[Illustration]
In all the town there was no brighter or more attractive girl than Miss
Martin. Her elder sister had married one of the doctors of the place,
and she came on a visit to her, and as was right and fitting, they
enjoyed themselves by visiting places of interest together.
One day, while visiting a neighboring city, they stepped into a
fashionable restaurant to rest and take refreshments. As it was a hot
day, the sandwich was followed, at Dr. Black’s suggestion, by a glass
of wine.
Chemists tell us of the affinity of certain substances.
Dr. and Mrs. Black drank their glass of wine without any apparent
effect. But it was different with Miss Martin. She had never drunk
a whole glass of wine in all her life, and something in her system,
I know not what or how, answered to its subtle qualities, and she
felt its exhilarating effect. A pleasing, indescribable sensation
came over her. Before, she was worn out and exhausted; now she felt
light, vigorous, and happy. It is to constitutions of this kind, that
stimulants are an unspeakable temptation.
Favoring circumstances, I grieve to say, were not wanting. Mrs. Black’s
callers were numerous, and wine and cake were regularly presented.
They were asked to dinner and supper parties to get acquainted in the
neighborhood, and at most of these parties wine was served, and just
because other people took it, Miss Martin did so too.
She thought the place delightful and the people exceedingly pleasant;
and if, in a forenoon, she felt exhausted and nervous after an
evening’s party, a glass of wine put her all right.
No wonder that, when she returned to her home, life seemed dull, flat,
and heavy. She used to awake in the morning with a bright, cheery
feeling, and begin to lay out her plan of work for the day. But things
of an ordinary kind had no interest for her now. She became restless,
her appetite failed, and she grew pale and thin.
Her mother, anxious and alarmed, called in the doctor, whose verdict
was, “A little out of sorts--trying season of the year--liver dull--a
little stimulant will set all to rights.” Her father, good, confiding
man, at once ordered in a dozen bottles of port wine, which was to be
administered to the patient twice a day.
[Illustration: _The Doctor’s Prescription_]
And so the flame was fanned and cherished, which in due time,--but I
must not anticipate.
As I have said, Miss Martin was a very prepossessing girl, admired by
many; so in a little while, when on a second visit to her sister, no
one was surprised when it was announced that she was to be married to
one who stood high in the opinion of all, and who was, indeed, a young
man of great worth and excellence.
It happened that winter that a Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Society,
a Scientific Association, and a Total Abstinence Society were organized
in the town.
Now, into the first two of these, Dr. Black and Mr. Bennet, his
intended brother-in-law, entered readily, and were quite willing to
attend meetings, give readings, and deliver lectures; but as for a
temperance society,--really, they saw no need.
“It seems almost an insult to introduce such a society among
respectable people. No doubt there are many who should not drink
because they cannot stop in time, and in such cases drink is a great
curse; but with us, it is different.” And when Mr. Bennet saw Miss
Martin sipping her glass of wine, he thought as of everything else
about her, how graceful it seemed, and how well the action became her.
It was but a few months after their marriage that the poor illusion was
dispelled.
One day some friends of Mr. Bennet’s had come to make them a visit, and
a few neighbors had been asked to meet them at dinner.
The little entertainment was a great success. Finally Mrs. Bennet left
her guests in the dining room, over their wine; she had intended to
be gone but a moment; but when seated by herself, with the excitement
over, a feeling of excessive fatigue and languor came upon her. As
on other occasions, she at once thought of a glass of wine. This was
just the very time it was needed! So without further consideration,
she drank one glass after another, till before she knew it, she was
sleeping the sleep of a drunkard in her own elegant drawing room.
[Illustration]
By-and-by the door was thrown open, and Mr. Bennet, in his usual cheery
voice, said, “Here we are, Mary, all ready for your nice cup of coffee.”
But, alas! there was no answering greeting, nothing but an inarticulate
sound from the prostrate form on the rug. The company took in the
situation but too well, and all retired as gracefully as possible,
“sorry to see Mrs. Bennet so poorly,” etc.
Mr. Bennet was bewildered. Of all the possibilities in life, this was
the last that could have occurred to him; and there he sat, with that
terrible, mysterious smile upon his face, which you may have seen on
the face of a strong man when shame and agony were gnawing at his heart.
It would be tedious to record Mrs. Bennet’s resolutions of amendment
made and broken, to be again renewed with the same result. Her
husband’s patience was often abused, but still he was always so ready
to forgive.
But the most long-suffering patience may be worn out at last, and it
seemed to Mr. Bennet that the only chance was to send his wife--once
his pride, as well as his joy--to one of those asylums for the
drunkard, called “refuges.” The arrangements were made, and the day on
which she was to go appointed.
I shall never forget that afternoon. The poor husband was utterly
prostrated by grief and shame by an outbreak of his wife the day
before, and, as an old friend, he requested me to accompany her, for he
could not trust himself, and feared his resolution would give way at
the parting scene.
