Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

worldly and personal advantages which teetotalism gives to a man over his moderate neighbour are so solid, that if he were merely a worldly wise man he would do everything to discourage his neighbour from taking the pledge. He wonld be disposed to say, I won't let him know wherein we differ, I won't bid him fish in my stream, I won't even leave my footmarks on the track to my rich mine, much less invite him to dig.'-Mark it well, I say again, the matured selfishness of men must be ruthlessly sacrificed in every instance in which a pledged abstainer seeks to persuade a brother to the same course. I know an American, who is, and has been for years, a stanch teetotaller, but when urged to subscribe a trifle from his vast hoards for the promotion of temperance, declares that he would as soon think of getting blind drunk as of giving sixpence to the cause: If the fools will drink, let 'em,' say I, all the better for we as don't; they're born niggers, and we drive.""

CHAPTER IX.

TRUTH IS DOUBLE EDGED.

AT the close of this speech there were not a few of the choicer spirits present who were stung with the reflection that they were niggers, and who would fain have followed Jamie's example, and made a clean breast of it there and then; but the warning was too recent and too vivid, and they sat still with the fear before their mental vision that the brewer's men were not all gone, or very far off. The amiable Sec. then read a written proclamation to the effect that all who wished might sign the pledge outside the landing, and, further, that every one so signing, above the age of fourteen, should be entitled to a beautiful medal, price twopence.

The chairman received very graciously a democratic unformal acknowledgment of his services in the shape of a cheer that comprised all kinds of applause, and threatened to last nearly as long as the meeting had already done, and then he thanked them for the courteous demeanour which had characterized the whole proceedings, with the one solitary exception, which he trusted they would all forgive and forget ("No, we won't, though!" shouted a muffled and feigned voice that was distinctly traceable to the doomed clarionet-man in the corner); and now he wished to put it to the meeting,

whether they would conclude with the Old Hundreth, or God save the Queen. A show of hands was called. The band made no sign, for it was all one to them, they knew both the tunes well, or at least equally well. The Methodists won, as the sceptical man predicted, and long before the solemn strain was brought to a close the more active and suspicious of both sexes had transferred themselves to the original sphere in which we met them, the sphere of hats and pattens in the little magistrates' room, on the ground floor.

Miss Gibbins didn't change her wig, for she had become a prominent character by the stolid and resolute manner in which she had blocked up the door-way to sign the pledge, (good old soul; she said she didn't do it for her own sake, but as an example to those who did need it,) and besides, it wasn't wet, and the moon seemed to have come out brighter than common to have a look at the "Friends of Home." The band endeavoured to nudge its way out in such fashion as to deserve its morning epithet of 'compact,' but they overdid the thing, and so got scattered, with the understanding, however, that they were to meet somewhere, but they had not fixed precisely where; and when some dozen of their number did re-assemble, they were unnerved by the palpable fact that the clarionet-man was missing, and they had their own thoughts on the subject, but little did they know the tortures through which their too zealous confederate was at that moment working his way to the renown of martyrdom. But in very truth he had been kidnapped before their very eyes; his hat had been cuffed down to his chin, and, thus blindfolded and smothered, he had been carried to the backyard of the "Justice's Wig," pumped upon till he was soaked, and ignominiously kicked out into the rutty, swampy lane at the back of the tavern.

Two young hearts were light and cheery in that moonlight hour. Jamie and Polly felt inclined to skip and dance ; they did not exactly know why, but Jamie was excited by the idea of leaving off work when he was fifty, and having fifty guineas a year, and Polly was wondering what her mother would say when she told her that Jamie had signed the pledge; and both had half an idea that it would not be so

[ocr errors]

long now as it might have been, but for Jamie's prudent decision. If such was their thought it must have been a little bird's whisper that brought it to them both, for at that very moment (for of course they were going the longest way home,) the benevolent heart of Miss Gibbins was easing itself in the little mill-house where the old people lived, by breaking the welcome news of Jamie's reform, and urging an immediate celebration of the wedding as the only thing to keep him to his word, so that when at length they lifted the latch, and Polly burst in with: "Father! Jamie's been and-O, lor', Miss Gibbins, is that you?" "Yes, my dear, and your father knows all." Yes, my boy, I know all, and right glad I am to know it, too. I couldn't hinder you from having my Polly, I knew, but my heart was against it till this night. Take her for your own, Jamie, as soon as ye like, and mind ye keep your pledge, or ye'll break one heart here, if you dunna break Mary's.' So it came to pass that the day which had been marked out of all days in the calendar for the annoyance of Jamie's conscience was the brightest and whitest day but one, in all his calendar of life. It is not always the wisest thing a man can do to kick against the pricks,—it's sometimes advisable, all things considered, to let them prick him till he bleeds, and good will come of the pain.

[ocr errors]

CHAPTER X.

WHO IS THIS?

THE multitude dispersed at length, we cannot say soberly in every sense of the word, for there was something riotous in their noisy departure, and not a few, as we have already intimated, repaired or dropped into the little tempting publichouse at the corner, with anything but sober intentions.

We must follow to the threshold of their home, at least two, who, by-and-by are to claim our main attention, and we trust, deepest sympathy. A man whose stoop told of sorrows rather than age, and whose heavy wrappings and

muffled throat told of present disease, and danger from the night air, and by his side a fair young sylph-like figure tripping in the moonbeams like a hunter in Diana's train. She had been at the meeting from the first, for she made tea next door to the secretary, and from her white hand did the amiable official receive unknown numbers of cups of tea. The companion had come to fetch her home, and she had found him standing on the steps. She gaily described to him what a rich scene he had missed, and dressed up the several speakers after the drollest fashion, to make what amends she could for all that he had lost. But it occurred to her that he must have been waiting, and perhaps he had heard at least some of the speaking; but even as she put the question, the short dry cough of her friend reminded her that he must not inhale the evening air. She became silent, and pressed the arm of her companion almost convulsively, as if to secure his pardon for the levity which she had shown, as if forgetting how much he had to make him sad.

During the speech of Mr. Wilton she had endeavoured to repress all signs of her emotion by thinking of everything in the wide world except about what the speaker was saying, and had so far fallen in with the reprehensible and stupid folly of giggling girls on such occasions, as to laugh or try to laugh convulsively at a thread-bare nonentity called a joke, which was traceable, we believe, to the light haired young man in the corner, who, notwithstanding that he had given birth to such a laughter-moving sally, stood frowning in all the majesty of thoughts too grave and big for utterance, as though "he could, an he would," make a speech that would tear the veil of prejudice from every benighted mind, and the roof off into the bargain. However, it was so far fortunate that the young lady missed the affecting allusion of Mr. Wilton to the approaching death of one to whom she was so dear, and who was so beloved by her. Who was her companion? Why was he silent? What sorrow or sickness bowed his tall form until he too leaned upon one who should have leaned on him? Time will tell.

« ZurückWeiter »