TROUBLES.
"I dared not look on the long way before;
I dared not look on the dark way behind."
Six months later, Judge McNair and his wife were dining at the Wynn
mansion. Mrs. Wynn had exquisite taste, and also plenty of money at
her command: consequently the finishing and furnishing of that dining
room was a rare combination of beauty and comfort. The hangings were
of the palest of green tints, the carpet wonderfully like the rich
moss into which our feet sink in our summer rambles, the pictures few
and appropriate, the chairs of a graceful pattern; flowers filled one
window with colour and the room with delicate fragrance, while an open
fire at the farther end dispelled the chill and gloom of a November
day. The table appointments were perfect, and the cook had done her
part well.
There was no extra display—the daughter of the house had come to spend
the day with her mother, and the judge had been invited to an informal
dinner. No doubt they ought to have been very bright and happy, all of
them. Mabel and her mother had passed a very cheery morning, and Judge
McNair came in smiling and genial as ever; but the host wore a vexed
and pained expression, which did not altogether pass off as the dinner
progressed. When they came to the wine, which, as usual, Mabel and her
husband declined, Mr. Wynn said—
"I believe you are right, judge. If I had a boy, I'd do the same."
"But, father," said Mabel, "you have young men in your employ."
"I'm not responsible for my clerks' habits," Mr. Wynn returned; "and,
besides, they don't sit at my table."
"I have no doubt but that they perfectly understand your views and
practices on the temperance question, though they never saw you take a
glass of wine; but, father, it seems to me that you are to a certain
degree responsible for them."
"I hope not," he answered quickly. "I don't want to be held responsible
for Perry Morse's dishonesty, which has just come to light. I declare I
don't know when I have been so sorry for anybody as for Mr. Morse; but
I couldn't help it, I had to discharge him."
"Why, Mabel!" said Mrs. Wynn. "He was one of your famous boys, wasn't
he?"
"Yes," replied Mabel sadly.
"Humph! I wonder you didn't instil in him some of the first principles
of honour," growled Mr. Wynn.
"You mean," returned Mabel, with a touch of sarcasm, "you wonder why I
didn't teach him the happy medium. It seems there is one. Queer that
Herbert should have been discharged for being too strict, and Perry
Morse for being too loose."
"Herbert Bradford was discharged for disobeying orders; but Perry Morse
was sent adrift because he is a drunkard and a gambler, and took my
money to pay his gambling debts. If his father had not been an old
friend, I'd have lodged the boy in jail, and I am not sure that I
should not have been more in the way of duty if I had done so."
"Give him another chance," said Judge McNair quietly.
"Another chance at the money-drawer?" Mr. Wynn asked, laughing. "No, I
can't do it. Morse must find some other berth for his scapegrace; but I
am really sorry for them. I declare," turning to his daughter, "I don't
see how you happened to make a failure of him. I thought all those boys
were going to turn out paragons. It seems that Perry was too much for
you, eh?"
"I do not give Perry Morse up for lost yet," returned Mabel. "The
freshness and purity of his boyhood may be sadly marred, but he may
make a good and useful man. I have worked hard for him, but Satan has
been busy too."
"Do you know what Morse thinks of doing with him?" asked the judge.
"No; he spoke of his brother's establishment near Dunkirk, and thought
perhaps he would take him."
"What is the business?" asked his wife.
"Manufacturing leather—in other words, a tannery."
"Do you mean that Mr. Morse would be so unwise as to set a boy of
Perry's peculiar tastes and temperament to work at that disagreeable
business?" exclaimed Mabel.
"Why not?" returned Mr. Wynn. "I presume you would prefer the odour of
hides and tan-bark to that of whisky. Anyway, the fellow wants bringing
down."
"I don't think so. He needs lifting up. He is a proud, fastidious
fellow. I dare say you would never find him at Smith's den around the
corner, nor over the railroad at Bacon's, but always at Murphy's, where
Satan takes especial pains to be agreeable and fascinating to boys of
Perry's stamp. He would never have become a drunkard, if he had been
forced to buy his liquor at Smith's. He will rebel against any such
plan as you suggest."
"But, Mabel, don't you see that he has forfeited all claim to a
consideration of his tastes and inclinations?"
"No, I don't see. Doubtless he has gone very far astray; but I don't
feel at all sure that he may not be reclaimed, and under proper
influences led into the right way."
"I don't know what you mean by proper influences," retorted Mr. Wynn.
"His father and mother, as you know, are Christian people, and I have
no doubt have tried to train their son up in the way he should go."
"Unfortunately Christian people sometimes make sad mistakes, and Perry
is one of those persons who are sharp to detect inconsistencies in the
lives of professing Christians, and turn them to account in excusing
their own faults. I can't help thinking that if the atmosphere of his
home had been more truly Christian, if love to Christ had been the
ruling motive in every day's affairs, if the life, the labour, and the
conversation had been of and for Jesus, Perry Morse might have turned
out differently. That's what I mean by proper influences. Influences
that lead to Christ, not away from Him. It would be very far from
my intention or desire to judge Mr. and Mrs. Morse," continued Mrs.
McNair; "but we all know what has been the tenor of their walk and
conversation, and only the faithful are sure of the promises."
"Well, all I have got to say about it," returned Mr. Wynn, "is that the
fellow has been taught at home and at church better than he has done,
and his common sense might have told him that the way he has been going
on must lead to ruin first or last. The scamp has only himself to blame
as I can see."
