From Wealth to Poverty | Page 6

any such
advice. She said she would remain faithful to her marriage vow, no
matter what suffering and obloquy it might involve. Not but her idol
had fallen very low. She had been so proud of him, proud of his manly
bearing, his strength of character. Proud of his ability, which, to her,
seemed to enter the regions of genius. "Oh!" she said, as she mourned
over her blasted hopes, her vanished dream of bliss, "I never expected
this." She suffered as only such a sensitive, noble, cultured woman
could suffer, and suffered the more because she would give voice to no
complaint. The heart was at high pressure, and the valve was close shut.
But she did not give up her endeavors to save him. She tried by gentle
endearing tenderness to win him from destruction; and when she found
this did not avail she passionately appealed to him to stop ere he had
involved them all in ruin.
"Oh Richard!" she would say, "Why do you drink? You know your
business is now nearly ruined. Your friends have nearly all deserted
you. You are fast losing your self-respect, wrecking your health, and
dragging your wife and children down with you. Consider, my darling,
what you are sacrificing, and don't be tempted to drink again!"
She might have reminded him of how he formerly boasted of his
strength, and denounced the weakness of the habitual drunkard, but she
refrained from so doing. She determined, no matter what she suffered,
never to madden him by a taunt or unkind word, but to save him if

possible by love and gentleness. He as yet, though harsh and peevish to
others, had never spoken an unkind word to her. He had once or twice
been unnecessarily severe to the children, which caused pain to her
mother's heart, but she had by a quiet word thrown oil upon the
troubled waters of her husband's soul, and applied a balm to the
wounded hearts of her children.
Sometimes, when she with tears in her eyes appealed to him, he would
promise not to drink again. There is no doubt but it was his intention to
keep his word, but yet it was invariably broken. The fact was he had
become a slave to drink, such a slave that neither what he owed to wife,
nor children, nor man, nor God, could restrain him. His word was
broken; his honor stained, his wife and children ruined, his God sinned
against, and he had become that thing which formerly he so despised--a
poor, miserable drunkard.
His friends had seen this for some time, and now he himself could not
fail to recognize his awful situation; for his thirst for spirituous liquor
had become so strong that he would sacrifice everything he held dear
on earth to obtain it--in fact, it had become a raging, burning fever,
which nothing but rum could allay.
Reader, do not be too strong in your words of scorn and condemnation.
You may never have been tried. People who boast of their purity and
strength may never have been environed by temptation. "Let him that is
without fault cast the first stone."
A few weeks after he had expressed to his wife his determination to sell
out and go to America, two men, who were mutual friends of his, and
who were members of the "Liberal Club," casually met on the street.
After the usual compliments, one said to the other: "By-the-bye,
Saunders, did you hear that Ashton had sold out to Adams and was
going to sail for America next week?"
"No; is that so? Well, I expected something would happen. The poor
fellow has been going to the bad very rapidly of late. Who would have
thought he was so weak? I take it that a man who cannot drink a social
glass with a friend without degenerating into a sot has very little

original strength of character."
"It is all very well to talk, Bell; I have frequently heard Ashton express
himself in the same manner, and yet you see what he is to-day. There
was not a member of the Club his equal when it was first formed. In
fact, he was the master spirit of the society. Not one of all the members
could approach him in culture, in brilliancy, or in legislative ability.
You remember that in a former conversation we thought it strange he
should associate with us, when he would be welcomed as a peer by
those who, at least, consider themselves our betters; and you expressed
it as your opinion that he, like Milton's Satan, would rather reign in hell
than serve in heaven."
"But, Charley, is he completely bankrupt?"
"Well, I guess I might almost say so, for it is reported he has used