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In the anemoon ot one ot the coiüest daya of the winter of 1857, a very respectable dreseed traveler arrived in the stage at Newport, and put up for the day and night at Page's Hotel. He was dressed in the coramon farmer eostume, with nothing to distinguish him from mankind in genera], except the peculiar manner in which he bundlod up his head, to protect it from the eold, and the monstrous size of his overshoes. He was evidently a man oí means, and althougb a jolly, good-natured kind oí felluw, though at times an air of sadness shaded his countennnce. He was traveling, ostensibly, as an agent for a mauufacturing company in New York, b-it really - so the knowing one's though t - for eome other purpose. "What time does the stage leave for Rirli'ird f" asked the stranger. " Day aiter to-morrow, at tea o'cloek," responded mine host. "iot till day after to moriow ?" "There is a mail only eveiy ether day." ■Tiiat is coming bad It is necessary that I should be in Richford to raorrow night. Is there a stage to North Tr-.y ?"' "No Tbe Richford stage leaves here at ten A .M , day after to-morrow - drives to North Troy - md reaches Richford in time for an early tsupper " ''Can I secure a private yonveyimw?' 'liero is Mr. R ,'' eaid mine hoafcj poiütlDg to me, "perbaps you eau in;.k'! M'iie arrangement H Bina 'o curry van u fur :.s Dodge's." "IWgs's?" ' Ye.s, ten miles beyoi d North Troy. That would be as fur at lie cmild dne and tret buck ihe same day. Ymi eau gee wh'èt arrangement yiu cun niake ■ hiiu. He ki-fps a team, and sometimos does jobs oí the kiud." Tiie trangw t-aid no more lor fme time. He was evidently in a study. I was in i stndy, too, and ment&lly retolved, that if it was posaible, I would curry the man, for a eonidPtttioo. "We!l,my friend," sad he, at length iddrer-Miig me, 'can yiu carry me as far a Rii hfbrd t mor ow ?" 'Pi h-,.ps not to Richlord, I can cany you as far as Dudge's, if Lhat will do.1 "1 will give you three dollars and a half to set mo dowu at Uichford tomorrow night." Three dollars and a half, thought I, that will pay me wel!. The man is evidentlv bent on goiog to Rielifbrd - I have a cuiiosity to earry hit. I might i - . ■■" rid, that I had i curiosity for all ] ■■- 1 the kind, from the fact, that on eQch occasions, I always ''took suntbin." Pur four dollars," said Í, "I will undertake the Job." "Four dollars, then," said ho slowly ; "go ] must." "Wh:it time will you start ?" said 1. "At six " Early next morning, I hitched up "Old Sorrel,"and, in company with the stranger, drove rapidly towards North Troy. It was a bitter cold day, a day when nature needed a little assistnnce if ever, and when about four miles oui. passing through Newport woods, I drew a flask of brandy irom my pocket, and holding it to the strauger, ob served, "Here, stranger, this is too cold a day to ride without something to drink - take some." " No - thank you," said he, "I never use stimulants " "Take hold, take hold," said I, "we can fiil itagain at Dodge's." ''No I never drink, never .'" said he emphatically. "I have suflered too much fi'otu it." I lelt rebuked that he did not drink. I had been debating in my mind, for the last two miles, whether to sound him in a roundabout way, and find out whether he ever drank, or put a bold front on the matter, and offer it to him atonco. Bat I had never had the luck to carry a teetotaller, and thcreforehad come to the sage conclusión that teetotal'ers doo't travel. Bufjfor once, 1 had got a üvo total ab stinence man, actually transporting him thirty miles on the line. I thought him I ettipid - vory Dndgö's is a rum shop sitúate on the M . qnoi river road, between North Troy and Richiord. It is a place of considerable notoriety - celebrated in the country around as a lovvlivcd, dram drinking establishmeut, from which i flows a continual stream of moral and j phyeical death to tho surrounding ' n''ighborhood. It is a favorite resort for tho abaüdondeiJ and reckless I was not at this time a drunkard. I was unwilling to admit thatlwasa ruoderato drinker, 'i'rue, uow and then, as on the pre6ent occasion, I thought it j no banu to take a drink oí brandy, in J brdw th niAre effectualiy to keep uut the cold. 1 detened drunkafds. T wiis doI ut uil :i];ii-rni-'i iibou myeelf, ainl wondured how any rne could o o foolMias -o thir.k mein diinger, vet my