ADVERSITY.
THE first act of Mr. Hapley, after Benny was laid in the frozen ground,
was one that gave new hope to the sorrowing household. At his request,
the clergyman of the village had previously written a pledge of total
abstinence from all intoxicating liquor, which the afflicted father
signed upon the coffin of his boy. On returning from the funeral, he
collected together all the alcoholic liquors in the house, consisting
of cider, whiskey and brandy, and taking them into the yard, poured
them out upon the snow. As Mrs. Hapley and the children gazed upon this
novel scene, they almost forgot their bereavement, in the new hopes and
joys which seemed now about to be bestowed upon them. And well might
they take courage. Mr. Hapley had thus far sacredly kept his promise to
Benny. He was very sad, and his limbs were weak and trembling, and
there was a terrible craving and gnawing within, that neither food nor
ordinary drink could satisfy; still he struggled manfully against the
tempter, and friends not a few stood by, with words of encouragement
and cheer. Indeed, with his sober and subdued air, his clean-shaven
face, and the general tidiness of his personal appearance, he already
seemed like a different man.
The reformation of Mr. Hapley was much talked of among his neighbors
and acquaintances, and very different opinions were expressed as to its
permanence. It was generally thought that he would persevere, but there
were some who had little faith in his good purposes. Old Mr. Todd, who
held a mortgage on his farm, and who was regarded as quite an oracle,
shook his head in a knowing manner, when the matter was mentioned at
the post office, one morning.
“I’ve known Charles Hapley,” said he, “ever since he was a boy, and I
knew his father before him. The old man had the best farm in town, but
the family has been gradually running down these twenty years, and it’s
my opinion that Hapley will die a drunkard, as his father did.”
“Now, Squire,” said an elderly and benevolent looking man, who was
seated on the counter, “it appears to me you are a little too hard on
Hapley. They say he’s stuck it out for more’n a week, and not touched a
drop of anything, and that’s doing pretty well, for him. I hold that we
all ought to encourage the poor fellow along, and not go around
predicting that he’ll die a drunkard.”
“So do I hold to encouraging him along,” replied Mr. Todd; “but at the
same time I don’t believe it will do any good. He never did have any
control over himself, from a boy, and I don’t believe he’s going to
keep the bridle on a great while, now. You see if he does, that’s all.”
“Guess the old man means to step in there,” said some one, as Mr. Todd
went his way.
“Yes, it’s plain enough what he’s after,” said another.
[Illustration]
The speakers alluded to Mr. Todd’s taking possession of the Hapley
farm, on account of the non-payment of his mortgage. Their conclusion
was not a very charitable one, to be sure. Nor was it exactly kind in
Mr. Todd to predict with so much assurance the relapse of Mr. Hapley.
Still, it must be admitted that he had pretty strong ground for his
opinion, though he need not have been so free to express it. The lesson
of self-government is a hard one to learn in mature life, especially to
a man who has for many years been tyrannized over by depraved appetites
and passions. The position of such a man is something like that of
Mazeppa, the young page of a Polish king, who for some offence was
lashed, naked, to the back of a wild horse, which was then set free,
and plunged with frightful speed through forest and plain into his
native country, bearing his helpless and well-nigh lifeless rider with
him. But when the appetites and passions are the ruled, and not the
rulers, they may be compared to the same steed, tamed and docile,
bridled and saddled, and ready to do your bidding. Mazeppa, it is true,
had the good fortune to survive the painful ordeal, and lived to become
a prince; but we think few would be willing to run such a race, even
for such a prize, except upon the wild horses of their own ungovernable
passions.
But Mr. Todd proved a true prophet, in this instance. In less than a
fortnight after Benny’s death, Mr. Hapley came home from the village
one afternoon sadly intoxicated. How he happened to fall, was never
explained to the family. He had been to the store where liquors were
sold, on business, and probably the wretched sensation in his stomach,
aided by the sight and smell of the tempter, the associations of the
place, and perhaps the coaxings of the drunkard-maker, suddenly swept
away the breastwork of good purposes he had erected. He tasted—he fell;
and what a death-blow was that act to the hopes and peace of his poor
wife and children! To Mrs. Hapley and Jessie, especially, it seemed as
if the last hope had been swept away.