She, poor creature, not only acquiesced in the plan, but earnestly
besought her husband on her knees to help her to get free from the
wretched slavery in which she lived. It is easy for people outside to
speak, but I do think that the wretched slave to strong drink is to be
pitied.
Poor Mrs. Bennet had been for some months in this establishment, when
her husband, hoping against hope, removed to the city of which I have
spoken, with a view of giving her new scenes and new surroundings in
her future life, and brought her home. How he congratulated himself;
how his love and long-slumbering reverence revived, as week after week
passed, and still she stood the trial!
Some time after this I was invited to the marriage of their only
daughter. She was one of whom any mother might have been proud, and on
whom her father doted.
[Illustration: “_At evening time it shall be light._”]
I had been greatly gratified at hearing of my friend’s continued
reformation. When I arrived that summer evening, I found the three
sitting together on the lawn under a spreading tree, enjoying the
sweetest hour of all the day. The outward scene seemed a fitting symbol
of the inward peace, and I caught myself whispering, “At evening time
it shall be light.”
Looking back on the past, it seemed as if we had awakened from a
fearful nightmare, and were being reassured by the calm and peace of
returning morning.
Next day, as the wedding guests were strolling through the grounds
after the marriage, till lunch was announced, and everything seemed
the embodiment of calmness and comfort, he would have been thought a
hard-hearted prophet of evil who would have predicted the events of the
following hours.
I stepped aside and went into the house to see if I could be of any
assistance in the finishing of the arrangements. On looking into the
dining room, what was my amazement to find the table furnished with a
profusion of wines and brandies!
Thinking there must have been some strange mistake, I hurried out and
sought Mr. Bennet, to whom I told what I had seen, suggesting that his
orders must surely have been misunderstood.
For a moment, a look of surprise came into his face. “Not at all,”
said he; “you do not suppose I could let such an occasion as this pass
without giving it all the honors?”
“Honors!”
I thought some people had strange ideas about honors. I implored him
to alter his arrangements even yet. “Thanks,” said he, “for your kind
interest; but pray don’t trouble yourself, you will see that all will
go off well.” And then, in a lower tone, “Mary has promised me.”
With a sorrowful heart, I turned away. The party had not been long
in the dining room, when I saw Mrs. Bennet, who had hitherto been
acting the part of hostess with all the ease and grace, which in her
early days had charmed so many, become suddenly pale, and seemed to be
putting a strong restraint upon herself. I felt deeply grieved when I
saw those around her carelessly sipping their wine, ignorant of the
fierce war they were kindling within her.
At last she could restrain herself no longer; it seemed as if a
thunderbolt had fallen among us, when suddenly she rose, and seizing a
bottle, darted to the door.
Mr. Bennet’s face turned ashy pale, and when he attempted to rise,
his knees smote against each other, like the monarch of old when
the handwriting on the wall announced his doom. When I got outside
the door, the poor woman looked round on me with a half-triumphant,
half-scared expression, and the brandy bottle was lying empty beside
her.
I helped her to the bed, and the doctor was sent for; but no human
power could save her. As we watched her tossing to and fro, wildly
appealing for protection from the fiery serpents which she averred were
swarming around her, I wondered if her husband did not ask himself if
he had fulfilled that vow made long ago, of loving, cherishing, and
_protecting_ her, when he exposed her to that which was indeed the
supremest danger possible,--the very smell of what, to her, was deadly
poison.
[Illustration: “_They shall thirst no more_”]
At length the storm subsided; she lay wan and worn on her pillow.
Leaning over her, I heard in a low whisper the words, “_they shall
thirst no more_.” The pathos was inexpressible. These were her last
words. No doubt there is pardon for the penitent drunkard as well as
for the penitent thief, even at the eleventh hour; but turning away
from that deathbed, I could but say, “Let me die the death of the
righteous, and let my last end be like his.”
I have spoken of some of the outward incidents of Mrs. Bennet’s
history, but who shall imagine her inner life? I am sure that the most
exquisite tortures ever invented, fell very far short of those endured
by this poor woman.
When bidding good-by to the silent and mournful mansion, where all had
but the other day seemed so bright and happy, I felt with new emphasis
the force of the wise man’s words, “Look not thou upon the wine when
it is red, when it giveth his color in the cup, when it moveth itself
aright. At last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.”
* * * * *
Let us turn to the stern lesson woven all through the warp and woof
of the foregoing story,--of a young life ruined and a home broken up
as the result of the social wineglass. Social custom and “treating”
are responsible for more drunkards’ graves than many are willing to
acknowledge.
But who will speak for the brewer and distiller who institute open
“missionary” campaigns to teach the children to drink that they
may fill the breaks in the ranks caused by the passing of the old
inebriates? God says to such:--
“Woe unto him that giveth his neighbor drink, that putteth the bottle
to him, and maketh him drunken also.”