"Go, feel what I have felt,
Go, bear what I have borne—
Sink 'neath the blows a father dealt,
And the cold proud world's scorn
Thus struggle on from year to year,
Thy sole relief, the scalding tear.
Go weep as I have wept,
O'er a loved father's fell,
See every cherished promise swept,
Youth's sweetness turned to gall,
Hope's faded flower strewed all the way
That led me up to woman's day."
To some it is given to reach the haven of domestic peace and happiness through troubled seas and stormy winds,—to others, is appointed a stern life-work as rich in experience, as susceptible of infinite joys, as keenly alive to the sorrows of the human family, as if they had lasted all the varied emotions of bliss and pain that lie within the charmed circle of home.
To this latter class Amelia was assigned. Nothing had occurred to enliven her lot,—nothing save the constant communings of her spirit with that invisible Presence which was drawing her more and more under the shadow of its own protecting love, silently moulding her for her future destiny.
She had been an uninterested observer of the events here recorded,—uninterested because they were but atoms in the great world of joy and sorrow which was opening, like a prismatic view in every shade of coloring, before her awakening faculties and higher consciousness of a duty to be performed.
Was that duty to devolve on her,—insignificant, uneducated as she was? without a friend to sustain her, or one even to whom she might confide the noble impulses of her soul, and, in return, receive sympathizing counsel?
The past, with its sufferings, rose up to urge her on; the present, with its oppressive inaction, was unendurable; and the future presented no attraction, save as it should reap through her some inestimable benefit to the world.
She saw all around her evidences of the desolating scourge that had robbed her of her childhood, blighted the fair promises of early womanhood, laid her parents in dishonored graves, and now hung like a pall over the budding hopes of every hearth-stone in the land. Was there not work here?
But what could she expect to do when the mighty ones of the earth were silent? True, there was sometimes an effort made, rarely a successful one, to save an individual, while tens of thousands were every day rushing into the whirling vortex. The church occasionally breathed its anathemas against excessive drinking, which availed little, since it would have toppled to the ground if its denunciations had fallen on the heads of those who had grown to be its chief pillars and support through the ill-gotten gains they had derived from holding out temptations to that very class whose wickedness was condemned. Surely, a fearful responsibility rested somewhere,—a stern necessity was laid on some one to cry put against the wickedness. If the strong ones were silent it might be because their experience had not been like her own.
Had not the weak things of this world been chosen to confound the strong? Was not Ho who had commissioned her for this work able to guide and sustain her through it? But then, perhaps he had not chosen her, and she was only the victim of her own delusions, the self-sent messenger on an errand dictated by the morbid sympathies flowing from her own sufferings. She would banish them forever from her mind, rise in the morning with a firm determination to harbor no more such irrational conclusions, and resume her daily task contented and cheerful.
The next morning was sure to bring a stronger conviction of her own duty, a greater restlessness under the self-imposed restrictions of it, and she submitted to what seemed to be the only alternative to decide the point. She must make the attempt, and the result would very soon show under whose leadership she acted; the mortification of a failure being no harder to be borne than present upbraidings of conscience, arising from resistance to this conviction.
Her resolution once formed she must confide it to some friend who would be willing to assist her, and she selected James Morgan. He did not give her the desired encouragement, but she was not disheartened. The idea struck him as a novel one, and coming from such a source he had serious doubts of its results in aid of the cause. Her design was to give a public lecture in the village where he resided, choosing that place instead of her own city, as it would relieve her of many of the embarrassments that would attend her where better known. It was almost an unheard of thing for a woman to speak in public at all, and that Amelia should propose such a thing seemed a most absurd delusion. Finding she was not to be dissuaded, he promised to consult his old friend, Mr. Brewster, who was an Orthodox deacon of high standing in the church, and also a selectman of great influence in the town. To his surprise he heartily approved of it and encouraged Amelia to go on, saying, "God only knows what great good may come of an insignificant beginning." Strangers are much more ready to trust a person in a new enterprise than well known friends, as it is not easy to get over early impressions, or forget known faults which seriously detract from admitted virtues.
Deacon Brewster, however, was no distrusting sort of man. He encouraged people by trusting them, not blindly, but with a great deal of discretion and sound judgment. Amelia's unyielding determination impressed him favorably, and he dared not, if he felt doubts, discourage the least attempt to stay the swelling tide of intemperance.
A firm adherent to the rituals of the church, he never considered his creed too sacred to be tested by deeds. No construction of Scripture texts ever deterred him from giving his heart and hand to every effort for the elevation of the human race.
