
 True happiness and peace beam upon the 
 ^countenances of all, in this quiet, but elegant, 
 home. It is a spot where we would love to 
 linger, until our immortal spirits are called to 
 & holier world ; for here, indeed, we may 
 <eyer believe, " There is hope for the fallen." 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
' 
 
 56 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 \}t 
 
 lanb. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN, BY W. H. LONGFELLOW 
 
 There sat one day in quiet, 4 
 
 By an alehouse on the Rhine, 
 Four hale and hearty fellows, 
 
 And drank the precious wine; 
 
 The landlord's daughter filled their cups>. 
 
 Around the rustic board;. 
 Then sat they all so calm and still, 
 
 And spake not . one rude word. 
 
 But, when the maid departed, 
 A Swabian raised his hand, 
 
 And cried, all hot and flushed with 
 "Long live the Swabian. land! 
 
 "The greatest kingdom upon earth 
 Cannot with that compare; 
 
 With all the stout and hearty men 
 And the nut-brown maidens there/ 
 
 " Ha ! " cried the Saxon, laughing 
 And dashed his beard with wine, 
 
 "I had rather live in Lapland, 
 
 Than that Swabian. land of thine t. 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 57 
 
 ... 
 
 "The goodliest land on all the earth, 
 
 It is the Saxon land! 
 There have I as many maidens 
 
 As fingers on this hand ! " 
 
 "Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!" 
 
 A bold Bohemian cries; 
 " If there 's a heaven upon the earth, 
 
 In Bohemia it lies. 
 
 "There the tailor blows the flute, 
 
 And the cobbler blows the horn, 
 And the miner blows the bugle, 
 
 Over mountain gorge and bourn." 
 * * * * * 
 
 And then the landlord's daughter 
 
 Up to heaven raised her hand, 
 And said, "Ye may no more contend, 
 
 There lies the happiest land!" 
 
 to bn 
 
 BT O. W. BETHUITE, D. D. 
 
 Live to do good: but not with thought to win 
 
 From man reward of any kindness done: 
 Remember him who died on cross for sin 
 3* 
 
58 THE SILVEK CUP 
 
 The merciful, the meek, rejected One ; 
 When He was slain for crime of doing good, 
 Canst thou expect return of gratitude? 
 
 Do good to all: but, while thou servest best 
 And at thy greatest cost, nerve thee to bear, 
 
 When thine own heart with anguish is oppressed 
 The cruel taunt, the cold averted air, 
 
 From lips which thou hast taught in hope to pray, 
 
 And eyes whose sorrows thou hast wiped away. 
 
 Still do thou good: but for His holy sake 
 Who died for thine, fixing thy purpose ever 
 
 High as His throne, no wrath of man can shake; 
 So shall He own thy generous endeavor. 
 
 And take thee to His conqueror's glory up, 
 
 When thou hast shared the Saviour's bitter cup. 
 
 Do nought but good: for such the noble strife 
 Of virtue is 'gainst wrong to venture love, 
 
 And for thy foe devote a brother's life, 
 Content to wait the recompense above; 
 
 Brave for the truth, to fiercest insult meek, 
 
 In mercy strong, in vengeance only weak. 
 
Si 1 A IMC LIN ft BE OPS, 59 
 
 Iltcn. 
 
 -BY MRS. O. H. BDTI/ER. 
 
 IT was Emma's bridal morn. I saw lier 
 standing at the door of lier father's cottage ; 
 ^a simple wreath of the pure lily of the val- 
 ley ' entwined amid the rich braids of her 
 auburn hair- the image of innocence and 
 happiness. That morning, fair EMMA ALTON 
 had given her hand where long her young 
 affections had been treasured ; and to those 
 who then saw the fine handsome countenance 
 of Reuben Fairfield, and the pride and love 
 with which he regarded the fair being at his 
 side, it seemed impossible that aught but 
 happiness could follow the solemn rites the 
 cottage had that morning witnessed. 
 
 The dwelling of my friend, to whose rural 
 quiet I had escaped, from the heat and tur- 
 moil of the city, was directly opposite the 
 neat little cottage of Emma's parents, and, as 
 I sat at my chamber window, my eye was, of 
 course, Attracted to the happy scene before 
 
GO .1 u'E SiLVEfi CUP' 
 
 me. The' morning was truly delightful - 
 scarce a cloud floated o'er the blue vault of 
 heaven-^- now and then, a soft breeze canie % 
 whispering through the fragrant locust blos- 
 soms and proud catalpas, then, stooping to 
 kiss the dewy grass, sped far off in fantastic- 
 shadows over the rich wheat and clover 
 fields. All seemed in unison with the happi- 
 ness so apparent at the cottage the birds- 
 sang - butterflies sported on golden wing 
 bees hummed busily. Many of Emma's* 
 youthful companions had come to witness- 
 the ceremony, and to bid adieu to their be- 
 loved associate, for, as soon as the holy rites- 
 were concluded, Reuben was to bear his fair 
 bride to a distant village, where already a 
 beautiful cottage was prepared, over whicli 
 she was to preside, the charming mistress. 
 
 There is always, I believe, a feeling of sad- 
 ness commingled with the pleasure with 
 which we regard the young and trusting 
 bride, and as I now looked upon Emma, 
 standing in the little portico, surrounded by 
 the bright and happy faces of her compan- 
 ions, her own still more radiant, I involunta- 
 
OF SPAEKLIKG DROPS. 61 
 
 rily sighed as I thought what her future lot 
 might be. Was my sigh prophetic f Pres- 
 ently the chaise, which was to convey the 
 new-married pair to their future home, drove 
 gaily to the gate of the cottage. I saw Em- 
 ma bid adieu to her young friends, as they 
 all gathered around her. I saw her fair 
 arms thrown around the neck of her weep- 
 ing mother, and then supported by her fa- 
 ther and Reuben, she was borne to the 
 carriage. Long was she pressed to her fa- 
 ther's heart, ere he resigned her for ever to 
 her husband. 
 
 " God bless you, my child," at length said 
 the old man : but no sound escaped Emma's 
 lips, she threw herself back in the chaise, 
 and drew her veil hastily over her face 
 Reuben sprang to her side waved his hand 
 to the now weeping assemblage at the cot- 
 tage door, and the chaise drove rapidly away. 
 
 I soon left the village, and heard no more 
 of the youthful pair. Three years elapsed 
 ere I again visited that pleasant spot, and, 
 the morning after my arrival, as I took my 
 favorite seat, and looked over upon the little 
 
2 T1IESILVEKCUP 
 
 dwelling opposite, the blithe scene I had 
 there witnessed recurred to me, and I mar- 
 veled if all which promised so fair on the 
 bridal morn had been realized. To my eye, 
 the cottage did not look as cheerful, the air 
 of neatness and comfort which before distin- 
 guished it, seemed lessened. I notice the 
 walk was now overgrown with grass, and the 
 little flower plot, about which I had so ofter 
 seen fair Emma employed, was rank witl> 
 weeds. The blinds were all closely shut 
 and, indeed, every thing about the cottage 
 looked comfortless and desolate. Presently 
 the door opened and a female appeared 
 bearing in her hand a small basket which 
 she proceeded to fill with vegetables, growing 
 sparsely among the weeds and tangled grass. 
 Her step was feeble, and she seemed hardly 
 capable of pursuing her employment. As 
 she turned her face toward me, I started 
 with surprise, I looked at her again, more 
 earnestly is it possible can that be Em- 
 ma, thought I can that pale, wretched 
 looking girl be her, whom I last saw a happy 
 blooming bride ? 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 63 
 
 \ *s, it was Enima ! Alas ! how soon are 
 the bright visions dispelled ; like those 
 beautiful images which flit around the couch 
 of dreams, they can never be realized. 
 
 The history of Emma is one which has oft 
 been written, by the pen of truth a tear- 
 ful record of maris ingratitude and folly 
 of womawHs all-enduring sufferance and con- 
 stancy. 
 
 The first few months of Emma's married 
 life flew by in unalloyed happiness. Reuben 
 lived but in her smiles ; and life, to the 
 young, affectionate girl, seemed but a joyous 
 holiday, and she the most joyous participant. 
 Too soon the scene was changed. Reuben 
 Fairfield was of a gay and reckless nature, 
 fond of convivality, of the jest and song ; 
 he was, consequently, a great favorite with 
 the young men of the village, and there had 
 been rumors that, even before his marriage, 
 he had been too free a partaker of the wine- 
 cup. If this were the case, months certainly 
 passed on after that event, when Reuben 
 seemed indifferent to any society but that of 
 his young wife. Little by little, his old 
 
64 THE SILVER OtTP 
 
 habits returned upon him, so insensibly too, 
 that even he, himself, could not probably 
 have defined the time when he again found 
 pleasure away from the home of love and 
 Emma. In the only tavern of the village, a 
 room was devoted exclusively to the revels 
 of a band of reckless, dissolute young men, 
 with whom Reuben had at one time been 
 intimate, and it needed but the slightest 
 appearance on the part of the latter to toler- 
 ate once more their idle carousals, than with 
 one consent, they all united to bring back 
 the Benedict to his old habits. They thought 
 not of the misery that would follow the suc- 
 cess of their fiendish plot ; of the crushed 
 and broken heart of the young being who 
 looked up to their victim as her only hope 
 and happiness. 
 
 It was in the gay spring-time, when Reu- 
 ben Fairfield bore his bride away from the 
 arms of her aged parents ; but what became 
 of the solemn vows he then uttered, to pro- 
 tect and cherish their beloved daughter? For, 
 when next the forest trees unfolded their ten- 
 der leaves, and the orchards were white with 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 65 
 
 fragrant blossoms, misery and despair 
 fallen, as a blight, upon poor Emma ! The 
 heart of affection is the last to acknowledge 
 the errors of a beloved object, so it was with 
 Emma ; but her cheek grew pale, and her 
 mild blue eyes dimmed beneath their woe- 
 charged lids. 
 
 Reuben now almost entirely neglected his 
 patient, still-loving wife. In vain she reas- 
 oned, entreated, implored, yet nevw re- 
 proaclied. He was alike regardless ; daily 
 he gave himself up more and more to the 
 insatiate destroyer, until destruction, both of 
 soul and body, followed. And loud rang the 
 laugh, and the glasses rattled, and the voice 
 of the inebriate shouted forth its loathsome 
 jargon from the Tempter's Hell! There 
 were times, it is true, when he would pause 
 in his reckless career ; and then hope once 
 more buoyed up the sinking heart of Emma; 
 and when, for the first time, he pressed their 
 babe to his bosom, while a tear fell upon its 
 innocent cheek, it is no wonder that the 
 young mother felt her sorrows ended. That 
 tear, the tear, as she thought,, of repentance, 
 
66 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 had washed them all away. But, when vice 
 once gets the ascendency, it reigns like a des- 
 pot, and too soon the holy feelings of the 
 father were lost in the intoxicating bowl. 
 
 Poverty, with all its attendant ills, now 
 came upon the wretched wife. One by one 
 the articles of her little menage were taken 
 from her by Reuben, to satisfy the cravings 
 of appetite, and, with her babe, she was at 
 last forced to leave the cottage where her 
 early days of married life so blissfully flew 
 by, and seek shelter from the winds of hea- 
 ven in a miserable hut, which only misery 
 might tenant. The unfortunate find few 
 friends, and over the threshhold of poverty 
 new ones seldom pass, and therefore it was 
 that Emma was soon neglected and forgot- 
 ten. There were some, it is true, who re- 
 garded her with pity and kindness, but there 
 were also very many who pointed the finger 
 of derision at the drunkards wife inno- 
 cent sufferer for her husband's vices ! At 
 length the babe fell ill. It died, and poor, 
 poor Emma, pale and disconsolate, knelt 
 by the little cradle alone ; no sympathizing 
 
OF SPARKLING DEOPS. G<T 
 
 hand wiped the tear from her eye ; no kind 
 word soothed her lacerated bosom ; the 
 earthly friend that should have sustained her 
 under this grievous trial, was not at her side, 
 but reveling in scenes of low debauchery. 
 
 The night was marked by a storm of ter- 
 rific violence ; the rain poured in torrents ; 
 dreadful thunder rent the heavens, the whirl- 
 wind uplifted even the largest trees ; while 
 the incessant lightning-flashes only added 
 tenfold horrors to the scene. But the be- 
 reaved mother, the forsaken wife, heeded it 
 not : with her cheek pressed against the 
 scarce colder one of her dead babe, she re- 
 mained for hours totally unconscious of the 
 wild war of the elements for more com- 
 plete desolation reigned in her heart. At 
 length the door opened, and Reuben entered. 
 With an oath, he was about to throw himself 
 upon the wretched straw pallet, when his 
 eye casually fell upon the pale marble-like 
 face of the little babe. His senses, stupified 
 as they were, aroused at the sight. 
 
 "What ails the child?" he muttered. 
 
 "Reuben, our darling babe is dead!" 
 
68 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 replied Emma, lifting her pallid features to 
 the bloated gaze of her husband. Then ri- 
 sing from her knees, she approached him, 
 and led him to look upon the placid counte- 
 nance of their first-born. 
 
 We will not dwell upon the scene ; re- 
 morse and grief stirred the heart of Keuben 
 almost to madness. On his knees he implo- 
 red forgiveness of his much injured wife ; he 
 swore a solemn oath that never again would 
 he swerve from the path of sobriety, but 
 that years of penitence and affection should 
 atone for his past abase of life and love. 
 
 The day came for the funeral. Reuben 
 had promised his wife that he would not 
 again leave the house until the remains of 
 their babe had been given to the earth ; he 
 intended to keep his promise, but as the day 
 wore on the insatiable cries of habit tempted 
 him away. Only one glass, he thought 
 but another followed and then another, 
 until, alike forgetful of himself and his 
 unhappy wife, he became grossly intoxicated. 
 
 In the mean while a few of the neighbors 
 had assembled ; the clergyman, too, had 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 69 
 
 arrived, and the funeral rites were only 
 delayed by the absence of Reuben. Minutes 
 wore on. 
 
 " He will not come," whispered one. " Ah, 
 it is easy to guess where he is," added an- 
 other, and looks of pity were turned upon 
 the heart-stricken mother, as with her head 
 bowed upon the little coffin she hid her grief 
 and shame. The clergyman at length ap- 
 proaching the mourner, in a low tone, asked 
 if the ceremony should proceed. 
 
 " Has he come ? " eagerly asked Emma. 
 
 The clergyman shook his head. 
 
 " O wait, wait, he will be here, he prom- 
 ised me. O yes, he will come ! " 
 
 But another half hour rolled on, and still 
 Reuben came not. The neighbors now mo- 
 ved to depart, when rising from her seat, her 
 pallid countenance betokening the agony of 
 her heart, Emma signified her assent that the 
 solemn rites should proceed. But suddenly 
 in the midst of that earnest prayer for com- 
 fort and support to the afflicted mother, a 
 loud shout was heard, and Reuben was seen 
 staggering toward the hut. With a brutal 
 
70 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 oath lie burst into the room, but, happily for 
 poor Emma, she saw him not, the first sound 
 of his voice had deprived her of conscious- 
 ness, and she was placed fainting on the bed. 
 Reuben was overpowered and dragged from 
 the hut the funeral service ended, and 
 leaving the unconscious mother in the care 
 of a few compassionate neighbors, the little 
 procession wound its way to the churcl 
 yard. 
 
 It was nearly a year after this sad scene, 
 that one evening a stranger alighted from 
 the stage at the inn, announcing his intention 
 to remain there for the night. Entering the 
 bar-room, he ordered a glass of brandy which 
 he was about to carry to his lips, when his 
 eye encountered the wistful gaze of Reuben 
 Fairfield, who now, without means to allay 
 the death- worm upon his vitals, was stretched 
 upon a bench at one end of the room. 
 
 " I say, neighbor, you look thirsty," ejacu- 
 lated the stranger in a gay tone. "Here, 
 take this, for faith, tliou hast a learn, and 
 hu/ngry look' ! " 
 
OF SPARKLING DEO PS. 71 
 
 Eagerly seizing it, Reuben drained the 
 glass, and for a moment the worm was 
 appeased ! The stranger made some casual 
 remark, to which Reuben replied in language 
 30 well chosen, and evidently so far above 
 his apparent station in life, that the former 
 was astonished, and by degrees a lively con- 
 versation took place between them, during 
 which Reuben more than once partook of 
 the young man's mistaken kindness. While 
 conversing, the stranger several times drew 
 from his pocket a handsome gold watch, and 
 the chink of silver fell upon the famished 
 ears of Reuben with startling clearness. Ap- 
 parently, with that feeling of ennui which so 
 often seizes upon the solitary traveler, the 
 stranger now strolled from the bar-room into 
 the hall, a door leading into a room opposite 
 was open, and sounds of loud merriment 
 attracted his eyes in that direction. A com- 
 pany of young men were playing at cards 
 without ceremony he entered, and advancing 
 to the table, appeared to watch the game 
 with some interest. He was invited to join 
 them, and after some hesitation accepted. 
 
THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Reuben had followed the young man into 
 the room, and now eagerly watched the pile 
 of silver, and an occasional bank note, which 
 rather ostentatiously, as it would seem, the 
 stranger displayed. The evening wore away, 
 and with a promise from Reuben that he 
 would awaken him betimes, to visit a singu- 
 lar cave in the neighborhood, the stranger 
 retired to rest. Not so, Reuben. A fiendish 
 plot entered his brain that money must be 
 Ms and even at that moment when rob- 
 bery, perhaps murder, was at his heart, he 
 dared to think of the pure minded, innocent 
 Emma as a sharer of his ill-gotten wealth ! 
 All night he paced the dark forest contigu- 
 ous to his abode, where long after midnight 
 the feeble lamp shone upon the haggard fea- 
 tures of the once lovely girl, as she strove 
 with trembling fingers to render the apparel 
 of the inebriate decent for the morrow. 
 
 As the day was breaking, Reuben passed 
 softly into the cottage, for he knew that Em- 
 ma now slept ; approaching the bedside, 
 something like a shade of pity stole over 
 his countenance. She smiled in her sleep 
 
OF 8PAEKLING DEOPS. 3 
 
 and called upon Ms name this was. too 
 much for the miserable man. Hastily open- 
 ing a table-drawer, he drew forth a sharp 
 knife which he concealed beneath his coat, 
 muttering, as he did so "I may need it,' 7 
 -and then, without daring to cast his eye 
 again toward the bed, left the house and 
 proceeded to the inn, where the stranger 
 already awaited his arrival. 
 
 With each point of view, as they pro- 
 ceeded on their route, the latter expressed 
 Jbimself delighted, particularly as his guide 
 endeavored to give interest to every scene, 
 by the relation of .some anecdote or history 
 attached. At length they reached the neigh- 
 borhood of the cavern. Here the river, 
 which before had rolled so gently along, 
 reflecting the varied hues of autumn in its 
 translucent depths, suddenly changed its 
 course, and leaping over a precipice some 
 thirty feet in height, pursued its way for 
 some distance between huge masses of shelv- 
 ing rocks, crowned on either side by dark 
 .gloomy forests. After a laborious descent 
 they arrived at the mouth of the cave, 
 
74 THE SILVEE CUP 
 
 situated about midway down the bank 
 Reuben entered first, the stranger was about 
 to follow, when turning suddenly upon him 
 with a blow of giant strength, Fairfield 
 hurled him from the precipice, and he fell 
 senseless upon the jagged rocks below ! 
 Leaping quickly down, Reuben rifled the 
 pockets of the unfortunate man of both 
 money and watch, and then drew him, still 
 breathing, up the ragged cliff and far into 
 the cave. More than once as he saw life yet 
 stirred the limbs of his victim, his hand was 
 upon the knife but lie drew it not forth! 
 
 Covering the body with fragments of rock 
 and under wood, he left the hapless man to 
 his fate, certain that even if consciousness 
 returned, his efforts to extricate himself from 
 the mass would be unavailing, and as he had 
 taken the precaution also to closely bind his 
 mouth, he could utter no cry for assistance. 
 
 Returning now to the village, he boldly 
 entered the inn, and stating to the landlord 
 that the stranger had been tempted by the 
 fineness of the morning to pursue his journey 
 a few miles on foot, proceeded to hand him 
 
OF SPAKRLINO BBOPS. 75 
 
 a sum of money which he said he had 
 charged him to deliver as equivalent to the 
 amount due for supper and lodging. This 
 all appeared every reasonable, and no ques- 
 tions were asked. But ere the day was over, 
 some boys, who had strayed in the vicinity 
 of the cave, came running home pale and 
 frightened, declaring they had heard dread- 
 ful groans issue thence, and that many of the 
 rocks around were stained with blood ! Im- 
 mediately every eye was turned to the spot 
 where a moment before Reuben Fairfield had 
 been standing, and although no one spoke, 
 probably the same terrible conviction flashed 
 through the minds of each ; but guilt is al- 
 ways cowardly. Reuben had disappeared. 
 A party of villagers immediately set forth 
 to search the eave. The result may be im- 
 agined the stranger was discovered, still 
 alive, although but for this timely aid, a few 
 hours would have determined his fate. Reu- 
 ben attempted to make his escape, but was 
 soon overtaken and delivered up to justice 
 found guilty, and sentenced to ten years' hard 
 labor in the State Prison ! 
 
76 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 This sad history I learned from my friend ; 
 and now poor Emma had come back to die ! 
 Come back to that home she had left with 
 so many bright visions of happiness before 
 her, a heart-broken, wretched being. It was 
 not long, ere through the same little gate, 
 whence, but a few years before, I had seen 
 her led a happy, blooming bride, I saw her 
 coffin borne to the still grave-yard ! 
 
 " Ah ! " thought I, as the hot tears gath- 
 ered, " thou art but another victim . at the 
 shrine of Intemperance ! " Rest thee in 
 peace, poor Emma ! 
 
 BY MBS. C. L. HENTZ. 
 
 Alone he lies on blasted heath, 
 Accursed of man and God 
 
 No verdure near his fiery breath 
 Curls withering o'er the sod. 
 
 Last of his race a countless race 
 Their graves are heaving round, 
 
OF 8PAKKLING DKOPS. 
 
 Their drowning path in floods we trace, 
 Their ashes strew the ground. 
 
 Their ghosts come rustling in the gale, 
 Then- bones the wayside pave, 
 
 They bleach upon the sunny vale, 
 They gleam 'mid ocean's wave. 
 
 How died they? that unnumbered race 
 
 Of plague, or fire, or sword ? 
 Did the destroying angel pass, 
 
 In vengeance from the Lord? 
 
 They died in sin they died in shame 
 
 Each suicidal hand 
 Hurl'd at the heart as sure an aim 
 
 As guides the battle brand. 
 
 And he, the last and lonely, quaffs 
 
 The tempter's burning bowl, 
 While, as he drinks, the demon laughs, 
 
 And claims his drowning soul. 
 
 Dash down the bowl, poor maniac, dash 
 
 Save, save thy drowning soul; 
 Heaven's wrathful lightnings round thee flash, 
 
 Eternal thunders roll. 
 
 Fly to a covert from the storm, 
 An angel bids thee come; 
 
78 THE SILVER OTTP 
 
 Behold her fair, emerging form, 
 A rainbow 'mid the gloom. 
 
 She smiles the blasted heath is green 
 Pure fountains murmur near 
 
 Blending in shade, the young leaves lean, 
 The streamlet's song to hear. 
 
 The waters gush in countless rills 
 They toss their silvery spray 
 
 The wave that fiery goblet fills, 
 And laves its dregs away. 
 
 Flow on, ye cleansing waters, flow 
 Where'er the fiend has trod 
 
 The source of ruin and of woe, 
 The scourge of man and God. 
 
 u (H)tw K mas 
 
 BY MARIA -WOODRUFF. 
 
 The day is done, and with its silent close 
 
 Come recollections of the varied past. 
 
 The memory of long-lost early friends, 
 
 Who shared with me bright childhood's sunny hours, 
 
 Steals o'er my heart in softly-whispered tones 
 
OF BPAEKLING DROPS. 79 
 
 And makes me feel their angel-presence near. 
 In those joy-kindling days how happy were we ! 
 Then there was beaming sunshine in our hearts, 
 The world to us was a love-hallowed scene ; 
 And in the circle of its far off years, 
 We only read a brightly welcome fate. 
 
 Suns rose, and shone their busy day, and set 
 And childhood's fleeting summer passed away; 
 Then came gay youth, with all its busy dreams 
 Of pure and unalloyed heart-happiness. 
 I meet my Henry in this gladsome hour; 
 And was he not all my proud heart could wish, 
 Of nobleness, and love, and faith, and truth? 
 His soulful eyes were deep and strangely light; 
 His high, pure mind was written on his face; 
 And I lived on in the blest consciousness 
 Of being*loved and loving in return. 
 
 Years still rolled on, and " we were happy ! " yes 
 
 Such bliss as those few, transitory years 
 
 Brought on their silent, swift, love-laden wings, 
 
 Can only be remembered with a pang 
 
 Of 'blighting anguish, that they fled so soon. 
 
 Fled ? yes, they fled ! for he who was my guide, 
 
 My inner life, the soul within my soul, 
 
 Was tempted to forego the light of home, 
 
 To taste upon the wine-cups sparkling brim, 
 
 The joy that must baptize his soul in woe! 
 
80 THE SILVEK CUP 
 
 And now what have I left? my early friends 
 Have, one by one, gone to a dreamless sleep! 
 And those, who blessed my father's cherished home, 
 1 left, to link my fate with one whose name 
 Was woven with the fibres of my heart, 
 And whose pure love was all I asked of bliss. 
 That love has died. And must I gather back 
 My wealth of crushed affections, to corrode 
 Within the silent temple of my soul'? 
 On such an eve as this, spirits that love 
 Go out on love's swift errand. But, alas! 
 Blooms there on earth a flower that sheds for me 
 The incense that is lent by Heaven, to cheer 
 The weary, desolate, and broken heart? 
 
 I know he did not mean to wrong my trust; 
 
 But some dark spirit beckoned him away,. 
 
 Away from joy, and peace, and home, and me, 
 
 And I am left to wander on alone ! 
 
 No cheering sympathy, no trust, no hope. 
 
 Why have I lived to see this bitter day? 
 
 Why daily gaze on these sun-lighted hills, 
 
 Yet, know my heart is dark, and drear, and lone! 
 
 But, is there then no hope this side the grave? 
 May not some guardian angel still be near, 
 To pluck his footsteps from the toilsome snare? 
 Kind angel! draw him back to LOVE to 
 
OF SPAEKLING DEOPS. 81 
 
 Come \\)m forking Irmms? 
 
 BY MRS. H. S. DE GROVE. 
 
 Why come these mocking dreams at eventide ? 
 
 To haunt my aching heart, and gath'ring throw 
 A fading gleam o'er desolations wide 
 
 A deeper gloom to spread o'er present woe. 
 
 Oh ! there are hours when to the lone one's ear 
 
 Is borne, as echo from the void within, 
 The moan of phantom thoughts still hov'ring near, 
 
 Like murdered spirits o'er some blood-stained scene. 
 
 Where are the dreams which, in my hours of pride, 
 Were rear'cl as castles in some fairy land ? 
 
 With sunny landscapes girting every side, 
 And golden harps in many an angel hand ? 
 
 What, though the poisori'd cup be decked with flowers 
 The draught be sweetened with each rare perfume 
 
 Shall we not, quaffing, tell in bitter hours, 
 Its stinging pathway to the opening tomb ? 
 
 As blight of years falls on the trustful heart, 
 
 And sweeps the garniture of hope away, 
 Life stands unveiled our fancy-dreams depart 
 
 And drooping spirits mourn each broken stay. 
 4* 
 
82 THESILVEKCUP 
 
 Cjje lrnnkarb'5 Danger 
 
 BY CHARLES BURDETT. 
 
 " THERE, take that then, you little hussy, 
 and see if it won't teach you to remember 
 better next time," and a blow from the per- 
 son speaking felled the one addressed to the 
 floor. 
 
 " Oh, father ! " sobbed the little girl, for it 
 was a father whose brutality was thus exhib- 
 ited. " Oh, father, you hurt me dreadfully 
 indeed you do hurt me," she said, rising from 
 the floor as with an effort " Don't strike 
 me ; indeed I will do any thing you say, but 
 don't strike me, dear father." " I will strike 
 you, if I choose," the brute replied, in rough 
 tones. "Ill beat the breath out of your 
 body, if you dare to disobey me," and he 
 proved the sincerity of his threat, and his 
 ability to carry it into execution, by seizing 
 the unresisting girl by the arm and boxing 
 her ears, until all power of resistance and 
 even of crying was gone. 
 
OF SPAEKLING DROPS. 83 
 
 " There," he exclaimed, when fatigued with 
 his brutal occupation, as his child sank al- 
 most senseless at his feet. " There, take that 
 and learn to disobey me the next time, will 
 you," and he staggered out of the room, 
 leaving the half-dead girl lying on the floor. 
 
 A very few words are necessary to intro- 
 duce, more particularly, father and daughter 
 to the reader : 
 
 JAMES MAXWELL was a widower, his wife 
 having died about two years prior to the 
 opening of my tale, leaving Ellen, the daugh- 
 ter and only child, to his care, she being, at 
 the time of her mother's death, ten years of 
 age. He w^as a mechanic a good mechanic, 
 and, during the lifetime of his wife, had 
 worked steadily and faithfully, earning the 
 best wages. Then, he was a sober, industri- 
 ous man kind to his wife attentive to 
 the wants of his little family, and happy in 
 the possession of an affectionate wife, a duti- 
 ful child, health and strength to pursue his 
 daily labor, and the esteem of all who knew 
 him. 
 
 A few months after the death of his wife, 
 
84 THESILVERCUP 
 
 a sad change came over Ms manners, habit * y 
 and conduct. He commenced visiting por- 
 ter-houses, and his evenings were now passed 
 with boon companions, drinking and gam- 
 bling away his daily wages, while his child 
 was suffering from actual want at home, 
 uncared for by the debased parent. In a 
 short time he lost his situation, and, of course, 
 the means to gratify his debased passion for 
 liquor. But, piece by piece, his furniture 
 was disposed of, and without a thought upon 
 the sufferings of his motherless girl at home, 
 he continued to drink and gamble away his 
 hours, returning home always in a state of 
 intoxication. 
 
 Ellen, his little daughter, had found em- 
 ployment at the artificial flower trade, and 
 was earning enough daily to provide food for 
 herself and wretched parent, when he came 
 home to partake of it. 
 
 He had, on the morning of the day in 
 which my story commences, before he left 
 the house, told her that she need not prepare 
 any supper for him, as he should not be 
 home. He did come however, at an earliei 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 85 
 
 hour than was usual, and as usual he was 
 intoxicated, and his first enquiry was for his 
 supper. Ellen reminded him of what he 
 had told her in the morning, but with the 
 stubbornness of intoxication, he denied it, 
 and the blow which felled her to the ground 
 was the answer to her remonstrance. 
 
 Ellen remained on the floor some time af- 
 ter her brutal father had left the room, sob- 
 bing as if her little heart would break. 
 She- could forget every thing but this vio- 
 lence, for he had ever been kind to her. 
 With difficulty she managed to crawl up to 
 her little dingy room in the attic, where she 
 cried herself to sleep. In the morning she 
 went down stairs, intending to go to her 
 work as usual, although feeling sore from the 
 inhuman treatment of the previous night, but 
 she was seized with a sudden faintness, and 
 was forced to lie down on her father's bed. 
 
 A kind-hearted woman, who resided in the 
 same house, chanced to come into the room 
 where she was lying, and seeing that the 
 poor child was seriously ill, sent for a physi- 
 cian, a young practitioner, who had just 
 
86 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 taken tip his residence in their immediate 
 neighborhood. 
 
 He obeyed the summons with the prompt- 
 itude generally displayed by the members of 
 his profession, and as soon as he cast his eyes 
 upon the little sufferer, he pronounced her 
 seriously ill, and forbade her being removed 
 from her bed on any account. Learning, 
 from the woman who had caused him to be 
 called in, that she was entirely alone, and had 
 the care of a drunken father, he saw that, 
 unless from himself she must receive little 
 attention ; having therefore procured for her 
 the medicine which her sickness demanded, 
 he administered it himself, and left the 
 house, promising to return early on the fol- 
 lowing morning, but giving particular orders 
 that she should on no account be removed, 
 and if possible kept in the most perfect quiet. 
 
 Ellen, soon after his departure, sank into 
 a profound slumber, and was left alone. She 
 was awakened, however, soon after dark, by 
 the entrance of her father, who, as usual, 
 staggered into the room, and struck a light 
 with some matches. 
 
OF SPARKLING DBOPS. 87 
 
 " Why the has n't that girl got any 
 
 fire ? " he muttered, as he shivered, (for it was 
 a bitter cold night,) forgetting that there 
 was nothing with which she could make a 
 fire, and that he had never provided for her 
 the means of procuring fuel. " I wonder 
 where she is," he hiccupped, staggering 
 toward his bed. "Ah, there you are is 
 that the way you use your father, you little 
 hussy ? To let him come home in the cold, 
 and have no fire for him to warm himself, 
 and you too lazy to make one. Come, get 
 out of bed, you lazy hussy get out, and 
 make up a fire." 
 