The next day, when Mr. Hapley realized his situation, he was overcome
with grief and shame. He was, moreover, discouraged. He had lost both
his self-respect and his self-reliance. He had no longer any confidence
in his ability to keep the pledge. Meanwhile his thirst for the deadly
liquid was growing more insupportable for the fresh stimulus it had
received. In this pitiable state of mind and body, he went again in the
afternoon to the rum-shop, and attempted to drown his sorrow in a still
deeper potation. Towards night, a severe snow-storm set in, but he did
not return. Hour after hour did his wife sit at the fire, after the
children had retired, listening for his return; but the wild shriek of
the wind, as the storm waxed more furious, and the sharp rattle of the
snow against the window panes, were the only sounds she heard. At
length, when it was almost midnight, unable longer to bear the terrible
suspense, she aroused Henry from his sleep, and told him to go over to
Mrs. Page’s, and ask Marcus if he would not take a horse and go in
search of the missing man. The boy dressed himself, and plunged into
the huge snow-drifts. He had not proceeded far, however, before he
began to doubt whether he should be able either to go on or to return.
Blinded by the driving storm, transfixed by cutting blasts, the
divisions between roads and fields quite obliterated, and floundering
in snow up to his arm-pits, he sank exhausted, more than once, into the
hole he had made; but with the energy of despair, he again aroused
himself, and at length reached Mrs. Page’s door-steps.
After considerable effort, some of the family were aroused, and Marcus,
on learning Henry’s errand, at once prepared to go out in search of his
father. He concluded he could get along best on horseback; and putting
a bridle on Charley, the toughest of the two horses, he mounted him,
and taking Henry behind him, carried him home. He then set out for the
village, by the route Mr. Hapley had probably taken, which led him
directly into the teeth of the storm. But he found it impossible to
keep in the road, and his horse soon began to sink into old drifts
newly buried, and to flounder among invisible stones, stumps, fences
and pitfalls, until, at last, the exhausted creature seemed unable to
proceed further. Marcus was accordingly obliged to give up the search,
of which fact he informed Mrs. Hapley, before returning home.
The storm moderated in the morning, but owing to the state of the
roads, several hours elapsed before arrangements could be made to
search for the missing man. In the course of the forenoon, he was
found, about a quarter of a mile from the road, sitting in his sleigh,
with the reins in his hands; but the rider and his horse were both
frozen stiff. The horse had apparently been thrown down by a log, and
was unable to rise without assistance, which the unfortunate rider was
too insensible or too benumbed to render. So they perished there alone,
and were well-nigh buried from sight before they were discovered. A jug
of rum, found in the sleigh, furnished a sad clue to the catastrophe,
had any been needed.
The next day, a new grave was opened in the frozen earth, by the side
of Benny’s, and the father was laid close by the son he had so lately
promised to meet in heaven, and to whom he had pledged himself to a
reformed life. O, how sad is _such_ a funeral, when hope, and honor,
and happiness, are consigned to the tomb with the remains of the lost!
Truly, in such a case “’tis the survivor dies.”
It is often said that misfortunes never come singly. So, indeed, did it
prove in the case of this family. The property left by Mr. Hapley was
barely sufficient to pay his debts; and as most of it was mortgaged,
very little remained for the family. Notwithstanding these reverses,
Jessie continued to attend the academy, and was still “trying to be
somebody,” as Abby Leonard contemptuously expressed it, though that
young lady, it should be added, now manifested something like pity for
the heart-stricken girl. And in spite of the drawbacks to which she had
been subjected, Jessie maintained a high rank in her class, winning the
respect alike of teachers and scholars, as she also did their sympathy
and good-will. But there were few among her gay-hearted school-mates
who could half realize the sorrows, and disappointments, and
discouragements, that were mingled in her cup.