If one quoted St. Paul against woman, he quoted Jesus against St. Paul. If he was cautioned against the danger of innovations, he cited Christ, the prophets and apostles as the greatest innovators for the banishment of all existing wrongs wherever found. "Whatever thy heart and thy hand find to do, that shalt thou do," was his motto. If those who promised well for a time gave out, he was neither discouraged nor lost his faith in human nature. If he subscribed to the doctrine of total depravity, he could not obliterate the lurking consciousness somewhere that in every individual, however vicious and depraved, was a gleam of the divinity of manhood, which commended him to the everlasting mercy of an ever merciful God, to which he appealed in love and trust, not in fear and anger, and his labors were fruitful.
The arrangements were made for Amelia to speak in the school house, as she preferred that for her first attempt to the church, which he offered to obtain for her. He also, kindly volunteered to preside, after assisting her in every other way. It was crowded and surrounded with eager listeners; some, out of curiosity, others, especially women, from their heartfelt sympathy and interest in the cause.
As she passed through the crowd with Mr. Brewster, many remarks, some not very flattering, reached her ears. There were groups collected in every corner discussing the subject, in one of which she distinguished two or three familiar voices inveighing against the propriety of women appearing in public, and predicting certain failure. One was the well known voice of Mr. Kingley, greatly excited.
"I should like to know what business it is of her'n, and the long and short on't is that it ain't none of her business, and she shan't meddle with our'n, she shall be put down and I'll raise a row to stop her mouth the first word."
"Hush! keep still, and let her make a fool of herself if she wants to, I'll risk all the damage she does to our business, the boys will hoot her out of town. Let her alone, and I'll warrant a brisker trade to-morrow than we've had yet. I wouldn't take no notice of such a little upstart."
"A pity we took notice enough on her to come and hear her I think," said a third, "but I kind o' wanted to see what Bill Crawford's darter expects she is goin' to do agin us all. Any body'd 'spose she thought she'd got some mighty big blood in her veins, to think what's got to be endured can be cured."
Some little confusion ensued after the remarks of the last speaker who was about half deprived of his reason, and clearly not one of the "caste" who dealt out the poison. The equivocal sound of his last sentence gave great offence.
A fourth stepped in as a mediator. "Let her alone," said he, "and she will soon show herself out, for nobody will run after such a whim but silly, weak-minded wives, disconsolate widows, and discontented old maids."
This was evidently thought a good hit from the coarse laugh that followed, and very creditable to the profound sense of the lawyer dandy who uttered it and afterwards marched into the school-house with a very comfortable appreciation of his own merits.
Amelia heard this conversation as they slowly advanced, halting every moment for the crowd to give way, who were apparently unconscious of her identity with the speaker they had turned out to hear. She looked very much like other people, and they expected to see—an elephant. There was no little dissatisfaction and disappointment among curiosity seekers when she took her seat.
Deacon Brewster rose and addressed them briefly. "My friends," said he, "I congratulate you upon the privilege that awaits you to-night in listening to one who has herself experienced the evils flowing from the curse of intemperance, which no pen is adequate to describe, and of which no lips can m any measure set before you the reality of its fearful ravages. Yet she has suffered no more than thousands of others, no more than some of you; but as none can suffer who have not in some form fallen victims to this terrible scourge. Look around you, ask for the greatest cause that has peopled your jails, your asylums, your almshouses, and your penitentiaries; the answer will come back in thunder tones—Intemperance!
"Ask what has desolated so many homes, turned so many innocent children beggars into the street, plundered and dishonored so many defenceless women in the bloom of youth and beauty; we hear the dismal echo—Rum!
"Seek the causes that most disgrace society anywhere and you will find them in the bloated forms and blighted manhood of those who have sacrificed talent, honor, and the noble aspirations God gave them, in the maddening pleasures of the bowl. I welcome woman to this stand. She who has suffered most must be the one to exert the greatest influence in this holy cause.
"When a man becomes so degraded as to accept the gutter for his lodging place, he is insensible to all the refinement of his nature, and does not realize his situation, while his wife is compelled to witness from day to day the gradual sinking of her brightest hopes and noblest conceptions of what constitutes a pure and honorable manhood, down, down below the lowest attributes of the brute creation. Oh, woman! what hast thou not suffered! Never until speech is given to the green sods of the valley, which have interposed their friendly hands to shield forevermore from mortal suffering the mouldering dust that has lain down in gladness to embrace the cold mother earth as its dearest protector, will be known what agonies have been thine! O! young maiden! now weaving beautiful visions of the future; young men! rejoicing in the strength of youth, with the future's unclouded prospects before you, would you know the direst foe you have to dread, the wariest serpent that will infuse into your brightest anticipations the bitterest, rankest gall and wormwood mortals can partake,—it is the intoxicating cup."