 Ellen was too feeble to speak she was 
 in a raging fever, and was unable to stir a 
 limb. 
 
 " Come, do you hear me ? " exclaimed the 
 drunken brute " get up, I say, or shall I 
 help you ? " 
 
 Ellen in vain essayed to speak she 
 could not, but tears forced themselves from 
 her eyes, and coursed down her flushed and 
 and fevered cheeks. 
 
 "Always crying when I come home. 
 
88 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 That's just the way with you. I never find 
 any thing ready for me, as I used to. JSTo 
 supper, no fire nothing but crying, for 
 ever. Come, I say, do you hear me get 
 up." 
 
 Still Ellen did not, for she could not stir, 
 nor could she reply to his brutal demand. 
 
 " Well, since you won't help yourself, I '11 
 help you," and the brute dragged her from 
 the bed, letting her fall with stunning 
 violence to the floor. " There," and he raised 
 her up, placing her roughly in an old arm- 
 chair, which stood near the chimney " sit 
 there as long as you choose. I 'm going to 
 bed, and see that you have a fire made and 
 breakfast ready for me when I get up." So 
 saying, the drunkard threw himself into the 
 bed, and was soon buried in the deep sleep 
 of intoxication. 
 
 Poor Ellen was too weak to speak, or cry 
 for help, and there she sat, cold, sick, and 
 suffering from intense pain. At length, when 
 her father was buried in a sleep so profound, 
 she knew she should not awaken him, she 
 managed to crawl to the bedside, and take 
 
OF SPARKLING DEOP8. 89 
 
 thence one of the coverings, which she threw 
 across her shoulders, and staggered back to 
 her chair. 
 
 And thus she passed, the dreary night 
 not a sound did she hear but the deep, heavy 
 breathing of her drunken and debased pa- 
 rent, who lay snoring there, while she was 
 half perished with the cold. 
 
 In the morning, the physician, who knew 
 the serious character of his young patient's 
 disease, called to see her, and, without ma- 
 king any noise, for he hoped to find her 
 asleep, entered the chamber where he had 
 last left her. His surprise was almost too 
 great for utterance, when, on entering the 
 apartment, he saw his patient, who he knew 
 was in a really critical situation, demanding 
 the utmost care, seated on a large chair, with 
 a blanket thrown around her shivering form. 
 
 " Good heavens ! my girl, what are you 
 doing here ! " he exclaimed, as he saw, by 
 the hectic flush on her cheek, despite her 
 shivering, that she was yet in a raging fever. 
 "Why are you not in bed? You are not 
 able, and ought not to sit up. How could 
 
90 THE SILVER OTJP 
 
 you be so heedless you must obey my 
 directions more closely." 
 
 A glance at the bed was all the reply El- 
 len could give, for her choked utterance. 
 
 " How long have you been sitting up ? " 
 
 " All night, sir," she replied, in feeble tones. 
 
 " Have you had no fire ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Nor any light ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " And have you taken any of the medicine 
 I left for you ? " 
 
 " I could not get up to get it, I was so 
 weak, and there was no one to give it to 
 
 me." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," exclaimed the 
 physician, with an air of incredulity, " that 
 you have been seated here all night, without 
 a light or fire, and without a single human 
 being to attend you are you telling me 
 the truth?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And how, in the name of Heaven, did it 
 happen ? " exclaimed the young man, every 
 feeling of his nature aroused by this exhibi- 
 
OP SPAEKLING DEOPS. 91 
 
 tion of inhumanity ; " you ought to be in 
 bed now. This imprudence may cost you 
 your life." 
 
 The poor girl's tears broke out afresh, as 
 she replied, in feeble tones, half choked by 
 sobs and tears, "Father came home tipsy, 
 sir, and pulled me out of bed ! He is asleep 
 there now." 
 
 To drag the stupid, half-sobered brute 
 from his lair, was the work of a single in- 
 stant, for the vigorous arm of the young 
 physician, and planting him on his feet, facing 
 himself, he addressed him, " You miserable, 
 drunken, inhuman brute 1 Did you dare to 
 make that poor sick girl stay in that chair 
 all night, without a fire or light, cold and 
 sick, while you were snoring off your drunken 
 fit ? " and the young man, losing all patience, 
 shook the now affrighted wretch, as though 
 he were but a bundle of straw. " Answer 
 me, you villain ! Do you know what you 
 have done ? If that girl dies, I will, so help 
 me Heaven, have you indicted for murder, 
 you miserable scoundrel ! Look at her look 
 there ! " and he dragged the now sobered 
 
92 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 man directly in front of the shivering, suffer- 
 ing child, who sat there motionless, the tears 
 coursing down her cheeks, while her lips 
 fairly chattered with the cold " look at 
 her, and if there is a single spark of man- 
 hood left in you if every sense is not stu- 
 pified by the liquor you have swilled go 
 on your knees and thank God she is not a 
 corpse ! " 
 
 The sight of the trembling, suffering, shiv- 
 ering Ellen, his only child, recalled to the 
 miserable man, the occurrences of the pre- 
 vious evening, and the feelings of the father 
 rose at once victorious. " Oh, father," mur- 
 mured the suffering girl, as she saw the agony 
 depicted in his countenance, but she could 
 say no more. 
 
 It was enough, however, for the grief- 
 stricken parent, who, sinking on his knees 
 grasped the hot, feverish hand of the suffer- 
 ing, ill-used child, and sobbed as if his heart 
 was breaking. 
 
 " There, there," said the young physician, 
 wiping from his own eyes the tears which he 
 could not restrain. " She must not be exci 
 
OF SPAKKLING DROPS. 93 
 
 ted. Place her in bed gently there, 
 softly," and gently they raised up the suffer- 
 ing, but now happy girl. " Oh, father ! " she 
 said, feebly, throwing her arms around his 
 neck, as he laid her on the bed, while the 
 hot tears fell from his blood-shot eyes, " Oh, 
 father ! do n't cry so ; I shall soon get well, 
 now you are so kind to me." 
 
 " Kind to you, my child ! " he exclaimed, 
 and sinking on his knees beside her bed, he 
 vowed before Heaven, if his child was spa- 
 red to him, never again to yield to the ine- 
 briating cup, and never again to be recreant 
 to his duty as a father. 
 
 " Now, then," he said, arising and turning 
 to the physician, "what must be done for 
 her?" But the young physician was engros- 
 sed with something which was hanging over 
 the mantel-piece in a frame. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you are entitled 
 to this ?" he asked, doubtingly, turning to the 
 father, for it was a certificate of membership 
 to an Order, which, in brighter days, the 
 sober, industrious man had been proud to 
 exhibit. 
 
94 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 " I did, sir," replied Mr. Maxwell, with a 
 blush, of shame mantling his cheek, " I did, 
 sir, but " 
 
 " You have been expelled. Is it so ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and very justly, too." 
 
 " You may well say 'justly,' if this has 
 been your course of conduct. But come, I 
 will not reproach you now. I grieve to see 
 a Brother so debased and fallen, but I hope 
 yet to see you worthy of being reinstated." 
 
 " Oh, sir, befriend me now save me from 
 myself, and I swear never again to forfeit the 
 regard of those who have so long been 
 ashamed for me," exclaimed the conscience 
 sticken wretch. 
 
 " Befriend you ! To be sure I will. Am 
 I not bound to befriend every fellow being 
 in distress ? and though you have forfeited 
 your claim to Brotherhood, you are a Brother 
 still. But come, let us attend to Ellen here. 
 She needs all your care ; first of all, you 
 must have a fire. Have you no wood ?" 
 
 " No, but I have some money left from 
 the sale of my bureau. I can soon get some." 
 
 " Make up a fire at once, and then get this 
 
OF SPAEKLIKG DROPS. 95 
 
 medicine, and see it given according to the 
 directions," he said, handing him a prescrip- 
 tion. 
 
 " Every thing shall be done as you say, but 
 sir " and he hesitated. 
 
 " Go on ; what is it you wish to say ?" 
 
 " You will not desert me now that I need 
 a friend so much. I am going to try to get 
 work will you let me say, you know I will 
 keep sober ?" 
 
 " I will ; for I believe you to be now sin- 
 cere, and it is only by adhering to your vow, 
 you can prove worthy of my friendship. I 
 will say I believe you to be sincere God 
 knows you have cause enough for sincerity." 
 
 The fire was made, and the medicine admin- 
 istered as directed, and Ellen was left with the 
 kind woman who had discovered her the pre- 
 vious day, and who was made happy in the 
 assurance of the drunken father's promised 
 reformation. Having seen all his daughter's 
 wants cared for, he started out in quest of 
 work, and without a wish to stop, passed by 
 the very porter-house, in which he had spent 
 the previous day, As he looked within, and 
 
96 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 saw groups of his associates pouring down 
 the sure but tempting poison, he inwardly 
 raised his heart to God in thankfulness, that 
 he was now enabled to resist the temptation 
 which had so long mastered him, and which 
 had wrought such misery. He went directly 
 to the establishment for which he had been 
 accustomed to work, but his eyes, blood-shot 
 with long-continued dissipation, and with 
 weeping over his daughter's suffering, and his 
 own shame, were very much against him. 
 
 " Mr. A.," said he, boldly, approaching the 
 proprietor, " I have quit drinking now, for 
 ever, and I want you to let me come back 
 to work. You know I was always a good 
 workman when I was steady." 
 
 " Your eyes do n't look much like it novr, 
 James," replied Mr. A., kindly. " I know you 
 were a good workman, but I fear you will not 
 long remain a sober man." 
 
 " But I will, sir, so help me Heaven. I 
 nearly killed my only child last night, but I 
 am sober now, and, please God, I mean to 
 stay so." 
 
'OF SPARKLING DROPS. 97 
 
 '*' Is there any one, James, who will vouch 
 ifor you ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; Dr. W.," said James. 
 
 " I>r. W. !" exclaimed Mr. A., in surprise, 
 ""why, he belongs to our Order. Will he 
 vouch for you ? How did he come to know 
 you ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, he will;" and James briefly nar- 
 rated the occurrence of the morning. 
 
 " Well, you may go to work, and I will see 
 the Doctor this morning. If you have got 
 so good a friend as Dr. W., you are in good 
 hands." 
 
 James went to work with a cheerful heart, 
 but his associates were, at first, rather shy of 
 him. They knew how recklessly dissipated 
 he had been, and they regretted his return 
 among them, for they feared his example 
 among the younger hands. He noticed, too, 
 their distant behavior, but in the confidence 
 that his own good conduct would soon wear 
 that oft^ he worked on in silence, and worked 
 o well, as to draw forth the merited appro- 
 val of the foreman. 
 
98 THE SILVEK CUP 
 
 When the work of the day was closed,, 
 and as the men were preparing to return to- 
 their homes, James spoke out : " Boys, you 
 all know what I have been before I turned a 
 drunkard. Now, I'm a sober man, and I 
 hope you are not going to dishearten me, by 
 not believing me. So help me God, I am 
 never going to drink again." There was an 
 honest sincerity in his countenance as he 
 spoke, which carried conviction with his 
 words, and every hardy hand was stretched 
 out to him in warm congratulation. 
 
 In answer to questions as to his little 
 daughter, whom they all knew, as she used 
 to bring his dinner to him, he very frankly 
 related all the occurrences of the night and 
 morning, and when he mentioned that she 
 was sick, and alone, a dozen kind voices^ 
 promised that their wives should come 
 around and see her. And, what is more r 
 they did come, and, thanks to a father's 
 kindness, and their neighborly attention 
 backed by the skill of the kind Dr. W., El- 
 len was soon restored to health. As she 
 brought her father's dinner, as usual, to him r 
 
OF SPABKLING DKOPS. 99 
 
 on the first day she was able to go out, she 
 was received by all the honest, hard-working 
 men, with as much kindness as though she 
 were a child of their own. 
 
 True to his promise, Dr. W. did see James 
 Maxwell reinstated, and on the following 
 week thereafter, James brought home a new 
 certificate, which he hung up in the place of 
 the one Jie had forfeited, and thenceforward 
 he remained true to his pledge. 
 
 I hoped in glimmering consciousness, that all this torture 
 
 was a dream; 
 
 Yet life is oft so like a dream, we know not where we are. 
 
 TUPPER. 
 
 lib dnh so mil it? 
 
 BY ELIZA COOK. 
 
 Did God so will it ? Truth is in the tone 
 That so arraigns the evil deeds of man, 
 
 And worshipers at the Eternal Throne 
 
 Will breathe it forth in face of mortal ban, 
 
 We note dark scenes that crowd upon our eyes, 
 Rousing the bosom but to chafe and chill it ; 
 
100 THE SILVEK C TJ P 
 
 Oh, who shall gaze, nor feel the question rise 
 Did God so will it? 
 
 The holy word, typed by the gentle bird 
 
 Of holy peace, is often yelled around 
 As a fierce war-cry scaring while 't is heard, 
 
 Baiting and baying where bold thought is found. 
 " Be merciful," is the divine behest ; 
 
 Priests with the mission, how do ye fulfill it ? 
 Even as tyranny and strife attest 
 
 Did God so will it? 
 
 The red-skinned savage holds his hunting field 
 
 As Nature's heritage by human law, 
 Content with what the bush and river yield, 
 
 His rugged wigwam and his tawny squaw. 
 But the smooth white-face drives him back and back , 
 
 Let his voice tell of right, and might shall still it, 
 Till his free steps are thrust from their own track 
 Did God so will it? 
 
 The heirs of fortune eat, drink, laugh, and sleep, 
 Scarce knowing winter's cold from Summer's heat; 
 
 Strange contrast with the lank pinched forms that 
 With roofless heads, and bleeding, hearthless feet. 
 
 While sated Wealth reclines to cull and sip, 
 Where the full feast is decked with flowery 
 
 Wonder and Hunger ask with moody lip 
 Did God so will it? 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 101 
 
 ' T is a fit question when the coward hand 
 Deals needless anguish to the patient brute ; 
 
 Proud upright thing of clay, thou had'st command 
 To rule, but not to torture the poor mute. 
 
 When thou would'st urge the brave steed to a task, 
 Knowing the mean, inhuman work will kill it, 
 
 Hearest not thou the voice of conscience ask 
 Did God so will it ? 
 
 Crime clothed in greatness holds a wondrous claim 
 On the world's tenderness 't is few will dare 
 
 To call foul conduct by its proper name 
 When it can prowl and prey in golden lair ; 
 
 But let the pauper sin Virtue disgraced, 
 
 Rears a high seat, and Vengeance stern must fill it. 
 
 Justice, thy bandage is not fairly placed 
 Did God so will it? 
 
 ' T is a fit question to be put to man 
 
 When he would trample hearts already sad, 
 
 Reckless what pressing trials crowd the span 
 Of others' days so that his own is glad. 
 
 ' T is a broad taxing but the chainless mind 
 
 Will dare to raise the doubtings that shall thrill it, 
 
 Enquiring oft, 'mid factions base and blind, 
 Did God so will it? 
 
 Who can look out upon the earth and see 
 
 Much that is there, without a startling fear 
 That Man has darkly set the upas tree 
 
102 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Where Nature gave him vineyard fruits to rear ? 
 Sorrow, oppression, carnage, madness, pain 
 
 Read the world's record note how these shall fill it 
 Shrink not, but question straight with heart and brain, 
 Did God so will it ? 
 
 I gazed upon the tattered garb 
 Of one who stood a listener by; 
 
 The hand of misery pressed him hard, 
 And tears of sorrow swelled his eye. 
 
 I gazed upon his pallid cheek, 
 
 And asked him how his cares begun - 
 
 He sighed, and thus essayed to speak; 
 " The cause of all my grief is rum." 
 
 I watched a maniac through the gate, 
 Whose raving shook me to the soul; 
 
 I asked what sealed his wretched fate, 
 The answer was " the cursed bowl" 
 
 I asked a convict in his chains, 
 
 While tears along his cheek did roll; 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 103 
 
 What devil urged him on to crime 
 His answer was " the cursed bowL" 
 
 I asked the murderer when the rope 
 
 Hung round his neck in death's hard roll; 
 
 Bereft of pardon, and of hope 
 His answer was u the cursed bowL" 
 
 iw Imaq, 
 
 Bring me forth the cup of gold, 
 Chased by Druid's hands of old, 
 Filled at yonder fountain's breast, 
 Where the waters are at rest; 
 This for me in joyous hour, 
 "This for me in beauty's bower, 
 This for me in manhood's prime, 
 This for me in life's decline. 
 
 Bring me forth the humbler horn, 
 Filled by hunter's hand at morn, 
 From the chrystal spring that flows 
 Underneath the blooming rose, 
 Where the violet loves to sip, 
 Wliere the lily cools her lip; 
 
104 THE SILVER CUP' 
 
 Bring me this and I will say, 
 Take the ruby wine away! 
 
 Dip the bucket in the well, 
 Where the trout delights to dwell . 
 Where the sparkling water sings, 
 As it bubbles from the springs, 
 Where the breezes whisper sweet, 
 Where the happy children meet, 
 Draw, and let the draught be mine- 
 Take away the rosy wine ! 
 
 Inigtrt of % JUnglrt. 
 
 BY GIFTIE. 
 
 IF to be seated, on a bright winter's day,, 
 before a glowing fire of anthracite, with one's 
 feet on the fender, and one's form half buried 
 in the depths of a cushioned easy-chair, hold- 
 ing the uncut pages of the last novel, be in- 
 deed the practical definition of happiness^ 
 then EMMA LESLIE was to be envied as she- 
 sat thus cosily, one afternoon, listening to the- 
 animated discussion going on between ar& 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 105 
 
 elderly lady and gentleman on the opposite 
 of the fire place. The discussion ran on 
 a grave subject a very grave subject 
 one which has puzzled the heads of wise 
 men, and turned the wits of weak ones. But 
 though the argument grew every moment 
 more close and earnest, the fair listener had 
 the audacity to laugh, in clear, silvery tones, 
 that told there was not one serious thought 
 in her mind, as she said, 
 
 " Nay, good uncle, a truce to these gener- 
 alities. If, as I imagine, all this talk upon 
 woman's duties has been for my special edifi- 
 cation, pray be more explicit and tell me 
 what part I am to play in the general reform 
 you propose ?" 
 
 The gentleman thus addressed looked up 
 at this interruption, and replied, in a tone 
 slightly acidified, 
 
 " For your benefit also has been your Aunt 
 Mary's clear position of what woman may, 
 and should be. Perhaps you will profit as 
 much by her suggestions as you seem to do 
 by mine." 
 
 " Do not give me up as incorrigible just 
 
106 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 as I am coming to be taught how to be 
 good," said Emma, with mock gravity. "With 
 regard to this subject of temperance, of 
 which you were just speaking, and upon 
 which you say woman has so much influence, 
 what shall I do ? How can I reclaim the 
 drunkard ? while I move in a circle where 
 the degraded creatures are not admitted. 
 They will not be influenced by a person who 
 has no feelings or sympathies in common 
 with them, even were it proper for me to 
 descend to their level, in order to help them." 
 
 " That may be. The tide of gay and 
 fashionable life sweeps over and buries in 
 oblivion the ruin its forms and ceremonies 
 help to make. Yet there are some you 
 might reach. Some who are just beginning 
 to sink, and whom men cannot influence 
 because they are too proud to own their 
 danger." 
 
 " How less likely, then, would a woman be 
 to influence them," replied Emma. "You 
 know how men try to conceal their vices and 
 foibles from us." 
 
 "True, but yet men do not suspect the 
 
SPARKLIKO DROPS. 107 
 
 of doubting their power to reform 
 themselves, aad are therefore more willing to 
 '4>e advised and pursuaded by them to aban- 
 don their bad habits, which have not yet 
 become fixed, vices. Woman's intuitive per- 
 ception of what should be said, and the 
 Tight moment to say it, men rarely possess ; 
 ^and this gives your sex a superiority over 
 <ours in the work of reform. Yet, alas ! how 
 often is this influence employed to lure the 
 wandering feet further and further from the 
 path of virtue" 
 
 " Beware, uncle, 1 7 11 have no slander, 77 re- 
 plied Emma, half vexed. 
 
 "It is not slander. How often have I 
 ; seen you, Emma, with smiles and gay words, 
 sipping that which, however harmless to you, 
 is poison to some of your thoughtless com- 
 panions. Were you pure in word and deed 
 "from all contamination in that behalf, how 
 different would be your influence. Yet you 
 refused to join the Temperance Society I 
 am endeavoring to establish in our neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 41 But you know," said Emma, with a proud 
 
108 Tffff SILVER C0F 
 
 curl of her ruby lip, " that I am in no danger. 
 Why, should my name be mixed with the 
 common herd f 
 
 "That is false pride, un worth a true- 
 hearted woman. To refuse to aid a reforming 
 movement that will assist thousands, simply 
 because it will not benefit you, because you: 
 do not need its help. I did not need its help* 
 I did not think you so selfish." 
 
 " I am not selfish. You shall not call me 
 such ugly names," replied the niece, striving 
 to turn the conversation from the serious turn 
 it had taken. " You know very well it i 
 only my humility that speaks. I do n't think 
 Women have any right to form societies and 
 make laws. All that honor and glory I am 
 willing to leave to men, and only ask for my 
 sex the liberty of doing as they please in the 
 humble station assigned to them by the lords 
 of creation. You may rule the world, and 
 give orders, and we will break them." 
 
 " Yes," said her uncle, rising to go, " you 
 will break them, indeed break all laws of 
 justice, honor, and humanity in your giddy 
 course" 
 
OF SPARKLIKG DROPS. 109 
 
 " Nay," Emma said, rising and holding his 
 hands in hers as he was about to leave the 
 room, 
 
 " Put down your hat, do n't take your atick, 
 Now, prithe, uncle, stay. 
 
 "I will not let you go thinking me so 
 naughty and saucy. Do n't look so sober, or 
 I shall certainly cry, and you know you hate 
 such scenes. I am really half convinced by 
 your arguments, but were I to sign the 
 pledge, what good would it do ? I have no 
 desire to go about with a sermon on my brow, 
 to bestow on all luckless wights who touch, 
 taste, or handle. It is not genteel to scold, 
 and I fancy they might think me impertinent 
 were I to advise. Who is there among my 
 acquaintance who would not resent my inter- 
 ference with their habits in this respect ? " 
 
 "There is your cousin, Edward," replied 
 her uncle, seating himself again. " You 
 know well how to lead him in your train 
 through all kinds of fun and folly ; perhaps 
 you might induce him to sign the temperance 
 pledge ? " 
 
lit) t THE SILVER CUP 
 
 " But Edward is strictly temperata He 
 rarely takes even wine." 
 
 " True, and I do n't think him in danger 
 of becoming less so. But his position in 
 society gives him great influence over the 
 young men with whom he associates ; and 
 some who follow his example in refusing to 
 sign the pledge, are unable to follow him in 
 controlling their appetites." 
 
 " There is young Saville, too," said Aunt 
 Mary. " It is whispered among his friends, 
 that unless something arrests his course, he 
 will ere long be ruined." 
 
 A flush passed over Emma's beautiful face 
 as, in a tone of surprise and horror, she ex- 
 claimed, " What, George Saville ! with his 
 genius and eloquence is he a slave to that 
 vice V 
 
 " They say," replied her aunt, " that much 
 of his fiery eloquence arises from the fumes 
 of brandy, and the sparkling wit that makes 
 him so delightful is caught from bubbles 
 that dance on the wine-cup. When the 
 excitement, thus produced, passes away, he 
 ^s dull and spiritless." 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. Ill 
 
 " And will no one warn him no one 
 Bave him ? " said Emma, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Who can do it so well as yourself ?" said 
 her uncle. " Is he not one of the worshipers 
 at your shrine ? Of what avail is it to be 
 young and beautiful and wealthy, if the in- 
 fluence such accidents give, be not employed 
 in the cause of truth and virtue ?" 
 
 Emma did not reply, and her uncle left 
 the .room, where she remained a long time 
 in deep thought, roused and startled by the 
 new ideas presented to her mind, for giddy 
 and thoughtless as she seemed, she possessed 
 a mind and heart capable of deep feeling 
 and energetic action. 
 
 The same evening she was seated by the 
 piano, drawing thence a flood of melody, 
 while her Cousin Edward and George Saville 
 stood beside her. But the attention of the 
 latter seemed more absorbed by the fair 
 musician than by the sweet sounds produced 
 by her flying fingers ; and directing his com- 
 panion's attention to the soft brown hair that 
 fell in long shining ringlets around her pure 
 
112 THE SILVER CTTP 
 
 brow, and over her snowy neck, he said, in 
 a tone intended to reach his ear alone 
 
 " What would you give to possess one of 
 those curls 2" 
 
 Low as were the words, Emma heard 
 them, and pausing suddenly, said, "What 
 would you give ?" 
 
 " Any thing every thing," said the young 
 man eagerly. 
 
 "Would you give your liberty would 
 you bind yourself to do my bidding ?" asked 
 the maiden in a tone which playful gayety 
 strove to hide a deeper feeling. 
 
 "The liberty to disobey your will, lady, 
 has long been lost," replied Saville, with a 
 glance that well-nigh destroyed Emma's self- 
 possession. "It were a small matter to 
 acknowledge it by my vow." 
 
 " On that condition it is yours," said Em- 
 ma, while the rich blush that mantled her 
 cheek and brow, made her more beautiful 
 than ever as she severed from her queenly 
 head one of the longest of the luxurient 
 tresses with which nature had adorned it. 
 
 " Ma belle Emma," interposed Edward as 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 113 
 
 she did this, " I cannot allow of such par- 
 tiality. Let me take the oath of allegiance 
 and gain an equal prize." 
 
 "Will you dare?" replied Emma, gayly. 
 u Will you bow your haughty spirit to do 
 my bidding ? Beware, for when you have 
 vowed you .are completely in my power." 
 
 " And a very tyrant you will be, no doubt, 
 fair queen, yet I accept the vow. Royalty 
 needs new disciples when there are so many 
 deserters." 
 
 "Kneel, then, Cousin Edward, and you 
 also, Mr. Saville, and rise Knights of the 
 Ringlet, bound to serve in all things the will 
 of your sovereign lady." So saying, she 
 placed half of the ringlet on the shoulder 
 of each gentleman, as they knelt in mock 
 humility before her. Some unutterable feel- 
 ing seemed to compel Saville to look the 
 thanks he would have spoken, but Edward 
 with a conscious privilege, seized her hand, 
 and kissing it, exclaimed, as he threw himself 
 into " an attitude," 
 
 "Thy will, and thine alone, 
 For ever and a day, 
 
114 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 By sea and land, through fire and flood, 
 We promise to obey." 
 
 About a month after, Edward and his 
 cousin found themselves listening to the elo- 
 quent appeals of a well known temperance 
 lecturer. He dwelt upon the woes and ruins 
 of intemperance, and the responsibility of 
 every one who did not do all in his power to 
 remedy the evil. At the close of the lecture 
 the pledge was passed among the audience. 
 When it came to where they were sitting, 
 Emma took it, and offering Edward her pen- 
 cil, whispered, " Let the Knight of the Ring- 
 let perform his vow." He looked at her 
 enquiringly. She traced her own name be- 
 neath those written there, and bade him do 
 the same. For an instant he hesitated, and 
 was half offended with her for the stratagem, 
 but good sense and politeness both forbade a 
 refusal, and he complied. 
 
 It was a more delicate task to exert the 
 same influence over the proud and sensitive 
 Saville, but at length the opportunity oc- 
 curred. 
 
OF SPARKLING DBOPS. 115 
 
 One evening, as he mingled with the 
 groups that filled the splendid drawing- 
 rooms of the fashionable Mi's. B , one of 
 his acquaintances came up and filling two 
 glasses with wine that stood on the marble 
 side-table, offered one to him. As he was 
 raising it to his lips, a rose-bud fell over his 
 shoulder into the glass, and a voice near him 
 said, in low, musical tone, "Touch it not 
 Knight of the Ringlet, I command you by 
 this token ;" and turning, he saw Emma 
 standing beside him. As she met his gaze, 
 she passed her delicate hand through the 
 dark curls that shaded her lovely face, and 
 shaking her finger at him impressively, was 
 lost in the crowd. Saville stood looking 
 after her with a bewildered air, as if lost in 
 thought, until the laugh of his companion 
 brought him to himself. " Excuse me," he 
 said, putting down the glass. " You saw the 
 spell flung over me, I am under oath to obey 
 the behests of beauty. 1 ' 
 
 Emma watched him through the evening, 
 but he seemed to avoid her, and appeared 
 thoughtful and sad. They did not meet 
 
116 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 again until at a late hour ; she was stepping 
 into her carriage to return home, when sud- 
 denly he appeared at her side and assisting 
 her into it, entreated, " Fair queen, permit the 
 humblest of your most loyal subjects the 
 honor of escorting you to the palace." She 
 assented, and the carnage had no sooner 
 started than in a voice, trembling with earn- 
 estness, he added, " and permit me to ask if 
 your command this evening was merely an 
 exercise of power, or did a deeper meaning 
 lie therein ?" 
 
 " I did mean to -warn you," said Emma, 
 gently, " that there was poison in the glass 
 slow, perchance, but sure." 
 
 " And do you think me in danger, Miss 
 Leslie ?" 
 
 " I think all in danger who do not adopt 
 the rule of total abstinence ; and pardon 
 me, if I say that with your excitable temper- 
 ament, I imagine you to be in more than 
 ordinary peril." 
 
 There was a long pause. When he spoke 
 again his tones were calmer. 
 
 "I did not imagine I could ever become 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 117 
 
 a slave to apptite. Often while suffering 
 from the fatigue induced by writing, I have 
 taken brandy, and been revived by it. Some- 
 times before going to speak in public I have 
 felt the need of artificial stimulus to invigor- 
 ate my shattered nerves. Do you think that 
 improper indulgence ?" 
 
 " Do you not find," said Emma, " that this 
 lassitude returns more frequently, and re- 
 quires more stimulus to overcome it than 
 formerly 2" 
 
 " It is true," said he, thoughtfully ; " I often 
 speak with more fluency when under such 
 excitement than I can possibly do at other 
 times." 
 
 " Once it was not so," said Emma, kindly. 
 
 " Very true, but this kind of life wears on 
 my system. I cannot get through with my 
 public duties without help of this kind." 
 
 " Does not this show," replied Emma, " that 
 you have already somewhat impaired those 
 noble powers with which you are endowed ? 
 "Would it not be better, nobler, as well as 
 safer to trust solely to yourself than to de- 
 pend on the wild excitement thus induced ?" 
 
118 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 " It does, indeed ; fool that I have been to 
 think myself secure. But, thank heaven ! I 
 am yet master. I can control myself if I 
 choose." 
 
 By this time they had arrived at the door 
 of Miss Leslie's mansion. 
 
 " Let me detain you one moment," said Sa- 
 ville, as they stood upon the steps, " to ask 
 you if you have heard others speak of this. 
 Tell me truly," he added, as she hesitated. 
 " Do the public know that I am not always 
 master of myself?" 
 
 a I have heard it intimated you were injur- 
 ing yourself in this way," replied Emma, in 
 a low voice, doubtful how the intelligence 
 would be received. 
 
 " And you," said the young man fervently, 
 " you were the kind angel who interposed to 
 save me from the precipice over which I have 
 well nigh fallen. Be assured the warning 
 shall not be in vain. A thousand thanks for 
 this well-timed caution," he added, more 
 cheerfully, as they parted, " the Knight of 
 the Ringlet will not forget his vow." 
 
 For a few moments the joyous excitement 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 119 
 
 of his spirit continued, as he thought of the 
 interest in him which her conversation and 
 actions had that evening evinced. But when 
 the door closed and shut her fairy form from 
 his sight, a shadow fell over his heart. Other 
 feelings arose and whispered that, after all, it 
 was but pity that actuated her. Love 
 would she not rather despise his weakness 
 that had need of such a caution ? Then 
 came a sense of wounded pride, an idea that 
 his confession had humbled him before her, 
 and ere he reached his home he had become 
 so deeply desponding that he was meditating 
 taking passage for England, and doing a 
 thousand other desperate things, so that he 
 never again might see the gentle monitress 
 who, he had persuaded himself, regarded 
 him with pity that was more akin to disgust 
 than love. 
 
