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Hesba Stretton
known men, ay, and women, who have not dared

to pass close by the doors of a tavern for fear lest they should catch but
the smell of it, and become brutes again in spite of themselves. Others
have not dared even to think of it. If Mrs. Chantrey be falling into this
sin, there is no other course for you to pursue than to banish it from
your table, and, if possible, from your house. It is better for her to die,
if needs be, than to live a drunkard."
"A drunkard!" echoed Mrs. Bolton. "I am sure I never used such a word
about Sophy. I cannot believe it possible that my nephew's wife, a
clergyman's wife, could become a drunkard, like a woman of the lowest
classes! And I cannot understand how you, a clergyman, could
seriously propose so extraordinary a step. Why, there is no danger to
me; nobody could ever suspect me of being fond of wine. I have taken
it in moderation all my life, and I cannot believe it is my duty to give it
up altogether at my age."
"Very possibly it has never been your duty before," answered Mr.
Warden, "and now I urge it, not for your own sake, but for hers. She
has fallen into the snare blindfolded, and you can extricate her, though
at some cost to yourself. I feel persuaded you can induce her to abstain,
if you will do so yourself. You call yourself a Christian--"
"I should think there can be no doubt about that," she interrupted,
indignantly; "the archdeacon never expressed any doubt about it, and
surely I may depend upon his judgment."
"Forgive me," said Mr. Warden. "I ought to have said you are a
Christian, and a Christian is one who follows his Lord's example."
"Who drank wine himself, and blessed it," interposed Mrs. Bolton, in a
tone of triumph.
"The great law of whose life was self-sacrifice," he pursued. "If one of
his brethren or sisters had been a drunkard, can you think of him filling
up his own cup with wine and drinking it, as they sat side by side at the
same table?"
"I should be shocked at imagining anything so presumptuous, not to

call it blasphemous," she said. "We can only go by the plain words of
Scripture, which tell us that He turned water into wine, and that He
drank wine Himself. I am not afraid of going by the plain words of
Scripture."
"But we have only fragments of His history," replied Mr. Warden, "and
only a few verses of His teachings. Would you say that Paul had more
of the spirit of self-sacrifice than Christ? Yet he said, 'It is good neither
to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor anything whereby thy brother
stumbleth.' And again, 'If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no
flesh while the world standeth.' If the servant spoke so, what do you
think the Master would have answered if any one had asked Him, 'Lord,
what shall I do to save my brother from drunkenness?' It will be a
self-denial to you; people will wonder at it, and talk about you; yet I
say, if you would truly follow your Lord and Saviour, there is no
choice for you. You can save a soul for whom Christ died; and is it
possible that you can refuse to do it?"
"I thought," said Mrs. Bolton, "that you would expostulate with her,
and warn her as her pastor; and I cannot but believe that, now I have
made it known to you, you are responsible for her--at least more
responsible than I am. You must use your influence with her; and if she
is deaf to reason, we have done all we could."
"I cannot accept the responsibility," he answered, in a tone of pain. "If
she were dwelling under my roof, it would be mine; but I cannot take
your share of it. As your pastor, I place your duty before you, and you
cannot neglect it without peril. As a snare to her soul it has become an
accursed thing in your household; and I warn you of it most earnestly,
beseeching you to hear in time to save yourself, and her, and David
from misery!"
"Mr. Warden," exclaimed Mrs. Bolton, "I am astonished at your
fanaticism!"
She had risen from her chair, and was about to sail out of the vestry
with an air of outraged dignity, when Mr. Warden said, in a low tone,
and with a heavy sigh, "See, there she is!"

Mrs. Bolton paused and turned toward the window, which overlooked
the little grave of her nephew's child, who had been very dear to herself.
Sophy had just sunk down beside it. There was a
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