As Amelia rose, a sinking sensation began to creep over her, when she cast her eye in one corner where Mr. Kingley sat crossed-legged, arms folded across his chest, head leaning one side, and his scornful eyes peering at her with a malignity that reminded her of one particular evening, when her mother, goaded to desperation, implored him for her sake and for her child, if nothing more, to sell her husband no more drink. With brazen impudence he took hold of her roughly and pointed to the street, when she, not heeding where she went, fell down several stone steps, from the painful effects of which she never recovered. There was no more weakness, no more trembling, no more hesitation,—only the bitter memories of the past now filled her mind.
"Friends," said she, "you may think an apology is due from me for presuming to address you, young and inexperienced as I am, unqualified as I feel myself to be for the position I now occupy,—but, my friends, there are sorrows before which weakness and inefficiency rise into strength and indomitable perseverance, circumstances under which timidity and doubt vanish before the sure and irresistible tread of that invincible courage born of suffering and despair.
"I am not here to tell you of single instances of cruelty and starvation, or midnight broils that have resulted in the prison or the gallows, all of which are as familiar to you as the stars that twinkle over our heads to-night.
"I am here to speak in the name of woman for all that she holds dear and sacred in the heaven of domestic life;—to plead for the rights of innocent childhood, which have been violated by those who, in assuming the highest responsibilities God has imposed, have turned traitors to the holiest instincts of their being, by consigning Ao a life of misery and degradation, those immortal germs which they had no right to accept from the Father's hand, save to train them in the paths of virtue, purity and love, that they may be shining stars in his diadem forever. Is not woman a responsible agent in society? Does it not devolve on her more than on man so to cultivate the faculties of the child, that they may expand into the full fruition of the glorious birthright which is the heritage of all mankind, and grow like unto Him, in whose image they were created, in goodness and perfection?
"Can she do this, while in the land preys a vampire sucking out the life blood of all that is pure and noble, loving and generous in husband, father, and son; making them the dregs of society, burdens on its resources, and a miasma in its moral atmosphere, thus counteracting the refining influences she inspires, and the lessons she would daily instil into the minds of her children?
"Shall woman then be silent? Has she not responsibilities as a mother that rise above and beyond all momentary considerations, even above the narrow limits custom has assigned her, that should urge her to raise her voice against the mighty tide of sensualism and debauchery that meets her at the threshold of those high and momentous duties, which, if they prove not life's highest blessings, will be its greatest curse?
"Woman has a right to speak, because she is the greatest sufferer. When her husband and son are maddened by the excitement of strong drink, insensible to the wreck they have made of themselves, it is she who sits trembling and shuddering at home, starting at every sound, listening to every foot-fall which, in the dread silence of the night, is the port teutons omen for the coming morrow.
"What hope has she to cheer her? what sign of joy comes to penetrate the gloom closing thicker and darker around her little ones, for whom alas! she sees nothing but a future of degradation and shame.
"Oh, God! the sufferer's friend! Thou alone knowest the wringing anguish, the desolation of sorrow that has made its home in thousands of poor mother's hearts, to be revealed only in that judgment day when the tempter and his victim shall be summoned to the bar of eternal justice, supplicants for that mercy which, while extended to all, abates naught of the exact measurement of the relative claims of each, neither absolves any from the righteous law of retribution which visits them in due proportion to their guilt.
"The first and most important question for us to decide, is the person to whom attaches the greatest guilt. Where is the fountain-source of this long catalogue of woes? It is of little use to lop the branches while the root is left untouched. It is wrong, as well as useless, to condemn the drinker and spate the seller, if we wish to eradicate the evil. Eradicate it? You will doubtless say that is impossible, and perhaps it is, so long as avarice and selfishness rule the human heart. But we may place it under the ban of society, we may award to it the same condemnation as to other sins, and, like high way robbery, make it the exception,—not the rule. Is it not ten-fold worse?
"The highway robber only plunders the pocket; the man who sells liquor sends both the body and soul of his victim into the hell-fire of the most loathsome corruption and deathless remorse. My friends, are there any among you who have felt the drunkard's remorse? Is it not the most perfect exemplication of the horrors of the burning pit it is possible to conceive?
"Stung with reproach at the thought of what he might have been, tortured by a raging thirst beyond human power to assuage, life presents a fearful precipice, whence, to look back is misery and woe; to look forward is the ghastly blight of immortal powers and aspirations destined for the development of godlike capacities, which, from their perversion, goad him with a double edge in those momentary gleams of reason and consciousness, when, in utter despair, he strives to drown them all by plunging into still greater excesses. Is his guilt to be compared with that of the other, who, in the full possession of his faculties, in the broad daylight of the wretchedness and we his hand has wrought, still deals out the deadly poison to continue the work of desolation? Is Ke any more deserving of the penalty of the law for crime committed under the influence of strong drink, than he who lets him have it, knowing its pernicious effect?"