 A letter received the next morning, calling 
 him into the country for a week, prevented 
 his executing his rash designs ; but a feeling, 
 unaccountable even to himself, made him shun 
 the places where he was accustomed to meet 
 Emma, and made him miserable, till three or 
 
120 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 four weeks afterward, merely by accident, hi 
 found himself seated opposite to her at a 
 concert. Was it fancy, or did she look sad 
 and thoughtful ; and why did her eye roam 
 over the crowd, as if seeking some one it 
 found not. So he thought to himself, till 
 suddenly, in their gazing, his eyes met hers. 
 Instantly she turned away, and then, in a 
 moment after, gave him an earnest, enquiring 
 glance, full of troubled thought At that 
 look, the demon which tormented him van- 
 ished and a flood of inexpressible love filled 
 his soul. He could not go to her, hemmed in 
 as he was by the audience ; but he did not 
 cease looking at her through the evening. 
 In vain, she gave no second look or sign of 
 consciousness of his presence. 
 
 " She is offended with me," he soliloquized, 
 as he went homeward ; " and no wonder ; 
 how like a fool I have acted. I will go to 
 her to-morrow and tell her all." 
 
 In the morning he called, but others had 
 been before him, and the drawing-room was 
 well supplied with loungers. He staid as 
 long as decency would permit, but Miss 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 121 
 
 ^Leslie was not at all cordial in her manner 
 toward him, "and the dear five hundred 
 friends " kept coming and going, so that no 
 opportunity offered for the explanation. " I 
 will go again this evening," said he to him- 
 self; and so he did. Emma stood at the 
 window, beside a stand of magnificent plants, 
 whose blossoms filled the room with fra- 
 grance. The lamps had not been lighted, 
 and the moonlight fell in a halo of glory 
 around her, as she stood in sad reverie that 
 cast a pensive shade over her face, usually so 
 brilliant in its beauty. So absorbed was she, 
 that she did not hear the door open, and was 
 unconscious of Saville's presence till he was 
 at her side. 
 
 " You received me coldly, fair lady, this 
 morning, so that I came back to see if you 
 are offended with me," said he, as she turned 
 to receive him. 
 
 " And I, in my turn, ask you the same 
 question, or else why have you absented 
 yourself so long ?" 
 
 " I was not offended ah, no !" said Sa- 
 ville, dropping the tone of forced gayety in 
 
122 THE SILVER OTTF 
 
 which he had at first spoken, " but can yot* 
 not understand why I have thus exiled my- 
 self ? Did you not know it was that I feared 
 you might despise me you from whom r 
 more than from any one else, I desired, 
 esteem, admiration love" The last word 
 was spoken in a lower tone, and he looked 
 at her appealingly, as if to ask forgiveness 
 for having uttered it. For one instant he 
 met the gaze of Emma's dark blue eyes, and 
 he must have read something there he did 
 not expect to find, for the expression of his 
 own changed into one so hopeful and earnest 
 that Emma's sunk beneath its light. And 
 when he drew Emma into a seat beside him, 
 and in a few rapid words told her what, in, 
 fact, she knew before,, how long and how well 
 he had loved her, I don't know what she 
 said, for, reader, I came away then. 
 
 But I do know that one morning, six 
 months after, some carriages went from Mr, 
 Leslie's mansion to the church, and came 
 back with a party looking most auspiciously 
 happy, and that some hours after, as Edward 
 was conducting his Cousin Emma to a 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 123 
 
 traveling carriage, which stood at the door, 
 he said, " So you and Saville have changed 
 positions and you are henceforth to obey. 
 What a tyrant I would be were I in his 
 place. Pray does this morning's act cancel 
 former obligations ?" 
 
 " The contract is unbroken," said Saville, 
 answering for his bride, and producing a 
 locket containing the ringlet " here is the 
 token that renders the vow perpetual." 
 
 <hf Cm of 
 
 o 
 
 BY ELIZA COOK. 
 
 Let the king of the grave be asked to tell 
 
 The plant that he loveth best, 
 And it will not be the cypress tree, 
 
 Though 'tis ever the churchyard guest; 
 He will not mark the hemlock dark, 
 
 Nor stay where the nightshade spreads; 
 He will not say 'tis the sombre yew, 
 
 Though it springs o'er skeleton heads; 
 He will not point to the willow branch, 
 
 Where breaking spirits pine beneath; 
 
124 THE SILVER CTJP 
 
 For a brighter leaf sheds deeper grief, 
 And a fairer tree is the tree of death. 
 
 But where the green, rich stalks are seen, 
 
 Where ripe fruit gush and shine, 
 "This, this," cries he, "is the tree for me 
 
 The vine, the beautiful vine! 
 I crouch among the emerald leaves, 
 
 Gemmed with the ruby grapes; 
 I dip my spear, in the poison here, 
 
 And he is strong that escapes. 
 Crouds dance round, with satyr bound, 
 
 Till my dart is hurled from its traitor sheath; 
 When I shriek with glee no friend to me 
 
 Is so true as the vine, the tree of death." 
 
 Oh! the glossy vine has a serpent charm, 
 
 It bears an unblest fruit; 
 There's a taint about each tendrilled arm, 
 
 And a curse upon its root. 
 Its juice may flow to warm the brow, 
 
 And wildly lighten the eye, 
 But the phrenzied mirth of a reveling crew 
 
 Will make the wise man sigh; 
 For the maniac laugh, the trembling frame, 
 
 The idiot speech and pestilent breath, 
 The shattered mind, the blasted frame, 
 
 Are wrought by the vine, the tree of death. 
 
 Fill, fill the glass, and let it pass; 
 But, ye who quaff ! oh, think 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 125 
 
 That even the heart that loves must loathe 
 
 The lips that deeply drink. 
 The breast may mourn, o'er a close link torn, 
 
 And the scalding drops may roll; 
 But 'tis better to mourn o'er a pulseless form 
 
 Than the wreck of a living soul. 
 Then a health to the hemlock, the cypress and yew, 
 
 The worm- hiding grass, and the willow-wreath; 
 For, though shading the tomb, they fling not a gloom, 
 
 So dark as the vine, the tree of death. 
 
 BT EEV. R. HOYT. 
 
 In a yalley that I know 
 
 Happy scene! 
 
 There are meadows sloping low, 
 There the fairest flowers blow, 
 And the brightest waters flow, 
 
 All serene; 
 
 But the sweetest thing to see, 
 If you ask the dripping tree, 
 Or the harvest-hoping swain, 
 
 Is the Rain! 
 
 Ah, the dwellers of the town, 
 How they sigh, 
 
126 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 How ungratefully they frown, 
 
 And when the cloud-king shakes his crown, 
 
 And the pearls come pouring down 
 
 From the sky! 
 They descry no charm at all 
 Where the sparkling jewels fall, 
 And each moment of the shower, 
 
 Seems an hour! 
 
 Yet there's something very sweet 
 
 In the sight, 
 
 When the crystal currents meet 
 In the dry and dusty street, 
 And they wrestle with the heat 
 
 In their might! 
 
 While they seem to hold a talk 
 With the stones along the walk 
 And remind them of the rule, 
 
 To "keep cool!" 
 
 But in that quiet dell, 
 
 Ever fair, 
 
 Still the Lord doth all things well, 
 When his clouds with blessings swefl 
 And they break a brimming shell 
 
 On the air; 
 
 There the shower hath its charm* 
 Sweet welcome to the farms, 
 As they listen to its voice, 
 
 And rejoice! 
 
SPARKLING DROPS. 127 
 
 $mtin 
 
 So sang our gifted American songstress, in 
 the name of the thrush ; and so let the voice 
 of all human beings respond, in their own 
 behalf. Not solely in the music produced 
 by keys, and strings, and curious mechanism ; 
 not even in the sweet tones of that higher 
 instrument, the human voice ! for mere 
 sounds, however melodious they may be, 
 can never discharge the solid indebtedness 
 iv^hich most of us are under as tenants of 
 society. 
 
 Are you a suffering invalid, requiring 
 much care and unpleasant services from those 
 around you ? " Pay your rent in w the " mu- 
 sic" of a patient, cheerful spirit, a placid 
 countenance, self-control from immoderate, 
 exhibitions of distress under acute suffering, 
 and endeavor to avoid giving trouble, and as 
 far as you are capable, an agreeable deport- 
 anent and entertaining society. Of many has 
 
128 THE SILYEE CUP' 
 
 it been said, while they were subjects of 
 long-continued sickness, that it was a pleasure- 
 to attend upon them, so patient, so grateful, 
 so agreeable, were they. " Pay your rent in 
 music," while you occupy the sick chamber, 
 and you greatly lighten the task of others,., 
 as well as your burden, and secure to your- 
 self ready and abundant services. 
 
 Are you aged, infirm, decrepit, helpless t 
 u Pay your rent in " the same " music " which 
 enlivens the sick-room, and in that of gar- 
 nered-up experience and wisdom, of those 
 stories of " old times " which the young love- 
 so well to hear ; the instructive or remark- 
 able incidents which have stamped a long 
 life, and in an endeavor to yield somewhat to 
 changing times, and so avoid those disa- 
 greeable failings sometimes attendant upon 
 age ; these, when kindly and cheerfully put 
 forth by the aged, are music of the heart to* 
 those that attend upon them, and tend to 
 encircle them with an atmosphere of har- 
 mony. (Yet were I here speaking to the 
 young, I would say, respect and defer to> 
 the fixed habits of the aged, and remembeor 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 129 
 
 that it is emphatically your duty to yield in 
 your intercourse with seniors, as well as 
 superiors.) 
 
 You are a busy toiling mother and mis- 
 tress of a family. Create music in your 
 habitation, by a contented spirit patience 
 you can not do without a genial kindness 
 of manner, and benevolent care for all who 
 are dependent upon you ; sympathy in the 
 little troubles and pleasures of children, and 
 readiness to further the happiness of all 
 within your influence. So shall you have 
 overpaid your rent, in music of the choicest 
 kind, and have tuned the strings of all the 
 hearts whose beatings you command. 
 
 Are you a daughter ? You can " pay rent 
 in music" which shall cause a father's and 
 mother's heart to sing for joy. The docile, 
 confiding, grateful spirit, the sprightliness 
 and elasticity, and grace of youth, joined 
 with the gentleness and delicacy which are 
 woman's glory, the assiduity to lighten the 
 toils, as well as sweeten the cares of life, 
 for those who toil and care for you, all of 
 which a daughter, worthy of the name, will 
 
130 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 exemplify in herself these will see and 
 keep in tune a harp of a thousand strings. 
 
 You are a sister, too ; and the strain of 
 music which you awaken, will be caught by 
 a brother, and will constitute a.charm, attach- 
 ing him to home a young man's safest 
 refuge from the world's enticements. Do you 
 owe nothing to him ? 
 
 And the son and brother in the vigor 
 and activity of youth, and yet with manliness 
 of purpose, and uprightness of principle, how 
 may he give out and evolve the richest tones 
 of the heart, and fill the domestic circle with 
 the noblest strains ? He is the respectful yet 
 unrestrained companion of his father, the 
 sympathizing counselor and ready aid of his 
 mother, the confidential and strong arm of 
 his sister, the common ally, the playmate, 
 and the protector of all the younger mem- 
 bers of the domestic flock. 
 
 Then the children surely, they " pay 
 their rent in music." Aye, they pay it in 
 noise, most certainly ; and if it be not in real 
 music, it is, or has been, the parent's fault. 
 Full of life and glee they are ; hopeful and 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 131 
 
 lielpral, if they are not perverted ; and with 
 smusic in their hearts, music in their faces, 
 -music on their lips, and music in all their 
 motions, they pay their rent, and make the 
 iiouse better, for having been its inmates. 
 
 Does the father and husband owe no rent ? 
 and can he make no music in payment ? Ah ! 
 sad and marred will be the harmony in that 
 household where its chief member awakes 
 &o strain, or touches only jarring notes. 
 And what thrilling vibrations of tender, joy- 
 ous music can he send through eveiy fibre 
 of that heart which has given itself to his 
 keeping, by a well-timed manifestation of 
 forbearance, by affection and caresses. Where 
 firm, abiding love exists between man and 
 wife, and manifests itself by those little acts 
 of love and kindness towards each other 
 which so become the heads of a family, there 
 will always be found a peaceful and happy 
 household. 
 
182 TBTE SILVER CUV 
 
 BY M. A. BROWNE. 
 
 There is a love so fond, so true, 
 
 No art the magic tie can sever; 
 ' T is ever beauteous, ever new ; 
 
 Its chain once linked is linked for even- 
 There is a love, but passion's beam, 
 
 Too fond, too warm, too bright, to last,- 
 The phrenzy of a fevered dream, 
 
 That burns a moment, then is past, 
 
 'Tis like the lightning's lurid glare, 
 .That streams its blaze of fatal ligluv 
 
 Flames for an instant through the air f 
 Then sinks away in deepest night. 
 
 There is a love whose feeling rolls 
 In pure, unruffled calmness on, 
 
 The meeting of congenial souls, 
 
 Of hearts whose currents flow iii one. 
 
 It is a blessing that is felt 
 
 But by united minds that flow, 
 
 As sunbeams into sunbeams melt, 
 To light a frozen world below. 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 133 
 
 There is a love that o'er the war 
 Of jarring passions pours its light, 
 
 And sheds its influence like a star 
 That brightest burns in darkest night. 
 
 It is a love best known to those 
 
 Who," hand in hand, amidst the strife, 
 
 Together have withstood their foes, 
 Together shared the storms of life. 
 
 It is so true, so fixed, so strong, 
 
 It parts not with the parting breath; 
 
 In the soul's flight 'tis borne along, 
 
 And holds the heart-strings e'en in death. 
 
 'Tis never quenched by sorrow's tide; 
 No, 'tis a flame caught from above, 
 
 A tie that death can not divide; 
 ' T is the bright torch of wedded love. 
 
 But there is one love, not of earth, 
 Though sullied by the streaming tear, 
 
 It is a star of heavenly birth, 
 And only shines unshaken there. 
 
 'Tis when this clay resigns its breath, 
 And the soul quits its frail abode, 
 That, rising from the bed of death, 
 This love is pure the Love of God! 
 
134 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 lament. 
 
 O, thin, do n't shut the door awhile, won't 
 some of ye listen to me, for 't is a sorrowful 
 story I Ve to tell ! The shining beams of 
 the blessed heaven on yer head, my lady ! 
 and let me spake a minite, while the hunger 
 leaves me strength. Och ! little I thought 
 I 'd ever be driven from the stranger's 
 
 o 
 
 thrashal. For I was n't always houseless and 
 friendless. It was n't long since I was "happy 
 an' continted in my father's house in the 
 mountains bey ant, but wirra true 't is impty 
 an' desolate now. The fire has gone out on 
 our hearth stone, an' my hand will never be 
 strong enough to kindle it agin. Many a 
 night I sat by it, listening to ould stories, or 
 hearing my mother sing ; and the red light 
 dancing up and down her face, an' her voice 
 rising an' falling so beautiful, till in spite o' 
 me, my eyes filled up wid tears. That was 
 the pleasant crying ; but many is the bitter 
 one from 'em since. 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 
 
 The blight of the hard year fell on our 
 crops, my lady, an' thin come starvation 
 where full an' plenty were afore. A woe- 
 some change come over us all ; every thing 
 was sold to gather the rint ; even my own 
 little goldfinch ; sure 't is n't that I grudged 
 it. Mother did n't sing thin, and when she 
 tried to spake joyful, to cheer my father up, 
 there was a shake in her voice, and her lip 
 trembled ; and they both had a frightened 
 look ; no wonder, wid famine staring 'em in 
 the face. For we'd be a whole day, an' 
 more, maybe, widout tasting food, an' couldn't 
 get it any how ; an' I 'd go to bed sick an' 
 fainting like ; but I did n't mind myself at 
 all, only my little sister Norah. In all the 
 country round there was n't a prittier child, 
 wid her cheeks of pink and snow, an' her 
 white forehead, wid the yellow hair on it, 
 like goold rings, only a softer dale ; an' 
 shining eyes, the color of the sky in June. 
 
 O, dear ! the hunger bore heavy on the 
 innocent child, an' rubbed out all the dimples 
 in her face, and faded the red blush an 7 
 her eyes sunk back in her head, as if all 
 
136 THE SILVER 
 
 the tears she cried put out the light in 'em 
 An' oh, lady ! it would have gone to youi 
 heart to see her hold out her long, thin hand, 
 an' hear her young, small voice, that used to 
 be laughing all day, axing for bread, an' none 
 to the fore. Thin mother, 'uld soothe her to 
 sleep, an' her face working all the time. The 
 sob would be on Norah's heart, an' she asleep. 
 But one night, after being stupid-like a long 
 while, she roused up to say, 4 1 'ni very hun- 
 gry ;' an' before the words were out of her 
 mouth, she stretched herself out on mother's 
 lap and died. Well, I tuk on greatly at 
 that ; but mother said God had taken her 
 from the misery, an' she woul'n't be hungry 
 agin, for the angels in heaven were feeding 
 her. Thin I thought, only for mother, I 'd 
 like to go too. Father berrid her widout a 
 coffin. 
 
 She was the first I iver saw die ; but 
 't was n't to be long a strange thing to me. 
 My father got work at last, but the power to 
 do it was going fast. An' mother 'ud keep the 
 last bite an' sup in the house for him, when 
 he'd come in, and make him believe that 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOP8. 137 
 
 she ate afore, and pretind she was giving 
 him her lavings, an' laugh and joke wid him. 
 Och ! but her laugh had a quare sound thin, 
 just like the crushing of her heart ; it 'ud 
 make my flesh creep : but you wor always 
 minding everybody, barring yourself, mother 
 deal* ! I heerd 'em say no one could dhrive 
 a spade deeper nor my father once, but 
 Imnger is stranger nor the strong mem ; when 
 that is tugging at the inside, thin the arm is 
 very wake. He fainted over his spade, an' 
 was soon lying down in the fever. We wor 
 out of the doctor's way, an' the priest was 
 always out, an' a weight of sickness on my 
 father, an' nothing to quinch the thirst that 
 was perishing him, barring a can of cold 
 wather from the strame afore the door. 
 
 Day an' night mother sat beside the whisp 
 of straw that kept him from the floor. O ! 
 but his face was hot and red, his two eyes 
 like lightling coals, an' a puff of his breath 
 'ud burn ye, an' he saying such out o'-the- 
 way things in his wandherings. Well, we 
 thought he was getting cool ; but sure 
 enough, 't was Death's own cold fingers upon 
 
138 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Mm. For lie got quite sensible, and said to 
 mother, 'Norah, acushla ma cliree, put yer 
 hand under my liead an' raise me ;' an 1 thin 
 lie died off quite aisy, just as the day dawns ; 
 an' the spirit died in me too, but I could n't 
 lielp staring at mother. As soon as she had 
 stroked the body, she sated herself forninst 
 it, and hardly stirred for two days maybe. 
 I thought all her tears were used up ; for her 
 eyes wor dry as dust. Them were the sorrow- 
 ful days. 
 
 There was food in the house thin, but we 
 could n't taste it ; 't is very aisy to give the 
 body enough when the heart is full. On the 
 third day she wrapped him in her ould clook 
 and called me to help her ; so we carried 
 him to the grave ourselves, without shroud 
 or coffin, for the neighbors were too hard put 
 to it to keep themselves alive, to mind us or 
 our dead. Sure 't was the great God gave 
 strength to mother that day, for nothing was 
 too hard for her. We scraped out the earth 
 and berrid him. Mother did n't spake all 
 the time, only shivered, and put her face 
 atune her hands and thin she got up quite 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 139 
 
 stout, and walked home so fast that I could 
 scarcely keep up wid her. No sooner wor 
 we in than she fainted away ; an' whin she 
 come to, 4 Thank God he's berrid !' says she ; 
 ' whin I 'm gone, mavourneen, if ye wor to go 
 on your bended knees to the neighbors, make 
 'em put me down beside him. That won't 
 be long,' ses she, ' for I hear him calling me.' 
 I thought maybe she was tired, an' enthraited 
 her to ate, but she would n't. Thin she put 
 her arms round me, an' drew me to her, and 
 called me her fair-haired son, her fatherless 
 boy, and said the orphan's God would pur- 
 tect me. I forgot the pulse of her heart 
 stopped whin father laid low, and whin she 
 said, ' Go to sleep, darlint, for ye need it 
 sore.' I slept in her bosom, for I was rale 
 tired. When I woke, my forehead was agin 
 something cold. Och ! 't was mother's neck, 
 an' the hand I held was stiff. She was dead ! 
 A hard sorrow was rasping her heart, an' it 
 fluttered like a bird in a light grip, and at 
 last it got away. Thin I was alone. Thin 
 come the grief and the heart th rouble in 
 tirely. Though I could hardly crawl, I got 
 
140 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 to the next house, and brought 'em to see if 
 she was dead all out, for, though 't was plain 
 enough, I would n't believe she was gone in 
 airnest, an' thought it might be weakness, an' 
 she 'd get the better of it. But whin all 
 failed, thin, by a dale of coaxing, I got a man 
 to put her beside my father. I think she 
 would n't rest aisy any where else ; an' when 
 she rises from the grave she '11 see I kept her 
 word. Och ! lady, did n't I feel bitterly whin 
 she was covered up from me, an' I lost the 
 hand that used to stroke down my hair, an' 
 the loving words, an' the sweet smile? I 
 always stay beside the grave, except whin 
 hunger, that has no nature in it, drives me 
 away. 
 
 Those fine bright days do n't agree wid me 
 at all. Once I used to like to see the sun 
 dazzling, and the strames looking up so good 
 naturedly at him ; but now everything seems 
 swimming before my eyes, full of blinding 
 tears, an' the sky seems laughing at me, an' 
 the little birds in 'em seem to be making 
 game of my grief. But, sure, they have no 
 feeling that way, the crathurs ! An' the only 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 141 
 
 thing that gave me any comfort, was this 
 morning, when I saw a little flower in the 
 grass, wid the dew on it. I do n't know why, 
 but it seemed sorry for me ; it looked like a 
 blue eye full of tears. No one else spoke 
 kindly to me since my mother died, but it ; 
 for, did n't it spake ? Yes, it told me the 
 great God made it, an' sent it there to com- 
 fort me ; an' to say He 'd mind me, the lest 
 on the stem. So I thanked Him on my 
 knees, although I do n't know much about 
 Him at all. I wish I did. 
 
 Thin, whin I looked up, I thought of No 
 ah, an' how happy she was ; looking down 
 inaybe, wid her face covered over wid sun- 
 ihine ; and I felt a sort of gladness ; but 
 tfhin I remimbered my father an' mother, 
 ".he pain shot through me agin. For they say 
 ;hey 're in purgaihory, and must stay there 
 dong time, for dying widout the clergy. 
 Chat 's what kills me infcirely ; to think of 
 ny poor father, that nivir said an ill word to 
 ne, and my own gentle-tempered, sofb-natured 
 nother, that would sooner lift a worm than 
 thread on it, to be in such burning pain ? 
 
142 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 my head burns when I think of it. I'd 
 rather live any way, for I could n't bare to 
 be .there looking at mother's suffering; an' I 
 know I would n't go to heaven, because I 'm 
 not innocent, like Norah. If I'd only 
 strength, I'd wear my knees out, praying 
 round the ' stations,' to get 'em out ; but that 
 will niver be, for my heart-strings wor tied 
 round my mother, an' they 're pulling me 
 into the grave, for death could n't loose 'em. 
 I was a child afore all the woe happened 
 to me. I do n't feel like a child now, though 
 it is not many months since, for, oh ! lady, 
 my heart is grown ould. I did n't break my 
 fast since yesterday ; but whin I try to ax 
 fer something, the blood comes into my face, 
 and my tongue won't spake for me. An' 
 whin I do tell my story, 't is too common a 
 one to be minded, an' they wo'nt belave I 'm 
 telling the truth ; for they do n't know how 
 heavy my heart is, or the squeezing in my 
 heart. People ar n't pitiful at all now ; noth- 
 ing shuts up the heart like famine ; it has 
 cruel and wonderful power, for it puts 
 mother out of my head. Some times I 'm 
 
OF SPAEKLIKG DROPS. 
 
 afraid 1 'm too weak to get back to the grave. 
 I would n't lave it at all, only for fear of the 
 purgathory. 
 
 Lady, your speech is gintle, and your eyes 
 are full, like the flower in the grass. Ye say 
 ye will shelter an' feed me. O, if ye could 
 give me back my darling mother ! and ye 
 say she is n't in purgathory ; but, maybe, 
 God's good Son took her to Himself. Bless- 
 ings on yer fair head, my lady, 't is kindly 
 meant. O, if I could belave that I An' ye 
 say I may go straight there, too ? It would 
 raise my head to think so. If ye '11 only 
 teach me now, I '11 live to sarve ye. I '11 go 
 to the world's end to do yer bidding. I '11 
 die to sarve ye ; yes, twice over, for yer 
 sake. 
 
 aq 
 
 BY H. \7. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; 
 It rains, and the winds are never weary; 
 The vine still clings to the moldering wall, 
 
144 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 
 And the day is dark and dreary. 
 
 My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; 
 It rains, and the winds are never weary; 
 My thoughts still cling to the moldering past. 
 But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 
 And the days are dark and dreary. 
 
 Be still, sad heart, and cease repining; 
 Behind the cloud is the sun still shining; 
 Thy fate is the common fate of all; 
 Into each life some rain must fall, 
 
 Some days must be dark and dreary. 
 
 iennl. 
 
 BY J, CLEMENT. 
 
 Radiant little household treasure, 
 
 Magnet of the ingle side! 
 Not a star in night's broad cluster 
 Shines with softer, purer lustre, 
 
 Fondest parents' hope and pride! 
 
 Words, though passion-lit, and burning, 
 Might not breathe the joy they feel, 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 145 
 
 That their lives, in one united, 
 By thy smiles are daily lighted, 
 
 Love connubial's golden seal-! x 
 
 Pure as in thy primal setting 
 
 In thy parents' love enshrined, 
 Be thou long their spotless treasure, 
 Source of hope and sacred pleasure, 
 
 Pearl of truth, by grace refined. 
 
 Then shall He, the great Refiner, 
 
 When, ere long, his eye shall roam 
 Through the earth for "jewels," beaming 
 'Fresh in light from glory streaming, 
 Snatch thee to his bosom home. 
 
 n 
 
 BY MRS. CASK. 
 
 ONWARD! hath earth's ceaseless change 
 
 Trampled on thy heart? 
 Faint not, for that restless range 
 
 Soon will heal the smart. 
 Trust the future time will prov 
 Earth hath stronger, truer love. 
 7 
 
146 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Bless thy God, the heart is not 
 
 An abandoned urn, 
 Where, all lonely and forgot, 
 
 Dust and ashes mourn ; 
 Bless Him, that his mercy brings 
 Joy from out its withered things. 
 
 Onward, for the truths of God! 
 
 Onward, for the right! 
 Firmly let the field be trod, 
 
 In life's coming fight: 
 Heaven's own hand will lead thee on, 
 Guard thee till thy task is done! 
 
 t 
 
 HORACE STANHOPE bore his young bride to 
 Ms own splendid home, and lie gratified her 
 warm heart by making her mother a sharer 
 of that home ; the mother and child dwelt 
 together. CONSTANCE was much sought 
 after in society, but her husband found her 
 ever ready to sacrifice gayety abroad, to a 
 quiet evening with Mm. His heart was 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 147 
 
 touched by her true and entire devotion, his 
 leisure hours were passed at home, he rarely 
 went into society except with her. In very 
 truth, Stanhope feared to trust himself, he 
 knew the power of old liabits, old associations] 
 the boundry once passed, perchance he could 
 not, if he would, return. And Constance 
 was happy aye ! upon that sunny brow 
 there never hovered a cloud. The dark and 
 tender eyes were never dimmed by a tear, 
 save when the heart-, too full of happiness, 
 could not find vent in words ; and around 
 the dimpled mouth, there were ever-playing 
 smiles, and a spirit of entire content. 
 
 Time rolled on, one year, and yet an- 
 other. Constance was a mother, and Horace 
 Stanhope loved the boy, and his wife ; yet, 
 there were days when he was not there * 
 long nights when he came not ! The charm 
 of novelty was over ; he had gratified self all 
 the days of his life, old feelings came back 
 again, old habits were resuming their sway. 
 
 One morning he came down late to break- 
 fast. Constance and her mother had waited 
 long ; he looked pale and harassed. 
 
148 THE SILVER CtTl> 
 
 "Are you ill?" said Constance, and her 
 tones were sad and low " are you ill, my 
 husband ?" Stanhope looked up 
 
 " Should I not ask you that question ?" he 
 said, earnestly " you look far from well, 
 Constance?" She made no reply, and Mrs. 
 ELLERTON, her mother said : 
 
 " I fear she is ill ; for many days she has 
 looked thus. Do n't you think a journey to 
 the country would do you both good ? Con- 
 stance is not used to the confinement of the 
 city in warm weather. He native air would 
 recruit her." Constance looked anxiously 
 upon her husband while her mother spoke, 
 but her heart sunk when there was no reply. 
 It so happened that the arrangement inter- 
 fered with some plans of his own, laid the 
 night before. He expressed the utmost wil- 
 lingness that Constance should go, but re- 
 gretted his own utter inability to accompany 
 her. Mrs. Ellerton sighed heavily, as she 
 rose up and left the room. There was an 
 awkward silence ; Stanhope walked to the 
 window, and looked out, apparently much 
 engaged with what met his eye. A soft - 
 
OF SPAEKLI'NG DROPS. 149 
 
 hand was laid upon his arm, and gently 
 Constance said: 
 
 " Unless my husband is anxious I should 
 leave him, I will not go this journey without 
 him." 
 
 " Anxious ! what could have put such a 
 thought into your head, my Constance ?" and 
 he kissed the pale cheek beside him, but as 
 he did so, his conscience smote him, for that 
 cheek was cold and colorless ; yet he made 
 no offer to accompany her, nor did he again 
 allude to the journey. 
 
 A few weeks after this, Stanhope returned 
 unexpectedly from the country, where he 
 had been for several days. It was a quiet 
 summer afternoon, not so warm as it had 
 been, and Constance had gone out to ride. 
 Not knowing this, Stanhope sought her in 
 the room she usually occupied. It was in a 
 retired part of the house, and looked out 
 upon a fairy spot, that Constance loved for 
 the sake of the flowers, so filled with remem- 
 brances of her childhood ! She was not 
 there, but her mother was ; and over that 
 mother's face tears had been pouring fast and 
 
150 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 warm. There was no time for concealment. 
 Stanhope was in the room, ere she heard his 
 step ; he looked uneasy. 
 
 " Has any thing occurred to distress you, 
 Mrs. Ellerton ? Can I be of any service ?" 
 he said. 
 
 " It is better, perhaps, that you have thus 
 surprised me," she replied " otherwise, I 
 might never have gained courage to mention 
 that which is wearing away my heart. Oh ! 
 Horace, it is of Constance I would speak !" 
 
 " Of Constance !" and the dark eye- 
 brows almost met, for the frown that 
 gathered over his forehead was heavy and 
 haughty, and when he spoke, it was in the 
 resolved and stern tone of one whose deter- 
 mination was taken " It is well say on F 
 
 " Not thus, I entreat you ! Do not hear 
 me thus. It is for my child !" and the 
 mother covered her face, while tears forced 
 their way through the long thin fingers ; 
 but the hour of self-abandonment was brief: 
 
 " You once promised me, in time long past 
 Horace, to be to me in all things a son. 
 Nobly have you redeemed that promise 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 151 
 
 but you made wnotlier, holier by far, ten- 
 derly to cherish her who has garnered all 
 her hopes of earthly happiness in the con- 
 tinuance of her love. Have you been faith- 
 ful to that solemn promise ? Is the wife like 
 unto the bride ? the color is gone from her 
 cheek ; her eye is heavy and sad ; she rarely 
 smiles ; it is months since I have heard the 
 glad laugh, that was music to my soul. 
 Turn to her you have forsaken, Horace, for- 
 saken for the wine cup, and the reveler's 
 club ! Turn to her, or she will go down in 
 her youth and beauty to the grave." 
 
 She was silent, but her heart grew cold 
 and dead within her. Upon the rigid and 
 stern countenance before her, she could trace 
 no ray of hope, no shadow of relenting. 
 Slowly and deliberately, he said : 
 
 " You knew my character, my habits ; 
 knowing these, why did you give me your 
 child?" The sharp cry, wrung from the 
 sore heart of the mother, told more than 
 words. Relentlessly he went on : "I will 
 tell you wliy you sacrificed your daughter 
 to your own ambition. Now, teach her to 
 
15,2 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 bear with a lot, neither you, nor she, can 
 alter. Such as I am, you have taken me for 
 a son ; and it would be wise, Mrs. Ellerton, 
 to make the best of what you cannot amend. 
 Hundreds of women, situated like Constance*,, 
 console themselves for neglect in the glitter- 
 ing round of worldly pleasure teach her 
 to do the same ;" and without further word 
 or look, he passed from the room. 
 
