A Ruined Life.

Hastings Standard, Issue 268, 11 March 1897, Page 4

A Ruined Life.

-FOUNDED OX FACT. [By JjAtTItESTiXA.j (SI'KCIALLV \YKITTEN FOR THE HaSTINOS Standard.) 'All llif/htx liewrci'il.) A fair scene—a lane in Surrey—the banks over-run with the sweetbrier, who % delicious scent always recalled to the pair now wandering along the road, the happy days of their betrothal, for they were now engaged. For months past Mary Cairns' father had refused his consent to their union, for lie had reason to fear that Arthur Hammond was not so steady as a'young man should be; but after a careful enquiry he came to the conclusion that his fes rs had only slight foundation, and, loving his daughter as he did he gave in. Arthur Hammond wss a music teacher, and pianoforte tuner, and had about three hundred pounds, left him by his father, and the two were now talking over a project which had long had possession of Arthur's mind —namely, going out to New Zealand. Accounts of the climate and the free, unconventional life, had reached him from a friend in Auckland, and it was to that place he wished to go. Mary was quite ready to go, and, after talking of it for some time, it was decided that they should go to New Zealand directly after their marriage. It was a great blow to old Mr Cairns, who was a widower, but he gave a reluctant consent at last, and so the pair started for, and arrived safely at, Auckland. The friend Arthur had heard from met them, and by his advice they secured a nice house. After a little while Arthur got plenty of employment as music teacher and pianoforte tuner. A few years passed happily by, and four children added to the happiness of their wedded life. They were both very fond of children, and as Mary stood amid her little ones she thought often of her father's fears, and smiled to think how groundless they had been. Old Mr Cairns was very happy in his daughter's letters, and, but for his age he would have gone out to them : but his farm had not been quiet so prosperous latterly, and he hardly cared to leave it to other hands than his own, so he contented himself with the letters. Arthur said to Mary one day that he bad been told he could do well by occasional visits to Napier and Wellington ; and thought of going as pianoforte tuner. She did not like the idea of his going, but at last he decided to go, and he went several times ; but once when he returned Mary's heart sank within her, for surely he had not returned quite sober. " Ah ! it is the only time," she said to herself; but was it ? Alas ! no. Being from home and meeting many social companions, Arthur's old enemy crept slowly back to his old place, and took firmer hold than ever. Oh, young men, why will you not have the moral courage to refuse that which so degrades you. You often say that you are the superior sex—why not prove yourselves so V Several times Arthur came home far from sober, and Mary refrained from reproaching him. Only when he was quite right she tried to make him see the folly of giving way to so fatal a vice ; but, although he promised to be. more careful, the promise was not always kept, and the once happy home was heavily shadowed by the fatal curse of drink. Things went from had to worse, and lie lost many of his pupils, and at last he h<-came reckless. It was late in summer when he came to her to say that he was going to Napier, and would be absent about a month. They stood in the garden, and the children were playing on the lawn, the faint sweet smell of the sweetbriar was a,round them, and it carried back their thoughts to the English lanes in which they had so often walked. " Oh ! Arthur, does not this scent remind you of the old davs. For their sake, and especially for the sake of those innocent little creatures, do be more careful." While she spoke he stood looking at the children, and a heavy sigh passed his lips, for once his sin - aye sin in all its awfulneas stood before him. Turning to Mary he said. " Mary, my dear wife, I «•/// try ; |>ray for me." Then bidding them all good-bye lie went out from the once happy home, never more to return. Mary and the children watched him until a turn in the road hid him from their sight. Then, feeling happier than she had done for many months, she went in. Arthur tried aye, earnestly tried for awhile to re~i-t the evil of his life : but alas! it was too late. The evil habit in its early days might have been crushed, hut not after years of reckless indulgence. He got plenty of work and sent Mary some money then. One day he stood in the bur of a country hotel, lie had just tuned the piano, and was standing there quietly drinking a glas< (if ale. As he stood the landlady's attention was drawn to him more c!o>ely, and she saw he had been drinking heavily. She tried to persuade hitu to go in and have some dinner, but he would not, hut asked for some bread and cht i •*-, which stool on the counter. lie w,i-> told to help }iiln>e!f, itlid tin lai.dl.i'ly left the room. When »h< nt trued he u a - gone. Oone, • him. As he walk-, i hurriedh he glances back in an ' affrighted mamii r, and he h tiilkoi.* to himself. " Ah ! you little blue de-wis - I *«><• you you are there again; but don't think 1 ua afraid of jou.

Mary, Mary is praying for me, and a good woman's prayers will help an uulovtunaie ••! i; if anything eari, so you if;': cur :s suddenly roun-!. and lang.\; in gko, !'•. :• bis o\il spirits are He At-, down and rosts for a whiL. TJiea ho suddenly starts, looks round, first over one shoulder, then the oth.:r. Then he goes to the other suie of the road and sits down, then laughs again ; but the laugh is turned into a yell of horror, and he flies, pursued by a myriad of mocking imps, the conjuration of his own diseased brain,andsohe flees into the night. In the early summer children were playing in a raupu swamp, which was now dry, when suddenly a great commotion arose amoug them, and they rushed from the place to their homes, carrying the news willi them that they had found a dead man. Search was made, and by the direction of the children the men at last came across the dead body of il man which had evidently lam there for some fime. At the inquest the landlady told of the man who had been in her bar, and was asked to go and see if she could identify him. She believed it was the same man by the apparent height, being a tall man, and by a peculiar seal he wore on his watch chain. After carefully drying his pocketbook and papers, a letter from Mary to her husband was so far distinguishable as to furnish her address. The landlady knew his name, from a card he had left. And as the mournful news was told to his wife in as kindly a way as possible —all the sad details were suppressed, for who could have the heart to tell the sorrowing woman of the dreadful wreck which had once borne manhood's fairest form. He was quietly buried in the little country churchyard—a sad warning to all who were tempted in like manner, if they would only heed it. And Mary—poor, poor Mary—for all those weary months she had waited in sickening anxiety for news of her husband. And now that news had come, what words of mine can tell of her bitter sorrow ? Her husband's friend helped her to dispose of the once happy home, and she and her little ones retired to the poor old father who was so glad to have his daughter back again, but deeply regretted that he had ever allowed her to leave him. In the quiet sweet lain s she would sometimes walk with her children, and their peacefulness was balm to her wounded heart. [THE END.I