"If you don't recant, young fellow, and pretty quick too, you've earnt the last dollar you'll ever earn in my store;" and with a horrible oath he brought down his fist again upon the desk.

"In that respect, sir, I can never change," said young Ryland; "I have endeavored faithfully to do my duty since I have been in your employ.

But, sir, to tell you the truth, I have stretched my conscience in your service by consenting to be employed in an establishment where liquors are manufactured; and it will be no disappointment to me to leave at this time."

Squire Lee in a frenzy, turned upon Edward with uplifted arm to strike him to the floor; but there was something in the expression of the young man's eye, which had not for a moment quailed, that restrained him; and he contented himself by pouring upon him a volley of abuse, intermingled with oaths and curses, such as it made Edward shudder to hear. He calmly turned, closed the books, placed them in the safe, pa.s.sed the key to the old gentleman, saying, "In a few moments the business for the week would have been accounted for. I think you will find all correct, as far as I had gone." He took his hat and left, before the Squire had recovered his breath.

Whether the bills of sale were rendered in due season, or what he thought of Edward's conduct at that time is not known; but it is certain that after having in vain tried to fill Edward's place to his liking, the Squire took pains to ride out to Rose Cottage. He inquired his whereabouts, expressing a strong desire to get him back. "He was rather too fanatical about his religion, and all that sort of stuff, but a smarter, more faithful or accurate book-keeper I never had."

Mrs. Reynolds informed him that her brother, after leaving his store, had obtained recommendations from individuals acquainted with him while in the employ of the other firm, and had gone directly to New York, where he had speedily procured employment.

Squire Lee was so much disappointed, that Mrs. Reynolds added, that she would write to her brother whom it would be very pleasant to her to have again in her family.

"Tell him," resumed the Squire, "that I will make his salary just what he says."

This visit was the small cloud which gradually overspread the whole horizon of the gentle Anna Reynolds. That night when her husband returned home more than usually fatigued from his work, she communicated to him the purpose of the Squire in his call, expressing at the same time her conviction that her brother would never consent to return to his employ.

"Why couldn't I get the situation?" flashed through William's mind, but he said nothing to his wife until he had finished his out door work; and Anna had soothed her baby to sleep, laid it in the cradle--swept the hearth, and sat down to her sewing, with her foot upon the rocker.

"What are you thinking of, Willie?" she asked playfully. "You seem to be looking as earnestly into the fire, as if you were expecting your new cart and oxen to come walking out of it into the room."

William smiled as he turned to look at her; and after a moment's hesitation said, "Wife, I've been thinking it all over, about what Squire Lee said, and I've about come to the conclusion, to apply for the situation myself. That is," he continued, seeing her look of astonishment, "if Edward does not choose to come back."

Anna gazed intently at him for a moment, and then exclaimed, "William Reynolds, I really believe you are going mad. Aren't you well?" she asked, changing her tone.

William made a faint attempt to laugh as he said, "I expected you'd be astonished at first; but the fact is, you know I haven't felt well lately." Anna looked anxious, as this was the first intimation she had received of his sickness. "And to tell the truth, I always thought it was a foolish move in Edward to give up such a good place for so trifling a matter, and it was so pleasant having him here."

"It was, indeed," replied Anna with a sigh.

"If the whole must be known," resumed William, "when I went to market, and had been hawing and geeing all day, and called at the Squire's and saw Edward sitting there so cozy and comfortable with nothing to do, but just to write from morning till night; his salary sure, rain or shine, crops good or bad; I almost envied him."

"But what could you do with the farm?" interrupted Anna.

"I could get a man to take care of it. There's Joe Clark would take it to the halves, and be glad of the chance. I heard him talking so to a man not more'n a week ago."

Anna, however, was not easily convinced of the wisdom of this new movement; and it required all her husband's arguments to induce her to consent to his making the trial, in case he succeeded in obtaining the situation. He had when a boy, been at the head of the school in book-keeping, and had often a.s.sisted Edward in his accounts when obliged to be up late in the employment of the other firm. In representing to his wife, all the inducements to quit the farm for the counting-room, he did not mention the fact, that the hands employed by the firm, were allowed free access to the barrels of New England rum and whisky, piled up against the walls around the building. Indeed there were generally kept kegs especially for their use; and for them to treat those who came in upon business. It was during the frequent calls he had made upon Edward, that he had imbibed a taste for ardent spirits. Perhaps he thought this argument would not have much weight with his wife. Perhaps he was not himself aware of its power over himself, nor of the strength of his appet.i.te.

True, it is, that having received a note from his brother-in-law, positively declining the offer of the Squire, accompanied by a note recommending him as competent to fill the place, and also a recommendation from the teacher of the school where he learned the art, Reynolds sallied forth in quest of Squire Lee. He did not think it necessary to exhibit to that gentleman, neither did he intend to show his wife, a kind note from Edward accompanying the other, begging him, by every motive he could urge, to avoid a place so fraught with danger.

In the most brotherly manner, Edward told him that he had noticed with fearful antic.i.p.ations the relish with which, on occasions of his calls at the distillery, he had accepted invitations to a gla.s.s from the workmen. He also added, that since he had been in New York, he had ascertained that public sentiment was farther advanced upon the subject of intemperance than he had supposed, and that the distiller was beginning to be regarded as an enemy to his brother man.