 Mrs. Ellerton did not stir, she sat quite 
 still, as one deprived of sense or motion. 
 Not a single tear escaped from the burning 
 lid, over that cheek so white with agony. 
 The lips were closed, save when they parted 
 with a sad, strange sound that came hollow 
 and gaspingly from her bosom. At length 
 her full heart found vent in words : 
 
 " He was right yes ! it was my work. I 
 gave thee to him, my bright one to him, 
 so little worthy, so lost to himself, so false to 
 thee ! False to thee ! my child ! my inno- 
 cent !" and long and bitterly she wept the 
 tears of unavailing remorse. As she grew 
 calm, and reviewed the past, she felt that 
 Horace had been unnecessarily stern, and she 
 
OF SPABKLING DEO PS. 153 
 
 * 
 
 did not doubt it was to prevent all further 
 interference on her part. And silently she 
 resolved never again to interfere ; she felt 
 that it was not for her to reproach Stanhope ; 
 and in her heart there was a sustaining hope, 
 that if his home was ever a happy home, the 
 love of Constance must win him back all 
 her own. Mrs. Ellerton knew that men are 
 never won from the path of evil, by words 
 of harshness or reproach, and least of all 
 would Horace Stanhope be thus won. Her 
 determination was rare, as it was excellent, 
 to unite with Constance and by acts of gen- 
 tleness and affection win him back to the 
 home he was deserting. 
 
 Late in the afternoon Constance returned, 
 and learned with surprise her husband's 
 arrival. Tea waited a long time, Constance 
 still urging : 
 
 " He will soon come very soon, now. 
 Do n't you think he will, dear mother ?" 
 Mrs. Ellerton thought it doubtful ; he might 
 be engaged elsewhere ; they had better not 
 wait longer. And with a long-drawn, heavy 
 sigh, Constance acquiesced. Mrs. Ellerton 
 7* 
 
154 THE SILVEll CUP 
 
 strove to enter into cheerful conversation 
 with her daughter ; she had the child 
 brought in, now a year old, and its happy 
 face, and sunny smiles, had their wonted 
 power to beguile the young mother from the 
 contemplation of her own sorrows. 
 
 And now, one hour, and another, and yet 
 another, went by, those long, heavy evening 
 hours and yet he came not ! They retired 
 to rest. In her own chamber, the deserted 
 wife gave way to the feelings that oppressed 
 her. Slowly and surely the conviction was 
 strengthening in her heart, that her husband 
 was faithless and this side the grave there 
 is no pang so bitter ! She could not sleep ; 
 there is no sleep for the wretched. She took 
 the light in her hand, and stole with a noise- 
 less step to the drawing-room, to watch till 
 he came ! She sat her down in the arm-chair 
 he loved, and, clasping her small, white hands 
 tightly together, listened intently, as though 
 that would hurry his footsteps. Minutes 
 were as hours oh ! she would have given 
 worlds to have hastened the course of time. 
 There was a weight upon her heart, dull and 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 155 
 
 heavy ; cold, shivering fits would pass over 
 her, and she would look around her, as 
 though she expected to see the air peopled 
 with the terrors that filled her imagination. 
 Slight sounds fell upon her ear, like the roll 
 of thunder afar off. In the dead stillness of 
 the night, it was terrible ! At length the 
 key turned, there was a step upon the stair : 
 way another moment and Stanhope en- 
 tered the apartment. She stood up, with a 
 wild, affrighted gaze, and would have fallen, 
 if he had not caught her in his arms. 
 
 " Cruel !" she exclaimed, " cruel, to desert 
 ine thus ! Unkind !" and she wept such 
 tears as should never fall upon the bosom of 
 a husband. He held her closely to his heart, 
 he almost trembled to look upon her. " Con- 
 stance," he said, flatteringly, "why did you 
 not go to rest ?" She raised herself slowly, 
 and with pain, and looking up into his face, 
 she exclaimed, passionately : 
 
 " My husband ! the lone watches of the 
 night are terrible to the sleepless." Teal's 
 started into the eyes of Stanhope ; he was 
 
15& THE SILVER CUP 
 
 deeply moved ; fondly lie kissed hei pale 
 cheek. 
 
 " Be happy, Constance ; we will o to- 
 morrow to the country ; and I will remain 
 with you, dearest, until you are entirely 
 well." 
 
 They went ; and for two months Horace 
 Stanhope devoted himself unremittingly to 
 his wife, feeling fully rewarded in the health 
 and happiness his attention bestowed. The 
 child was with them, and Mrs. Ellerton saw 
 with delight the growing fondness the father 
 manifested for him. He was a fair*, and 
 gentle boy, of much beauty and promise, 
 and very like his mother. The love of the 
 father was now fully awakened in the heart 
 of Stanhope, and there was no fairy vision 
 of the future in which that boy did not hold 
 the brightest place. 
 
 They returned to the city. There had 
 been no reformation in the character of Stan- 
 hope ; his heart had been moved by the deep 
 sorrow of Constance ; and for her sake, he 
 had turned aside awhile. When again ex- 
 posed to temptation he yielded ; and this 
 
OF SPARKLING BKOPS. 157 
 
 time there was a sense of wrong done to 
 Constance, that caused him to shrink from 
 her society. Coldness and alienation sprang 
 up between them ; the golden link of confi- 
 dence was severed, and there were moments 
 of shame and remorse, when Horace Stan- 
 hope felt, in his inmost heart, that his own 
 hand had dealt the blow. He clung to the 
 child with a deeper love, as he became more 
 estranged from his wife ; the pale counte- 
 nance of the mother seemed to reproach 
 him ; the welcome of cheerfulness had be- 
 cOme dear to him, and he loved the sunny 
 smiles of his boy. Yet, his own conduct had 
 destroyed the gentle gayety of manner, once 
 so beautiful in the character of Constance. 
 She could not smile when her heart was 
 breaking ! 
 
 About four months after their return from 
 the country, Stanhope mentioned his inten- 
 tion of joining a party, who were to spend 
 some days in a neighboring city. It was one 
 of which Constance very much disapproved, 
 and she urged, with more than usual earnest- 
 ness, her desire that he would remain. 
 
158 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Stanliope refused her far more harshly than 
 was his wont, for the simple reason that he 
 felt she was right ; that it was a party dis- 
 creditable in every way for him to accom- 
 pany. That night, their child was taken ill, 
 and deeply wounded as Constance had been, 
 she conquered herself sufficiently to ask him 
 once more not to leave her, when the boy 
 was sick. Stanhope visited the child, said 
 nothing of consequence was the matter, and 
 he should go ; and when she implored him 
 to remain, he replied in bitter anger, that she 
 made a pretext of the child's illness to de- 
 tain him, when she knew in her heart there 
 was not the slightest cause for alarm. Con- 
 stance burst into tears. His eyes flashed, 
 but he rose up and left the room without 
 further comment. 
 
 He started early next morning. The child 
 grew rapidly worse, its disease, the measles, 
 putting on the worst form. Many cases in 
 the neighborhood had proved fatal, and the 
 heart of Constance was full of agitating 
 fears. A few days and there was no hope ! 
 Yet the wife did not forget her husband ; 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 159 
 
 She. sent an urgent message entreating his 
 immediate return. 
 
 It was night, and the mother watched her 
 child. There was another watcher there, 
 who felt as a mother unto both but, watch- 
 ing, and care, and fervent love, will not save 
 from the tomb ; already the finger of death 
 had moved over the face of the child, and 
 the fair and delicate features had shrunk as 
 he touched. 
 
 Strong, and pure, and steadfast is a moth- 
 er's love, unsullied by " the trail of the ser- 
 pent," which has dimmed all else. In the 
 hour when his body was racked with Buffer- 
 ing, his mind filled with the mighty thoughts 
 of a world's salvation our Saviour remem- 
 bered that love. Unto the disciple he loved 
 best, he said, " Son, behold thy mother !" 
 From that hoar to this, the strong arm of 
 oppression has been lifted from the neck of 
 woman. The mild and equalizing doctrines 
 of Christianity, are raising her to the station 
 the Creator intended she should fill. The 
 same love that filled the heart of her, who 
 was " last at the cross," was full to overflowing 
 
160 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 in the warm, and gentle, and generous nature 
 of Constance Stanhope. 
 
 Her boy, that in the long hours of deser- 
 tion, had hovered like an an^el of li^ht on 
 
 ' O O 
 
 her pathway, that had so often brought for- 
 getfulness, that blessed boon to the wretched, 
 to her sad and weary spirit. Oh ! could it 
 be ? her beautiful ! The large tears that 
 had gathered in the eyes of Constance, as 
 she bent over him, rolled down her face, and 
 fell upon his motionless features. He stirred 
 his eyes opened he knew her ! Her 
 heart throbbed wildly ; she clasped the soft, 
 little hand, gently between her own, murmur- 
 ing, " My baby ! " There was an expression 
 of distress upon the countenance of the 
 child, for a single instant ; but it changed ; 
 calm it grew, and gentle. There was an ef- 
 fort to speak it was but a single word 
 " Mother !" and the long, loving gaze, fixed 
 in that expression that is so fearful. The 
 sight grew dim, and ere the mother could 
 realize the truth, he slept the sleep that is 
 forever ! With a cry of anguish, almost of 
 despair, Constance threw herself into the 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 161 
 
 arms of Mrs. Ellerton "Take me away, 
 mother ! away from this splendid home ! 
 He has deserted me my baby is dead ! 
 Take me away P Closely that mother 
 clasped her to her bosom ; but her own 
 agony was voiceless ; in her heart there was 
 supplication to Him, who is mighty to save. 
 
 " Upon my head, oh God.! be the punish- 
 ment ; not upon hers !" 
 
 Oh ! ye who would sacrifice your children 
 for the gold- that availeth not pause while 
 there is yet time. The diamond upon the 
 brow can not bring peace to the heart ; and, 
 to the wretched, splendor is but a false, and 
 hollow mockery. Mrs, Ellerton had risked 
 the happiness of her child, to serve her pres- 
 ent station, and now, she would have given 
 life itself, to have had Constance free and 
 happy, an inmate of her old cottage-home. 
 
 The morrow came ; heavily the hours 
 wore on ; yet Constance took no note of 
 time. There was but one engrossing thought, 
 of which she was conscious. Her baby was 
 dead ! gone from her, who had no hope 
 savo iri him. The first violence of grief was 
 
1G2 THE SILVER OJ. 
 
 over ; and, as she lay upon the sola, her eyes 
 closed in the heavy troubled slumber of ex- 
 treme exhaustion. Mrs. Ellerton, who had 
 been watching by her side, rose up, and with 
 a noiseless step, left the apartment. She 
 longed to look once more upon the face of 
 her grandson. She did not weep, when she 
 looked upon the. boy, clothed in pure white, 
 fit emblem of the robe the immortal part 
 puts on ; but, there was anguish on the brow, 
 suffering and sorrow on the saddened lines 
 of her countenance. Hers was a grief, chas- 
 tened by a sense of her own great error. 
 As she left the room, she heard a step upon 
 the stairway ; she turned, it was Stanhope ; 
 and she knew as she looked, he was uncon- 
 scious of his loss. He approached her 
 eagerly 
 
 " Is our boy quite recovered ?" he said. 
 
 " Did you meet no messenger 3" and she 
 spoke calmly. 
 
 "No, to be sure not," and he changed 
 color, though suspicion of the truth did not 
 cross his mind. Mrs. Ellerton laid her hand 
 upon his arm, and he followed, as she 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 163 
 
 returned to the apartment she had just left. 
 They both walked to the bedside, and Mrs. 
 Ellerton threw down the covering. It was 
 done for good purpose, but the shock was 
 dreadful. 
 
 " My boy ! My beautiful ! " burst in tones 
 of deepest agony from the unhappy man, as 
 he wrung his hands, and walked to and fro, 
 in uncontrollable agitation. 
 
 "Better that it should be so," said Mrs. 
 Ellerton, and her tones rang, stern and clear, 
 like the voice of a prophetess. " Better that 
 he should die, in the sinless time of his child- 
 hood, ere the polluting example of a father 
 had sent him to the grave in degradation and 
 shame. He died, when the voice of that 
 father mingled in the reveler's shout, over 
 the red wine-cup ! But he died before 
 knowledge had become a curse !" 
 
 " No more in mercy !" he said, shudder- 
 ingly ; and silently, Mi's. Ellerton turned and 
 left the room. In the passage she met Con- 
 stance, who had heard the voice of Stanhope, 
 and had come forth to meet him. Mrs. EH 
 erton wound her arms around her 
 
164 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 " Come back with me, my cliild ! you can 
 not bear further agitation." 
 
 " Let me go, mother !" said Constance, as 
 the tears rolled down her cheeks. " Let me 
 go he parted from me in anger, he may 
 think he has no claim to my sympathy 
 and oh ! mother, it is terrible to bear sorrow 
 alone !" And woman is ever thus ! true 
 to the last, and faithful. Stanhope was sit- 
 ting by the bed ; he had bent down his head 
 upon the pillow, until it touched the cold 
 face of his child. He felt an arm thrown 
 over him, and the low, faltering tones of his 
 wife fell on his ear : " Be comforted, my hus- 
 band !" When he rose up, and looked upon 
 the face of Constance he shuddered ; wan, 
 and pale, and worn with watching and sor- 
 row, it looked like the face of the dead ! 
 She trembled and seemed scarcely able to 
 stand. He lifted her in his arms, and bore 
 her to a sofa, and then he knelt down by hei 
 side, and asked forgiveness for the past. Oh ! 
 how entire was that forgiveness ! warm from 
 the heart of Constance, it came with tears 
 and blessings, and words of passionate love ! 
 
Oi? S^AUKLI^ T G DROPS. 165 
 
 And Stanhope was moved by a power too 
 mighty to resist ; lie laid his head upon his 
 knee, and the strong man wept aloud. 
 
 " Oh ! love and life are mysterie^ both blessing, and 
 
 both blest; 
 
 And yet how much they teach the heart, of trial 
 and unrest." 
 
 When the morning come, Horace Stan- 
 hope was very ill. It was an illness of many 
 weeks, and there were long days and nights 
 when he had no hope of life. He saw his 
 past conduct in its true light. Remorse 
 preyed heavily upon him ; but the low tones 
 of love were ever breathing in his ear, and 
 the hand of affection was ever ready to 
 smooth the pillow his own crimes had made 
 a troubled one. Oh ! how he blessed her - 
 his own Constance ! How he prayed, that 
 he might live to reward her true and stead- 
 fast love to one so little worthy ! Ofttimes 
 the tears would fill his eyes, as he watched 
 her anxious efforts to relieve him. Gently 
 and tenderly Constance strove to draw away 
 his thoughts from the past ; she could not 
 
166 TttE SILVER CtTP 
 
 bear that lie should suffer for that which had 
 caused her such utter wretchedness. 
 
 It was a quiet afternoon. The invalid was 
 in the drawing-room, still feeble, but evi- 
 dently regaining strength. He was lying 
 upon the sofa, when Constance entered. She 
 looked very beautiful ; upon her fair cheek 
 there was a slight color, and her dark eyes 
 sparkled with the light of returning happi- 
 ness. She held in her hand a blight rose, 
 which she had just gathered : 
 
 " See, dearest, what I have 'brought you 
 the first rose from my hot-house plant is 
 it not beautiful ?" He took the rose, and 
 drawing her gently to him, said : 
 
 " Oh ! Constance, how unworthy I am of 
 such affection of such entire forgiveness. 
 Yet it must be sweet to you, to feel that you 
 have saved your husband from further guilt. 
 So deep was my own sense of the wrong I 
 had done you that had you deserted me, as 
 I deserved, I must have continued in dissipa- 
 tion as a resource against the horrors of con- 
 science. Oh ! if men were always wooed 
 from the dark and troubled path of sin, by 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 1G7 
 
 woman's love and tenderness, few would stray 
 therein. Bless you, my beloved, for your 
 cheerful and generous trust it restores to 
 me confidence in myself. The gratitude I 
 feel, will mingle with the love I bear you, 
 flowing on with the stream of time, until the 
 grave shall close over it ? w 
 
 And Constance Stanhope was blessed, 
 through all the days of her after life, with 
 the unchanging love of her thoroughly re- 
 formed and devoted husband. As sunlight to 
 the earth, is that of love to the heart of wo- 
 man, who has linked her fortunes, and bound 
 up hrr happiness, in the truth of another. 
 
 for tin 
 
 o 
 
 Blow the fire cherrily, 
 Bid the flames merrily 
 
 Crackle and glow; 
 Hear how the winds without, 
 Keep up their dismal shout, 
 the sleet about, 
 Tossing the snow. 
 

 168 
 
 
 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Here it is cherry warm, 
 
 Why should we heed the stoiin? 
 
 We have a fire; 
 See the flames glancing, 
 Sparkling and prancing, 
 Merrily dancing 
 
 Higher and higher! 
 
 Still, it is bitter cold! 
 
 God help the poor and old 
 
 On this drear night} 
 Freezing and sighing, 
 Chilled and half crying, 
 Stiffening and dying: 
 
 What a sad sight! 
 
 See how they gather, 
 Closer together, 
 Bemoaning the weather, 
 
 QmVring with pain. 
 How their teeth chatter 
 With a dull clatter 
 Just like the patter 
 
 Of merciless rain. 
 
 Ah me! how very numb 
 Finder and stiffened thumb! 
 
 O 
 
 Yet the blue lips are dumb, 
 Utt'ring no groan: 
 
OF SPAKKLING DEO PS. 16t 
 
 - 
 
 
 Limbs growing rigid, 
 Breath all too frigid 
 
 Even to moan! 
 
 What a soul sick'ning sight, 
 On this relentless night, 
 
 Savage with Storm! 
 Father and mother, 
 Sister and brother, 
 Hugging each other 
 
 All to get WARM! 
 
 Ah, 'that it should be so, 
 *God of the cold and snow ! 
 Would He might help their woe; 
 
 He only can. 
 Dying by inches! 
 How the cold pinches! 
 Every nerve flinches 
 
 In the stern man. 
 
 Horrid! but must they die! 
 Is there no other nigh, 
 None but the God on high. 
 
 Help to bestow? 
 Does he not tell us 
 WE should be zealous, 
 Yea, even anxious, 
 
 Pity to show? 
 8 
 

 170 THE SILVER CTJF 
 
 Shall we sit idly by, 
 
 Seeing them freeze and 
 Yet from our apathy 
 
 Feeling unchid? 
 Frozen eyes staring, 
 Wild and desparing, 
 Horribly glaring 
 
 From the stiff lidT 
 
 \ 'twere insanity, 
 Wild inhumity, 
 Startling barbarity, 
 
 Conduct like this! 
 Unworthy our stations, 
 Our mutual relations, 
 Deserving whole nations* 
 
 Perpetual hiss! 
 Let us act nobly then; 
 Let us be Christian men, 
 Striving with voice and pen r 
 
 Warmth to secure. 
 
 To those who ever 
 Will bless our endeavor, 
 
 Holy and pure; 
 Pleading together, 
 w Oh, in the cold weather, 
 
 Remember the poor I" 
 
 
OF SPARKLING DROP9 
 
 n h nt p n a tm 
 
 171 
 
 BY MRS. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 Parent! who with speechless feeling, 
 
 O'er thy cradled treasure bent, 
 Every year new claims revealing, 
 
 Yet thy wealth of love unspent; 
 Hast thou seen that blossom blighted, 
 
 By a drear, untimely frost? 
 All thy labors unrequited? 
 
 Every glorious promise lost? 
 
 Wife with agony unspoken, 
 
 Shrinking from affliction's rod, 
 Is thy prop thine idol broken 
 
 Fondly trusted next to God? 
 Husband! o'er thy hope a mourner, 
 
 Of thy chosen friend ashamed, 
 Hast thou to her burial borne her, 
 
 Unrepented unreclaimed ? 
 
 Child ! in thy tender weakness turning 
 To thy heaven-appointed guide, 
 
 Doth a lava-poison burning, 
 Tinge with gall affection's tide? 
 
 Still that orphan-burden bearing, 
 
172 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Darker than the grave can show, 
 Dost thou bow thee down despairing 
 To a heritage of woe? 
 
 Country! on thy sons depending, 
 
 Strong in manhood, bright in bloom, 
 Hast thou seen thy pride descending, 
 
 Shrouded to the unclouded tomb ? 
 Rise! on eagle pinions soaring 
 
 Rise! like one of god-like birth 
 And Jehovah's aid imploring, 
 
 Sweep the spoiler from the earth. 
 
 1 have seen the infant sinking down, like 
 the stricken flower, to the grave the strong 
 man fiercely breathing out his soul upon the 
 field of battle the miserable convict stand- 
 ing upon the scaffold, with a deep curse quiv- 
 ering upon his lips I have viewed death 
 in all his forms of darkness and vengeance, 
 with a tearless eye, but I never could look 
 on woman, young and lovely woman, fading 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 173 
 
 away from the earth in beautiful and uncom- 
 plaining melancholy, without feeling the very 
 fountains of life turned to tears and dust. 
 Death is a? ways terrible but, when a form 
 of angel beauty is passing off to the silent 
 land of the sleepers, the heart feels that 
 something lovely in the universe is ceasing 
 from existence, and broods, with a sense of 
 utter desolation, over the lonely thoughts, 
 that come up like spectres from the grave to 
 haunt our midnight musings. 
 
 Two years ago, I took up my residence for 
 a few weeks in a country village in the east- 
 ern part of New England. Soon after my 
 arrival, I became acquainted with a lovely 
 girl, apparently about seventeen years of 
 age. She had lost the idol of her pure 
 heart's purest love, and the shadows of deep 
 and holy memories were resting like the 
 wing of death upon her brow. I first met 
 her in the presence of the mirthful. She 
 was indeed a creature to be worshiped 
 her brow was garlanded with the young 
 year's sweetest flowers her yellow locks 
 were hanging beautifully and low upon her 
 
174 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 bosom and she moved through the crowd 
 with such a floating and unearthly grace, 
 that the bewildered gazer almost looked to 
 see her fade into the air, like the creation of 
 some pleasant dream. She seemed cheerful 
 and even gay ; yet I saw that her gayety 
 was but the mockery of her feelings. She 
 smiled, but there was something in her smile 
 which told that its mournful beauty was but 
 the bright reflection of a tear and her eye- 
 lids, at times, closed heavily down, as if 
 struggling to repress the tide of agony, that 
 was bursting up from her heart's secret urn. 
 She looked as if she could have left the 
 scene of festivity, and gone out beneath the 
 quiet stars, and laid her forehead down upon 
 the fresh, green earth, and poured out her 
 stricken soul, gush after gush, till it mingled 
 with the eternal fountain of life and purity. 
 Days and weeks passed on, and that sweet 
 girl gave me her confidence, and I became to 
 her as a brother. She was wasting away by 
 disease. The smile upon her lip was fainter, 
 the purple veins upon her cheek grew visible, 
 and the cadences of her voice became daily 
 
<OF SPARKLINO DUOPS. 175 
 
 -more weak and tremulous. On a quiet eve- 
 ning in the depth of June, I wandered out 
 with her a little distance in the open air. It 
 was then that she first told me the tale of 
 her passion, and of the blight that had come 
 down like mildew upon her life. Love had 
 been a portion of her existence. Its tendrils 
 had been twined around her heart in its ear- 
 liest years ; and, when they were rent away, 
 they left a wound, which flowed till all the 
 springs of her soul were blood. " I am pass- 
 ing away," said she, " and it should be so. 
 The winds have gone over my life, and the 
 bright buds of hope, and the sweet blossoms 
 -of passion are scattered down, and lie wither- 
 ing in the dust, or fading away upon the 
 chill waters of memory. And yet, I can not 
 go down among the tombs without a tear. 
 It is hard to take leave of the friends who 
 love me it is very hard to bid farewell to 
 these dear scenes, with which I have held 
 communion from childhood, and which, from 
 day to day, have caught the color of my life 
 -and sympathized with its joys and sorrows. 
 .Tbat little grove, where I have so often 
 
176 TITE SILVER U R 
 
 strayed witli my buried Love, and where, at. 
 times, even now, the sweet tones of his voice 
 seem to come stealing around me, till the 
 whole air becomes one intense and mournful 
 melody that pensive star, which we used 
 to watch in its early rising, and on which my 
 fancy can still picture his form looking do wa 
 upon me, and beckoning me to his own 
 bright home: every flower, and tree, and ; 
 rivulet, on which the memory of our early 
 love has set its undying seal, has become 
 dear to me, and I can not, without a sigh,, 
 close my eyes upon them for ever." 
 
 I have lately heard that the beautiful girl,, 
 of whom I have spoken, is dead. The close 
 of her life was calm as the falling of a quiet 
 stream gentle as the sinking of the breeze,, 
 that lingers for a time around a bed of with- 
 ered roses, and then dies " as 't were from 
 very sweetness." 
 
 It can not be, that earth is man's only abi- 
 ding place. It can not be, that our life is a 
 bubble cast up by the Ocean of Eternity, to 
 float a moment upon its waves, and sink irto- 
 darkness and nothingness.. Else why r? it^ 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 177 
 
 that the high and glorious aspirations, which 
 leap like angels from the temple of our 
 hearts, are for ever wandering abroad unsat- 
 isfied ? Why is it, that the rainbow and the 
 cloud come over us with a beauty that is not 
 of earth, and then pass off and leave us, to 
 muse upon their faded loveliness ? Why is 
 it, that the stars, which " hold their festivals 
 around the midnight throne," are set above 
 the grasp of our limited faculties for ever 
 mocking us with their unapproachable glory ? 
 And, finally, why is it, that bright forms of 
 human beauty are presented to our view and 
 then taken from us leaving the thousand 
 streams of our affections to flow back in an 
 Alpine torrent upon our hearts ? We are 
 born for a higher destiny than that of earth. 
 There is a realm, where the rainbow never 
 fades, where the stars will be spread out be- 
 fore us, like the islands that slumber on the 
 ocean, and where the beautiful beings, which 
 here pass before us, like visions, will stay in 
 our presence for ever. 
 
 Bright creature of my dreams, in that 
 realm, I shall see thee again. Even now, thy 
 
 8* 
 
178 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 lost image is, sometimes, with. me. In the 
 mysterious silence of midnight, when the 
 streams are glowing in the light of the many 
 stars, that image comes floating upon the 
 beam that lingers around my pillow, and 
 stands before me in its pale, dim loveliness, 
 till its own quiet spirit sinks, like a spell 
 from heaven, upon my thoughts, and the 
 grief of years is turned to dreams of blessed- 
 ness and peace. 
 
 tjj* 
 
 Maddened by earth's wrong and evil, 
 
 "Lord!" I cried in sudden ire, 
 "From Thy right hand, clothed with thunder, 
 Shake the bolted fire! 
 
 "Love is lost, and faith is dying; 
 
 With the brute the man is sold; 
 And the drooping blood of labor 
 Hardens into gold. 
 
 " Here the dying wail of famine, 
 There the battle's groan of pain; 
 
<OF SPARKLING DROPS 179 
 
 And, in silence, smooth-faced mammon, 
 Reaping men like grain. 
 
 "*" Where is God, that we should fear Him?' 
 
 Thus the earth-born Titans say; 
 "* God ! if thou art living, hear us !' 
 
 Thus the weak ones pray. 
 
 ^ Thou, the patient Heaven upbraiding," 
 
 Spake a solemn voice within; 
 ~" Weary of our Lord's forbearance, 
 
 Art thou free from sin? 
 
 **' Fearless "brow to Him uplifting, 
 
 Canst thou for His thunders call, 
 Knowing that to guilt's attraction 
 Evermore they fall? 
 
 *** Know'st thou not all germs of evil 
 
 In thy heart await their time! 
 Not thyself, but God's restraining, 
 Stays their growth of crime. 
 
 * Couldst thou boast, oh ! child of 
 
 O'er the sons of wrong and strife, 
 Where their strong temptations planted 
 In thy path of life? 
 
 "Thou hast seen two streamlets gushing 
 From one fountain, clear and free, 
 
 
180 THE SILVEE <JUF 
 
 But by widely-varying channels 
 Searching for the sea. 
 
 "Glideth one through greenest valleys,, 
 Kissing them with lips still sweety- 
 One, mad-roaring down the mountains; 
 Stagnates at their feet. 
 
 "Is it choice whereby the Parsee 
 
 Kneels before his mother's fire? 
 In his black tent did the Tartar 
 Choose his wandering sire? 
 
 "He, alone, whose hand is bounding 
 
 Human power and human will, 
 Looking through each soul's surrounding 
 Knows its good or ill. 
 
 'For thyself, while wrong and sorrow 
 Make to thee their strong appeal, 
 Coward wert thou not to utter 
 What the heart must feeL 
 
 * Earnest words must needs be spoken, 
 
 When the warm heart bleeds or burnr 
 With the scorch of wrong, or pity 
 For the wronged, by turns. 
 
 "But, by all thy nature's weakness, 
 Hidden faults, and follies known, 
 
OF SI' ARK LIN G DKOPS. 181 
 
 Be tliou, in rebuking evil, 
 Conscious of thine own. 
 
 ' Not the less shall stern-eyed duty 
 
 To thy lips her trumpet set, 
 But with harsher blasts shall mingle 
 
 Wailing of regret." 
 
 Cease not, voice of holy speaking, 
 
 Teacher sent of God, be near, 
 Whispering through the day's cool silence, 
 
 Let thy spirit hear! 
 
 So when thoughts of evil-doers 
 
 Waken scorn, or hatred move, 
 Shall a mournful fellow-being 
 
 Temper all with love. 
 
 ine on fy* Ebbing Htgjjt 
 
 woman, had'st thou known 
 
 The witchery of that cup, 
 Thou ne'er thy husband would'st have urg'd, 
 
 To sip, to drink it up; 
 Upon thy bridal night, 
 
182 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Amid the festal throng, 
 You pressed the poison to those lips, 
 That had refused so long. 
 
 He drank, for thee he drank, 
 
 And madness fill'd- his brain! 
 That gleam of joy, that lit thine eye, 
 
 Was followed quick by pain. 
 He drank, for thee he drank, 
 
 And fled thy prospects bright! 
 O! bitter were the tears you shed, 
 
 Upon that bridal night. 
 
 But bitterer far at morn, 
 
 And through succeeding years; 
 You weep for him you caused to fall, 
 
 Nor can you dry your tears; 
 At morn, at noon, at eve, 
 
 When stars are bright above, 
 And through the long and stilly night, 
 
 You weep for him you love. 
 
 But he returns again 
 
 To his devoted bride! 
 May joy be yours, and may you long 
 
 With your lost one abide. 
 But never tempt again, 
 
 Thy husband, dear, to sip 
 The sparkling wine-cup, never, no, 
 
 Nor let it touch thy lip. 
 
OF SPARKLING DEOPS. 183 
 
 woman, given to man 
 
 To cheer him on his way, 
 Beware, lest through your means, his feet 
 
 Should ever learn to stray. 
 
 ona of titmmm 
 
 BY REV. U. CLARK. 
 
 IT is scarcely a quarter of a century since 
 the Temperance Reform had its commence- 
 ment. In its original forms it accomplished 
 all that could have been expected ; but 
 the work was delayed to receive new im- 
 pulses from Washingtonianism. Its name 
 founded upon the Father of our country 
 a name this day and for ever dear and glo- 
 rious in the memory of every American 
 bosom its name, animated by the life-giv- 
 ing power of moral principle and love, found 
 its way home to the bleeding and outcast 
 inebriate. Its messengers seemed, like the 
 lowly Nazarine and the fishermen of Galilee, 
 going forth after the lost and fallen, with 
 
184 THE 8ILVEB CUP 
 
 nothing but simple tales of suffering, and 
 words of brotherly affection, and tears of 
 sympathy. O ! it was a melting scene to 
 behold that crowding throng of miserable 
 beings that came up from their ruin, and 
 reached out their hands for a brother's grasp, 
 and shook off their filth, and wiped away the 
 great salt drops from their burning and quiv- 
 ering faces, and with trembling fingers signed 
 their names, and swelling hearts made their 
 sorrowful confessions, and then ran home to 
 throw themselves at the feet of their once 
 wretched wives, and mothers, and offspring ! 
 WASHINGTONIANISM ! be that name forever 
 associated, in its purity, with HTM who shall 
 remain dear in the hearts of his countrymen 
 down to the latest generation of mankind. 
 
 But in time, the want of a proper organi- 
 zation in Washingtonianism, and the conse- 
 quent lack of fidelity to its principles, made 
 it apparent that some new system was requi- 
 site to the salvation of the Temperance Re- 
 form. A stronger moral and social power, a 
 closer fellowship was needed, and a deep 
 family interest must become awakened The 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 185 
 
 prosperity and influence of other beneficial 
 Orders, not open to the idle curiosity of the 
 world, suggested the present organization of 
 the Sons of Temperance ; and the first Divi- 
 sion was opened in the city of New York, 
 September 29th, 1842. 
 
 Since that time, the Order has reached 
 almost every state in the Union has in- 
 creased in numbers and influence with a 
 rapidity unprecedented in the annals of 
 human reformation, and it has gone far be- 
 yond the most brilliant hopes of its founders. 
 
