4 
SEED-TIME km HARVEST. 
- —? —y -■ ; r y 
The very mention of them is but a mock¬ 
ery to her memory.” 
“You loved her?” said Tom. 
“Loved her!” He repeated the words 
with bitter emphasis, and a wild look, like 
that of some hunted animal, came over his 
countenance as he added: “I killed her! 
You see, we were engaged to be married, 
and it was within a week of the time set 
for the wedding. I had gone to the village 
saloon, as usual, and w-as drinking liquor 
with some low companions. Suddenly a 
dispute arose, high words were succeeded 
by blows, and in the fight which followed 
I drew a revolver, and in a fit of intoxica¬ 
tion shot one of my companions. He lin¬ 
gered but a few days. I w T as placed in the 
hands of an officer and taken to jail. When 
the news of my dreadful crime was borne 
to my intended bride she uttered a wild cry 
of horror and alarm, and fell insensible. 
All that medical skill could do was done to 
restore her to consciousness, but in vain 
The terrible intelligence had done its fatal 
work. 
“It was not until morning that I realized 
what I had done. As I started from my 
drunken stupor., and saw the cold, gray, 
morning light gleaming through the iron 
grate of my cell, a sickening sense of my 
situation came over me. 
“I was a criminal—a murderer!” 
“How like horrid spectres those thoughts 
haunted me! Suddenly, the rattling of a 
key was heard, and the huge iron door 
turned on its rusty hinges. 1 turned and 
saw my mother entering, followed by my 
sister. I shall never forget how mother 
looked. Her step was feeble, her form was 
bent, her eyes were red with weeping, and 
her face was pale and haggard. ‘Oh my 
son!’ she exclaimed, throwing her arms 
about me, ‘who ever thought it would come 
to this?’ ‘It was rum that did it, mother,’ 
I answered in a choked voice. ‘Yes,’ she 
said, sobbing,’ it was that horrid stuff, rum. 
Oh, what a curse it is! Would to God 
there was no such thing in the world as 
liquor. I know you could never have done 
it if it hadn’t been for that. Why don’t 
men, Christian men, rise up in their man¬ 
hood, and close these dreadful dens where 
liquor is sold; where boys are led to ruin; 
where men go in human beings and come* 
out wild beasts?’ 
“My sister spoke but a few words. Her 
face was deadly pale, and a settled ex¬ 
pression of hopeless despair rested upon 
her countenance. Soon the click of the- 
lock and the creak of the heavy door an¬ 
nounced the jailer’s approach, and mother 
and sister were compelled to go. Oh,, 
what a parting that was! Mother went out. 
slowly, leaning heavily upon sister's arm. 
I never saw her again. The terrible stroke- 
was more than she could bear. She sank 
under the sudden blow and never rallied. 
When my trial came off she was too ill to* 
attend, and she died within a week after¬ 
ward. I was sentenced to seventeen years 
in the penitentiary. For seventeen years- 
I was a sober man. The State has pro¬ 
vided one place beyond whose portals the* 
legalized monster of death cannot pass. 
Words cannot tell what I suffered during 
those seventeen years. O, what a 'flood of 
bitter thoughts swept and surged through 
my soul as I recalled the scenes of the past. 
Sometimes my imagination carried me- 
back to my little home in New Hampshire, 
and I heard once more the birds singing in 
the trees, and listened to the low murmer 
of the little brook, as I fished upon its. 
banks, or played hide-and-seek upon the- 
rocky hillside; and then the scene changed 
and I was a school-boy, hurrying to school 
with a quick step and light heart, and the 
dreaming of happy days to come, when 
wealth and honor and fame should be mine.. 
And then again I was a student at college, 
the favorite of the school and the flower of 
my class, and my boyhood dreams seemed 
hurrying to a happy consummation, And 
then, like a black cloud which obscures the* 
summer’s sun, a sense of my situation 
slowly crept over me, and the phantom 
bark of fancy was suddenly wrecked upon 
the dark rocks of reality. 
“Perhaps you think that seventeen 
years’ imprisonment reformed me; but 
there you are mistaken. Like the fabled- 
furies of old, the drunkard’s appetite never 
deserts him, but haunts him day and night 
with sleepless ^vigilance. Never once, dur¬ 
ing those dreary years of confinement, did 
my old love for liquor leave me; and I had 