Fixing her eyes on Mr. Kingley, who sat with head bowed down, and his cap pulled over his face, as if to screen himself as much as possible from the gaze of the crowd, she continued, "If there are any within sound of my voice to-night who presume to set at defiance the laws of God, the welfare of society, the sacred claims of the family, by sending this flaming scourge into thousands of households which would otherwise have been the abodes of happiness and plenty, I implore them as one who has suffered too much to cherish towards them one revengeful feeling, to take this question home to their own firesides, to put it to their own conscience, as men who must one day answer to the query, 'Where is thy brother?'
"Is there not a spark of the smothered instinct of humanity left to tremble at the accusing voices that shall rise from heart-broken wives and mothers, starving babes, and the ghastly wrecks of what were once stamped with the nobility of manhood, radiant with health and buoyant with hope?
"As you hope for happiness hereafter, and pray to be forgiven, I beseech you in the name of all that is pure and holy, just and true; in the name of every man who values honor and virtue; in the name of every woman who values the sanctity of home as the essential requisite for the development of those qualities that constitute the ornament of society; in the name of every child whose claims upon parental love and care have been ruthlessly set at nought, I implore and beseech you to turn aside from your evil doings, and endeavor to atone in some measure for the past by good works in the future, striving to bind up the wounds you have inflicted, and heal the hearts you have broken."
Her remarks were listened to throughout with deep attention,—not a murmur of disapprobation was heard, and young men who had gone there to jeer and taunt, came away with reverence and plaudits for the youthful speaker, many of whom went up to sign the pledge Mr. Brewster had drawn up. When she closed there was manifested a deep sensation among the crowd, in the midst of which arose an old man apparently, with trembling limbs and the other accompaniments of an unsteady life, who spoke with a loud voice, saying,—
"I want to make a temperance speech!"
A general titter ran through the groups of boys collected here and there in every available space, which increased as he went forward to occupy the desk at Mr. Brewster's solicitation.
"Young men," said he, "look at me. You may laugh at me now, for if you set aside the pity I ought to inspire, I must indeed cut a ridiculous figure. I was once young like you, the pride of my mother, and the joy and support of my father, who, thank God, went to his home in heaven before he was aware of the curse I was to bring on his honored name. The world was just as full of attractions to me as it is to you, and I indulged in all the joyous anticipations of honor and fame common to every boy as he verges into manhood.
"Look at me now, you see what I am,—a looking glass for you all. You think me old, but I tell you if it had not been for rum I should still be in the full vigor of life, in the flush enjoyment of all my faculties. Do you think I meant to be what I am when I first touched the drunkard's cup? Ah! I abhorred that word drunkard as much as you can, I don't know but I should have knocked a man down if he had told me I should eyer be a drunkard. But you see what I am; my tottering form, my bloated face, my tattered garments; for I tell you what it is, young men, a drunkard will always be in rags,—it is not in the power of any woman to keep him tidy and clean.
"I despise myself not only for what I am, but for what I have made others become, victims of the drunkard's curse. What you have heard to-night is but a faint picture of all its miseries, and I tell you what it is, that the lake of eternal torments is the mildest picture that can be drawn of the tortures of remorse awaiting the drunkard's reflecting moments.
"And now I am going to sign the pledge, and leave my children the consolation that their father died a sober death as a slight amend for bequeathing them such a miserable legacy as my own debauched life. Young woman, go on! and heaven will bless you. You are not the first woman who has been a blessing to me."
He grasped the pen convulsively and wrote his name with a firm though trembling hand. A breathless silence pervaded the room, and all eyes were fixed on Henry Morgan, for such was his name, the father of James; on Mr. Kingley, whose head was now bowed down upon his knees; upon James and Mary who sat a few Seats behind him, both of whom were deeply affected. The tempter and his victim were confronted, the scales were about to be adjusted in accordance with the sure and unerring justice of heaven.
It was the first time Mary had seen her father since he refused to listen to her before her marriage. She was agitated with mingled emotions of pity, affection, and sympathy with all the sentiments that had been expressed.
Mr. Kingley never after flourished as before! Never since he turned Mary from his door had he been regarded with the same respect, even by his companions, and that hardening of his heart put out the little ray of warmth she had excited in his rough and ungenial nature. He did not relinquish his business, but reverses swept over him, and he at last received a mortal injury in the attempt to put out of his house two intoxicated men who resisted him with a savage fury.