 On the list of our Order, are now enrolled 
 many names of the wisest, and best, and 
 most philanthropic of our age and country. 
 This fact alone, should be sufficient to quiet 
 the groundless fears of the uninformed in 
 regard to a dangerous abuse of our associa- 
 tion. It may be expected that the opponents 
 of Temperance Reform if there are any 
 should make the most serious objections, and 
 endeavor to create the wildest alarms. They 
 may term our Order a secret confederacy, 
 cliqued together for the purpose of muzzling 
 the people, and gaining political or sectarian 
 
186 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 ascendency; but we have too much confi- 
 dence in the liberality and intelligence of 
 community to believe that such insinuations 
 will be received with either credit or ap- 
 plause, by those who are acquainted with the 
 prominent members of our Order. Yet, per- 
 haps, there are objections which are offered 
 in seriousness, and are entitled to attention, 
 because they are entertained by those whose 
 judgment on other subjects, we may regard 
 with becoming defference. It is possible that 
 the best measures of Reform may have been 
 opposed by honest men. No innovation in 
 science, philosophy, or human improvement, 
 has passed without a violent opposition. 
 And it may not have been expected that 
 this form of the Temperance movement 
 should have escaped the violence of that 
 conservatism which has ever maintained an 
 opposing attitude. But we direct our ap- 
 peals in behalf of the Sons of Temperance, 
 only to the candid, liberal, and intelligent 
 Men who are determined to remain uncon- 
 vinced in regard to the propriety and benefi- 
 cence of our Order, may elicit more of our 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 187 
 
 charity than disapprobation. With confi- 
 dence in the triumph of our cause, we main- 
 tain a position too elevated to indulge in 
 ridicule or abuse against those who may 
 stand in opposition. On this, as upon every 
 other theme, we only ask for investigation. 
 Let the principles, the objects, the bearings, 
 and the benefits of our institution be Bxam- 
 ined in the light of truth and experience, and 
 we stand or fall by the decision. 
 
 If we tell you on the honor and veracity 
 of men and citizens, that there can be no 
 reasonable objections against the nature of 
 our private doings, may we not expect to be 
 credited upon the ordinary rules of evidence ? 
 And this we do. Our Order permits noth- 
 ing that would cause a blush to mantle the 
 cheek of the purest modesty or religion. 
 Ask those brothers in whose virtue and in- 
 tegrity community reposes a grateful confi- 
 dence. We have our forms and pass-words, 
 to protect ourselves from the imposition of 
 the unprincipled, but these are of a character 
 that require no violation of the strictest 
 honor or religion. Our private business 
 
188 THE SILVEE CUP 
 
 transactions belong not to the world, but to 
 ourselves alone. If we are condemned for 
 this, we may condemn every man, or firm, or 
 company, or family, or council, or jury, that 
 acts with closed doors, and proclaims not its 
 doings- upon the housetops. 
 
 Our secrets, what are they ? Love, and 
 Purity, and Fidelity. Is an unworthy candi- 
 date proposed for membership ? We are not 
 permitted to proclaim his refusal to the 
 world, or brand him, or the brother who 
 warns us against him, with disgrace. Is a 
 brother reduced to want, by sickness or mis- 
 fortune ? We humble him not, by exposing 
 his dependent condition to the world, or pub- 
 lishing abroad our deeds of charity. The 
 cold left hand of fellowship may know not 
 what our right hand doeth ; but the God 
 that seeth in secret, shall tender the open 
 reward. Does a tempted brother break that 
 holy pledge of honor ? We gather around 
 him in brotherly love and sympathy to ex- 
 postulate. We tell not of his shame and 
 fall. We load him with no public infamy, 
 that shall sink him deeper into disgrace and 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 189 
 
 despair. His error is lodged in bis own soul, 
 and lies hard upon the hearts of his brethren. 
 He is made to feel his own fault, and to feel 
 that he has wounded the honor of his fra- 
 ternity. We throw around him all the 
 influences of kindness, and reason, and for- 
 bearance, and when the hot tears of peni- 
 tence roll down his blushing face, we take 
 him by the hand, again to forget and forgive. 
 We save him, if possible, but if he must go, 
 it is ours to follow him with blessings instead 
 of curses. 
 
 The exalted influence our Order is calcu- 
 lated to exert, can no longer remain a subject 
 of doubt. The Temperance Keform had 
 assumed that aspect in the history of nations, 
 which demanded a strong and permanent 
 organization. Since the first reform arose to 
 stay the tide of Intemperance, the public 
 mind has been growing into the belief, that 
 no single evil needed a mightier check than 
 this. It has hurled nations and individuals 
 from their loftiest pinnacles, and carried mill- 
 ions along in its engulphing stream. It is 
 not alone that the family hearth has been 
 
190 THE SILVEE CUP 
 
 turned into desolation, and its fires extin- 
 guished not alone that the wife, and 
 mother, and offspring, of the indigent have 
 been robbed and beggared, and sent away 
 shrieking and howling before the scourge, 
 with haggard faces and lean hands, to plead 
 for bread, and protection from the dernonized 
 father not alone that youth, and beauty, 
 and virtue have fallen, and in the starless 
 night, and storm of passion, have drowned 
 the deep sense of remorse in the burning 
 ocean of Intemperance. The brave and the 
 mighty amid the world's constellations have 
 gone down that dreadful malstroom whose 
 vortex feeds upon human prey, and whose 
 waves have cast their bleachen wrecks upon 
 every shore, and washed away the fabric of 
 empires. Upon the altars of Bacchus and 
 Silenus have been slaughtered more victims 
 than have fallen before Mars' rolling car of 
 war, and rapine, and murder. The Northern 
 Sons of Odin and Valhalla came to worship 
 upon this burning altar, and with the Gre- 
 cian and Roman Bacchanalians perished in 
 the wild delirium of the quaffed cup. The 
 
OF SPAKKLING DROPS. 
 
 genius of a Homer and Hafiz, Anecreon and 
 Johnson, and Byron, and Voltaire, became 
 dregged, and steeped, and inflamed in this 
 soul-consuming element. The young, disgus- 
 ted Cyrus flung the damning eup from his 
 grasp, as he beheld its beastly power over 
 princes and monarchs. The ancient Lacede- 
 monians played the mimic drunkard to in- 
 spire their youth with abhorrence of the 
 curse of Intemperance. No marvel that Na- 
 ture itself has burst out in spontaneous com- 
 bustion to consume the inflated mass of 
 human bodies drugged to a living hell. It 
 is to assist men in governing themselves, that 
 we throw around them all our moral and 
 social influence. We go out into society and 
 find that man who has been long since aban- 
 doned. Old friends have forsaken him, and 
 he is left exposed to all the wiles of evil. 
 He has tried again and again to abandon his 
 habits, but his family and friends have des- 
 paired. We take him by the hand, and he 
 stands in the Halls of the Sons of Temper- 
 ance. And who are these that stand around 
 him, with cheerful smiles, and open hearts* 
 
192 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 and the warm grasp of friendship, to wel- 
 come ? Brothers ! yes, brothers ! And as 
 he there takes that solemn pledge upon his 
 lips, and is made to feel that all these will 
 cling by, and sympathize with him, the 
 holiest purposes are nourished within his 
 soul. How can he feel that he shall ever 
 willfully violate the confidence of that band, 
 which hails him as a brother ? He is bound 
 by that golden chain whose links bind hea- 
 ven and earth ; and if he breaks this, he is 
 made to realize that he has broken the 
 mightiest and most sacred of human ties. 
 All that is endearing in home, and heaven 
 and humanity, as if in the presence of the 
 all-seeing eye of God, hallows that solemn 
 obligation which he has assumed, and makes 
 it more omnipotent over his moral nature 
 than penal laws, or bolts, or bars, or dun- 
 geons, or the thunders of fearful denunciation. 
 That man who was once lone and neglec- 
 ted in society, now starts into a new life of 
 hope and joy, as he sees himself surrounded 
 by friends who can take him by the hand 
 and call him brother. And when the wild 
 
OF SPABKLING DROPS. 193 
 
 Storm of evil, and sorrow, and sickness, and 
 distress, howls over his head, and the dark 
 waves are rolling on to engulph him, an un- 
 called host rush to his rescue, to relieve his 
 distresses, and shed the halo of sympathy 
 around that darkened scene. That tender 
 wife and mother watch not alone around the 
 bedside, to feel that the world has forgotten, 
 in the hour of calamity. That husband has 
 now become more deeply endeared to her, 
 End her once famishing children. She re- 
 members all that she has endured in the 
 days of his fall, and now that he has become 
 himself again, she keeps her night vigils with 
 a more anxious and throbbing heart. The 
 well of her affection has never been dry, but 
 now it is watered anew, and she is made to 
 feel that she loves one who is loved and re- 
 spected by a band of faithful brothers, who 
 gather around him in the hour of need ; and 
 when death comes it is robbed of half its 
 terrors. She walks not down to the grave a 
 lonely, and indigent, and neglected mourner, 
 ^but she is followed by those who go to pay 
 their last rites over the remains of a brother. 
 
 9 
 
194 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Let the power of unfaltering " Fidelity " 
 to our principles, mark the progress of our 
 Heform, and onward, onward to glorious 
 conquest is ours ! With " Purity " written 
 upon our hearts and lives, and "Love" wa- 
 ving upon our banners, ours shall "be the 
 thousand captives of love and liberty. Love, 
 ascending to God embracing brethren 
 and streaming out over the wide surface of 
 humanity, shall be the element in which the 
 demon of man shall lose its power. Before 
 thee f oh, Love ! thou winged messenger of 
 the Almighty, that sang above the plains of 
 Bethlehem, and triumphed over man in the 
 mission of Jesus ! before thee shall the king- 
 doms of darkness and depravity crumble, 
 and the enslaved arise to life and liberty. 
 Thy tears, oh, Love ! shall fall like angels of 
 mercy upon the cold and desolate heart, to 
 melt and soften its iciness. Thy hand shall 
 lead the wayward back to virtue, and wipe 
 away the big tears of sorrow and penitence 
 that roll down the haggard and care-worn 
 countenance. Thy light shall shine like the 
 beacon of hope to the mariner that straggles 
 
OF SPAEKLIKG DROPS. 
 
 upon the wrecks of a howling night. Rank 
 on rank, and file on file, Shall move on thy 
 mission, oh, Love, until the mountain of the 
 Lord shall spread abroad its Lebanon 
 branches, for the overshadowing of the na- 
 tions. Thine shall be the power to nourish 
 and invigorate that tree of immortal liberty, 
 upon which blooms ambrosial fruits and 
 flowers, but upon which man once looked in 
 proud and scornful defiance. 
 
 " But Heaven beheld and blest 
 Its branchy glories, spreading o'er the West. 
 No summer gaude, the wonder of a day, 
 Born but to bloom, and then to fade away, 
 A giant oak, it lifts its lofty form, 
 Greens in the sun, and strengthens in the storm. 
 Long in its shade shall children's children come, 
 And welcome earth's poor wanderers to a home. 
 Long shall it live, and every blast defy, 
 Till Tune's last whirlwind sweeps the vaulted sky." 
 
196 THE SILVER CtfP 
 
 BY MISS E. M. ALLEN. 
 
 There are shadows, flitting, flitting 
 
 O'er the sunlight of this heart, 
 In their wildness ever fitting 
 
 To the outward counterpart; 
 i)aring dreams of proud ambition, 
 
 Darkened by the flight of years., 
 Moments, joyous in fruition, 
 
 Yielding to an age of tears. 
 
 There are whispers, thrilling, thrilling 
 
 All this anxious, eager soul, 
 With a strange, sweet impulse filling 
 
 Till it brooks not my control; 
 Whispers of the pure and holy, 
 
 Calling to a far-off" shore, 
 Where the shade of melancholy 
 
 Flits across the soul no more. 
 
 There is music stealing, stealing 
 From the flow'rets trembling bell, 
 
 Soft its vesper chimes are pealing 
 
 In the spirits' cloistered cell; 
 J T is the hour of sweet devotion, 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 197 
 
 Hence, unhallowed doubts and fears! 
 Grief is ours on life's dark ocean, 
 But the haven hath no tears. 
 
 There are visions, cheering, cheering 
 
 As the chilling shadows creep, 
 At the twilight hour appearing 
 
 When the heart is prone to weep; 
 Visions, varied, truthful, tender, 
 
 O'er the spirit clouds they rise, 
 Hallowed by a dreamy splendor, 
 
 Gathered only from the skies. 
 
 BY MBS. M. L. BAILET. 
 
 Oh! pleasant are the memories 
 Of childhood's forest home, 
 
 And oft, amid the toils of life, 
 Like blessed dreams they come: 
 
 Of sunset hours when I lay entranced, 
 
 'Mid shadows cool and green, 
 Watching the winged insect's glance, 
 In summer's golden sheen: 
 
198 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Their drowsy hum was a lullaby 
 
 To Nature's quiet sleeping, 
 While o'er the meadow's dewy breast 
 
 The evening winds were creeping: 
 
 The plowman's whistle heard afar, 
 To his humble home returning; 
 
 And faintly in the gathering shade 
 The firefly's lamp was burning. 
 
 Up in the old oak's pleasant shade, 
 Where mossy branches swing, 
 
 With gentle twittering, soft and low, 
 Nestling with fluttering wing, 
 
 Were summer birds, their tender notes 
 Like love's own fond caressing. 
 
 When a mother folds her little flock, 
 With a whispered prayer and blessing. 
 
 The cricket chirps from the hollow tree 
 
 To the music of the rill, 
 And plaintively echoes through the wood 
 
 The song of the whipporwil. 
 
 Tinged with the last faint light of day, 
 A white cloud in the west 
 
 Floats in the azure sea above, 
 Like a ship on ocean's breast. 
 
OF SPAHKLING DROPS. 199 
 
 The evening star as a beacon shines 
 
 On the far horizon's verge, 
 And the wind moans through the distant pines 
 
 Like the troubled ocean's surge. 
 
 From lowly vales the rising mist 
 
 Curls up the hill-side green, 
 And its summit, 'twixt the earth and sky, 
 
 Like a fairy isle is seen. 
 
 Away in the depths of ether shine 
 
 The stars, serenely bright, 
 Gems in the glorious diadeni 
 
 Circling the brow of night 
 
 Our Father! if thy meaner works 
 
 Thus beautiful appear, 
 If such revealings of thy love 
 
 Enkindle rapture here, 
 
 If to our mortal sense thou dost 
 
 Thy treasures thus unfold; 
 When death shall rend this earthly vail, 
 
 How shall our eyes behold 
 
 Thy glory when the spirit soars 
 
 Beyond the starry zone, 
 And in thy presence folds her wings, 
 
 And bows before thy throne! 
 
200 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 in Irhnt If into, 
 
 BY ALBERT BARNES. 
 
 IN proving this proposition, I shall take 
 for granted two or three points which are 
 now conceded, and to establish whieh would 
 lead me too far out of my way. The first is,. 
 that this i& not an employment in which the 
 properties of the article are unknown. The 
 seller has as good an opportunity to be 
 acquainted with the qualities of the article,, 
 and its effects, as the buyer. There is no 
 concealment of its character, and tendency ; 
 there can be no pretense that you were 
 deceived in regard to those qualities, and 
 that you were unintentionally engaged in the 
 sale of an article which has turned out to be 
 otherwise than you supposed it to be. For, 
 alas ! those properties are too well ascer- 
 tained : and all who are engaged in this 
 employment have ample opportunity ta 
 know what they are doing, and engage in it 
 with their eyes open, 
 
OF SPARKLING -DROPS. 201 
 
 The effects of this traffic are well known. 
 The public mind has been, with remarkable 
 intensity, directed to this subject for ten 
 years in this land, and the details have been 
 laid before the American public. It is 
 believed that no vice has ever been so faith- 
 fully guaged, and the details so well ascer- 
 tained, as the vice of intemperance in this 
 nation. It is far better understood than the 
 extent of gambling, or piracy, or robbery, 
 or the slave trade. It is established now 
 beyond the possibility of debate, that ardent 
 spirits is a poison, as certain, as deadly, and 
 destructive, as any other poison. It may be 
 more slow in its effects, but it is not the less 
 certain. This is established by the testimony 
 of all physicians and chemists who have 
 expressed an opinion on the subject. It is 
 not necessaiy for the welfare of man as an 
 ordinary drink. This is proved by the like 
 testimony, by the example of many thou- 
 sands who abstain from it, and by the fact, 
 that, before its invention, the Eoman soldier, 
 the Scythian, and the Greek, were as hardy 
 and long lived as men have been since. Its 
 
 9* 
 
202 THE. SILVER CUP 
 
 direct tendency is to produce disease, poverty, 
 crime, and death. Its use tends to corrupt 
 the morals, to enfeeble the intellect, to pro- 
 duce indolence, wretchedness and woe in the 
 family circle ; to shorten life, and to hurry 
 to a loathsome grave ; to spread a pall of 
 grief over families and nations. It is ascer- 
 tained to be the source of nine-tenths of all 
 the pauperism, and nine-tenths of all the 
 crimes in the land. It fills our streets with 
 drunkards, our alms-houses with loathsome 
 wretches, our jails with poor criminals, and 
 supplies our gibbets with victims. It costs 
 the land on which we live more than 100,- 
 000,000 of dollars annually, and renders us 
 no compensation but poverty, want, curses, 
 loathsomeness, and tears. In any single 
 year in this Union, could the effects be gath- 
 ered into one single grasp, they would pre- 
 sent to the eye the following affecting details. 
 An army of at least 300,000 drunkards 
 not made up of old men, of the feeble, but 
 of those in early life ; of our youth, of our 
 men of talents and influence ; an enlistment 
 from the bar, the bench, the pulpit, the 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 203 
 
 homes of the rich, and the fire-sides of piety ; 
 the abodes of the intelligent, as well as the 
 places of obscurity, and the humble ranks 
 all reeling together to a drunkard's grave. 
 With this army Napoleon would have over- 
 run Europe. In the same group would be 
 no less than 75,000 criminals made such 
 by the use of ardent spirits criminals of 
 every grade and die, supported at the ex- 
 pense of the sober, and lost to morality, and 
 industry, and hope the source of lawsuits, 
 and the fountain of no small part of the ex- 
 penses of courts of justice. In the same 
 group would be no less than 200,000 pau- 
 pers, in a land abounding in all the wealth 
 that the richest soil can give, and under all 
 the facilities which the most favored spot 
 under the whole heaven can furnish for 
 acquiring a decent and honest subsistence. 
 Paupers supported at the expense of the so- 
 ber and the industrious, and creating no small 
 part of our taxes, to pay for their indolence, 
 and wretchedness, and crimes. And in the 
 same group would be no less than 600 insane 
 persons, made such by intemperance, in all 
 
204 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 the horrid and revolting forms of delirium 
 the conscience destroyed, the mind obliter- 
 ated, and hope and happiness fled for ever. 
 And in the same group there would be no 
 less than 30,000 of our countrymen, who die 
 annually, as the direct effect of the use of 
 ardent spirit. Thirty thousand of our coun- 
 trymen sinking to the most loathsome and 
 dishonored of all graves, the grave of the 
 drunkard. This is just a summary of the 
 obvious and sure effects of this vice. The 
 innumerable woes that it incidentally causes ; 
 the weeping and groans of the widow and 
 the fatherless ; the crimes and vices which it 
 tends to introduce into abodes that would, 
 but for this, be the abodes of peace, are not, 
 and cannot be taken into the account. 
 
 Now this state of things, if produced in 
 any other way, would spread weeping and 
 sackcloth over nations and continents. Any 
 sweeping pestilence that could do this, would 
 hold a nation in alarm, and diffuse, from one 
 end of it to the other, trembling and horror. 
 The world has never known any thing else 
 like it. The father of mischief has never 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 205 
 
 been able to invent any thing that should 
 diffuse more wide-spread and dreadful evils. 
 It is agreed further, and well understood, 
 that this is the regular effect of the traffic, 
 and manufacture, and use of this article. It 
 is not casual, incidental, irregular. It "is 
 uniform, certain, deadly, as the sirocco of the 
 desert, or as the malaria of the Pontine 
 marshes. It is not a periodical influence, 
 returning at distant intervals ; but it is a 
 pestilence, breathing always diffusing the 
 poison when men sleep, and when they 
 wake by day and by night, in seed time 
 and harvest attending the manufacture 
 and sale of the article always. The de- 
 stroyer seeks his victim alike in every 
 hogshead, and in every glass. He exempts 
 no man from danger that uses it ; and is al- 
 ways secure of prostrating the most vigorous 
 frame ; of clouding the most splendid intel- 
 lect ; of benumbing the most delicate moral 
 feelings ; of palsying the most eloquent 
 tongue ; of teaching those on whose lips 
 senates hung, to mutter and babble with 
 the drunkard ; and of entombing the most 
 
206 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 brilliant talents and hopes of youth, wherever 
 man can be induced to drink. The establish- 
 ment of every distillery, and every dram- 
 shop, and every grocery where it is sold, 
 secures the certainty that many a man will 
 thereby become a drunkard, and be a curse 
 to himself and to the world. The traffic is 
 not only occasionally and incidentally in- 
 jurious, but it is like the generation before 
 the flood in its effects, evil, and only evil 
 continually. 
 
 Now the question is, whether this is an 
 employment in which a moral man and a 
 Christian man ought to be engaged ? Is it 
 such a business as his countrymen ought to 
 approve? Is it such as his conscience and 
 sober judgment approve ? Is it such as his 
 God and Judge will approve ? 
 
 In examining this, let it be remembered 
 that the reason why this occupation is en- 
 gaged in, and the sole reason, is to make mo- 
 ney. It is not because it is supposed that it 
 will benefit mankind ; nor is it because the 
 man supposes that duty to his Creator re- 
 quires it ; nor is it because it is presumed 
 
OF SPARKLING DBOPS. 207 
 
 that it will promote public health, or morals, 
 or happiness ; but it is engaged in and pur- 
 sued solely as a means of livelihood or of 
 wealth. And the question then is reduced 
 to a very narrow compass ; is it right for a 
 man, for the sake of gain, to be engaged in 
 the sale of a poison a poison attended 
 with destruction to the property, health, hap- 
 piness, peace, and salvation of his neigh- 
 bors producing mania, and poverty, and 
 curses, and death, and woes innumerable to 
 the land, and to the Church of God ? A 
 question this, one would think, that might 
 be very soon answered. In answering it, I 
 invite attention to a few very obvious, but 
 undeniable positions. 
 
 1. It is an employment which tends to 
 counteract tJie very design of the organization 
 of society. Society is organized on a benev- 
 olent principle. The structure of that organ- 
 ization is one of the best adapted instances 
 of design, and of benevolence, any where to 
 be found. It is on this principle that a law- 
 ful employment an employment fitted to 
 produce subsistence for a man and his family, 
 
208 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 will not interfere with the rights and happi- 
 ness of others. It may be pursued without 
 violating any of their rights, or infringing on 
 their happiness in any way. Nay, it may 
 not only not interfere with their rights and 
 happiness, but it will tend to promote di- 
 rectly their welfare, by promoting the happi- 
 ness of the whole. Or, for example, the 
 employment of the farmer may be pursued 
 not only without interfering with the lights 
 or privileges of the mechanic, the physician, 
 or the merchant, but it will directly contrib- 
 ute to their welfare, and is indispensable to 
 it. The employment of the physician not 
 only contributes to the support of himself 
 and family, but to the welfare of the whole 
 community. It not only does not interfere 
 with the rights and happiness of the farmer 
 and mechanic, but it tends directly to their 
 advantage. The employment of the mer- 
 chant in lawful traffic, not only contributes 
 to his support, but is directly beneficial to 
 the whole agricultural part of the commu- 
 nity ; for, as has been well said, " the mer- 
 chant is the friend of mankind." He injures 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 209 
 
 no man, at the same time that he benefits 
 himself; and he contributes to the welfare 
 of the community, by promoting a healthful 
 and desirable exchange of commodities in 
 different parts of the land, and of various 
 natures. The same is true of the mechanic, 
 the mariner, the legislator, the book-maker, 
 the day-laborer, the schoolmaster, the lawyer, 
 the clergyman. 
 
 Now, we maintain, that the traffic in ar- 
 dent spirits, as a drink, is a violation of this 
 wise arrangement. It tends to sap the foun- 
 dation of the whole economy. It is solely to 
 benefit the trafficer, and it tends to evil, evil 
 only, evil continually. If every man should 
 act on this principle, society could not exist. 
 If every man should choose an employment 
 that should necessarily and always interfere 
 with the peace, and happiness, and morals, 
 of others, it would at once break up the 
 organization. If every manufacturer should 
 erect a manufactory, as numerous as our 
 distilleries and dram-shops, that should neces- 
 sarily blight every farm, and produce sterility 
 in its neighborhood, every farmer would 
 
210 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 regard it as an unlawful employment ; and 
 if pursued, the business of agriculture would 
 end. If a physician could live only by dif- 
 fusing disease and death, who would regard 
 his as a moral employment ? If a mariner 
 could pursue his business from this port to 
 Calcutta or Canton, only by importing the 
 plague in every return voyage, who would 
 deem it an honorable employment ? If an 
 apothecary could pursue his business only by 
 killing nine persons out of ten of those with 
 whom he had dealing, who would deem it a 
 lawful business ? If a man can get a living 
 in his employment only by fitting out a 
 privateer and preying upon the peaceful 
 commerce of the world, who will deem it a 
 lawful employment ? If a man lives only to 
 make a descent on the peaceful abodes of 
 Africa, and to tear away parents from their 
 weeping children, and husbands from their 
 wives and homes, where is the man that will 
 deem this a moral business ? And why not ? 
 Does he not act on the same-principle as the 
 man who deals in ardent spirits a desire 
 to make money, and that only ? The truth 
 
OF SPAKKL1NG DHOPS. 211 
 
 is, that in all these cases there would be a 
 violation of the great fundamental law on 
 which men must agree to live together in 
 society a violation of that great, noble, 
 and benevolent law of our organization, by 
 which an honest employment interferes with 
 no other, but may tend to diffuse blessings in 
 the whole circle of human engagements. 
 And the traffic in ardent spirits is just as 
 much a violation of this law, as in any of the 
 cases specified. 
 
 2. Every man is bound to pursue such 
 a business as to render a valuable considerar 
 tion for that which he receives from others. 
 A man who receives in trade the avails of 
 the industry of others, is under obligation to 
 restore that which will be of real value. He 
 receives the fruit of toil ; he receives that 
 which is of value to himself ; and common 
 equity requires that he return a valuable 
 consideration. Thus the merchant renders 
 to the farmer, in exchange for the growth of 
 his farm, the productions of other climes ; 
 the manufacturer, that which is needful for 
 the clothing or comfort of the agriculturist ; 
 
212 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 the physician, the result of his professional 
 skill. All these are valuable considerations, 
 which are fair and honorable subjects of ex- 
 change. They are a mutual accommodation ; 
 they advance the interest of both parties. 
 But it is not so with the dealer in ardent 
 spirits. He obtains the property of his 
 fellow-men, and what does he return ? That 
 which will tend to promote his real welfare ? 
 That which will make him a happier man ? 
 That which will benefit his family ? That 
 which diffuses learning and domestic comfort 
 around his family circle ? None of these 
 things. He gives him that which will pro- 
 duce poverty, and want, and cursing, and 
 tears, and death. He asked an egg, and he 
 receives a scorpion. He gives him that which 
 is established and well known as the source 
 of no good, but as tending to produce beg- 
 gary and wretchedness. Now if this were 
 practised in any other business, it would be 
 open fraud. If in any way you could palm 
 upon a farmer that which is not only worth- 
 less, but mischievous that which would 
 certainly tend to ruin him and his family, 
 
OF SPAEKLING DROPS. 213 
 
 could there be any doubt about the nature 
 of this employment ? It makes no difference 
 here, that the man supposes that it is for his 
 good ; or that he applies for it. You know 
 that it is not for his benefit, and you know 
 what is the only material point under this 
 head that it will tend to his ruin. What- 
 ever he may think about it, or whatever he 
 may desire, you are well advised that it is an 
 article that will tend to sap the foundation 
 of his morals and happiness, and conduce to 
 the ruin of ^his estate, and his body, and his 
 soul ; and you know, therefore, that you are 
 not rendering him any really valuable consid- 
 eration for his property. The dealer may 
 look on his gains in this matter on his 
 houses, or mortgages, or lands, obtained as 
 the result of this business with something 
 like these reflections : 
 
 " This property has been gained from other 
 men. It was theirs, honestly acquired, and 
 was necessary to promote their own happi- 
 ness and the happiness of their families. It 
 has become mine by a traffic which has not 
 only taken it away from them, but which 
 
214 THE SILVEK CUP 
 
 has ruined their peace, corrupted their mor- 
 als, sent woe and discord into their families, 
 and consigned them, perhaps, to an early and 
 most loathsome grave. This property has 
 come from the hard earnings of other men ; 
 has passed into my hands without any valu- 
 able compensation rendered ; but has been 
 obtained only while I have been diffusing 
 want, and woe, and death, through then 
 abodes." 
 
 Let the men engaged in this traffic look 
 on their property thus gained ; let them 
 survey the woe which has attended it ; and 
 then ask, as honest men, whether it is a 
 moral employment. 
 
 3. A man is bound to pursue such a 
 business as shall tend to promote tlie welfare 
 of the whole community. This traffic does 
 not. We have seen that an honorable and 
 lawful employment conduces to the welfare 
 of the whole social organization. But the 
 welfare of the whole cannot be promoted by 
 this traffic/ Somewhere it must produce 
 poverty, and idleness, and crime. Even 
 granting, what can not be established, that it 
 
OF SPARKLING D~R P S . 
 
 may promote the happiness of a particular 
 portion of the community, yet it must be at 
 the expense of some other portion. You 
 may export poison to Georgia, and the imme- 
 diate effect may be to introduce money into 
 Philadelphia, but the only important enquiry 
 is, what will be the effect on the whole body 
 politic ? Will it do more good than evil on 
 the whole ? Will the money which you 
 may receive here, be a compensation for all 
 the evil which will be done there ? Money 
 a compensation for intemperance, and idle- 
 ness, and crime, and the loss of the health, 
 the happiness, and the souls of men ! 
 
 Now we may easily determine this matter. 
 The article thus exported will do as much 
 evil there as it would if consumed here. It 
 will spread just as much devastation some- 
 where, as it would if consumed in your own 
 family, and among your own friends and 
 neighbors. We have only to ask, what 
 would be the effect if it were consumed in 
 your own habitation, in your neighborhood, 
 in your own city ? Let all this poison which 
 is thus exported, to spread woes and death 
 
TSE SILVER CTJP 
 
 somewliere, be concentrated and consumed 
 where you might see it, and is there any 
 man who will pretend that the paltry sum 
 which he receives is a compensation for what 
 he knows would be the effect of the consump- 
 tion 1 You keep your own atmosphere pure 
 it may be, but you export the pestilence, and 
 curses, and lamentation elsewhere, and receive 
 a compensation for it. You sell disease, and 
 death, and poverty, and nakedness, and tears 
 to other families, to clothe and feed your 
 own. And as the result of this current of 
 moral poison, and pollution, which you may 
 cause to flow into hundreds of other families, 
 you may point to a splendid palace, or to 
 gay apparel of your sons and daughters, and 
 proclaim that the evil is hidden from your 
 eyes. Families, and neighborhoods, and 
 states may groan and bleed somewhere, and 
 thousands may die, but your gain is to be a 
 compensation for it all. Is this an honorable 
 traffic ? 
 
 Suppose a man were to advertise consump- 
 tions, and fevers, and pleurisies, and leprosy, 
 for gold, and could and would sell them ; 
 
-OF SPARKLING DROPS. 21? 
 
 what Would the community say to such a 
 traffic ? Suppose, for gain, he could trans- 
 port them to distant places, and now strike 
 -down, by a secret power, a family in Maine, 
 and now at St. Mary's, and now at Texas, 
 and now at St. Louis ; what would the com- 
 munity think of wealth gained in such a 
 traffic ? Suppose he could, with the same 
 ^ease, diffuse profaneness, and insanity, and 
 robberies, and murders, and suicides, and 
 should advertise all these to be propagated 
 through the land, and could prevail on 'men 
 to buy the talisrnanic nostrum for gold 
 what would the community think of such a 
 traffic as this ? True, he might plead that it 
 brought a vast influx of money that it en- 
 riched the city, or the country that the 
 'effects were not seen there ; but what would 
 be the public estimate of a man who would 
 be willing to engage in such a traffic, and 
 who would set up such a plea ? Or suppose 
 it were understood that a farmer from the 
 interior had arrived in Philadelphia with a 
 load of flour, nine-tenths of whose barrels 
 contained a mixture, more or less, of arsenic^ 
 10 
 
218 THE SILVER CTTF 
 
 and should offer them for sale ; what would 
 be the feelings of this community at such & 
 traffic? Time, the man might plead that it 
 would produce gain to his countiy ; that 
 they had taken care to remove it to another 
 population ; that his own family was secure; 
 Can any words express the indignation which 
 would be felt ? Can any thing express the 
 horror which all men would feel at such a 
 transaction as this, and at the cold-blooded 
 and inhuman guilt of the money-loving 
 farmer ? And yet, we witness a thing like 
 this eveiy day, on our wharves, and in our 
 ships, and our groceries, and our inns, and 
 from our men of wealth, and our moral men, 
 and our professed Christians and a horror 
 comes through the souls of men, when we* 
 dare to intimate that this is an immoral 
 business ! 
 