"If," he added at the close, "Squire Lee had proposed to take me as an equal partner into the firm, instead of the offer he made, I would not for an instant think of accepting it."

"All this was no doubt well meant in Edward," soliloquized William, as he walked to the counting room; "but I always knew he was too stiff in such matters; even Anna says that." But he could not help acknowledging that his wife, and her parents would view the matter in the same light as the writer, should they read the letter. So he considered it more prudent to say nothing about it, as he had made up his mind to take the situation if he could obtain it.

Unfortunately for him, and for all connected with him, he did obtain it, and entered at once upon his new duties; Joe Clark taking his place on the farm.

"Somehow," said Anna, "from the very first, everything seemed to go behind hand. Joe was not so much interested, or at home on the farm as my William; and then his pay had to come out of the produce, whether we made little or much; and though my husband satisfied his employers, and received a good salary, yet I didn't realize much help from it at the cottage. It also weaned him from home, and got him in a way of staying out very late at night; and at length _all was gone_; and he mortgaged our beautiful home to the Squire, when Willie was a baby, telling me he should soon work and get it back again. But every thing went and _went_, until I and my babes moved to this old shanty, with little more of my nice furniture than the bed on which I lie. Even this, I could have borne, had my husband been left to me. I could work, I would do anything for them; but I _have no husband_. A man calling himself William Reynolds lives here; that is, when he is not off on a drunken frolic; but he is not THE _William Reynolds_ I married."

It will be readily seen that though William and his wife were, at the time of their living in Rose Cottage, moral, and upright in their characters; yet they were not actuated by the religious principles which were the governing motives of their brother's conduct. But it is to be hoped, that the death of her parents, together with the sad change in her own circ.u.mstances, had been blessed to the afflicted woman.

Certainly she has been most careful to instil religious principles into the minds of her children.

"But where," I asked, "is Edward, her brother?"

"He has never been to Crawford since the death of his parents. William was very angry at his brother's interference, as he termed it, in matters which did not concern him; and Anna has not heard from him for several years."

CHAPTER XVIII.

"There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, For her new born babe beside her lies; Oh, heaven of bliss! when the heart o'erflows With the rapture a _mother_ only knows." HENRY WARE, JR.

_Tuesday, April 19th, 1836._

DEAREST MOTHER,--Though it has been many a long month since I have had the heart to write in my journal, I cannot let the anniversary of my marriage and departure from home pa.s.s away, without at least a few words to the dear family at home. My breath comes quickly, and my tears blind me when I think, they may be _my last_. Often my heart sinks, and my spirit faints, as I look forward with an undefined sense of dread to the future. Sometimes I am enabled to look up with trust and confidence to "Him who doeth all things well;" and by faith to take hold of the precious promises peculiarly addressed to me.

I am blessed with a devoted husband; a watchful and tender mother, and an affectionate sister. When I think of these mercies, I can only say, "surely my cup runneth over."

Dear mother, I need not ask your prayers for your daughter. I know that I am remembered whenever you approach the throne of grace----

My pen dropped from my hand. I was with you in spirit at the hour of family prayer. I saw again my own loved and honored father in his arm chair, near the table, where open before him lies the sacred page. Near by sit my dear mother and sisters, while on the opposite side of the room, are our faithful Jennie and her a.s.sociates, waiting for the daily instruction, they are in the habit of receiving. When all is still, a chapter is read. Isabel strikes softly the notes of the organ, while all join in a hymn of praise; then my dear father in a simple, trustful manner, lays the wants of each one of the bowed circle before our Heavenly Father.

"The voices of my home! I hear them still!

They have been with me through the dreamy night-- The blessed household voices, wont to fill My heart's clear depths with unalloy'd delight."

Ah! beloved mother, my spirit melts as I feel a.s.sured that I am not forgotten; the dear child who has gone out from the shelter of the parental roof, who lives beyond the mighty waters; for her and her husband, are invoked the choicest of heaven's blessings; strength, support, and comfort, for every hour of need. Thus let me feel, your prayers ever ascend. Father, mother, sisters, _farewell_!

"_Crawford, May 2d, 1836._

"HONORED PARENTS,

"I am most happy to inform you that after a protracted, and somewhat dangerous illness, my dear wife gave birth to a fine boy, at half past six this morning. My heart is full of grat.i.tude for the mercy which has spared the life of my beloved Cora, and given us so precious a treasure.

"Dutifully and affectionately your son,

"FRANK LENOX."

"_P.S., May 6th_,--Mother and child are doing well. Cora looks very smiling, as she lies gazing at her sleeping babe. She says, tell them I am very, _very_ happy."

_Thursday, November 10th._

Beloved mother, how I long to exhibit to you and to all at home, my beautiful boy, my chubby, rosy Walter. He is everything a mother's heart could desire, gifted with every faculty of body and mind, to make him a useful member of society. Yet when I realize that I have given birth to one whose soul can never die, I shrink from the fearful responsibility.

Yet I am not alone. There is a fountain of wisdom and knowledge from which I am permitted freely to draw.