Sowing and Reaping - A Temperance Story | Page 6

hands are not clean, or your record not pure,' and I feel
glad to-day that the precepts and example of that dear mother have
given tone and coloring to my life; and though she has been in her
grave for many years, her memory and her words are still to me an ever
present inspiration."
"Yes Paul; I remember your mother. I wish! Oh well there is no use
wishing. But if all Christians were like her, I would have more faith in
their religion."
"But John the failure of others is no excuse for our own derelictions."
"Well, I suppose not. It is said, the way Jerusalem was kept clean,

every man swept before his own door. And so you will not engage in
the business?"
"No John, no money I would earn would be the least inducement."
"How foolish," said John Anderson to himself as they parted. "There is
a young man who might succeed splendidly if he would only give up
some of his old fashioned notions, and launch out into life as if he had
some common sense. If business remains as it is, I think he will find
out before long that he has got to shut his eyes and swallow down a
great many things he don't like."
After the refusal of Paul Clifford, John soon found a young man of
facile conscience who was willing to join with him in a conspiracy of
sin against the peace, happiness and welfare of the community. And he
spared neither pains nor expense to make his saloon attractive to what
he called, "the young bloods of the city," and by these he meant young
men whose parents were wealthy, and whose sons had more leisure and
spending money than was good for them. He succeeded in fitting up a
magnificent palace of sin. Night after night till morning flashed the
orient, eager and anxious men sat over the gaming table watching the
turn of a card, or the throw of a dice. Sparkling champaign, or
ruby-tinted wine were served in beautiful and costly glasses. Rich
divans and easy chairs invited weary men to seek repose from unnatural
excitement. Occasionally women entered that saloon, but they were
women not as God had made them, but as sin had debased them.
Women whose costly jewels and magnificent robes were the livery of
sin, the outside garnishing of moral death; the flush upon whose cheek,
was not the flush of happiness, and the light in their eyes was not the
sparkle of innocent joy,--women whose laughter was sadder than their
tears, and who were dead while they lived. In that house were wine,
and mirth, and revelry, "but the dead were there," men dead to virtue,
true honor and rectitude, who walked the streets as other men, laughed,
chatted, bought, sold, exchanged and bartered, but whose souls were
encased in living tombs, bodies that were dead to righteousness but
alive to sin. Like a spider weaving its meshes around the unwary fly,
John Anderson wove his network of sin around the young men that

entered his saloon. Before they entered there, it was pleasant to see the
supple vigor and radiant health that were manifested in the poise of
their bodies, the lightness of their eyes, the freshness of their lips and
the bloom upon their cheeks. But Oh! it was so sad to see how soon the
manly gait would change to the drunkard's stagger. To see eyes once
bright with intelligence growing vacant and confused and giving place
to the drunkard's leer. In many cases lassitude supplanted vigor, and
sickness overmastered health. But the saddest thing was the fearful
power that appetite had gained over its victims, and though nature lifted
her signals of distress, and sent her warnings through weakened nerves
and disturbed functions, and although they were wasting money, time,
talents, and health, ruining their characters, and alienating their friends,
and bringing untold agony to hearts that loved them and yearned over
their defections, yet the fascination grew stronger and ever and anon
the grave opened at their feet; and disguise it as loving friends might,
the seeds of death had been nourished by the fiery waters of alcohol.

Chapter V
[Text missing.]

Chapter VI
For a few days the most engrossing topic in A.P. was what shall I wear,
and what will you wear. There was an amount of shopping to be done,
and dressmakers to be consulted and employed before the great event
of the season came off. At length the important evening arrived and in
the home of Mr. Glossop, a wealthy and retired whiskey dealer, there
was a brilliant array of wealth and fashion. Could all the misery his
liquor had caused been turned into blood, there would have been
enough