 4. A man is bound to pursue such a 
 course of life as not necessarily to increase 
 tlie burdens and the taxes of the community. 
 The pauperism and crimes of this land grow 
 out of this vice, as an overflowing fountain. 
 Three-fourths of the taxes for prisons, and 
 
OF SPARKLIKG DttOPS. 219 
 
 houses of refuge, and alms-houses, would be 
 cut off, but for this traffic, and the attendant 
 vices. Nine-tenths of the crimes of the 
 countiy, and of the expenses of litigation for 
 crime, would be prevented by arresting it. 
 Of 653 who were in one year committed to 
 the house of correction in Boston, 453 were 
 drunkards. Of 3,000 persons admitted to 
 the work-house in Salem, Massachusetts, 2,900 
 were brought there, directly or indirectly, by 
 intemperance. Of 592 male adults in the 
 alms-house in New York, not 20, says the 
 Superintendent, can be called sober ; and of 
 601 women, not as many as 50. Only three 
 instances of murder, in the space of fifteen 
 years, in New York, occurred, that could not 
 be traced to ardent spirit as the cause. In 
 Philadelphia ten. This is the legitimate 
 regular effect of the business. It tends to 
 poverty, crime, and woe and greatly to 
 increase the taxes and burdens of the com- 
 munity. 
 
 What is done, then, in this traffic ? You 
 are filling our alms-houses, and jails, and 
 penitentiaries, with victims, loathsome and 
 
220 THE SILVER CTTP 
 
 burdensome to the community. You are 
 engaged in a business which is compelling 
 your fellow-citizens to pay taxes to support 
 the victims of your employment. You are 
 filling up those abodes of wretchedness and 
 guilt, and then asking your fellow-citizens to 
 pay enormous taxes, indirectly to support 
 this traffic. For, if every place where ardent 
 spirits can be obtained, were closed in this 
 city and its suburbs, how long might your 
 splendid palaces for the poor be almost un- 
 tenanted piles ! How soon would your jails 
 disgorge their inmates, and be no more filled ! 
 How soon would the habitations of guilt and 
 infamy, in every city, become the abodes of 
 contentment and peace ! And how soon 
 would reeling loathsomeness and want cease 
 to assail your doors with importunate plead- 
 ings for charity ! 
 
 Now we have only to ask our fellow-citi- 
 zens, what right they have to pursue an 
 employment tending thus to burden the 
 community with taxes, and to endanger the 
 dwellings of their fellow-men, and to send to 
 my door, and to every other man's door, 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 221 
 
 hordes of beggar's, loathsome to the sight, 
 or to compel the virtuous to seek out their 
 wives and children, amidst the squalidness of 
 poverty, and the cold of winter, and the 
 pinchings of hunger, to supply their wants ? 
 Could impartial justice be done in the world, 
 an end would soon be put to the traffic in 
 ardent spirits. Were every man bound to 
 alleviate all the wretchedness which his busi- 
 ness creates, to support all the poor which 
 his traffic causes, an end would soon be made 
 of this employment. But, alas ! you can dif- 
 fuse this poison for gain, and then call on 
 your industrious and virtuous countrymen to 
 alleviate the wretchedness, to tax themselves 
 to build granite prisons for the inmates 
 which your business has made ; and splendid 
 palaces, at an enormous expense, to extend a 
 shelter and a home for those whom your em- 
 ployment has turned from their own habita- 
 tions ! Is this a moral employment ? Would 
 it be well to obtain a living in this way in 
 any other business ? 
 
 5. The business is inconsistent witli the 
 law of God, which requires us to love our 
 
222 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 neighbor as ourselves. A sufficient proof of 
 this would be a fact which no one could 
 deny, that no man yet, probably, ever under- 
 took the business, or pursued it from that 
 motive. Its defense is not, and can not, be 
 put on that ground. No man in the commu- 
 nity believes that a continuance in it is re- 
 quired by a regard to the welfare of his 
 neighbor. Every one knows that his welfare 
 does not require it ; and that it would be 
 conferring an inestimable blessing on other 
 men, if the traffic was abandoned. The sin- 
 gle, sole object is gain ; and the sole question 
 is, whether the love of gain is a sufficient 
 motive for continuing that which works no 
 good, but constant ill to your neighbor. 
 
 There is another law of God which has an 
 important bearing on this subject. It is that 
 golden rule of the New Testament, which 
 commends itself to the conscience of all men, 
 to do to others as you would wish them to 
 do to you. You may easily conceive of your 
 having a son, who was in danger of becom- 
 ing a drunkard. Your hope might center in 
 him. He might be the stay of your age. 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 223 
 
 41x* may be inclined to dissipation ; and it 
 snay have required all your vigilance, and 
 prayers, and tears, and authority, to keep him 
 in the ways of soberness. The simple ques- 
 tion now is, what would you wish a neighbor 
 to do in such a case ? Would it be the de- 
 sire of your heart, that he should open a 
 fountain of poison at your next door ; that 
 he should, for gain, be willing to put a cup 
 into the hands of your son, and entice him 
 to the ways of intemperance ? Would you 
 -be pleased if he would listen to no remon- 
 strance of yours, if he should even disregard 
 your entreaties and your tears, and coolly 
 see, for the love of gold, ruin coming into 
 your family, and your prop taken from be- 
 neath you, and your gray hail's coming down 
 with sorrow to the grave ? And yet, to 
 many such a son may you sell the poison ; to 
 many a father, whose children are clothed in 
 rags ; to many a man, whose wife sits weep- 
 ing amidst poverty and want, and dreading 
 to hear the tread and the voice of the hus- 
 band of her youth, once her protector, who 
 now eomes to convert his own habitation into 
 
224 THE SILVER C U F 
 
 a hell. And there are not a few men of fmk 
 standing in society who are engaged in this ; 
 and not a few oh! tell it not in Gath 
 who claim the honored name of Christian, 
 and who profess to bear the image of Him 
 who went about doing good. Can such be a, 
 moral business ? 
 
 6. The traffic is a violation of that law* 
 wliich requires a man to honor God. Whether 
 ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all 
 to the glory of God. And yet, is this a 
 business which was ever engaged in, or ever 
 pursued, with a desire to honor God ? Is it 
 an employment over which a man will pray ? 
 Can he ask the God of heaven to give him, 
 success ? Let him then, in imagination, fol- 
 low what he sells, to its direct result ; let 
 him attend it to its final distribution of 
 poverty, and woes, and crimes, and death, 
 and then kneel before heaven's eternal King,, 
 and render thanksgiving for this success ! 
 Alas ! it can not be. Man pursues it, not; 
 from a desire to honor God. And can the 
 man who is engaged in a business on which; 
 he can not implore the- blessing of Heaven 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 225 
 
 who is obliged to conceal all thoughts of it 
 if he ever prays ; who never engaged in it 
 with a desire to glorify God, or meet his 
 approbation can he be engaged in a busi- 
 ness which is lawful and right ? 
 
 I might dwell further on these points. 
 But I am now prepared to ask, with empha- 
 sis, whether an employment that has been 
 attended with so many ills to the bodies and 
 souls of men ; with so much woe and crime ; 
 whose results are evil, and only evil contin- 
 ually ; an employment which cannot be pur- 
 sued without tending to destroy the very 
 purposes of the organization of society ; 
 without violating the rule which requires us 
 to render a valuable consideration in busi- 
 ness ; without violating the rule which re- 
 quires a man to promote the welfare of the 
 whole of the community; which promotes 
 pauperism and crime, and imposes heavy 
 burdens on your fellow-citizens ; which is 
 opposed equally to the love of man and the 
 law of God whether this is a moral, or cm 
 immoral employment ? 
 
 The question is submitted. If moral, it 
 10* 
 
226 THE SILVEK CUP 
 
 should be driven on with all the power of 
 American energy ; with all the aids of 
 wealth, and all the might of steam, and all 
 the facilities of rail roads and canals ; for 
 our country and the Church calls the man to 
 the honorable employment ? But if it be 
 immoral and wrong, it should be abandoned 
 on the spot. Not another gallon should ever 
 pass from your store, if it be evil, only evil, 
 and that continually. 
 
 Where does the water spring, gladsome and bright? 
 
 Here in the leafy grove, 
 
 Bubbling in life and love, 
 Born of the sunshine, up-leaping to light, 
 
 Waked in its pebbly bed, 
 
 When the still shadows fled, 
 Gushing, o'erflowing, down-tumbling, for flight. 
 
 Where does the water flow? where glides the rill? 
 Now 'neath the forest shade, 
 Then in the grassy glade, 
 
Otf SPARKLING DROPS. 227 
 
 ^Dancing as freely as child of the hill. 
 
 Bright cascades leaping, 
 
 Silver brooks creeping, 
 ^Wearing the mountains, and turning the mill. 
 
 "Where does the water dwell powerful and grand-? 
 
 Here where the ocean foam 
 
 Breaks in his rock-ribbed home, 
 Dashing, land-lashing, up-bounding, wrath-spanned^; 
 
 Anon, sweetly sleeping, 
 
 Soft dimples o'er-creeping, 
 iLike a babe on its mother's breast, soothed by her hand. 
 
 "Where smiles the dew-drop the night-shadows woo? 
 
 Where the young flowrets dip, 
 
 Laving each perfumed lip; 
 'Close in the rose's heart, loving and true; 
 
 Poised on an emerald shaft, 
 
 Where never sunbeam laughed, 
 Deep in the dingle the beautiful dew! 
 
 "Where glows the water pledge, given of old? 
 
 'Tis dropped down from God's throne, 
 
 When the shower is gone, 
 A chain of pure gems, linked with purple and gold; 
 
 In Eden hues blushing, 
 
 With infinity gushing, 
 A line from the Book of Life, its lore half untold. 
 
 The bright bow of promise; the signet of power; 
 The crown of the sky; 
 The pathway on high, 
 
228 tHE SILVER CtTF 
 
 Whence angels bend to usy when darksome clouds Iow3r $ 
 
 Breathing so silently, 
 
 Kindly and truthfully 
 Oh ! then* wings for a shield, in the wrath-bearing hour! 
 
 Then we'll love the threads lacing our beautiful world,, 
 
 Tangling the sunbeams, 
 
 Laughing in glorious gleams; 
 I'he wavelets all dimpled, and spray-tresses curled: 
 
 The tear on the flower's breast; 
 
 The gem in the ocean's crest; 
 And the ladder of angels, by rain-drops impearlecL 
 
 /mi unb last 
 
 "Pray for me, Mother! pray that no blight 
 May come on my hopes and prospects bright; 
 Pray that my days may be long and fair 
 Free from the cankering touch of care; 
 Pray that the laurels I grasp at now 
 May live ere long around my brow; 
 And pray that my gentle lady love 
 May be fond as the nightingale, true as the dove." 
 
 The mother knelt by her own hearth stone, 
 With her hand on the head of her only son; 
 
OF SPAIIKMXO DP. OPS. 229 
 
 And lifting up her glistening eye, 
 Prayed for all blessings fervently; 
 And then she took one lock of hair 
 From his manly forehead, smooth and fair, 
 And he kissed her cheek, and left her side 
 With a bounding step, and a smile of pride. 
 
 "Pray for me mother! pray, that ere long 
 My soul may be free as a wild bird's song, 
 That away on the wings of the wind is driven, 
 And goes to rest with them in heaven: 
 Pray for it, mother! nay, do not weep! 
 Thou wast want to bless my infant sleep; 
 And bless me now with thy gentle breath, 
 Ere I sink away in the sleep of death." 
 
 The mother knelt by his side again 
 Oh! her first prayer had been all in vain ! 
 His lady love had been false to him 
 His fame in slander's breath was dim; 
 She looked on his altered cheek and eye, 
 And she felt 't was best that he should die ! 
 Then she prayed for his death, in his fond despair, 
 And his soul passed away with that last wild prayer ! 
 
230 THE SILVEtt CUP 
 
 ttttjje Urigjit 
 
 Look at the bright side! The sun's golden rays 
 
 All nature illumine, and the heart of man cheereth; 
 
 Why wilt thou turn so perversely to gaze 
 
 On that dark cloud which now in the distance appeareth ! 
 
 Look at the bright side! Recount all thy joys; 
 
 Speak of the mercies which richly surround thee, 
 Muse not for ever on that which annoys: 
 
 Shut not thine eyes to the beauties around thee. 
 
 Look at the bright side! Mankind, it is true, 
 
 Have their failings, nor should they be spoken of lightly ; 
 
 But why on their faults concentrate thy view, 
 
 Forgetting their virtues which shine forth so brightly ? 
 
 Look at the bright side! And it shall impart 
 
 Sweet peace, and contentment, and grateful emotion, 
 
 Reflecting its own brilliant lines on thy heart, 
 
 As the sunbeams that mirror themselves in the ocean. 
 
 Look at the bright side! Nor yield to despair: 
 If some friends forsake, yet others still love thee; 
 
 And when the world seems mournful colors to wear, 
 Oh, look from the dark earth to heaven above thee. 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 231 
 
 BY MAKTIX F. TUPPEB, 
 
 No lovely thing on earth can picture all their beauty; 
 They be pearls flung on the rocks by the sullen waters 
 
 of Oblivion, 
 Which Dilligence loveth to gather and hang around the 
 
 neck of Memory; 
 They be white-winged seeds of happiness, wafted from 
 
 the islands of the blest, 
 Which Thought carefully tendeth, in the kindly garden 
 
 of the heart: 
 They be drops of the crystal dew, which the wings of 
 
 seraphs scatter, 
 When on some brighter Sabbath, their plumes quiver 
 
 most with delight. 
 Life-giving be they and glorious, redolent of sanctity and 
 
 heaven : 
 As the fumes of hallowed incense, that veil the throne 
 
 of the Most High; 
 A.S the beaded bubbles that sparkle on the rim of the 
 
 cup of Immortality: 
 ALS wreaths of the rainbow-spray, from the pure cataracts 
 
 of Truth: 
 Juch, and so precious, are the words which the lips of 
 
 Wisdom utter. 
 
232 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 t 
 
 LOUD blew the wind in the dreary month 
 of November, when a large party were as- 
 sembled around a glowing fire in the hospi- 
 table mansion of Dr. D - , late resident 
 
 physician of the Lunatic Asylum. 
 
 Music and dancing were laid aside, and all 
 eyes were bent, in eager expectation, on the 
 doctor, who held in his hand a book contain- 
 ing several lovely portraits. 
 
 "Did you indeed know the original of 
 this ? " exclaimed one of the group, pointing 
 to a beautiful girl, apparently about eighteen, 
 splendidly attired in a robe of white satin, 
 ornamented with pearls and orange flowers ; 
 " but how strange that black crape veil looks 
 over that elegant wreath ! " 
 
 " Yes, my dear girl, I knew her well, and 
 hers, alas ! is a sad, sad tale ; and now I 
 recollect, it was twenty years ago this very 
 day that I first became acquainted with her." 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 233 
 
 "Pray tell us how, dear Dr. D- ," 
 exclaimed a half dozen voices at once. And 
 thus petitioned, he began : 
 
 " Well, then, it is just twenty years ago 
 this very evening that I was aroused from a 
 gentle slumber, into which I had fallen in 
 my easy chair, by the entrance of a servant 
 with a note, which merely contained these 
 words : ' Dr. D - is entreated to lose no 
 
 time in hastening to the Inn, to meet a 
 
 patient destined to the Asylum, but 
 
 who is now too ill to proceed unless it be 
 under his care.' This inn was about sixteen 
 miles from my residence, situated on a dreaiy 
 moor many miles in extent, to reach which I 
 should have to traverse a most unfrequented 
 road. It was, therefore, in no good humor 
 that I proceeded to do the bidding of the 
 unknown writer ; for in his haste (the note 
 had evidently been written hurriedly) he had 
 forgotten to add his signature. The rain 
 was descending in torrents, and the wind 
 howled fearfully ; indeed, so terrific was the 
 storm that, at first, my horses refused to 
 brave it, but by dint of spurring and flogging 
 
234 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 we at last set off. Faster and faster fell the 
 rain, higher and higher rose the tempest, yet 
 still we journeyed on ; when suddenly the 
 progress of the carriage was arrested, and 
 the postilion informed me that the lights 
 were out, and he could not see a step. What 
 was to be . done ? To return was useless, 
 especially, as with the numerous cross-roads 
 by which our path would be intersected, it 
 would scarcely be possible in the dark to 
 take the right one ; and there we were, on 
 the borders of a wide common, without a 
 light or guide, and my servant totally igno- 
 rant of the country, having been in my 
 service only a few weeks. 
 
 "'You must trust to the horses,' I ex- 
 claimed ; ' I remember I baited them at this 
 inn once, though it is now a long time since.' 
 
 " Slowly, and step by step, we proceeded ; 
 now splashing through what were once rivu- 
 lets, or, at least, but brawling brooks, but 
 which the floods had swollen into torrents ; 
 then coming in contact with branches of 
 trees, which the blast had riven, for the 
 storm still raged with unabated fury, and it 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 235 
 
 must have been past midnight when my ser- 
 vant descried a light in the distance. ' Make 
 for it,' was my order, and, with what haste 
 he could, he obeyed. The light, which was 
 at first very faint, gradually became more dis- 
 tinct, and at last we discovered ourselves 
 near a cottage, which my recollection told me 
 was about five miles from my destination. 
 As we drew near, a sudden thought darted 
 across my mind had not dark tales of 
 darker doings reached me about this very 
 dwelling ? I would fain have passed, but 
 procure a light we must ; there was, now, no 
 help for it, and I bade my servant arouse the 
 inmates. A few knocks, and a man's voice 
 gruffly asked : 
 
 " ' Who 's there ? ' 
 
 " ' Dr. D ,' I replied, thinking it bet- 
 ter at once to let them know who I was : ' I 
 am on my way to a patient, and if you will 
 give my servant a light, I shall be obliged to 
 you, as my lamps are gone out.' 
 
 " c A light was soon procured, and he bade 
 us a surly c Good night,' but not before I had 
 discerned the sturdy figures of two or three 
 
236 THE SILVEK C UJP 
 
 ill-looking fellows peering at me through the 
 half-open door. Great caution was necessary 
 in crossing the heath, for, even by daylight, it 
 was dangerous to do so ; and slowly we pro- 
 ceeded on our dreary way. Unwilling to 
 alarm my servant, yet feeling how necessaiy 
 it was for him to be on his guard, I was just 
 about to bid him keep a good look-out, when, 
 amid the howling of the storm I heard a 
 faint whistle, and, in a few seconds, I fancied 
 it was returned. 4 Report, then, has not 
 wronged these villians,' I mentally exclaimed, 
 and my first step was to order the postilion 
 to drive for his life, my next to bethink me of 
 some weapon of defense. I had none, but a 
 case of surgical instruments, which, by mere 
 chance, I happened to have about me ; but 
 what were these against well-armed ruffians ? 
 At that instant the horses were suddenly 
 seized, the postilion knocked off, and two 
 men presented themselves with loaded pistols 
 at each door of the carriage. Resistance, I 
 saw at a glance, would be useless nay, 
 madness ; and I felt the necessity of obeying 
 their command to deliver up my- purse, when 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 237 
 
 the tramp of horses' feet was heard, and the 
 sound of voices reached us ; nearer and 
 nearer they came ; and my assailants, fearful, 
 (for conscience makes cowards of us all,) hur- 
 ried off, and left me at the mercy of the new 
 comers. Fortunately, they proved to be two 
 persons sent from the inn to expedite my ar- 
 rival, as, from the delay, they feared that 
 some accident had occurred, or that I had 
 lost my way. Under their guidance I soon 
 reached the inn, and was met at the door by 
 a venerable old man, whose silver locks 
 floated in the cold night wind, and whose 
 furrowed cheek was coursed by many a tear. 
 " ' My child ! oh ! save my child ! ' broke 
 from his trembling lips, as, with a convulsive 
 grasp, he seized my hand, and hurrying me 
 into the house, threw open the door of a 
 small room,- where, reclining on a sofa, was a 
 being beautiful as thought. Her jet-black 
 tresses were scattered in rich profusion over 
 the humble pillow which supported her 
 death-like form ; and, though the pallor of 
 death cast its marble hue over her counte- 
 nance, nought could surpass its loveliness. 
 
238 THE SILVER CTTP 
 
 " ' Save ! oil ! save my child ! ' again and 
 again groaned the old man, 4 and I will bless 
 you ; give me back my loved, my only one.' 
 
 " But there she lay, motionless and appa 
 rently lifeless ; and, in answer to my queries, 
 I learned that she had been in that state for 
 nearly twelve hours. At first, they thought 
 she had fainted, but, as the usual remedies 
 had been resorted to without effect, it was 
 deemed desirable to send for me. An elderly 
 female attendant, who replied to my ques- 
 tions, watched with great anxiety my counte- 
 nance, as I examined the pulse of my patient, 
 and, by a sign, gave me to understand that 
 she had some thing to communicate. An 
 opportunity soon presented itself, and she in- 
 formed me with great emotion that the mind 
 of her young lady was affected. ' Yet, he 
 can not believe it,' she said, c and it is only 
 through the solicitations of his friends, and 
 at the earnest request of her medical atten- 
 dants, that her father has consented to her 
 being removed from home. Every doctor in 
 London, of any skill, has been consulted, 
 and all say that the Asylum is the 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 239 
 
 only place for her. It lias cost my master 
 many thousands, and I 'm sure he would not 
 mind as many more could Miss Lucy I 
 mean Mrs. Ventnor recover.' 
 
 " ' Mrs. Ventnor ! ' I exclaimed, ' surely she 
 is not married ! so young, too ; poor girl ! ' 
 
 " i Yes, sir,' said the old nurse, ' she is very 
 young, hardly nineteen ; and she was not 
 eighteen when she was married.' 
 
 "'But how came this dreadful calamity 
 to befall her ? ' I asked ; ' not ill-treatment, I 
 hope?' 
 
 " ' Oh, no ! doctor, for he loved the ground 
 she walked on ; but he died suddenly the 
 day they were married, and her brain has 
 been turned ever since.' 
 
 " Here our conversation was interrupted 
 by the frequent repetition of my name, and 
 I hastened to return to the room from which 
 I had heard it. I soon perceived the cause 
 of the summons, in the altered appearance 
 of my patient. A slight flush tinged her 
 cheek, and she sighed heavily ; and though 
 no ray of intelligence beamed from the 
 half-open eye, still any change was better 
 
240 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 than the lethargic state in which she had 
 so long lain. 
 
 " 4 She lives ! she breathes ! ' exclaimed the 
 doatirig father. ' Lucy, my hope, my pride, 
 the solace "of my old age, speak to me one 
 word, only one, to bless and cheer me ! ' and 
 the old man sank on his knees and sobbed 
 like a child. 
 
 " After a short interval, I considered it ad- 
 visable that the invalid should reach her 
 resting place as soon as possible, and, accord- 
 ingly, we commenced our journey home- 
 ward. Pitying the distress of Mr. Beverton, 
 I requested him to become my guest for a 
 few days, until he had, in some little measure, 
 overcome his reluctance to leave his daughter 
 with strangers. For the first few days, Lucy 
 lay in an unconscious state, heeding nothing, 
 and seemingly ignorant of any change in the 
 persons or things about her ; but by degrees, 
 her accustomed wildness of manner returned, 
 and on paying my usual morning visit, I one 
 day found her arrayed exactly as described 
 in this portrait, with a cheek as hueless as 
 the flowei*s that bound her raven hair. A 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. -241 
 
 White satin robe fell in massy folds around 
 -her perfect figure. It was her bridal dress ; 
 and yet, as if, even in her madness, a gleam 
 -of the sad truth had burst forth, she had 
 thrown a widow's veil over her wreath of 
 orange flowers. 
 
 " ' See, see ! ' she whispered in a mysterious 
 manner, ' this is my wedding-day, and this,,' 
 -extending her delicate finger on which she 
 wore a plain wedding-ring, ' is his gift ; my 
 own Charles placed it there ; ' and kissing it 
 fondly, she murmured, l we will never, never 
 part. Is not this beautiful ? ' she continued, 
 drawing frem her bosom a silken bag, -which 
 ^contained a small piece of paper, from which 
 -she read, in a low, sweet tone, the following 
 iines : 
 
 "'There's not a word thy lip hath breathed, 
 A look thine eye hath given, 
 That is not shrined within my heart 
 Like to a dream of heaven. 
 There's not a spot where we -have met, 
 A favorite flower or tree; 
 There's not a scene by thee beloved 
 ITbat is not prized by me. 
 
 t 
 
242 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Whene'er I hear the linnet's song, 
 
 Or the blithe woodlark's lay, 
 
 Or mark upon the golden west 
 
 The rosy clouds decay; 
 
 Whene'er I catch the breath of flowers, 
 
 Or music from the tree, 
 
 Thought wings her way to distant bowersy 
 
 And memory clings to thee,' 
 
 "As she concluded these beautiful l!nes> 
 rendered still more touching by her impas- 
 sioned manner, she paused, and a shade of 
 sadness flitted over her lovely face ; then 
 tittering a fearful shriek, which the lapse of 
 years has not effaced from my recollection, 
 she seized my arm and screamed forth in 
 accents of terror : 
 
 at They shall not tear thee from me ! I 
 will cling to thee while I have life ! Charles I 
 Charles ! do you not hear me ? ' T is Lucy r 
 thine own Lucy, who calls thee, and bids 
 thee stay. See ! see ! they mock at my des- 
 pair ! fiends, devils, furies, all the powers of 
 earth shall not wrest him from me ! Father! 
 father ! help ! for God's sake help ! ' 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 243 
 
 " For hours after this sad scene the unfor- 
 tunate girl lay in the same state as when I 
 first saw her. Vainly did I resort to every 
 possible restorative, and I indeed feared that 
 the bruised and wounded spirit had quitted 
 its earthly abode ; but it was not so. Slowly 
 and sadly the long hours of that dreary 
 night wore on, and the solemn stillness was 
 broken only by the sobs of the poor old 
 man, watching with a parent's love for the 
 slightest ray of hope ; but as the gray dawn 
 appeared, poor Lucy gave some signs of re- 
 turning life, and at last she murmured forth 
 some indistinct words. Having again success- 
 fully administered further restoratives, I left 
 left her to the care of her nurse, enjoining 
 quietude, and promising to see her again in 
 two hours. As I approached her chamber, 
 the full, rich, mellow tones of a female voice 
 burst on my ear, now swelling to its fullest 
 extent, now dying on my entranced senses 
 with an unearthly sweetness. Oh ! never, 
 never had I heard so wild, so sweet, a strain. 
 The words for as I drew near I could 
 distinguish them were these : 
 
44 THE SILVER CtJt> 
 
 'They bid me forget thee, they tell me that 
 The grave damp is staining that beautiful brow; 
 But thy gay laugh returns in the silence of sleep t 
 And I start from my slumbers to listen and weep>' 
 
 ".'Doctor, doctor,' eagerly exclaimed the 
 father, as I gently opened the door, l there is 
 hope I see, I feel there is hope for she 
 weeps.' 
 
 " And so it was ; her own sad, sweet mel- 
 ody had opened the flood-gates of her grief, 
 and she wept long and violently; indeed, so 
 unrestrained was her emotion that I dreaded 
 its effects on her delicate frame. 
 
 " * Father ! dear father ! ' she at last said, 
 in a low, faint voice, ' come nearer, closer, yet 
 closer. Where am I, father 2 not in my own 
 loved home ! Father ! dear father ! tell me.' 
 
 "The old man struggled to repress his 
 emotion, (for I whispered ' Be calm, for 
 God's sake, be calm ! any excitement will 
 destroy her,') and said : 
 
 " ' You are with your friends, dearest, with 
 those who love and cherish you ; compose 
 yourself, my own one. You have been ill, 
 
OF SPARKLING DEOPS 245 
 
 very ill; but the Almighty has hear my 
 prayers and restored you to me.' 
 
 " t Oh, father ! I have had a fearful dream. 
 I thought it was my bridal-day, and that, 
 leaning on your arm, I stood before the altar. 
 Charles, too, was there ; and when I gave 
 him my hand, liis hand was cold, icy cold ; 
 and when he should have spoken, his lips 
 were motionless ; and there, standing by his 
 side, was a skeleton form, which wound its 
 arms around him, and bore him from me. 
 Oh ! so fearful was it, that now, even now, I 
 can scarcely doubt its dreadful reality.' 
 
 "At that moment, her eye fell on her 
 strange attire the black veil falling in 
 folds over her snowy dress, and the bridal 
 token glittering on her finger then, with 
 a piercing shriek, which rose higher and 
 higher, till it ended in the yell of a maniac, 
 she fell senseless in the outstretched arms of 
 her father. Life was indeed extinct, and her 
 pure spirit had taken its everlasting flight; 
 the silver cord, which had been too highly 
 strung, had snapped in twain, and the Wid- 
 owed Bride lay motionless and dead. 
 
246 THE SILVEE CUP 
 
 " Would that I had been spared the sight 
 of that old man's grief ; there he knelt, sup- 
 porting the lifeless form of his only child. 
 His whole frame shook with emotion, and 
 cold drops of agony burst from every pore. 
 
 '"My child! my child!' at length he 
 groaned ; 'my pride, my joy, the bright star 
 of my existence, my beautiful, my true ; 
 would that I had died for thee, my child, my 
 child!' 
 
 " His voice grew fainter, and fainter, his 
 grasp grew less firm, the eyes became fixed. 
 I looked : he was dead ! Yes, they who had 
 loved so well and truly in life, in death were 
 not separated. They sleep together in the 
 
 family vault, in Church, and this simple 
 
 inscription alone marks her monument 
 'THE WIDOWED BRIDE.'" 
 
 BY MRS. E. J. EAMES. 
 
 Come back to me, my child! I call thee ever, 
 All the day long I listen for thy voice, 
 The ringing laugh that made my heart rejoice; 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 247 
 
 I miss it 'midst life's languishment and fever! 
 For thy blue eyes of love and light I pine, 
 
 Thy twining arms thy frequent soft caress: 
 Like balmiest summer, stole thy lips to mine. 
 
 Oh! at still eve, my heart how didst thou bless! 
 Come back, my child! I wander hopeless-hearted 
 
 Where'er thy little feet have dancing stray'd; 
 Sad is the home whence thy sweet face hath parted 
 
 Silent the nursery where thou'st prattling played! 
 Earth wears for me but one unvaring gloom, 
 O'ershadowed by the thought that thou art in the tomb! 
 
 Come back to me, my child! though but in dreams 
 
 Thine angel- image let me clasp once more! 
 If haply, o'er my couch still slumber gleams, 
 
 The night-time may thy rosy lips restore, 
 Thy downy cheek laid lovingly to mine. 
 
 Thy sweet "my mother," in thy dreaming sleep 
 While thy small arms around me closer twine. 
 
 My idol-boy ! I wake to weep, 
 Never again on earth shall I behold thee! 
 
 Thou'st left my side, and gone to other rest! 
 My child ! I know the Saviour's arms enfold thee, 
 
 I know thou leanest on his pitying breast, 
 A blessed lot! my child! oh, ask for me, 
 That where thy home is, mine ere long may be! 
 

 248 THIT SILVER CUP 
 
 BY MISS PHEBE CAREY. 
 
 Once in the season of childhood's joy,, 
 
 Dreaming never of life's great ills, 
 Hand in hand with a happy bay, 
 
 I walked about on my native hills. 
 
 Gathering berries ripe and fair, 
 
 Pressing them oft to his smiling lip 
 
 Braiding flowers in his sunny hair, 
 
 And letting the curls through my fingers slips. 
 
 Watching the clouds of the evening pass 
 Over the moon in our home of blue; 
 
 Or chasing fireflies over the grass, 
 
 Filling our feet with the summer dew*, 
 
 Now I walk on the hills alone, 
 
 Dreaming never of hope or joy, 
 And over a dungeon's floor of stone,. 
 
 Sweeps the curls of that happy boy_ 
 
 And every night where a rose hedge springs 
 Up from the ashes of a sunset's pyre, 
 
 And the eve-star folding her golden wings,. 
 Droops like a bird in. the leaves of fire*. 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 249 
 
 I sit and think how he entered in, 
 And farther and farther every time, 
 
 Followed the downward way of sin, 
 Till it led to the awful gates of crime. 
 
 I sit and think till my great despair, 
 
 Rises up like a mighty wave; 
 How fast the locks of my father's hair, 
 
 Are whitening now for the quiet grave. 
 
