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The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 38

Chapter IV

Chapter IV.

"A Glass too Much!"

"I am very sorry indeed to have to mention this to you, Mr. Pope, for I have felt a real regard and esteem for you hitherto, and until the last few months your conduct has been all that I could wish. And before now, had things gone on comfortably as they used to go on, I should have felt justified in offering to take you into partnership, even though you might not be prepared to put much capital into the business. For I am becoming am old man, and should be glad to be relieved from the cares of trade, in part, at any rate."

Mr. Braithwaite sighed and looked, as he really felt, disappointed, both for himself and the young man before him. They were together in the counting-house behind the shop, and Ned Pope stood uneasily under his employer's gaze. He, too, looked as he felt, and the feeling that oppressed him was one of keen shame. To his credit, be it said, he did not, as so many do, attempt to justify his bad conduct by foolish and transparent excuses. On the contrary, no man felt more deeply than he did himself that his easily-yielding disposition was a curse and a snare to him, especially on club nights, in that warm bright parlour of the White Swan, which was set apart once a week for the use of the Peculiar Philanthropists, and where everything seemed to urge him on to mirth and jollity and excess.

Ned Pope, persuaded by Mrs. Parkhurst and Ellen, had complied with Uncle Simon's wishes, and been duly proposed and initiated into the "Cotton Corporation of Peculiar Philanthropists," and had become, quite un-expectedly to himself, one of the most popular members of that benefit club. Ned was not vain, but a man must have a dull soul indeed whose pulses are not quickened by the universal admiration and applause of whatever circle he makes his own; and Nod's unaffected gaiety, handsome person, agreeable voice, ready humour, and thorough good temper at once made him a universal favourite.

A club night without Ned Pope was not to be thought of; it was laughingly declared that his fines for absence ought to be double those of other men, because he was doubly missed. Uncle Simon took care to reap quite a harvest of good will, and glasses of spirit, for introducing such a jolly good fellow, and took care also to keep prominently forward his close connection with this perfect specimen of a Peculiar Philanthropist. Poor Ned! Agreeable, warm-hearted, loving, of the type whom society declares are "nobody's enemies but their own," those club nights at the White Swan were ruining his prospects in life, injuring the splendid constitution his Creator had bestowed upon him—a talent for which he must give an account—and making him inwardly wretched and unhappy, whenever conscience spoke plainly, as it did now in the presence of Mr. Braithwaite.

"I am so very sorry, sir," Ned said at last. "I don't deserve your kindness. It was very good of you ever to have thought of advancing me so highly; and I really will try to regain your good opinion. I know exactly how it has all happened, sir; it all comes of taking a glass too much."

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If Mr. Braithwaite had been an abstainer he would very probably have been able at that moment to open Ned's eyes to the fact that every glass is proved scientifically, morally, and socially to be a glass too much. But as he himself believed only in the virtue of "moderation," and was wont to call tee-totalism a "foolish fandangle" (whatever that may mean), he was not the help to Ned in this crisis of his life which he good-naturedly intended to be, and which he otherwise might have been.

"You are right, Edward Pope," said the old man, kindly, "and I can't tell you how many young men I have seen come to grief through taking a glass too much. Do be moderate, my dear fellow; a little never does a man harm, 'tis the abuse. Remember what the Bible says, 'Let your moderation be known unto all men.' I am the last to wish to see you taking up with any foolish extreme notions on this subject of drinking. A young man should learn to control himself. I assure you, I always did. I restricted myself to one glass at home, and two in company, little enough that, to insure that I should always keep a cool head upon my shoulders. My advice is that you do the same."

"Sometimes I think, sir," said Ned, gravely, "that I can't take what others take and stand firm. Indeed, if it hadn't been for Ellen and her friends laughing me out of it, I do believe I should have joined the Temperance Society and entered the Rechabite Club."

"Quite right of Miss Parkhurst," said Mr. Braithwaite. "A young woman should not allow her intended husband to make himself absurd and singular in the eyes of his friends. You can be a moderate man, Ned Pope, and keep from a glass too much without joining the teetotal 'fandangle,' a thing I never had the least sympathy with. And if," continued the old man, "I find you resume your former good and steady habits—and let me tell you these are the habits every mother likes to see in the future husband of her daughter—I do not say that I shall prove hard-hearted in the matter at which I have briefly hinted. Only remember, Edward Pope, there must be an improvement and very watchful care; for I cannot trust my lucrative business to the brains and hands of a man who very often takes a glass too much. Accept my warning, and be wise in time."

So saying, and followed by the young man's grateful thanks, Mr. Braithwaite quitted his counting-house. Unconsciously to himself, that worthy burgher had been arguing in a dark circle; there was neither light nor point in his remarks for his troubled and perplexed listener. And Ned sighed heavily at first as he thought of the future. It had not been an easy thing to him, as yet, to practise this vaunted moderation. In fact, he did not understand what it meant. He could go without the drink altogether, and feel his head and pulse cool and collected, and calm. But his first glass, even his first glass of wine, acted upon him like the match upon the fire ready to be enkindled.

