been saved, without a shudder—for it always 
seemed that, if he had not stopped just where 
he did, the story of Charley Winter’s life 
would have been his also. 
he must be victorious at last. But the taste 
was too strong. He began again, and there was 
nothing T could do would keep him long away. 
“One day in a drunken brawl he was hurt, 
and after he had been taken home he drank 
more, for he had concealed a flask where 1 had 
not dreamed of searching for it. His baby was 
then a little crowing, creeping thing. She went 
to him while I was out for a doctor, and mad¬ 
dened by drink and pain, he murdered her in 
Ids fren/.y. When I returned he was sleeping 
the heavy sleep of exhaustion nnd inebriation, 
and dear little Minnie was dead. 
I felt as if Heaven itself were 
home to spend a vacation. I don't know just 
how it all happened so, but I soon saw that he 
to a loved Susie aad she—well, it was no won¬ 
der. He was so much more in every sense than 
I was that he carried away her heart by storm, 
r drew back and left the field to Inin. I told 
myself that I could hear it better than he could, 
mid T was accustomed to making sacrifices for 
his sake. When he went back it was with her 
picture near his heart, Iter kiss on ids lips, aud 
I was left alone again. I dared not see Sustk, 
for T had a new lesson to learn—to forget her. 
They were to bo married as soon as he had com¬ 
pleted Ids studios. Ho canto home, sometimes 
quite often, and gradually the fact forced itself 
upon mo that a new element had found its way 
Into ids character. It was so hard to believe 
that 1 suppose it had existed some time before 
wo at. home realized It. Ho was then only 
slight ly given to drlnlc, but to our simple no¬ 
tions It was fearful to think of our idolized boy 
as intoxicated. 1 talked to him and lie prom¬ 
ised me faithfully to leave it alone; but alas 1 for 
Ilia promises. Susie said, 4 Ho will stop after we 
are married; it ia his companions, and when ho 
has a home and wifo to keep him away from 
them he will do better.’ So they were married. 
“ For awhile Susie’s prophecy proved true, 
but by and by. the old charm won him from her 
side. Little by little down he went. They lived 
in the city where his business called him, and 
in a comparatively short time my talented, 
educated, darling brother was nothing but a 
common drunkard. I was in trouble, too, at 
homo. Father and mothor both died about 
that time, the end hastened by the knowledge 
ot their son's downfall. After I had laid them 
away in the village churchyard, I sought out 
t.’ii ari.ey and StxsrK. They had been obliged 
to move away from their first homo and 1 found 
tiicm, after a long search, in miserable lodgings 
nearly penniless, and Susie sick, with a baby 
miiy a few weeks old. Charley seemed at 
times utterly lost to every fooling of honor or 
love, and again at times was filled with the 
| keenest remorse. 
44 1 took them away into better quarters, and 
obtained a nurse for Susie. 1 kept a close watch 
Over Charley anil tried every means to loose 
him from the accursed power of drink, but all 
to no purpose. Poor Susie died, and I bad Lo 
lock the door during tho last hours of her life 
to keep him in, that lie might ho there and 
sober at lii« last. 
“ O, Charley 1” she prayed, “do try again; 
do lie good to my little baby !' 
“ Ho was frantic with grief, and promised, 
vowed, swore ho would live and ho a man for 
the child's sake. I stayed there with him. I 
watched him and took him home, when the Old 
ways were getting hold of him again, and he 
fought ami struggled so that it seemed to me 
OCTOBEK, 
BY DE FORREST P. GUMMERSON 
THE golden leaves are falling 
From oirtho maple trees ; 
The breath of dying flowers 
Is borne on every breeze. 
Tln> birds that all the Bummer 
Within the trees did sing, 
Arc flying to the sunny South 
On swift anil silent wing. 
LOVE AND CONSTANCY: 
OK, FARMKK BROWN’S BUM MSCKNU 
I HAVE no words for her sweetness; I can’t 
describe her; perhaps were 1 to do so, or even 
could I place her picture before you, you might 
not see her picture as I do. Every eye makes 
its own beauty, and to me she was more beauti¬ 
ful than any living creature. Nellie Brodle 1 
moan lovely Nellie Brodle, whoso father w as 
t lie sexton of our church, a good man, hut prosy 
and proiio to toll mie or two good aturlrs about 
ghosts, proved not to bo ghosts whenever one 
met him. Many and many a time have I lis¬ 
tened to them out in his litt le hack porch of a. 
summer’s night, with the moon bright abuvu 
ua and mysterious chirps ami cries In tho bushes 
and the smell Of evening primroses growing far 
sweeter and sweeter and Nellie still, as quiet as 
a mouse, sitting with folded hands between us. 
Wo wore busy folk enough by day; hut. wo 
Idled away the long summer evening together, 
and thought no burnt of It. It is good to he 
Idle somet imes, in that happy sort, of way, and 
to tell t he truth, I like it. No man could say I 
neglected my duty. A better farm no man ever 
bad, and larger crops no man gathered and no 
starved cattle grazed my meadows. As for my 
dairy—but that was sister Jane's doings. A 
good house. A prfttty, hright-eyed girl, with a 
warm heart, and a laugh that seemed to lie 
catching. AJono together wo two were, and 
wo wore fond of each other. 