 But never reproach on my lip has been, 
 
 Never one moment can I forget, 
 Though bound in prison, and lost in sin, 
 
 My brother once, is my brother yet. 
 
 nngof a (laarbian Iptrtt 
 
 BY MRS. HEMAXS. 
 
 Near thee, still near thee ! o'er thy pathway gliding, 
 
 Unseen I pass thee with the wind's low sigh ; 
 Life's veil enfolds thee still, our eyes dividing, 
 Yet viewless love floats round thee silently ! 
 Not midst the festal throng, 
 In halls of mirth and song; 
 But when thy thoughts are deepest, 
 When holy tears thou weepst, 
 
 Know then that Love is nigh! 
 11* 
 
250 THE SILVEU CUP 
 
 "When the night's whisper o'er harp-strings creeping. 
 
 Or the sea-music on the sounding shore, 
 Or breezy anthems through the forest sweeping, 
 Shall move thy trembling spirit to adore; 
 When every thought and prayer 
 We loved to breathe and share, 
 On thy full heart returning, 
 Shall wake its voiceless yearning; 
 Then feel me near once more! 
 
 Near thee, still near thee! trust thy soul's deep 
 
 cfreaming 
 
 Oh! love is not an earthly rose, to die! 
 E'en when I soar where fiery stars are beaming, 
 Thine image wanders with me through the sky. 
 The fields of air are free, 
 Yet lonely, wanting thee; 
 But when thy chains are falling, 
 When heaven its own is calling, 
 Know then thy guide is nigh! 
 
 JESUS stood upon Mount Olivet, and, look 
 ing down upon the holy city, wept, and said, 
 " How offc would I have gathered you but 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 251 
 
 ye would not." Again, as he drew near he 
 cried, " O that thou hadst known, even thou, 
 in this thy day, the things that belonged to 
 thy peace, but now are they hid from thine 
 eyes." " The days shall come in which thine 
 enemies shall compass thee on every side, 
 and lay thee even with the ground, and 
 thy children within thee." 
 
 Thirty years had now elapsed since these 
 prophetic words were uttered, and still upon 
 Mount Zion stands Jerusalem the pride 
 and boast of Israel. Her massive walls, her 
 glittering turrets, and lofty colonnades are 
 glorious still. Her temple-gates are thronged 
 with worshipers, who, from the farthest cor- 
 ner of Judea's realm, have here assembled to 
 celebrate the feast. 
 
 But hark ! what sound is that which swells 
 upon the breeze, and echoes from the neigh- 
 boring mountains. 'Tis not the solemn 
 chant of praise ascending to the God of 
 Israel, for naught but harsh and jarring 
 discord meets the ear. 
 
 ' T is even true ; within those sacred walls 
 Are fighting, murder, and contention fierce. 
 
252 THE SILVER GTTF 
 
 Still, all without Jerusalem is peace. Na- 
 ture seems hushed to silence. There is Si- 
 loam's shady fountain ; the Mount of Olives, 
 and the hallowed garden stretch beyond in 
 all their loveliness ; and here, beneath the 
 lofty battlement runs Kedron's murmuring 
 stream. But soon the scene is changed. A 
 nation, swift and mighty, comes from far 
 and now the Koman eagle flaps his dark and 
 deadly pinions over the fair heritage of Ju- 
 dah's children. Now do the little band of 
 Christ's disciples remember his prophetic 
 warning. They hasten to the mountains, 
 and thus escape the dread destruction poured 
 upon the guilty. Vengeance waits no longer. 
 Now had the day of desolation fully come. 
 For five months had the army of Titus en- 
 compassed this devoted city, while within its 
 walls, faction, famine, and pestilence had car- 
 ried on the work of death. But now the 
 cup of their iniquities was filled. Prophets 
 for them had spent their lives in toil and 
 suffering, praying for them that God would 
 spare his judgments, though so richly mer- 
 ited. But they had killed the holy men. 
 
OF SPARKLING DKOPS. 253 
 
 At length God sent his Son, but him they 
 had despised, scorned, and rejected, though 
 he did among them works which none before 
 had ever done. They brought the blessed 
 Jesus to the Roman judgment bar. Here 
 crowds gathered round him, and the mur- 
 derers cried, " O, crucify him ! crucify him ! 
 and let his blood be on us and on our chil- 
 dren." That prayer ascended to the throne, 
 of Him who sits upon the heavens; and 
 answer was not long denied. 
 
 A change comes over Palestine. " Jerusa- 
 lem is compassed round with armies." For 
 many days unearthly sounds were heard, and 
 fearful signs and wonders in the sky ap- 
 peared. A " flaming sword," suspended in 
 the heavens seemed to threaten vengeance. 
 Still did these deluded Jews believe that 
 their deliverance was sure. They thought 
 the God of Israel would soon appear to 
 help and save, and trusted, ere another night, 
 the Roman legions would be slain, even as 
 were the hosts of proud Assyria, before " the 
 Lord's destroying angel.'' 
 
 As the last morning dawns upon their 
 
254 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 glorious city, crowds are seen rushing to the 
 temple. The unholy priests kneel round the 
 altar, but even this is not a refuge. God's 
 house is not a Sanctuary, for he has left it, 
 and the bright- winged messengers of mercy 
 all have fled from this polluted place. The 
 troops of Titus now have gained the citadel ; 
 its lofty walls have given way, and trampling 
 on the famished troops, the infuriate soldiers 
 rush with madness toward th.A temple-porch. 
 The holiest is polluted with unhallowed foot- 
 steps, and, round the consecrated, strown, are 
 seen the mangled bodies of unholy men. 
 
 Even now the flames are tow'ring from the 
 mountain, up toward heaven. Loud shrieks 
 and lamentations rend the air. The beau- 
 tiful and holy temple is enveloped in the 
 flames. Not all the efforts of the mighty 
 Roman could avail to spare this glorious 
 building for God had said, " one stone 
 shall not be left upon another." Oh ! Jeru- 
 salem ! it is hi vain for thy deluded sons to 
 plead for mercy, or to seek the place where 
 God once met to bless thee. Thou need'st 
 not now cry unto Him, whom thou hast so 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 255 
 
 long scorned. Turn not thy eyes toward the 
 place where late thy temple stood, as if ex- 
 pecting aid from thence. Thy God has left 
 thee, and thou art cast off to be destroyed. 
 
 The work of desolation now is completed. 
 The Roman turns and looks upon the scene 
 of conquest. Well may he exclaim, "had 
 not our helper been the mighty God, these 
 walls had not been turned from their founda- 
 tions. Even now Jerusalem had been the 
 praise of all the earth." 
 
 Centuries have since gone by, and Judah 
 lies a " field of ruins " "a curse devours it," 
 and even now " it mourns for the iniquities 
 of them that dwelt therein." 
 
 A remnant of the chosen still survive, but 
 scattered over all the earth ; and to this day 
 remain a " bruised and persecuted people," 
 without an " ephod, teraphim, and sacrifice." 
 Still they call our God their Father and 
 shall they own the Prince of Glory, even 
 Jesus, as their King ? And can it be that 
 unrepented sins shall always shut on them 
 the door of mercy ? Ah, no ! the promise 
 of a faithful God is pledged, his covenant is 
 
256 THE SILVER CtJP 
 
 sure. " They shall repent," and He will yet 
 restore his long-lost, chosen people. The 
 mists of unbelief shall flee before the beams 
 of the Sun of Righteousness ; and in the 
 new Jerusalem above, angelic choirs shall 
 louder swell their notes of praise, when 
 God's first chosen one shall stand before his 
 throne with all the ransomed throng. " Then 
 shall they serve Him in his temple day and 
 night, and He that sitteth on the throne shall 
 dwell among them." 
 
 BY J. CLEMENT. 
 
 man! the day is sunny, 
 
 And its censer full of balm; 
 The air is bland and bracing, 
 
 And it nerves the brawny arm. 
 Then while the light is streaming 
 
 On the whitened fields around, 
 And the voices of the reapers 
 
 Like a holy anthem souad, 
 Into the golden harvest 
 
 Thrust the sickle with thy might, 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 257 
 
 For fast the day is waning; 
 And cometh soon the night. 
 
 O 
 
 worn and weary worker, 
 
 Whose sun is in the West, 
 Thy labor, nearly ended, 
 
 Will sweeten coming rest. 
 
 O 
 
 And great shall be the honor 
 
 Of thy spirit, truly just, 
 When the task of life is finished 
 
 And thy body lies in dustj 
 For the toilers in the vineyard 
 
 Of the glorious God of love, 
 For ever rest from labor 
 
 In the palaces above. 
 
 nf 
 
 A widow knelt, at eventide, in the holy act of prayer, 
 Amid the young and sireless band entrusted to her care : 
 Meekly and trustfully she sued before the Power divine, 
 Yet closed each prayer with these deep words, " Lord, 
 not my will, but thine." 
 
 She prayed her little ones drew near for all th.a 
 fatherless* 
 
258 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 And, with clasped hands, besought our Lord her tender 
 flock to bless, 
 
 And "with the needed strength to nerve her faint and err- 
 ing heart, 
 
 To train them in the way from which they never might 
 depart. 
 
 She prayed her voice grew tremulous for one who 
 
 long had been 
 
 A reekless wanderer from her arms, a reveler in sin, 
 Her first-born son, who scorned alike her prayers and her 
 
 reproof, 
 And from his home and God, for years, had coldly kept 
 
 aloof. 
 
 She prayed ; and the warm eloquence of stung but hoping 
 
 love 
 Bore on ite swift and fervid wings these heart-wrung words 
 
 above : 
 " Lord ! my Lord ! thou yet wilt have compassion on 
 
 my tears, 
 Nor turn to dust the lone desire of all my widowed years. 
 
 "He is my child, he was the first fair blossom from thy 
 
 hand, 
 Pure as the snow-drop, when the spring first breathes upon 
 
 the land : 
 He seemed to love thee, ere the blight had fallen on his 
 
 soul, 
 Or vile companions had enticed to drain the maddening 
 
 boivl. 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 259 
 
 u ! by the holy water poured upon his infant brow, 
 
 When with rapt soul I breathed to Heaven the dedicating 
 vow, 
 
 By all my heavy, darkened days, by all my sleepless 
 nights, 
 
 When striving with this cankering woe, that every pleas- 
 ure blights, 
 
 By the last boon his father craved, J mid dissolution's 
 pangs, 
 
 I pray thee, snatch my dying child from out the tempter's 
 fangs. 
 
 u Call home the prodigal, a feast of love awaits him 
 
 still; 
 Yet pardon this weak heart, if aught it asks against thy 
 
 will. 
 Oh ! frenzied is a mother's love, such frenzied love is 
 
 mine; 
 Yet shall it yield its strength to thee : " Lord, not my will, 
 
 but thine." 
 
 A cry is heard : a loathsome form in tattered garb draws 
 
 ne.tr ; 
 A sobbing voice breathes, * Mother,' in the widow's startled 
 
 ear! 
 
 0, doth the mighty God at last her sad petition heed ? 
 He doth, he doth, and answers it, in this her hour of need. 
 
 The wanderer weeps upon her neck, hot, penitential tears ; 
 He had come back, with calous heart, to bid farewell for 
 years; 
 
260 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 When that wild prayer his bosom pierced, like lightning 
 
 from the heaven ; 
 And now, as when a little child, he prays to be forgiven. 
 
 Oh ! ye who mourn o'er blighted hopes, o'er loved ones 
 
 gone astray, 
 
 Do ye, like him who craves for bread, importunately pray ? 
 Though many blessed gifts are ours without our anxious 
 
 thought, 
 There are some boons that with our prayers and tears 
 
 alone are bought. 
 
 i lopes of 
 
 BY MBS. D. E. GOODMAN. 
 
 How fleeting, how transient are the dreams 
 of life, and yet, how beautiful ! How bright 
 and gladsome is this fair earth, with its bold 
 mountains reaching to heaven, its gentle, ver- 
 dant hillocks, its towering trees, its rippling 
 rills ; and then the music of its singing 
 birds oh, how soothingly it falls upon the 
 ear ! Spring, glad, merry, delightful 
 spring, how the eye kindles and the cheek 
 glows, as the chained rivulets burst their 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 261 
 
 long and weary confinement, and spring 
 forth, frolicking and dancing, like a child of 
 the wild-wood : and then to see in every 
 nook and glen, by eveiy murmuring stream, 
 and over each verdant meadow, tiny, modest, 
 beautiful buds and flowers starting to birth, 
 as if some angel's breath had fanned the 
 whole earth. Oh, it is so enchanting. But 
 who has not mourned to see these bright 
 things wither, to see the green, thick foliage 
 turn pale, and fall helplessly to be trodden 
 under foot, to listen to the last trembling 
 note of that fairy song, whose melody had 
 soothed the heart full oft ! And it is even 
 so with earth's fairest dreams. Happy he 
 whose only source of grief, whose only cause 
 for weeping, has been the death of a favorite 
 flower, or the loss of a cherished bird ! For 
 will not spring return, with added loveliness 
 to the sleeping earth, will not her flowers 
 bloom again, and her songsters fill the air 
 with their quivering, melting, strains ! But 
 the bright dreams of childhood, the visions of 
 early youth, once crushed and withered, when 
 will tliey again gladden the heart ? Never ! 
 
262 THE SILVER OtTP 
 
 I knew a fair young girl, who dwelt witK 
 in a happy home, the pride, the joy, of fond 
 indulgent parents, and the fairest blossom 
 that threw its light across their pathway. 
 Gentle, loving, beautiful, she had won the 
 love of all who knew her, and on her youth- 
 ful head, were showered the blessings of 
 young and old. It was a sweet retired spot, 
 the house of her happy childhood a fairy 
 abode in the bosom of New England. No 
 strife or contention dwelt within its borders, 
 and hers was the sunny face, and hers the 
 joyous laugh that chased the cloud from 
 every brow, and brought peace to every 
 heart. It was a glad spring morning, and 
 the cottage windows were open to admit the 
 morning breeze. Its snowy sides nearly con- 
 cealed by clambering vines, whose slender 
 tendrils had wound themselves together, 
 forming, with the glossy leaves, a beautiful, 
 shadowy curtain ; and the drooping branches 
 of the stately trees bent with their cluster- 
 ing foliage shelteringly over the low roof. 
 Bright, lovely flowerets peeped out from 
 their grassy beds, while from their fragrant 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 263 
 
 bosoms the pure sunbeams kissed the silver 
 dew-drops. Oh, how surpassingly fair was 
 all without, as if no mildew were there to 
 blight, no rude, cold breath to wither, and 
 within the rural cot were joy and grief com- 
 mingled. It was ADA'S wedding morn. 
 Meekly she stood before the venerable pas- 
 tor, whose hand had placed upon her infant 
 brow the sacred seal, and whose kindly 
 beaming eyes had watched her budding 
 charms with all a father's fondness in their 
 expression. Calmly she stood there, with 
 her dark, soft eyes smiling, yet cheerful, her 
 cheek a little paler than usual, and a slight 
 tremor on her red lip. A pure, snowy, half- 
 opened rose-bud, gleamed out from among 
 the heavy braids of her raven hair, and a 
 few natural, glossy curls fell from her white 
 broad forehead over her neck, resting in 
 pleasing contrast upon the plain white muslin 
 dress which hung gracefully about her form. 
 By her side, and clasping her slender fin- 
 gers, was the chosen of her young heart a 
 manly, noble youth, with a dark, high brow, 
 and a thousand ringlets clustering above it, 
 
364 THE SILVEK CUP 
 
 yes, whose passionate, earnest depths told 
 the love he bore the gentle creature he was - 
 soon to call his own. A sorrowful yet happy 
 group surrounded the youthful pair. There 
 was a white-haired sire, with his lofty, in- 
 tellectual forehead wrinkled by age and 
 browned by exposure, eyes moistened yet 
 beaming with love and gratitude, and a heart 
 fresh and loving as a youthful maiden's. 
 Leaning upon his shoulder was an aged ma- 
 tron, upon whose truthful, soul-lit face were 
 visible the deep and various emotions which 
 stirred her maternal bosom. Nearer the 
 youthful bride, and gazing into her calm, 
 serene face was a young creature, scarcely 
 less lovely, with the same deep, dreamy eyes, 
 &nd open brow, the same dimpled mouth and 
 jetty tresses. A brother too, just stepping 
 into manhood, with the unsullied light of 
 youth's fair hopes undimmed, and several 
 little ones, with faces like an April sky, tear- 
 ful and sunny, hovered near the loved, the 
 idolized. That morning saw the new-made 
 bride depart for a far distant home a 
 home in the Western wilds. ' Light was the 
 
*>F SPAKXLING DEO PS. 265 
 
 lieart and blissful were the dreams that went 
 *with the youth and his own Ada from that 
 cottage, and the groups of yearning kindred, 
 'who wept to see them depart. But, alas ! 
 for the hopes of earth ! Two years had 
 swiftly fled, and the second returning spring 
 brought to the old man's dwelling a bowed 
 ;and stricken form. The husband of their 
 dead child had returned with the heavy hand 
 of anguish on his heart, and hope's bright 
 -garland withered. In his arm he bore a 
 cherub boy, on whose dimpled cheek was the 
 rich glow of health, and in his dark eye the 
 oul of his angel-mother beamed. The wea- 
 ried husband told the gathered mourning 
 band how the flower had faded and died 
 upon his bosom ; and of the holy smile 
 ^vhich lingered on the cold lips after the 
 spirit had left its clay tenement. He told 
 them how his trembling fingers had parted 
 the damp curls from her marbk forehead, 
 and twined among the glossy, shining tresses 
 a shriveled rose-bud the same that had 
 nestled there on her bridal morn and how 
 her green grave, with its simple monument 
 
 12 
 
2ot> THE SILVER OUF 
 
 of snowy marble, on which was only insert 
 bed, 4 Ada,' was sheltered by a weeping wil- 
 low, whose long, drooping boughs waved 
 above her head. That long weary summer 
 passed away, and when the autumn frosts 
 had changed the fresh, green leaves of the 
 forest trees to their pale hue, they gently fell 
 upon his resting place. The youthful hus- 
 band had followed his lovely bride to that 
 home above ' that house not made with 
 hands/ where pain and parting are no more. 
 Another form comes up before me now : 
 it is that of a youthful maiden. I knew her 
 well. She had culled earth's fairest flowers^ 
 and found them thornless ; she had dreamed 
 earth's brightest dreams, and cherished 
 earth's fondest hopes, and never, never had 
 a cloud of darkness hung upon* her brow. 
 One day, when the face of Nature was smil- 
 ing and blushing beneath the warm, pure 
 rays of an autumn sun, and the' deep blue of 
 autumn skies, she went forth from her pleas- 
 ant, happy home a bride. Oh, who may 
 tell the visions of gladness and joy which 
 rose, dim and shadowy, in the distant future ! 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 267 
 
 Who may know the blissful, trembling emo- 
 tions of her soul, and the hopes which 
 crowded her youthful bosom ! 
 
 Months passed away, and she was still 
 blessed still happy. But a dark day was 
 drawing on, a shadow of awful darkness hov- 
 ered about her pathway : yet she knew it 
 not. The sunny light of hope and love was 
 on her brow, and in the depths of her heart. 
 She had bowed before an earthly shrine, and 
 poured her deepest, intensest feeling upon an 
 earthly object ; but the cloud above her 
 head thickened, and when least expected 
 burst upon her. Wildly she hung above the 
 death-bed of the stricken one, and prayed 
 oh, how fervently, for the life of him who 
 was her all her idol. Slowly, but surely, 
 the tyrant approached, and at last his icy fin- 
 gers moved among the tender heartstrings, 
 and they ceased to vibrate his cold breath 
 passed over the marble brow and it was chil- 
 led. Desparingly she gazed upon the still 
 features whose beauty death itself could not 
 destroy, and with her trembling, white fingers 
 laid the chesnut curls back from the pale 
 
268 THIS SILVER CUP 
 
 forehead. Who shall tell the thoughts of 
 agony that crowded through her torn bosom. 
 Oh, who may know the unutterable anguish 
 of her heart ! Days and weeks passed away, 
 but the free sunlight of her early dreams 
 came not again. There was a fixed grief at 
 her heart's core, a settled melancholy upon 
 her pale face, which told that in the low 
 grave of her soul's idol were buried all her 
 earthly hopes. 
 
 I never see a fairy girl, with health's glow 
 npon her cheek, and love's light in her beam- 
 ing eye I never hear her silvery laugh, and 
 listen to the echo of her sweet voice, but I 
 think of the darkness of coming years. I 
 have seen so many a beautiful thing wither 
 and fall to the grave, I have watched the 
 overthrow of so many earthly schemes, and 
 noted the death of so many earthly hopes, 
 that I tremble for the trusting, warm heart, 
 which I know must ere long bleed over some 
 faded dream or withered idol. I have stood 
 by the low, calm resting place of age, where 
 the man, with snowy locks, was sweetly sleep- 
 but I shed no tear over his fate. For 
 
OP SPARKLING DKOPS. 269 
 
 must it not be pleasant, after a long life of 
 care and toil, and it may be of suffering, to 
 lie down at last in the grave, to bid adieu to 
 the changing world, and welcome the joys 
 of everlasting life ? 
 
 But my teara have watered the fresh sod 
 beneath which slumbered the young, the gay, 
 the beautiful. I have wept, Heaven knows 
 how bitterly, how agonizingly, over the 
 blighting of youthful loveliness over the 
 faded wreath of earthly love. But amid all 
 the gloom, all the decay around, there comes 
 a soft, sweet whisper a low, gentle breath- 
 ing, as from an angel's lips, soothing the 
 heart, and pouring into the bleeding bosom 
 the balm of consolation. 
 
 An unforeseen finger seems pointing us to 
 a realm of peace, an asylum pure and bright, 
 where hope never expires, and death, and 
 parting are unknown. The spirits of the de- 
 parted seem hovering near us,, and spreading 
 over us their snowy wings, while, in tones 
 like the spring zephyr, or the music of a far- 
 off bird, they tell us of a home beyond the 
 
270 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 skies, where the bright and lovely never die, 
 and the flowers never fade. 
 
 How soon the dreams of earth depart! 
 
 Its hopes, oh! what are they? 
 How often from the doting heart 
 
 They fade and melt away! 
 Like the soft cloud that gently floats 
 
 Across the summer sky, 
 Or dew-drops glistening 'neath the sun, 
 
 Earth's fairest visions die. 
 
 The heart 't is strange what feelings move 
 
 Its tender, hidden strings 
 How strong the cord that earthly love, 
 
 About it softly flings. 
 'Tis well perhaps that all its hopes 
 
 Thus rudely should be riven, 
 To tell us of a purer clime 
 
 A brighter home in heaven. 
 
 ' T is well but oh, how hard to bow 
 
 In meek and holy trust, 
 When pallid cheek and marble brow 
 
 Are laid beneath the dust. 
 When from the fond and yearning breast 
 
 Is coldly borne away 
 The worshiped one, too good and pure 
 
 In this dark world to stay. 
 
SPAHKLING DROPS. 
 
 r We live m deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; 
 2n feelings, not in figures on a dial. 
 "We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives, 
 Who thinks most; feels the noblest: acts the best. 
 And he whose heart beats quickest lives the longest; 
 Xives in one hour more than in years do some, 
 '"Whose slow Mood sleeps as it slips along their veins. 
 'Life is but a means unto an end; that end, 
 ^Beginning, mean, and end' to all things God. 
 
 tjit /otint nf lotul 
 
 JKneel where the gem of faith is ever gleaming, 
 
 Kneel where the pearl of hope is always bright, 
 (Kneel where the eye of charity is beaming, 
 
 Kneel, gentle pilgrim, and receive thy sight. 
 Kneel, and thy soul shall prove a well of gladness, 
 
 Kneel, and eternal life will soon be thine, 
 JXneel, and forget in joy thy spirit's sadness, 
 
 JSLneel, and thy heart shall never more repine 
 to the fount of LOVE! 
 
2T2 THE SILVER CUP" 
 
 nn 
 
 BY E. NOTT, D. D. 
 
 FATHERS, mothers, heads of families, if not 
 prepared r at this late hour to change your 
 mode of life, are you not prepared to encour- 
 age the young, particularly your children, to- 
 change theirs ? Act as you may, yourselves,, 
 do you not desire that they should act the 
 part of safety ? Can you not tell them, and 
 truly tell them, that our manner of life is 
 attended with les peril than your own ? Can 
 you not tell them, and truly tell them, that 
 however innocent the use even of pure wine 
 may be, in the estimation of those who use 
 it, that its use in health is never necessary ; 
 that excess is always injurious, and that in; 
 the habitual use of even such wine, there is 
 always danger of excess ; that of the brand- 
 ied and otherwise adulterated wines in use, it 
 can not be said, in whatever quantity, that 
 they are innocent ; that the temptation* 
 to adulterate is very great, detection v 
 
OF 8PABKLING D 11 OP 8. 273 
 
 difficult and that entire safety is to be found 
 only in total abstinence ? Will you not tell 
 them this ? And having told them, should 
 they, in obedience to your counsel, relinquish 
 at once the use of all intoxicating liquors, 
 would their present condition, you yourselves 
 being judges, would their present condition 
 be less secure, or their future prospects less 
 full of promise, on that account ? Or would 
 the remembrance that the stand they took, 
 was taken at your bidding, either awaken in 
 your bosoms misgivings now, or regrets here- 
 after ? Especially, would it do this as life 
 declines, and you approach your final disso- 
 lution and last account. Then, when stand- 
 ing on the verge of that narrow isthmus, 
 which separates the future from the past, and 
 connects eternity with time ; then, when 
 casting the last lingering look back upon that 
 world to which you are about to bid adieu 
 for ever, will the thought that you are to 
 leave behind you a family trained to temper- 
 ance not only, but pledged also to total absti- 
 nence, will that thought, then, think you, 
 
 plant one thorn in the pillow of sickness, or 
 12* 
 
274 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 add one pang to the agonies of death ? O ! 
 no, it is not this thought, but the thought of 
 dying and leaving behind. a family of profli- 
 gate children, to nurture other children no 
 less profligate, in their turn to nurture others, 
 thus transmitting guilt and misery to a re- 
 mote posterity ; it is this thought, and 
 thoughts like this, in connection with another 
 thought, suggested by those awful words, 
 "For, I, the Lord thy God, am a jealous God, 
 visiting the iniquities of the fathers upon the 
 children, to the third and fourth generation, 
 of them that hate me," it is thoughts like 
 these, and not the thought of leaving behind 
 a family pledged to total abstinence, that 
 will give to life's last act a sadder coloring, 
 and man's last hour a denser darkness. Be- 
 tween these two conditions of the dying, 
 if held within our offer, who of us would 
 hesitate ? 
 
 Ye children of moderate drinking parents ; 
 children of so many hopes, and solicitudes, 
 and prayers ; the sin of drunkenness apart, 
 the innocence of abstinence apart, here are 
 two classes of men, and two plans of life, 
 
< F SPARKLING DROPS. 
 
 <each proffered for your approbation, and sub- 
 knitted for "your choice : The one class use 
 intoxicating liquor, moderately indeed, still 
 they use intoxicating liquor in some, or many 
 of its forms ; the other class use it in none of 
 them : The one class, in consequence of such 
 use of intoxicating liquor, furnish all the 
 drunkenness, three-fourths of all the pauper- 
 Ism, and five-sixths of all the crime, under 
 the accumulating and accumulated weight of 
 which, our country already groans. Yes, in 
 consequence of such restricted use of intoxi- 
 cating liquors, the one class pays an annual 
 tribute in muscle and sinew, in intellect and 
 virtue, aye, and in the souls of men ; a 
 mighty tribute, embodied in the persons of 
 Inebriates, taken from the ranks of temperate 
 drinkers and delivered over to the jail, the 
 mad house, the house of correction, and even 
 the house of silence I 
 
 The other class pays no such tribute ; no, 
 nor even a portion of it The other burthens 
 of community they share indeed, in common 
 with their brethren ; a portion of their earn- 
 ings goes even to provide and furnish those 
 
276 tf-BTE' S-riVEB CUP 
 
 abodes of woe and death, which intoxicating: 
 liquors crowd with inmates ; but the inmates ; 
 themselves are all, all trained in the society, 
 instructed in the maxims, molded by the cus- 
 toms, and finely delivered up from the ranks 
 of the oppOv v , party ; the moderate drinking 
 party. 
 
 Now, beloved youth, which of these two 
 modes of life will you adopt ? To which of 
 these two classes will you attach yourselves ? 
 Which, think you, is the safest, which most 
 noble, patriotic, Christian ? In one word, 
 which will ensure the purest bliss on earthy 
 and afford the fairest prospect of admission 
 into heaven ? 
 
 For the mere privilege of using intoxica- 
 ting liquors moderately, are you willing to 
 contribute your proportion annually to peo- 
 ple the poor-house, the prison-house, and the 
 grave-yard ? For such a privilege, are you 
 willing to give up to death, or even to deli- 
 rium tremens, a parent this year, a wife, a 
 child, a brother, or sister the next, and the 
 year thereafter a friend or neighbor ? Are 
 you willing to do this, and having done it, 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 
 
 are you further willing, as a consequence, to 
 hear the mothers', the wives', the widows', 
 and the orphans' wailings, on account of mis- 
 eries inflicted by a system deliberately adop- 
 ted by your choice, sustained by your 
 example, and perpetuated by your influence ; 
 nor to hear alone; are you willing to see 
 also the beggar's rags, the convict's fetters, 
 and those other and more hideous forms of 
 guilt and misery, the product of intemper- 
 ance, which liken men to demons, and earth 
 to hell ! 
 
 That frightful outward desolation appa- 
 rent in the person and the home of the 
 inebriate, is but an emblem of a still more 
 frightful inward desolation. The comfortless 
 abode, the sorrow-stricken family, the tattered 
 garments, the palsied tread, the ghastly coun- 
 tenance, and loathsome aspect of the habitual 
 brutal drunkard, fills us with abhorrence. 
 We shun his presence, and shrink instinct- 
 ively from his polluting touch. But what 
 are all these sad items, which affect the outer 
 man only, in comparison with the blighted 
 hopes, the withered intellect, the debased 
 
S78 THE SILVEK CUP 
 
 propensities, the brutal appetites, the demo- 
 niac passions, the defiled conscience ; in one 
 word, in comparison with the sadder moral 
 items which complete the frightful spectacle 
 of a soul in ruins ; a soul deserted of God, 
 possessed by demons, and from which the 
 last lineaments of its Maker's image have 
 been utterly effaced ; a soul scathed and 
 riven, and standing forth already, as it will 
 hereafter stand forth, frightful amid its ruins, 
 a monument of wrath, and a warning to the 
 universe. 
 
 Be not deceived, nor fear to take the di- 
 mensions of the evils that threaten, or to 
 look that destroyer in the face, which you 
 are about to arm against yourselves. Not 
 the solid rock withstands for ever the touch 
 of water even, much less the living fibre that 
 of alcohol, or those other and intenser pois- 
 ons mingled with it, in those inebriating 
 liquors of which a moiety of the nation 
 drinks. The habitual use of such liquors 
 in small quantities, prepares the way for 
 their use in larger quantities ; and yet larger 
 quantities progressively, till inebriation is 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 279 
 
 produced. Such is the constitu^on of na- 
 ture ; it is preposterous therefore to calculate 
 upon exemption. Exceptions indeed there 
 may be ; but they are exceptions merely. 
 The rule is otherwise. If you live an ha- 
 bitual drinker of such liquors, you ought to 
 calculate to die a confirmed drunkard : and 
 that your children, and your childrens' child- 
 ren, should they follow your example, will 
 die confirmed drunkards also. And if life 
 shall be prolonged to them, and they so live, 
 they will so die, unless the course of nature 
 shall be changed. 
 
 In the view of these facts and arguments 
 which the subject before you presents, make 
 up your minds, make up your minds deliber- 
 ately, and having done so, say whether you 
 are willing to take along with the habitual 
 moderate use of intoxicating liquors, as 
 bought and sold, and drank among us, the 
 appalling consequences that must result 
 therefrom. Are you willing to do this ? and 
 if you are not, stop, stop while you may, 
 and where you can. In this descent to Ha- 
 des there is no half-way house, no central 
 
280 . THE SJLVER CTJP 
 
 resting place. The movement once commen- 
 ced, is ever onward, and downward. The 
 thirst created is quenchless, the appetite in- 
 duced insatiable. You may not live to com- 
 plete the process but this know, that it is 
 naturally progressive, and that with every 
 successive sip from the fa,tal chalice, it ad- 
 vances, imperceptibly indeed, still it advances 
 toward completion. Yon demented sot, once 
 a moderate drinker, occupied the ground you 
 now occupy, and looked down on former 
 sots, as you, a moderate drinker, now look 
 down on him, and as future moderate drink- 
 ers may yet look down on you, and wonder. 
 
 "Facilis decensus averni." 
 