On returning from school one afternoon, she found traces of weeping on
the face of her mother, which the latter for a time declined to
explain. The reason, however, came out after a while. On the death of
Mr. Hapley, as he left no will, an administrator was appointed,
according to law, to settle up his estate; that is, to take charge of
the property, ascertain and pay the debts, and deliver the balance, if
any, to the lawful heirs. This administrator was a kind-hearted man
named Allen, who had always shown himself very friendly to Mrs. Hapley.
It seemed Mr. Allen had called upon her, that afternoon, to talk about
her husband’s affairs. There was, he said, but little more than
sufficient property to pay off the mortgages. He advised her,
therefore, to give up the farm, to sell all the personal property they
could dispense with, and to find homes for herself and children
elsewhere. The children, he said, were all old enough to support
themselves, and she need have no one but herself to look out for.
“Well, mother, that’s only what I expected,” said Jessie, when the
matter was explained; “we couldn’t carry on the farm, if we should stay
here, and we may as well go somewhere else. Grandpa said he would give
you a home; Henry can get a chance to live with some farmer, and work
for his board and clothes; Sam can earn his living, if he chooses to;
and as for me, I will go to some factory town and work in a mill, and
in a little time I shall be able to support you, as well as myself.”
“And give up your hope of becoming a teacher?” inquired her mother.
“Perhaps not,” replied Jessie. “I may be able to fit myself for
teaching, even in a mill. Girls _have_ done such things, and why not
I?”
“But I never can let you go off alone into a factory,” said Mrs.
Hapley. “If you go, I must go, too.”
“Well, mother,” added Jessie, after a pause, “we’ll manage to get along
some how, only don’t let us get discouraged. We know it is all for the
best, and every thing will come out right in the end. When I feel sad,
I repeat to myself that beautiful hymn Mr. Merrill read at Benny’s
funeral—do you remember it, mother?” and Jessie recited the following
verses:—
“O Father, good or evil send,
As seemeth best to thee,
And teach my stubborn soul to bend
In love to thy decree.
“Whatever come, if thou wilt bless
The brightness and the gloom,
And temper joy, and soothe distress,
I fear no earthly doom.
“Life cannot give a cureless sting,
Death can but crown my bliss,
And waft me far, on angel’s wing,
To perfect happiness.”
Jessie’s uncomplaining spirit, her readiness to sacrifice her most
cherished hopes, and her beautiful, child-like faith in God, shed a
sweet and soothing influence upon the fainting and murmuring heart of
the mother. A little while after, Henry came in from school, and for a
moment looked rather sad, when he was told that the family had got to
remove and be broken up, very soon; but he quickly recovered his good
spirits, saying:—
“Well, mother, I don’t care much, after all. Let Mr. Todd have the old
farm if he wants it—it’s all run out, and we couldn’t do anything if we
staid here. I know I can earn my living, if anybody will give me a
chance, and one of these days I’ll have a good deal better farm than
this—you see if I don’t! Then you and Jessie shall come and live with
me, and we’ll all be together again.”
Henry soon found a chance to earn his living, for Mr. Allen agreed to
take him into his family at once, and maintain him in return for his
services. As to Jessie, everybody said it was too bad to send her off
to a mill, and after some little consultation, Mrs. Page proposed a
plan by which this might be avoided. Ellen Blake, who had lived with
the Page family for some time, was about to return home, on account of
the sickness of her mother. It was proposed to let Jessie occupy her
place in the family, working for her board, until she should finish
preparing herself for a teacher. She was to attend the academy two or
three terms more, and when not engaged in her studies, was to render
all the assistance to Mrs. Page she could. Her mother was to clothe
her, during this period, and it was thought that after the present term
she could render some assistance in the lower department, and thus
secure her own tuition free. When this plan was proposed to Jessie, she
seemed very grateful for the kindness which prompted so liberal an
offer, but was unwilling to accept of it, fearing she could make no
adequate return for her board. It was only after considerable
persuasion that she consented to the arrangement. When the matter was
finally settled, Mrs. Hapley concluded to accept an invitation to go to
her father’s, in a neighboring town, and make that her home until she
could do something for her own support.
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