wife had often nejrged me to abstuin, tolallv. No othe hnm:ir) being eemed t think of uch thlng us my beconi ig too strormly uttached tú mv c.nps. My wife I thnught a very foolish little luve of a woman, and myself a veiy strong niinded man, capuble of drinking a bottle of brandv now and tht-n, witb( ut becoming a drunkard. On the present occasion, I found no difficulty in disposing of brandy, without the assistance of my staid companion. When ive arrived'at Dodge's I had drank the last drop, and drew rein for the pur pose of rerlenishing my flask. "Not here, not here, friend ! for Heaven's sake, have respect enough for my feelings not to enter this miserable place. Drive out; I have semething to teil you." He grasped the rein asho spoke. and Old Sorrel shot by in an instant, and went trotting on towards Kichford. He had got something to teil me ! What in the name of nature could it be ! Was it possible that so stupid a companion had a romance in bis life ? Nothing of the kind I wassure, perhaps he meant to regule me with some hao.kneyed temperanee lecture. I consoled rnyself with the thonght that in the course of two hours I should be back to Dodge's again. "Do you see that ruin yonder, like theremainsoi one ot the primitive log houses ?' "Plainly said I." "Well, sir, ten years ago this winter, I found a dear sister there - found her, sir- -found her! - Rum did it ! and I must teil you the tale. I was one of a family of eight children, brought up in the good old State of Connecticut. My brothers and sisters were all dear to me - but not alike dear. Alice, younger than myself the companion oí my youthful hopes and struggles, was dearest of all to me. Ainiabl and gentle, she seemed pure ai the bcing of my imagination - a concentration of all that was good and lovely. Oh, how I loved our Alice, Too well, too well ! She waa an idol. I remember how I almost wished to chide her for giving part of her love to Qeorge Dane, the village lawyer. I wished to be all that was dear to her, as eho was to me. "Gorgo was manly and intellectual, and I had no reason to oppose her choice. Neither did I, only that I regretted to lose frorn the home society one so dear. They were married, and a life of happiness seemed a sure reward for their purity and devotion. For two years - years, I have reason to believe, of unsullied joys to them - they lived in the same villago with us. At the end of that time, George determined to go to Northern Vermont. They moved to T , and, for a time, long and endearing letters of their condition and prospe ts in their new home were received and eacerly read in the home circle. But, nfter i time, they grew less frequent, les? encouraginsr, and, at the end of a yenr and o half, ct'itsed hlti gether There was cloud in our 1 i home - ñ sh:dw on the linar1 htore Fearful fiirbodinffs were feit I'V 1 h:;t bnnd of ]ovinr heartn. - Again and ngain we wrbte. but montbs rol ed aroand, and no tidingi ca me, But one resource remnined - I mvst so.i'k my lost bister 'Ptiuiit the to observe liere, my frieiifl, tlia' ir.v srrup - were not oj posed t pprit drinking,] wns not a driink: rd but carried a boltle with me at tin - drank when I wanted it and wás always in fór a jolly tim. I wns. in common parianee, modemte drink er as the mos debauched are, previous to becnniiníí drunfeárds. If there were no moderate drinkers, there would be no di'unk.irds. " In due co'irse of time 1 arrived at my destiniition in T I was snrpiïsed it the thriftletM and general wnebegone appearance of the pbice. There was not a respectable looking house in the placo, no appearance of enterprise and business, but a look of wretchedneHS and poverty, 'that made me shudder for the fate of mv dear Xhc.n. But Alice was gone. In answer to my inquines. I acertnined that they hud li ed for a while in comparativo comfort and respectability, but that lately they had come to want, and left the village. Nothing more gatisfactory could be elicited - no clue to their whereabouts. They had disappeared - no ono kuew where. "I upent a week visiting the neigh boring vi'lages, and then returned home. The joy of our housohold had departed forever. "About a year afterward. an op portunity occurred for engaging in business, as agent for a manufacturing company, which required travel in Vermont and Crinada Tn the course of this tour, one cold day in winter - so cold and stormy that travelingwas