I never told her that I loved Ncllio Brodle, 
but 1 did not hide it from her. Nellie and she 
wore great friends. Over and over again I tried 
to Ilml out l'roin Jennie what she said about 
mo—Nellie, I mean but tho girl would never 
let a word slip out. A true woman hides an¬ 
other’s secrets. 1 knew that and 1 bulk on it. 
“For,” said I to myself, 44 if Nellie disliked 
me Jennie would give me a hint, sister-like, 
j and save me from mortification. Either sho 
knows nothing, or sho knows Nellie likes me.” 
After that, I may say 1 courted Nellie. She 
knew 1 loved her; I’m sure of that, oven if I 
J had not said so out and out, she could not help 
knowing it. 
But there wore other young men in tho place 
of course, and many willing enough to listen to 
Old llrodie's stories for the sake of looking at 
Ids daughter, and many a Jealous pang 1 had in 
tlioso days, for Nellie had the same pretty, 
kindly ways to all, tho same smile for every one. 
1 used to think that 44 No,” from Nellie's lips 
would go straight through my heart like a bul¬ 
let, and I found it, hard to risk the hearing 
of it. She must say it to all but one of us, 
aud I was not so handsome as ono aud not 
so witty as another, and not so rich as a 
rj) third, i tldrik I never knew low plain I 
was though, until I had my photograph 
taken one day by a man who had a '‘tilery 
in the village. I thought at first that ho 
must have made too much of my mouth 
and too little of toy eye.?; hut ho showed 
me plainly that, it must he a g mi likeness 
because it waa a machine ami couldn't 
make a mistake. I took the things homo 
and pul tlmm In a drawer am. show. ' |,h::iu 
to nobody; but they took the iil,Lt, vanity 
I had out of me, though I lo st saving over 
and over again, 44 What do looks matter for 
a man ?" 
I’d meant, you see, to give Ncllio one for 
her album, but I thought li' I looked like 
that it was best not. I’ve heard m herpeo- 
ple speak of the same feeling dice, in re¬ 
gard to photographers; aud i am not sure 
now they are always perfect. 
Waiting and watching, hoping and fear¬ 
ing, l let the time slip by ; and winter came 
with Its frost and snow, and old Air. Brodio 
told his stories by the fire instead of in the 
porch; and tlie lamplight fell on Nellie’s 
yellow hair as she sat knitting, inakingthu 
prettiest picture you oversaw ; ml ! made 
up my mind to put my fate to the test be¬ 
fore (.’hristmaa and didn’t. Vim see when 
a young lellow is In love lie loses courage. 
But one tldng I vowed Nellie should take 
a sleigh-ride with me. 
Tom Armstrong had said—I had heard 
him that he meant to drive the prettiest 
cutter, the prettiest pair of horses, and the 
prettiest girl at New liridg. . lie meant 
Nellie by tho prettiest girl. Ills turn-out 
might he what he chose, but, Nellie should 
never go with him. Sho should go with me. 
The snow red fast; and by morning you 
could see nothing for miles but groat white 
drifts, though the sky had grown as clear 
as though It had been ummor. 1 called 
for Nellie In the afternoon and she was 
ready and away we went. She looked 
charming, with her rosy cheeks and bright 
eyes and her sonny hair; I was happier 
than I had ever been in my life. 
Going out of tlie village we mot Torn 
Armstrong with his jplondld cutter. He 
looked daggers at us both -or at least I 
thought 80—and ho went,, as 1 heard ai’tcr- 
"vfft ward, to invite Sue Nleoi to ri io with him. 
° W As he drove out of sight I made up my 
mind to ask the quwjlluu that would settle 
everything on our way home. 
“Man proposes and heaven disposes.” 
Things happened that evening that I had 
By ttio brooklet glows tho sumac, 
Witn its groan, nnd brilliant red 
Changing oft to line of gold. 
Am the soft, wind bows Us head. 
44 Horrified 
against me and mine. I know not what to do. 
I took tier up and laid tier in her crib, and sat 
down to wait for the doctor ami to try to think. 
Dazed, bewildered, l sat, there till Charley 
woke. Getting up he walked across the floor 
when he saw the dead child lyiug there, 
44 4 What is this?’ he fairly screamed. 
44 4 You may wolf ask,’ I said. 4 1 found her so 
when I came In.’ 
“ 4 J have killed her—my hontiie little baby I 
Oh, wretch that I am!’ 
“He raved like a madman, and,breaking from 
me rushed from tho place. Wo found him next 
day -in the river. 
44 And tills was the end of my unhappy broth¬ 
er. lie who started out In lifo with the bright¬ 
est prospects, endowed by nature with uncom¬ 
mon gifts, beloved, cherished, the hope of us 
all I Ho had dared to tamper with the cup 
whoso fascination has lured so many out to 
destruction. Wife and child both fell victims 
to his sin, and all our hearts were broken. 1 
was glad Ids old father and. mother were spared 
the scene of Ids awful end, hut 1 was It ft t.o take 
up iny life with a hitter burden on my heart. 