For a few weeks he persistently ran the risk of offending Uncle Simon, and endangered the future possession of the fortune of that irascible individual, by keeping himself aloof from the club, preferring to pay a few fines rather than lose the chance of the partnership which he was naturally most anxious to attain. But the repeated assaults of Uncle Simon and many other Philanthropists upon the citadel of his determination finally caused him to waver and yield.

A few months more convinced Mr. Braithwaite that his confidence in his assistant was altogether misplaced—he would never be fit for a partner. He had little difficulty in finding a steady young man, with some capital to introduce into the business, and Ned had the mortification to read "Braithwaite and Cash," where he might have read, but for the glass too much, "Braithwaite and Pope."

Ellen was indignant, and advised his leaving the service of such a "mean, stingy, deceptive old curmudgeon as Mr. Braithwaite." But Ned told her the truth about himself so plainly as to silence her grumbling, and he even ended by declaring that his master showed himself very good-natured to retain him in his service at all. Of course, when the young man said this to Ellen he was in a repentant mood. On club nights, in the page 51 brilliantly-lighted room at the White Swan, he "threw dull care away," resolved emphatically that "Britons never should be slaves," and was willing to declare of every special Philanthropist that "he was a jolly good fellow, which nobody could deny."

Mrs. Parkhurst, about this period, began to think that it was time Ned Popo should ask her daughter to "name the day." The match, she declared to Ellen, had been dawdling on too long already, and it was high time they had a wedding in prospect. Ellen herself had already painfully come to the same conclusion; indeed, she had grown irritable and listless and disappointed of late, expecting at their every meeting that Ned would make some reference to their getting married, and each time feeling aggrieved and annoyed when they parted without a word upon the subject so uppermost in her own thoughts.

"I don't sea the use of our keeping company any longer, Ned," she said one evening, desperately, when they had had a rather dreary walk, for the young man was dull and gloomy, as people discontented with themselves are apt to be. Ned started.

"Whatever do you mean, Ellen?"

"Exactly what I say," the girl retorted, her face flushing, her eyes sparkling, and her figure drawn to its full height.

"I've thought sometimes you did not love me very much, Ellen."

"I've more reason to think so of you," was her answer. "You're making me a laughing stock to everybody."

The hot, angry tears filled her eyes now.

"Mother says," she continued, "that you dawdle on and on with me as no man has a right to do, and as father would have been ashamed to do with her. So I think we'd better say good-bye, and have done with each other at once."

There was a pause now, during which Ned Pope tried to comprehend the real cause of annoyance which made Ellen so indignant. He came to the conclusion that she had justice on her side, and he formed a sudden resolution.

"Ellen," said he," I have been going on stupidly, like a man in a happy dream. But why didn't you bring me to my senses sooner, like a good dear thing? Your mother's quite right, and so are you. It will be the best thing in the world for us to get married; I shan't have the heart to leave you then, and 'there'll be no place like home.' I've been waiting, intending to make a better provision than I can do."

"But you're in the Club, Nod; that's a provision, you know."

"Exactly," said he, bitterly, roused by that allusion of her's to the Corporation of Peculiar Philanthropists, and its attendant blessings. "Death's Charity, you know, Ellen; and that will smile on you if I should go to the dogs."

"What a queer fellow you are, Ned," said Ellen, whose nature was far from alive to matters which acutely wounded his liner-strung sensibilities.

Before they parted the lovers had decided that their marriage should take place in a month. Ned was forthwith to proceed to have the banns duly called without further delay. Ellen was satisfied and smiling now, and they parted in the highest good humour. But when Nod had thought the matter over, he wished that his stock of ready money was not so miserably small. However, his credit was good, and he must trust to that. They need not have so very much to begin with, and perhaps Uncle Simon would give them a cottage to live in, or some other equally handsome present.

(To be continued.)

Death of the Oldest Minister in the World.—There died on Monday, March 3rd, 1879, in Shetland, the Rev. Dr. Ingram, Free Church minister, stated to be the oldest minister in the world. He was in the 104th year of his age. Four generations of the In grams lived in one house in Shetland. The deceased centenarian's oldest son, himself an old man, is also a Free Church minister. Up to a short time ago Or. Ingram was well and able to move about, but deaf. Travellers came long distances to see the old man, and occasionally a stranger would go up to a hale old gentleman on the road and inquire where Dr. Ingram was to be seen. "I am Dr. Ingram," was the prompt reply, He was ordained in 1803. When he settled in Unst, the Shetland Isles were noted for drunkenness and a low state of morality, he at once became a teetotaler, never tasted strong drink, and by the power of his example and influence, he brought about a great improvement among the people.