impracticable - I found mysell laid up at Dodge's, with a fair prospect of a week's stay ; and, to teil the truth, I rather liked the idea. I had in my travels become addicted to the ardent; and, as I was the Hoü of the place, the 'nch stranger,' who was so liberal with his treut, I found time passed swiftly, and - I blush to own it now, eir - pleasantly. The storm continucd for three days without interrnission - one of those cold, north-west blows and snow 8tonns, that ieave the snow piled in huge drifts, or wreathed fancifully into shapes of vvondrous beaut}'. "In the evening of the third daj', a little girl, thinly ciad, and benumbed with cold, came softly into the bar-room, and smuggled in between the great etove and the wall. I was not as yet, thank heaven ! hardened to look upon the suffering unmoved ; and I instantly feit an iotorest in the littlo tranger from the moment that I saw her, and my interest was greatly enhanced, when 1 noticed that she timidly shrank Irona observation, and seemed intenlly watching for somo one. I divined at once that she was an angel of mercy, sent by soine suffering n.other, to persuade home some drunken reveler frora the miserable den of doath. Draw:ng my chair close to the stove, and speaking as kiudly asposaible, I asked her to come to mo." "Don't, don't, pleaso don't whip me sir," said the little one, sobb ng. "No my dear, I wish to help you. What are you here for, this co!d night?" "Pleaee, sir, to find pa." i "ís y mr pa here, my littlaone? Teil mo which your pa " "I cau't st. hirn, sir, lui f m:i töid me to come umi teil bitn that she was dyng." "Your mother dyiny - where does your tBOtbpr live ? wheii did jour pa '■ go nuav Erom home ? ' 'Oh, a great while go, Ar, T don't I khow liow long But I am going back Wo've got no fire acid nut hing to eat, and ma is oold" "Wait, little one," raid I, and, sitting her down behind the stove, I pushed in to a room udjoining, where a lew raomenta before I had seen Dodge enter, and where I found thfU personage engriend in asaisting a bleared and bloated individual to dresg "Mr. Dodge," unid I, "there is a little girl in the bar-room who has come to get her father " ''Teil her to go home," said the drunken wreteh whom Dodge was as sisting. "That voice !" "No, I wns no' mistaken. Timo and intemperance has not been able wholly to cbange it I heard it when it inspired happior leelings, but I could not bo mistaken - it vraa the same voice still. The drunken wreteh, who I aitervvards ascertained had been dead drunk for three days, was Qeorqe Dahï. "The true situation of a afFairs flashed upon my mind at once. I piotured to myself Alico, the wife of a wretched drunkard, suflering, perhaps starving at this very moment, and T so noar. I took the little girl in my anus, and walked out in the cold nightair. 'Where do you live, my üttlo one ?" said I. ' I nm going home with you, to see your mother." " Oh, ma will be so glad she's so cold and hungry ; will you please, sir, give me something to carry to ma to eat?" "I hastened back, and fiHing my pocket with cakes and crackers, returned, and taking the child in my arme, pushed through thesnow in the direct ion indicated by the child to her home. And Buch a home ! Oh, that a man should fall so low I All was dark, fi'ill, and cold. Not a braath to teil that a human being inhabited the place, nothing but cold dark silence. But the child ran to one corner of the miserable hut, exclaming, 'Oh, ma, ma, ma, wako up. The man has brought you something to eat. Ma, won't you wake?" And slie sobbed as if her little heart would break. She continucd t lking in this strain to her mother, making a!l kinds of endearing little speeches, and telling her they would ''have gome supper now," and "Ma the good man has come to see us " Shi? kept talking and sobbing, while, I, by the aid of matches and jack-knife, succeeded in kiudliug a little fire. which grew and grew, till the room waslighted, and some degree of warmth imparted. It was a terrible fccling to know that I was in that wretched abode with death and my sister. There was nothing that deservtd the name of furniture in the room. Not a c'.iair, not a stool, not a bench, even ; except a cupbiard in one i oorner, to indícate that it wai ever a human habitation. Close by the tire, on I a nest of straw. was the oold emte'tated form of my sister Alice. What a meeting was this, after