 Let it never be forgotten that we are social 
 beings. No man liveth to himself; on the 
 contrary, grouped together in various ways, 
 each acts, and is acted on by others. Though 
 living at the distance of so many generations, 
 we feel even yet, and in its strength, the 
 effect of the first transgression. Now, as for- 
 merly, it is the nature of vice, as well as vir- 
 tue, to extend and perpetuate itself. Now, 
 as formerly, the existing generation is giving 
 
OF SPARKLING J>ROPS. 28-1 
 
 the impress of its character to the generation 
 which is to follow it and now % as formerly, 
 parents are by their conduct, and their coun- 
 sel, either weaving crowns to signalize their 
 offspring in the heavens, or forging chains to 
 be worn by them in hell. 
 
 Hearer, time is on the wing, death is at 
 hand : Act now, therefore, the part that you 
 will in that hour approve, and reprobate the 
 conduct you will then condemn. 
 
 It has not been usual for the speaker, as 
 it has for some others, to bespeak the influ- 
 ence of those who constitute the most numer- 
 ous, as well as most efficient part of almost 
 every assembly, where self-denials are called 
 for, or questions of practical duty discussed. 
 And yet, no one is more indebted than my- 
 self, to the kind of influence in question. 
 
 Under God, I owe my early education, 
 nay, all that I have been, or am, to the coun- 
 sel and tutelage of a pious mother. It was, 
 peace to her sainted spirit, it was her moni- 
 tory voice, that first taught my young heart 
 to feel that there was danger in the intoxica- 
 ting cup, and that safety lay in abstinence* 
 
232 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 And as no one is more indebted than my- 
 self, to the kind of influence in question, so 
 no one more fully realizes how decisively it 
 "bears upon the destinies of others. 
 
 Full well I know, that by woman came 
 the apostacy of Adam, and by woman, the 
 recovery through Jesus. It was a woman 
 that imbued the mind, and formed the char- 
 acter of Moses, Israel's deliverer It was a 
 woman that led the choir, and gave back 
 the response of that triumphal procession, 
 which went forth to celebrate with timbrels, 
 on the banks of the Red Sea, the overthrow 
 of Pharaoh It was a woman that put Sis- 
 era to flight, that composed the song of De- 
 borah and Barak, the son of Abinoam, and 
 judged in righteousness, for years, the tribes 
 of Israel It was a woman that defeated the 
 wicked counsels of Hainan, delivered right- 
 eous Mordecai, and saved a whole people 
 from utter desolation. 
 
 And not now to speak of Semiramis at 
 Babylon, of Catharine of Russia, or of those 
 Queens of England, whose joyous reigns con- 
 stitute the brightest periods of British 
 
OF SPARKLING D ft OPS. 283 
 
 history, or of her, the young and lovely, the 
 patron of learning and morals, who now 
 adorns the throne of the sea-girt Isles ; not 
 now to speak of these, there are others of 
 more sacred character, of whom it were 
 admissible even now to speak. 
 
 The sceptre of empire is not the sceptre 
 that best befits the hand of woman ; nor is 
 the field of carnage her field of glory. 
 Home, sweet home, is her theatre of action, 
 her pedestal of beauty, and throne of power. 
 Or if seen abroad, she is seen to the best ad- 
 vantage when on errands of love, and 
 wearing her robe of mercy. 
 
 It was not woman who slept during the 
 agonies of Gethsemane ; it was not woman 
 who denied her Lord at the palace of Caia- 
 phas ; it was not woman who deserted his 
 cross on the hill of Calvary. But it was 
 woman that dared to testify her respect for 
 his corse, that procured spices for embalming 
 it, and that was found last at night, and first 
 in the morning, at his sepulchre. Time has 
 neither impaired her kindness, shaken her 
 constancy, or changed her character. 
 
284 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 Now, as formerly, she is most ready to en- 
 ter, and most reluctant to leave, the abode of 
 misery. Now, as formerly, it is her office, 
 and well it has been sustained, to stay the 
 fainting head, wipe from the dim eye the 
 tear of anguish, and from the cold forehead 
 the dew of death. 
 
 This is not unmerited praise. I have too 
 much respect for the character of woman, to 
 use, even elsewhere, the language of adula- 
 tion, and too much self-respect to use such 
 language here. I would not, if I could, per- 
 suade those of the sex who hear me, to 
 become the public, clamorous advocates, of 
 even temperance. It is the influence of their 
 declared approbation ; of their open, willing, 
 visible example, enforced by that soft, per- 
 suasive, colloquial eloquence, which, in some 
 hallowed retirement, and chosen moments, 
 exerts such controling influence over the 
 hard, cold heart of man ; especially over a 
 husband's, a son's, or a brother's heart ; it is 
 this influence, which we need ; an influence, 
 chiefly known by the gradual, kindly trans- 
 formation of character it produces, and 
 
OF SPAHKLIKG D II OPS. 285 
 
 which, in its benign effects, may be compared 
 to the noiseless, balmy influence of spring, 
 shedding, as it silently advances, renovation 
 over every hill, and dale, and glen, and islet, 
 and changing throughout the whole region 
 of animated nature, winter's rugged and un- 
 sightly forms, into the forms of vernal 
 loveliness and beauty. 
 
 No, I repeat it, I would not, if I could, 
 persuade those of the sex who hear me, to 
 become the public, clamorous advocates of 
 temperance. It is not yours, to wield the 
 club of Hercules, or bend Achilles' bow. 
 But, though it is not, still you have a heaven- 
 appointed armor, as well as a heaven-appro- 
 ved theatre of action. The look of tender- 
 ness, the eye of compassion, the lip of 
 entreaty, are yours ; and yours too, are the 
 decisions of taste, and yours, the omnipotence 
 of fashion. You can therefore, I speak of 
 those who have been the favorites of fortune, 
 and who occupy the high places of society ; 
 you can change the terms of social inter- 
 course, and alter the current opinions of 
 community. You can remove, at once and 
 
286 THE SILVER CtTP 
 
 for ever, temptation from the saloon, the 
 drawing-room, and the dining-table. This is 
 your empire, the empire over which God and 
 the usages of mankind have given you do- 
 minion. Here, within these limits, and with- 
 out transgressing that modesty, which is 
 Heaven's own gift, and woman's brightest or- 
 nament, you may exert a benign and kindly 
 but mighty influence. Here you have but to 
 speak the word, and one chief source of the 
 mothers', the wives', and the widows' sorrows, 
 will, throughout the circle in which you 
 move, be dried up for ever. Nor, through- 
 out that circle only. The families around 
 you, and beneath you, will feel the influence 
 of your example, descending on them in bles- 
 sings, like the dews of heaven that descend 
 on the mountains of Zion ; and drunkenness, 
 loathsome, brutal drunkenness, driven by the 
 moral power of your decision, from all the 
 abodes of reputable society, will be compeled 
 to exist, if it exist at all, only among those 
 vulgar and ragged wretches, who, -shunning 
 the society of women, herd together in the 
 bar room, the oyster cellar, and the groggery 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 287 
 
 This, indee'd, were a mighty triumph, and 
 this, at least, you can achieve. Why, then, 
 should less than this be achieved ? To purify 
 the conscience, to bind up the broken-hearted, 
 to remove temptation from the young, to 
 minister consolation to the aged, and kindle 
 joy in every bosom y throughout her appointed 
 theatre of action, befits alike a woman's, and 
 a mother's agency, and, since God has put 
 it in your power to do so much, are. you 
 willing to be responsible for the consequences 
 of leaving it undone ? 
 
 Are you willing to see this tide of woe, 
 and death, whose flow you might arrest, roll 
 onward by you to posterity, increasing as it 
 rolls for ever ? 
 
 O ! no, you are not, I am sure you are not ; 
 and if not, then, ere you leave these altars, 
 lift up your heart to God, and in his strength, 
 form the high resolve, to purify from drunk- 
 enness this city. And, however elsewhere, 
 others may hesitate, and waver, and defer y 
 and temporize, take you the open, noble 
 stand, of ABSTINENCE ; and having taken it, 
 cause it by your words, and by your d*eeds, 
 
288 THE SILVER U 
 
 to be known on earth and told in heaven, 
 that mothers have dared to do their duty, 
 their whole duty, and that, within the pre- 
 cincts of that consecrated spot, over which 
 their balmy, hallowed influence extends, the 
 doom of drunkenness is sealed. 
 
 Nor mothers only ; in this benign and 
 holy enterprise, the daughter and the mother, 
 alike are interested. 
 
 Ye young, might the speaker be permitted 
 to address you, as well as your honored pa- 
 rents, and those teachers, their assistants, 
 whose delightful task it is to bring forward 
 the unfolding germs of thought, and teach 
 the young idea how to shoot, might the 
 speaker, whose chief concernment hitherto, 
 has been the education of the young, be per- 
 mitted to address you, he would bespeak 
 your influence, your urgent, persevering in- 
 fluence, in behalf of a cause so pure, so full 
 of mercy, and so every way befitting your 
 age, your sex, your character. 
 
 O ! could the speaker make a lodgment, 
 an effectual lodgment, in behalf of temper- 
 ance* within those young, warm, generous, 
 
\>F SPARKLING -DROPS. 589 
 
 Active hearts within his hearing, or rather 
 within the city, where it is his privilege to 
 speak, who this side Heaven could calculate 
 the blessed, mighty, enduring consequence? 
 Could this be done, then might the eye of 
 angels rest with increased complacency on 
 this commercial metropolis, already signalized 
 by Christian charity, as well as radiant with 
 intellectual glory ; but then lit up anew 
 with fire, from off virtue's own altar, and 
 thus caused to become, amid the surrounding 
 desolation which intemperance has occasioned, 
 more conspicuously than ever, an asylum of 
 mercy to the wretched, and a beacon light 
 of promise to the wanderer. 
 
 Then from this favored spot, as from some 
 great central source of power, encouragement 
 might be given, and confidence imparted to 
 the whole sisterhood of virtue, and a redeem- 
 ing influence sent forth through many a dis- 
 tant town and hamlet, to mingle with other 
 ^nd kindred influences, in effecting through- 
 out the land, among the youth of both sexes, 
 that moral renovation called for, and which, 
 
 13 
 
290 THE SILVER OUF 
 
 when realized, will be at once the earnest 
 and the anticipation of millennial glory. 
 
 O! could we gain the young, the young 
 who have no inveterate prejudices to combat, 
 no established habits to overcome ; could we 
 gain the young, we might, after a single gen- 
 eration had passed away, shut up the dram 
 shop, the bar room, and the rum-selling gro- 
 cery, and by shutting these up, shut up also 
 the poor house, the prison house, and one of 
 the broadest and most frequented avenues to 
 the charnel house. 
 
 More than this, could we shut up these 
 licensed dispensaries of crime, disease, and 
 death, we might abate the severity of mater- 
 nal anguish, restore departed joys to conjugal 
 affection, silence the cry of deserted orphan^ 
 age, and procure for the poor demented sui- 
 cide, a respit from self-inflicted vengeance. 
 
 This, the gaining of the young to absti- 
 nence, would constitute the mighty fulcrum r 
 on which to plant that moral lever of power> 
 to raise a world from degradation. 
 
 O ! how the clouds would scatter, the pros 
 pect brighten, and the firmament of hope 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 291 
 
 clear up, could the young be gained, intoxi- 
 cating liquors be banished, and abstinence 
 with its train of blessings introduced through- 
 out the earth. 
 
 BY MISS MARY ANN BROWNE. 
 
 Yesternight I prayed aloud, 
 
 In anguish and in agony ; 
 Up-starting from the fiencush crowd 
 
 Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me. 
 
 COLRIDGE. 
 
 I had a dream" in the dead of night, 
 
 A dream of agony; 
 I thought the world stood in affright, 
 Beneath the hot and parching light 
 
 Of an unclouded sky; 
 I thought there had fallen no cooling rain 
 For months upon the feverish plain, 
 
 And that all the springs were dry: 
 
 And I was standing on a hill, 
 
 And looking all around: 
 I know not how it was but still 
 
 Strength in my limbs was found, 
 As if with a spell of three-fold life 
 
 My destinies were bound. 
 
292 THE SILVER OUP 
 
 Beneatli me was a far-spread heath, 
 
 Where once had risen a spring, 
 Looking as bright as a silver wreath 
 
 In its graceful wandering: 
 But now the sultry glance of the sun, 
 
 And the glare of the dark blue sky, 
 Had checked its course, no more to run 
 
 In light waves wandering by. 
 
 And farther on was a stately wood, 
 
 With its tall trees rising high: 
 But now like autumn wrecks they stood 
 
 Beneath a summer sky: 
 And every leaf, though dead,- did keep 
 
 Its station there in mockery; 
 For there was not one breath to sweep 
 
 The leaves from each perishing tree; 
 And there they hung, dead, motionless; 
 
 They hung there day by day, 
 As though death were too busy with other things 
 
 To sweep their corpses away. 
 
 Oh, terrible it was to think 
 
 Of human creatures then ! 
 How they did seek in vain for drink, 
 
 In every vale and glen; 
 And how the hot, scorched foot did shrink 
 
 As it touched the slippery plain; 
 And some had gathered beneath the trees, 
 
 In hope of finding shade; 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 293 
 
 But, alas! there was not a single breeze 
 Astir in an} 7 glade! 
 
 The cities were forsaken, 
 
 For their marble wells were spent; 
 And their walls gave back the scorching glare 
 
 Of that hot firmament: 
 But the corses of those who died were strewn 
 
 In the street, as dead leaves lay, 
 And dry they withered and withered alone 
 
 They felt no foul decay; 
 
 Night came. The fiery sun sank down, 
 And the people's hope grew strong: 
 It was a night without a moon, 
 It was a night in the depth of June, 
 
 And there swept a wind along; 
 T was almost cool: and then they thought 
 Some blessed dew it would have brought. 
 
 Vain was the hope! there was no cloud 
 
 In the clear dark blue heaven; 
 But, bright and beautiful, the^crowd 
 
 Of stars looked through the even. 
 And women sat them down to weep 
 
 Over their hopeless pain; 
 And men had visions dark and deep, 
 
 Clouding the dizzy brain; 
 And children sobbed themselves to sleep, 
 
 And never woke again! 
 
294 THE SILVER OUP 
 
 The morning came not as it comes 
 Softly 'midst rose and dew 
 
 Not with those cool and fresh perfumes 
 That the weariest heart renew; 
 
 But the sun sprang up, as if eager to see 
 What next his power could do! 
 
 A mother held her child to her breast, 
 
 And kissed it tenderly, 
 And then she saw her infant smile; 
 
 What could that soft smile be? 
 A tear had sprung with a sudden start 
 
 To her hot, feverish eye; 
 It had fallen upon that faint child's lip 
 
 That was so parched and dry. 
 
 I looked upon the mighty sea; 
 
 Oh, what a sight it was! 
 All its waves were gone, save two or three, 
 
 That lay, like burning glass, 
 Within the caves of those deep rocks 
 
 Where no human foot could pass. 
 
 And in the very midst, a ship 
 
 Lay in the slime and sand; 
 With all its sailors perishing, 
 
 Even in sight of land; 
 Oh, water had been a welcome sight 
 
 To that pale dying band! 
 
*>F SPARKLING DROPS. 295 
 
 Oh, what a sight was the bed of the seal 
 
 The bed where he had slept, 
 Or tossed and tumbled restlessly, 
 
 And all his treasures kept 
 For ages: he was gone; and all 
 
 His rocky pillows shown, 
 With their clustering shells, and sea-weed pall, 
 
 And their rich gems round them thrown. 
 
 And the monsters of the deep lay dead, 
 
 With many a human form, 
 That there had found a quiet bed, 
 
 Away from the raging storm; 
 And the fishes, sodden in the sun, 
 
 Were strewn by thousands round; 
 And a myriad things, long lost and won, 
 
 Were there, unsought for found. 
 
 I turned away from earth and sea, 
 
 And looked on the burning sky, 
 But no drop fell, like an angel's tear 
 
 The founts of heaven were dry: 
 The birds had perished every one} 
 
 Not a cloud was in the air, 
 And desolate seemed the veiy SUB, 
 
 He looked PO lonely there! 
 
 And I began to feel the pang, 
 The agooy of thirst; 
 
296 THE SILVER 
 
 I had a scorching, swelling pain, 
 
 As if my heart would burst: 
 My tongue was parched; I strove to speak * 
 
 The spell that instant broke; 
 And, starting at my own wild shriek, 
 
 In mercy I awoke! 
 
 nor <f irl cn& tjp 
 
 ** Sleep, saintly poor one! sleep, sleep, on, 
 And waking, find thy labors done." 
 
 CHARLES LAMB. 
 
 WE never remember seeing any notice of 
 the dear old legend we are about to relate,, 
 save in some brief and exquisite lines lay 
 Charles Lamb ; and yet, how simply and 
 quaintly it confirms our childhood's faith,, 
 when heaven seemed so much nearer to earth 
 than it had ever been since ; and we verily 
 believed that angels watched over the good 
 and pure of heart ! 
 
 Once upon a time, in a far off country- 
 place, a girl, whose name we shall call Alice^ 
 lived with an aged and bed-rid mother,, 
 dependent upon her exertions for their solo* 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 297 
 
 support. And although at all periods they 
 fared hardly enough, and sometimes even 
 wanted for bread, Alice never suffered her- 
 self to be cast down, placing her whole trust 
 in Him who " tempers the wind to the shorn 
 lamb." And when better days came again, 
 who so glad and thankful as that young 
 girl? 
 
 It may be all very pretty and picturesque 
 for poets and artists to picture to themselves 
 calm, peaceful scenes of rural loveliness ; in 
 the foreground of which* they place some 
 happy village maid, sitting in the cottage 
 porch, at the sunset hour, and singing mer- 
 rily at her wheel ; even as bright-eyed and 
 glad-hearted damsels of our own times take 
 up their sewing, only as a pleasant excuse to 
 be silent and alone, that they may indulge in 
 sweet and gentle musing. But let us not for- 
 get that which is as a pastime to the few, 
 may be to the many a weary and never-end- 
 ing toil, engrossing the day that seems so 
 long, and yet is not half long enough for all 
 they have to do ; breaking into the quiet 
 hours set apart by nature for rest, and 
 
 13* 
 
298 THE SILVER OUP 
 
 mingling even with their troubled dreams. 
 Thus it was oftentimes with our heroine and 
 yet she sang, too, but generally hymns, for 
 such sprang most readily to her lips, and 
 seemed most in harmony with her lonely and 
 toilsome life while her aged mother 
 would lie for hours, listening to what seemed 
 to her a gush of sweet and prayerful music, 
 and not questioning but the songs of the 
 good on earth might be heard and echoed 
 by the angels in heaven ! Poor child ! it 
 was sad to see th*e toil so hard but beau- 
 tiful to mark thy filial devotion and untiring 
 love thy thankfulness to have the work to 
 do, otherwise both must have starved long 
 since ! Thy trust in Providence, that for her 
 sake it would give thee strength for thy la- 
 borious tasks the hope that would not die, 
 of better times the faith that grew all the 
 brighter and purer through trials the store 
 of sweet and pious thoughts that brought 
 thee such pleasant comfort, and gave wings 
 to many a weary hour of earthly toil. 
 
 For years Alice had contrived to lay by 
 enough to pay the rent of their little cottage 
 
'OF SPARKLING DBOPS. 299 
 
 ready against tke period when it should be- 
 come due ; but now, either from the wid- 
 ow's long illness, or the hardness of the 
 times, which ever presses in seasons of na- 
 tional or commercial difficulty most heavily 
 upon those least able to struggle against its 
 additional weight, the day came round and 
 found her unprepared. It so happened that 
 the old landlord was dead, and his successor 
 Dne of those stern mea, who without being 
 actually hard-hearted, have a peculiar creed 
 of their own with regard to the poor, which 
 they are never weary of repeating ; holding 
 poveity to be but as another name for idle- 
 ness, or even crime I a baneful error which 
 lias done much to plunge its unhappy victims 
 into their present fallen condition ; and yet 
 even lie was touched by her tears, and meek 
 deprecating words, and consented to give her 
 one week's grace, in which she reckoned to 
 have finished and got paid for the work she 
 then had in the house. And although the 
 girl knew, that in order to effect this, she 
 must work day and night, she dared not ask 
 
300 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 a longer delay, and was even grateful to him 
 for granting Iier request. 
 
 " It will be a lesson to her not to be be- 
 hind-hand in future," thought her stern land- 
 lord, when he found himself alone ; " no 
 doubt the girl has been idling of late, or, 
 spending her money on that pale-colored 
 hood, she wore, (although, sooth to say, no- 
 thing could have been more becoming to her 
 delicate complexion,) instead of having it 
 ready as usual." And yet, sleeping, or wa- 
 king, her grateful thanks haunted him 
 strangely, almost winning him to gentler 
 thoughts we say almost, for deep-rooted 
 prejudices such as his, were hard very 
 hard very hard to overcome. 
 
 Alice returned home with a light heart. 
 
 " Well ? " said the widow, anxiously. 
 
 " All right, dear mother ; with God's bles- 
 sing we will keep the dear old cottage in 
 which you tell me you were born." 
 
 "And hope to die" 
 
 " Not yet not yet, dear mother ! " ex- 
 claimed the girl, passionately. " What would 
 
OF SPARKLIKG DROPS. 301 
 
 become of your poor Alice, if she were to 
 lose you ? " 
 
 "And yet, I am but a burden on your 
 young life " 
 
 " No, no a blessing rather ! " 
 
 Alice was light ; labor and toil only ask 
 an object something to love, and care and 
 work for, to make it endurable, and even 
 sweet ! And then kissing her mother, but 
 not saying a word of all she had to do, the 
 girl took off the well-preserved hood and 
 cloak, which had given rise to such unjust 
 animadversions, and putting them carefully 
 aside, sat down, in a hopeful spirit, to her 
 wheel. The dark cloud which had hiing 
 over her in the morning, seemed already 
 breaking, she could even fancy the blue sky 
 again in the distance. 
 
 All that day she only moved from her 
 work to prepare their simple meals, or wait 
 upon the helpless but unselfish invalid, who, 
 but for the eyes of watchful love ever bent 
 upon her, would have striven painfully to 
 perform many a little duty for herself, rather 
 than tax those willing hands, always so ready 
 
302 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 to labor in her behalf. And when night 
 came, fearing to cause that dear mother need- 
 less anxiety, Alice lay down quietly by her 
 side, watching until she had fallen asleep ; 
 and then rising noiselessly, returned to her 
 endless tasks. And yet, somehow, the harder 
 she worked, the more it seemed to grow be- 
 neath her weary fingers ; the real truth of 
 the matter was, she had over-rated her own 
 powers, and was unaware of the much longer 
 time it would take for the completion of the 
 labor than she had allowed herself. But it 
 was too late to think of all this now ; the 
 trial must be made, and Heaven, she doubted 
 not, would give her strength to go through 
 with it. Oh ! happy thrice happy ! are 
 they who have deserved to possess this pure 
 and child-like faith, shedding its gentle light 
 on the darkest scenes of life. 
 
 Morning broke at length over the distant 
 hills ; and Alice, flinging open the casement, 
 felt refreshed by the cool breeze, and glad- 
 dened by the hymning of "the birds already 
 up and at their orisons ; exchanging a kind 
 of good morrow with the peasants going 
 
OF SPAHKLIKG DROPS. oOo 
 
 forth to their early labor. No wonder that 
 those rough, untutored men, gazing upward 
 on her pale calm face, and listening to her 
 gentle tone, felt a sort of superstitious rever- 
 ence in their hearts, as though there was a 
 blessing in that kindly greeting which boded 
 of good. 
 
 The widow noticed with that quick-sight- 
 edness of affection, which even the blind 
 seem gifted with, in the presence of those 
 they love, that her child looked, if possible, 
 a thought paler than usual ; and for all the 
 bright smile that met hers every time, Alice, 
 feeling conscious of her gaze, looked up from 
 her work, marked how wearily the heavy 
 eyelids drooped over the aching eyes, and 
 yet she never dreamed of the deception 
 which had been practised in love, to soothe 
 and allay her fond anxiety ; and the girl was 
 well content that it should be so. 
 
 It so happened, that about noon, as she 
 sat spinning in the cottage porch, the new 
 landlord passed that way on horseback, and 
 was struck with her sad and wearied looks 
 for of late she had indeed toiled beyond her 
 
304 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 strength, and this additional fatigue was al- 
 most too much for her. But still that stern 
 man said with himself, " It is ever thus with 
 the poor, they work hard when actually 
 obliged to do so, and it is a just punishment 
 for their improvidence and idleness at other 
 times. And yet," he added a moment after, 
 as he turned his horse's head, half-lingeringly, 
 " she is very young, too." 
 
 Alice looked up at the sound of retreating 
 footsteps, but too late for her to catch that 
 half-relenting glance, or it might have en- 
 couraged her to ask an extension of the time 
 allotted her aye, even if it were but one 
 single day but he had passed on ere the 
 timid girl could banish from her mind the 
 fearful remembrance of his former harshness. 
 
 Another weary day and sleepless night 
 glided on thus, and the third evening found 
 her still at her spinning, with the same smile 
 on her lips, and hope and trust in her breast, 
 
 " Is there nothing that I can do to help 
 you, my Alice ? " asked her mother, who 
 grieved to see her obliged to toil so hard. 
 
 " Nothing unless, indeed, you will tell 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 305 
 
 me some tale of old times, as you used to 
 years ago, when I was a child." 
 
 " Why, you are but a child now," said the 
 widow, with a mournful smile : and then in- 
 wardly comparing her lot with that of other 
 girls of her age, she relapsed into a train of 
 sad and silent musings, and Alice knew that 
 they were sad, by the quivering lip and 
 contracted brow. 
 
 u Come, mother, dear ! " said she, " I am 
 waiting to hear your story." 
 
 And then the widow began to relate some 
 simple reminiscences of by-gone times, pos- 
 sessing a strange interest for that lonely girl, 
 who knew so little of life save in these 
 homely and transient revealings, falling 
 asleep in the midst through weariness, for 
 she ever grew weak and exhausted as night 
 came on ; but presently awoke again half- 
 bewildered. 
 
 " Where was I, Alice ? " asked the invalid, 
 gently. 
 
 " Asleep, dear mother ! I was in hopes J* 
 replied her companion, with a smile, 
 
300 THE SILVER CUP 
 
 " Oil ! forgive me, I could not help it. But 
 you will not sit up very long ? " 
 
 " No, no ! good night." 
 " Good night, and God bless you my child ! " 
 said the widow ; and a few minutes afterward, 
 Alice was again the only wakeful thing in 
 that little cottage, if indeed she could be 
 called so with half-closed eyes, and wander- 
 ing thoughts, although it is true the busy 
 fingers, toiled on mechanically at fheir task. 
 The very clock ticked with a dull drowsy 
 sound, and the perpetual whizzing of her 
 wheel seemed like a lullaby. 
 
 Presently the girl began to sing in a low 
 voice, in order to keep herself awake, hymns 
 as usual low, plaintive, and soothing ; 
 while the widow heard them in her sleep, 
 and dreamed of heaven. But all would not 
 do, and she arose at length and walked noise- 
 lessly up and down the room, trying to shake 
 off the drowsy feeling that oppressed and 
 weighed down upon her so heavily. And 
 then opening the casement, she sat by it to 
 catch the cool breath of night upon her fe- 
 vered brow, and watch the myriad 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 307 
 
 looking down in their calm and silent beauty 
 upon earth. How naturally prayer comes at 
 such times as these. Alice clasped her faded 
 hands involuntarily, and although no words 
 were uttered, her heart prayed ! We have 
 called her in our love, pure and innocent ; 
 "but she, of her holier wisdom, knew that she 
 was but a weak and erring creature after all, 
 and took courage only from remembering 
 that there is One who careth even for the 
 very flowers of the field, and how much 
 more for the children of earth. But grad 
 ually as she sat thus in the pale star-light, 
 the white lids drooped over the heavy eyes ; 
 her hands unclasped and sunk slowly and 
 listlessly down ; the weary and toilworn 
 frame had found rest at last ! 
 
 And then the room seemed filled on a sud- 
 den with a strange brightness, and where 
 poor Alice had sat first while at her wheel, 
 is an angel with shining hair, and white and 
 radiant as a sunbeam ; while another bends 
 gently over the slumberer, and looking first 
 at her, and then on her companion, smiles 
 pityingly ; and the girl smiles too in her 
 
308 THE SILVEE CUP 
 
 sleep ; and, as if still haunted by her favorite 
 hymn tunes, sings again very faintly and 
 sweetly, until the sounds die lingeringly 
 away at length upon the still night air. Fast 
 and noiselessly ply these holy ones at their 
 love task, while the whizzing of the busy 
 wheel, accompanied by a gentle rushing 
 sound, as of wings, alone disturbed the pro- 
 found silence of that little chamber. And 
 now morning broke again over the earth, and 
 their mission performed, they have sped 
 away to their bright home rejoicingly ! 
 
 Alice awoke trembling from her long and 
 refreshing slumber, thinking how she must 
 work doubly hard to redeem those lost 
 hours. She drew her wheel toward her 
 she looked wildly at it, rubbing her eyes to 
 be sure she was not dreaming ; then gazed 
 around the quiet apartment where all re- 
 mained just as she had left it ; but the task 
 for which she had marked out four more 
 weary days and nights of toil, and feared 
 even then not having time enough to complete 
 it, lay ready finished before her ! But after 
 a little while the girl ceased to wonder, on 
 
OF SPARKLING DROPS. 309 
 
 remembering to whom she had prayed on 
 the previous night ; guided by an unerring 
 instinct she knelt down and poured out her 
 full heart in a gush of prayerful thanks- 
 giving to Heaven ! And we can almost 
 fancy the angels standing a little way off 
 smiling upon each other and on her, even 
 as they had done before, and rejoicing -in 
 their own work. 
 
 We are told in the legend, that from 
 that hour the widow and her good and 
 pious child never knew want again. It may 
 be, that Alice's employer was pleased with 
 her diligence and punctuality ; or the stern 
 landlord, shamed out of his prejudices by 
 the unlooked-for appearance of the glowing 
 and happy face of his tenant, three days 
 before the appointed time, with the money 
 ready and many grateful thanks beside, for 
 what she termed his kindness in waiting so 
 long for it ; or there was a charm in that 
 web woven by holy hands, which brought 
 Alice many more such tasks, with better 
 payment, and longer time to complete them 
 in. The only thing that makes us sad in 
 
310 THE SILVER CtJP 
 
 this simple and beautiful legend is, that th< 
 age of such miracles should have passed 
 away. And yet, fear not, ye poor and suffer- 
 ing children of toil ! Only be gentle and 
 pure-hearted as that young girl trust as 
 she trusted pray as she prayed and be 
 sure that Heaven in its own good time will 
 deliver you. 
 
 I. 
 
 "Give to him that asketh." 
 
 IP the poor man pass thy door, 
 Give him of thy bounteous store; 
 Give him food and give him gold, 
 Give him shelter from the cold; 
 Aid him his lone life to live, 
 For 'tis angel like to give. 
 
 Though world-riches thou hast not, 
 Give to him of poorer lot; 
 Think thee of the widow's mite 
 In the holy Master's sight, 
 It was more, a thousand fold, 
 Than the rich man's hoard of gold. 
 
OF SPAKKLING DROPS. 311 
 
 Give, it is the better part, 
 Give to him, "the poor in heart;" 
 Give, of love in large degree, 
 Give, of hope and sympathy; 
 Cheer to them who sigh forlorn, 
 Light to him whose lamp is gone. 
 
 Give the gray-haired wanderer room, 
 Lead him gently to the tomb; 
 Let him not in friendless clime, 
 Float adown the tide of time; 
 Hear the mother's lonely call, 
 She, the dearest one of all. 
 
 And the lost, abandoned one, 
 In thy pathway do not shun; 
 Of thy kindness she hath need, 
 Bind with balm the bruised reed; 
 Give, and gifts above all price, 
 Shall be thine in paradise. 
 
 oing, 
 
 BY K. ELLIOTT. 
 
 "He does well who does his best;" 
 Is he weary? let him rest: 
 Brothers! I have done my best; 
 
THE SILVER CUP 
 
 I am weary let me rest. 
 After toiling oft in vain, 
 Baffled, yet to struggle fain; 
 After toiling long to gain 
 Little good, with mickle paini 
 Let me rest, but lay me low, 
 Where the hedgeside roses blow, 
 "Where the little daisies grow, 
 When the winds a-Maying go. 
 Where the footpath rustics plod; 
 Where the breeze-bowed poplars nod, 
 Where the old woods worship God, 
 Where His pencil paints the sod, 
 Where the wedded throstle sings, 
 Where the young bird tries its wings, 
 Where the wailing plover swings 
 Near the runlet's rushy springs! 
 Where at times the tempest's roar, 
 Shaking distant sea and shore, 
 Still will rave old Barnesdale o'er^ 
 To be heard by me no more! 
 There, beneath the breezy West, 
 Tired and thankful, let me rest, 
 Like a child, that sleepeth best 
 On its gentle mother's breast 
 
 THE END.