"Now, if we allow that (which I do not), suppose one should give him a
chance to thank somebody for a helping hand, so that he gets back to
a safe path, wouldn't it be better than letting him go on down hill,
because it is his own fault that he started?"
"It might be, if he showed any signs of wanting to turn about; but I
can tell you, my dear, coaxing won't do any good in his case, he is too
hardened."
Mabel said no more, but her thoughts were busy while her father and Mr.
McNair branched off upon a less painful topic.
Meanwhile Perry, sullen and defiant, listened to his father's
reproaches, which were neither few nor mild.
"To think that a son of mine should be a drunkard! A man of my position
in both business and religious circles! Young man, it is positively
outrageous!"
"Father," said Perry, with a sneer, "I wouldn't find so much fault with
my own work if I were you. If I am a drunkard, you made me one."
"I made you one! What an abominable story to invent! Pray tell me how
I, a temperance man, succeeded so admirably in the work you credit me
with."
"I don't know what you mean by being a 'temperance man;' but I do know
that when Mr. Spencer was here lecturing upon temperance, he one Sunday
spoke to the Sunday-school, and after he had spoken a while, he asked
all who would promise to abstain from intoxicating drink to rise.
Almost everybody in the church rose, and I was just going to get up
with the rest of our class, when I looked over and saw you keeping your
seat, and I thought that if you didn't think such a pledge was right
for you, of course it wouldn't be for me. And that is how I came to be
a drunkard, sir! If I had taken that pledge, I should have kept it."
For a moment Mr. Morse was confounded, but recovering himself, he said—
"Of course that is nonsense, Perry. You know very well that I do
not believe in total abstinence pledges, but that I do believe in
temperance. There is a vast difference between an occasional glass
of wine, or even an habitual glass, and this drinking to excess,
frequenting saloons, and being brought home dead drunk."
"Won't you please to tell me how a fellow is going to know just where
temperance ends and intemperance begins?" asked Perry, in a sarcastic
tone.
"I should think you had tried the experiment times enough to find out
for yourself," retorted his father sharply.
"I reckon you'll have some trouble to lay the rest of your confounded
follies upon my shoulders," he said, after a pause. "You can't accuse
me of training you in the art of gambling. I never played a game of
cards in my life—or stole a dollar," he added bitterly.
"Perhaps not," returned the boy, stung to madness. "But who bet fifty
dollars on the election last fall? And maybe cheating isn't stealing,
but—"
"Perry!" exclaimed Mrs. Morse. "Won't you stop? I cannot endure it."
Perry turned toward the pale little woman who, exhausted with grief,
lay upon the lounge listening to this talk.
"Yes, mother, I will stop; but isn't it hard to be reproached for
learning a lesson too well?"
I think Mr. Morse had it in his heart to strike his son to the floor,
but he restrained himself, remembering his plan, which would bring a
sweeter revenge, and to Perry a more bitter punishment.
"You'll soon be under another teacher, young man," he said quietly.
"I have just written to brother John, and if he will take you, I'll
apprentice you to him for the next two years."
"Father!" exclaimed Perry, in utter dismay. "You won't do that?"
"I will do just that!"
"I will never go there."
"We shall see."
"But, father, you are not in earnest? I'd sooner die."
"Oh, no, people are not so ready to die. And pray what objection have
you to my plan? I should suppose you would be glad to hide yourself
somewhere."
"Not in a tan-vat!" said Perry. "Father, I don't like the business—that
is my objection."
"Of course it is a coming down; but remember, you brought yourself
down."
"But it is such dirty work."
"Afraid of dirt, eh? Perry, you are too proud for your present
position. If I were you, I'd be thankful for any work that is
respectable, and not mind if it is not as—"
"I'm not afraid of dirt, but I hate it; and as for pride, I'll prove
to you it is not that, by doing any kind of clean work, even if it is
sawing wood. But I never will go into Uncle John's tannery."
Mr. Morse repeated his cool "We shall see," and left the room. Mrs.
Morse said—
"You'd better not oppose your father now. He feels your fall into sin
very deeply. Perhaps he will be more yielding after a little while."
"It isn't so much the sin that he cares about as the disgrace," said
Perry. "I tell you, mother, if I had not gone so far, it would have
been all right. A gentleman tippler, a parlour gamester, a sharp
money-getter—these pass muster."
"My son, you are unreasonably bitter toward your father."
"And isn't he unreasonably bitter toward me?"
"Oh, I don't know, I don't know," moaned the poor woman; "but don't
quarrel. I can't bear it. Oh, Perry, how could you go so wrong? You
certainly have been taught better."
"Yes, mother, I have had a mixed sort of education; and, unfortunately,
I found some of the lessons easier than others. But, after all, I think
you and father are making a great fuss about something that happens
every day. I've done no more than half a dozen rich men's sons that I
could name."
The poor mother turned her face to the wall; she did not know what
to say to her boy; she only partly understood him, but she began to
realise faintly that there had been a fault in his training, that the
seed which had brought such bitter fruit might have been of their own
sowing. Unconsciously and ignorantly on her part the evil had been
wrought; but was she not to blame for this very unconsciousness and
ignorance? Alas! She had followed Christ afar off, and so her children
had failed to see manifested in her life the beauty of holiness. And,
too, now in her troubles, her Saviour seemed afar off, so far that she
could not carry her grief to Him, and she had no strength to call out
that He might hear and draw nigh. Poor mother!