44 1 found inyself with an al most empty purse ; 
everything had gone lu my efforts to reform 
and to re-establish Charley. But there came 
the news one day that, wealth had fallen t o me 
from a distant relative and that helped mu out 
Of my desponding, despairing state of inind. 
44 1 have taken you to be my son and Emily 
is my daughter. Do you wonder that l dread 
to sun another tragedy worked out before my 
eyes? 1 will rather let you go and by hardest 
labor struggle for your daily broad, than to bold 
out to you greater prospects In the worklngQiit 
of which you will ruin yourself. And tho hup- 
piness oT Emily, too—I cannot see you utterly 
destroy It without a word. William, is it too 
much for roe to ask of you to forswear t he wine 
cup forever?" 
There were manly tears In Will’s dark eyes 
as he grasped his benefactor's band and prom¬ 
ised never again to touch any kind of iutoxicat- 
i,:g drink. And the promise was kept, lie 
never looked back on the dangerous place 
where he had stood, and from which ho had 
Far off the star of evening 
Hangs glittering in lliu sky; 
Ami the brooklet murmurs sweetly. 
Am it glidctb gently by. 
And 1 know that soon the Winter, 
With ila snow and blinding rain. 
Will scatter darkness all around :— 
But Hie Spring will come again. 
HARLOW WINTER’S STORY 
BY RUNE ULIIFF, 
“William, my boy, I must insist upon it— 
you must give up this habit. I cannot allow 
you to come home at all hours of the night and 
often 1 fear In. to say the least, a very be-ntud- 
dled stale. Mure lhari this, 1 must refuse abso¬ 
lutely to sanction your engagement to rny little 
Emily, until you show by your upright carriage 
and freedom from dissipation that I am not 
consenting to her lifelong misery.” 
Thus spoke Mr. Winter, a gray-haired man 
with firihly-out lips, but a mild eye and benev¬ 
olent face as a whole. fle addressed William 
Coppley. a young man of twenty-five a hand¬ 
some, rollicking fellow,whom Mr. Winter had 
adopted and educated. Emily Daly was also 
his adopted child. Both were orphans, children 
of friends whom he had known in his youth, 
lie was a bachelor, and wanting something on 
which to spend Ills wealth, ho had taken them 
to his homo and had brought them up as ton- 
derly as if they had been hie own. 
The two children were like brother and sister 
for a time, hut after the separation which their 
school-life made, their affection took a tenderer 
turn and now they had asked their benefactor 
to bio., t heir union. But Will had learned to 
drain his glass in card ess fashion. Ho liked to 
do as others did, and the consequence was that 
lie had j vei n! times been assisted home 
by his jovial companions. Hit was not 
hardened yet; was always thoroughly 
ashamed that ho had not stopped short of 
intoxication, but had not firmness enough £ 
to forego the society of thoso whose exam¬ 
ples led him on. Hl3 brow waa dark when 
Mr. Winter ceased speaking, and he turn¬ 
ed moodily to leave the room. 
“Come back, Will," said tho old man, 
as he reached the door; “Come back, and 
I will tell you what suffering 1 have seen 
grow out of just such a beginning, and then 
see if you wonder that I tremble for your 
future.” 
He Went back and sat down. 
44 ’Tls a story hard for me to tell, my 
i boy," Mr. Winter began, and he took hold 
of both arms of tho chair in which he waa 
sitting as if to brace himself for the task, 
44 hut if l can succeed lu convincing you of 
your danger I am willing to stir up some 
bitter memories and Jive again through 
that sorrowful time. 
“I I^Rl' never told you much about my¬ 
self. I Had one brother; we two were all. 
My father aud mother were not rich, and 
we two boys were the pride and hope of 
their hearts—especially Charley. He was 
handsome and talented. Even us a child 
lie bade fair to make a brilliant man, and 
we all learned to feel proud of him and to 
look forward to what he would do. When 
lie had gone beyond our village school wo 
sent him away to a better one. I felt that 
he could do so much better than I that I 
stayed at home arid helped to enin the 
necessary funds, and though 1 felt the loss 
it was to me, f waa happy in doing it be¬ 
cause I loved him so. 1 shall never forget 
his bright face an 1 frank speech as he 
grasped my hand and said, 4 You’re a jolly 
good brother, HARLOW, to stay here plod¬ 
ding and send me off this way. But I’ll do 
my best, so that li shan’t be for naught.* 
I was sufficiently paid then in advance. I 
stood and watched him as he bounded into 
the stage, and I remember juBt how the 
wind tossed his chestnut hair into little 
wavy rings about his broad, white forehead. 
He swung his cap lu farewell and was off. 
44 For a long time all went well. He was 
outstripping our expectations, and I was 
determined to send him to college. He 
came home at Intervals and gladdened our 
hearts with his joyous ways and then went 
backagaiq. £ 
“Meanwhile I was losing my heart to 
Susie Cowell, who lived not far away. 
She loved me, too, and except In so many 
words we were engaged. Matters were 
just at this crisis when Charley came 