five years' absence f l took her by the hand: it was cnld as death I rjiset her up. huid her to the fire, and rubbád my hands rapidly over Iit trrists to itnpart w;irnit!i. Is she dead ? Oh, this must uot be ! Look at me Alioe, 1 am your brother, come to save yon. I could not bear tho thought that she wns dead. " At length ciime the reward of my labora. She breattied, faintly it was truc, but life no, s' e was not dead I worked on ; a:d slitwly, yet surely, mj sister was cominjr to life. She spoke, but : her uiind evidently wa'ideed " Oh, George," said she. " Iavns ■ gla! you havn cme, and yet you are sj clianged. I tl.ought I .should die I as so cold and hungry. I sent little Alice after you, and you werc in good not to bent her I had suoh a sweet dream. Oh, George it i growiug dark. I am dying. " " It is I, Alioe, look at me." " She swooi.ed away, exhausted, gaspj ing for breath. Just Heaven ! what if she should die now ? No, I must save i her. I went to the door, and got a handful of snow, and, by tbc warmth imparted by my hands succeeded in melting it, and applyiug a few drops to her lips, and batbing her temples she again revived. Her eye was clear, calía, and natural, bow. There was the same swect look of old. But she w&s white - oh so. white and deatblike. She looked more liko 80 angel from tho spirit world, than the flesh and boing that she really was. Extonding her hand toward ine, she murïnured, in a voice, sweet in its Boftnoss and saduess. " Ilcnry? is it TIeury ?" " Yes, Alice, it is Henry, come to take you home to your father and mother." " Oh, Henry, is it possible ? What a horrid meniory !"' And she pressed hor hands over her eyes, as if to shut out some horrid image of the past. " But it is over now. I have seeu the death angel - I am going soon. Oh, Lord Jesus have mercy on my child, my deur little Alice. Is not George here ?" " No, he has not come yet. But don't think such thoughta, Alice. You are not going to die. Clieer up ; you must go home with mo." " Home, yes, I am going home now. Hold me in your arms, brother dear, I am so weak. I wish that George was herc to sce me die - he was kin cl to me once, but he was led away. Rum did it. He did not mean to be so bad, but the best society drink hcre. He couldn't drink a little without drinking too much. Teil him I forgive. Teil father and mother I suffored, but I am happy now. I longed to write and let you know all, but I hoped for better times. I hopod evcry revel would be hia last But oh, the power of rum ! Tt is fearful, Henry, the power of rum. George has fallen - he is a victim Tho world will condemn him, but the world will ncver know how bravely he strove to resist the charm. Tho world don't know how much he has suffercd. They know his sins - his sufferiugs they do not wish to kuow. Poor George, there is no rum in heaven." " She continucd to speak, but fainter and fainter ; till her voice died to a whisper. " " Henry, you drink. Don't deceive I do not Iovg you the les", but I (car tor you. Oh, how 1 hav prayed that you migiit be sparod this awful tato. I hall dia in your arma. And as yon luvti me, Iltíniy, as you wish to meet uit-f 11 t lie spirit-lanJ. promise me that you will drink no niore. I cannot bear the tliouglit tliatyou, too, will be adrunlfard It is the laat prayer of your dying sister, th;it you will never drink another drop of ' rum VY 11 you promise ?" 1 I do promise, Alice, never, as I hope S fer heaven, never will I drink again." '' Oh, thank you, thank you, Hwiry ; you are the same noble brother. I can die easy now. ïake little Alice - give her to father - teil him to let her have her mother's place in his heart. Bury me in the churchyard with sister Kiss ! ers and sisters for me - teil them to meet me above. Teil George - " ' There was a silcut quiver - a gasp - ■ and the spirit had returned to the God that gave it." " She sleeps noyr in the celd churchyard, the link that conaects tny soul with heaven." " I have kept my promise. Not a drop has passod my lips to this day, and, bv the help of God, there never shall. This, sir, is the reagon why I uever drink. I have seen hundreds of sisterï and wives made miserable by rum ; but I never realized the awful sin of drunkenness, till it was brought home to me and mine. And now, stranger, join with me and throw your byttle iuto the Migsujuoi, and you will never regret t."


Old News
Michigan Argus