is former habits were gone.
While I was observing him, he arose, and addressing a few words to the
assemblage, nominated Mr. Hargrove as chairman of the meeting. To this
a unanimous assent was given.

On taking the chair, Mr. Hargrove made a brief address, something to
this effect.

"Ten years ago," said he, his voice evincing a slight unsteadiness as
he began, but growing firmer as he proceeded, "there was not a happier
spot in Bolton county than Cedarville. Now, the marks of ruin are
everywhere. Ten years ago, there was a kind-hearted, industrious miller
in Cedarville, liked by every one, and as harmless as a little child.
Now, his bloated, disfigured body lies in that room. His death was
violent, and by the hand of his own son!"

Mr. Hargrove's words fell slowly, distinctly, and marked by the most
forcible emphasis. There was scarcely one present who did not feel a
low shudder run along his nerves, as the last words were spoken in a
husky whisper.

"Ten years ago," he proceeded, "the miller had a happy wife, and two
innocent, glad-hearted children. Now, his wife, bereft of reason, is in
a mad-house, and his son the occupant of a felon's cell, charged with
the awful crime of parricide!"

Briefly he paused, while his audience stood gazing upon him with
half-suspended respiration.

"Ten years ago," he went on, "Judge Hammond was accounted the richest
man in Cedarville. Yesterday he was carried, a friendless pauper, to
the Alms-house; and to-day he is the unmourned occupant of a pauper's
grave! Ten years ago, his wife was the proud, hopeful, loving mother of
a most promising son. I need not describe what Willy Hammond was. All
here knew him well. Ah! what shattered the fine intellect of that
noble-minded woman? Why did her heart break? Where is she? Where is
Willy Hammond?"

A low, half-repressed groan answered the speaker.

"Ten years ago, you, sir," pointing to a sad-looking old man, and
calling him by name, "had two sons--generous, promising, manly-hearted
boys. What are they now? You need not answer the question. Too well is
their history and your sorrow known. Ten years ago, I had a
son,--amiable, kind, loving, but weak. Heaven knows how I sought to
guard and protect him! But he fell also. The arrows of destruction
darkened the very air of our once secure and happy village. And who is
safe? Not mine, nor yours!

"Shall I go on? Shall I call up and pass in review before you, one
after another, all the wr