CHAPTER XV.

THOMAS REVERE.

It was under the influence of sentiments such as those expressed in the last chapter, that Mr. Moreton looked around him for opportunities to do good. To combat existing plans of operation was not, in his opinion, wise or desirable. He deemed it better to fall in with those already in progress, and help in the carrying out of schemes that had been arranged by others, whose longer residence in the country, and greater knowledge of the prevailing modes of thought and action, made them better judges of what was likely to be successful. When fairly initiated himself, he could propose changes, if he then thought such changes would add any value to projects already started, or invest them with increased attractions. Nor was he willing to awaken envy or ill-will, or to excite comment, by assuming any prominent place in the coinmunity, unless it was sure to add to his usefulness.

The Sabbath, as a day of worship, must have its due observance by his family, or they would not be satisfied. There was no church, no religious service, no gathering of the people for prayer and praise, the Sabbath after their arrival. Why was this? Had Mr. Moreton forgotten it, when deciding upon Lakeland as a residence, or had he deemed it a secondary consideration? Neither. At the time he purchased his farm there was a missionary labouring there, and a little church of seven members had gathered themselves under his ministrations. It was with great regret that our friends found, on their arrival, that he had left the little flock, discouraged and disheartened himself, because he seemed to make so little progress, and had left the little band of Christians hardly less de

pressed and dejected than he himself. The variety of denominational feeling had prevented unity of action, and the few whose feelings were in harmony had been too poor to build a church or support a minister. A Sabbath-school had been organized, and was again reopened with the returning spring; but it was feebly sustained, for want of interest in the people.

To become members of this, in whatever capacity they might, was the determination of our friends; and accordingly, the first Sabbath after their arrival, Mr. Moreton, with all his children, were there.

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It was held at five o'clock in the afternoon, and their party was too large to escape notice as they entered the room and found their seats. A Mr. Johnson was the superintendent, and the cordial "I am glad to see you!" with which he welcomed them was from the heart. soon placed Susan with a little class about her, Annie and Alice among the number. Mary found a seat among the older girls under Mrs. Stetson's care; but they were, with one exception, much younger than herself. Robert and Henry entered themselves, as the nucleus about which a Bible class might gather, under the instructions of their father; and right glad were they when John Dudley, the young lawyer, having seen them go into the school-house, followed and took his place by them. Places for the younger lads were found, which suited them; and such an accession to their numbers and strength could not fail to give new life and vigour to the whole school. At the commencement of the school, Mr. Moreton was requested to offer prayer; and when the simple hymn was read, and in uncertain, faint, and tremulous tones, the children began to sing, Mary's sweet, clear voice, accustomed to guiding the notes of younger and feebler voices, joined with them, giving character and correctness to the harmony.

As Robert lingered at the close of the school, waiting

for his father's company home, Mr. Johnson expressed the hope that they might be able to give him a class

soon.

"I would rather stay where I am," was Robert's reply. "I am not too old to be a learner; and we may be able to gather a Bible class together."

That foolish pride that makes one ashamed to acknowledge his best feelings, and leads to the concealment of his purest affections and most valuable impulses, had no place in Robert's mind. His was true independence of heart-true manliness. He loved his home-he loved his family circle. The restraints that parental watchfulness imposed he felt to be safeguards to his prosperity, and would on no account have shaken off as impediments in the path of pleasure. Nor did the spirit of worldliness or vanity prevent his making the interests of his home his objects of attraction, or the fear of criticism or illnatured remark hinder his associating with those who were younger or more ignorant than himself.

Straightforward, and with honesty of purpose, he pursued his way, seeking no distinction, and asking for no notoriety; yet, when called upon by circumstances, he could openly defend the right, and, with what ability he possessed, maintain his cause. They had been in Lakeland several months, when, one evening, Robert went to the village grocery-store to procure some family necessaries, and found himself thrown into a new, and, to him, strange scene.

Drunkenness still prevails too widely over our fair land, and, year by year, lays low the fortunes and prospects of many to whom life opened with the brightest expectations and the highest hopes.

Such could be found in Lakeland. Among others, there was one, scarcely thirty years of age, who, by great and continued indulgence, had earned for himself the nickname of "Whisky Tom." He was a native of New England.

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His early life, family, or friends, were unknown to the Lakeland people. It was evident that he had received a complete collegiate education, and equally evident that his dissipated habits had rendered that education of no avail to him. He came to the West with money to purchase a small farm, and to build upon it a frame-house. This farm lay some miles out of the village, and was rented to a family with whom he resided, and who were his assistants about the farm. At first he pursued his business diligently, and Thomas Revere was known only as a moderate drinker. An occasional glass at the tavern or grocery counter, a drink with a friend, or at a harvest rejoicing, betrayed no strong habits of intemperance; but soon, longer tarryings where it could be found, and more frequent visits, were noticeable. Then, the bottle was brought in his pocket, that it might be filled to carry home. The bottle became too small, and a jug was now openly carried in his hand. Two years passed, and he entered upon the third with few friends, except his boon companions; with little ability and less intention of labouring daily for his bread; and with "the chains of the monster" firmly rivetted on his neck! One more year, and he lost all control over his property; for the farm, nominally his own, was so covered by mortgages and encumbrances, that it was actually in the possession of those who had supplied his craving thirst and fed the flames that were now consuming him. Yet he was suffered to live there unmolested; for his personal effects were of some value, and the money-making seller of ardent spirits would fain have all! Such was the state of Thomas Revere's affairs on the arrival of Mr. Moreton's family in Lakeland. Prematurely infirm and broken-down in physical strength, his mind shattered, but revealing, in moments of partial inebriation, its former brilliancy, he needed only the stimulus of one or two glasses to call 1orth his powers of argumentation, and the quick re

partee, and bright sallies of wit, that showed the man of talent.

Under such an influence was it that Robert Moreton first encountered him. The village store was quiet; though within it, as he entered, he found several men, with "Whisky Tom," each holding their glasses, and drinking, more or less eagerly, their contents. Behind the counter stood the store-keeper, marking the new score against Revere, who, with his accustomed liberality, was treating them all. He started upon Robert's entrance, and, with mock obsequiousness, bowed twice or thrice nearly to the floor. The salutation was coolly but civilly returned, and Robert passed on to do his errand. But he was interrupted. With his own unsteady hand did the half-drunken man fill an empty glass, and, in high-flown phrase, loudly invited Robert to participate in their carousal, and honour him by taking a glass of whisky!

"I never drink whisky," was Robert's laconic reply; for he sought quickly to terminate this (to him) disgusting

scene.

"Not whisky! Then what may it please your honourable worship to have? Rum, brandy, gin, wine, cordial ?” and he ran through the list of liquors displayed upon the shelf.

"Neither," said Robert, politely; "I am a cold-water

man!"

Revere was not so easily to be set aside; and, tossing off the contents of the glass, its heating fires running through his veins, he still persisted in offering him a glass, until, from invitation, it began to assume the character of entreaty, and afterwards that of threats, if he would not drink with him.

In this crisis, what could our young friend do? To turn and go without accomplishing his purposed errand, would only add to the ridicule and ill-suppressed merriment of the lookers-on. To pretend to drink, and thus