the judgments against him."

"And is there no friend to take him in,--no one, of all who moved by
his side in the days of prosperity, to give a few hours' shelter, and
soothe the last moments of his unhappy life?"

"Why did you make application here?" was the officer's significant
question.

I was silent.

"Your earnest appeals for the poor old man met with no words of
sympathy?"

"None."

"He has, indeed, fallen low. In the days of his prosperity, he had many
friends, so called. Adversity has shaken them all like dead leaves from
sapless branches."

"But why? This is not always so."

"Judge Hammond was a selfish, worldly man. People never liked him much.
His favoring, so strongly, the tavern of Slade, and his distillery
operations, turned from him some of his best friends. The corruption
and terrible fate of his son--and the insanity and death of his
wife--all were charged upon him in people's minds, and every one seemed
to turn from him instinctively after the fearful tragedy was completed.
He never held tip his head afterward. Neighbors shunned him as they
would a criminal. And here has come the end at last. He will be taken
to the poorhouse, to die there--a pauper!"

"And all," said I, partly speaking to myself, "because a man, too lazy
to work at an honest calling, must needs go to rum-selling."

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," remarked the
officer with emphasis, as he turned from me to see that his directions
touching the removal of Mr. Hammond to the poor-house were promptly
executed.

In my wanderings about Cedarville during that day, I noticed a small
but very neat cottage, a little way from the centre of the village.
There was not around it a great profusion of flowers and shrubbery; but
the few vines, flowers, and bushes that grew green and flourishing
about the door, and along the clean walks, added to the air of taste
and comfort that so peculiarly marked the dwelling.

"Who lives in that pleasant little spot?" I asked of a man whom I had
frequently seen in Blade's bar-room. He happened to be passing the
house at the same time that I was.

"Joe Morgan," was answered.

"Indeed!" I spoke in some surprise. "And what of Morgan? How is he
doing?"

"Very well."

"Doesn't he drink?"

"No. Since the death of his child, he has never taken a drop. That
event sobered him, and he has remained sober ever since."

"What is he doing?"

"Working at his old trade."

"T