.

NIGHT THE SECOND.

THE CHANGES OF A YEAR.

A cordial grasp of the hand and a few words of hearty welcome greeted
me as I alighted from the stage at the "Sickle and Sheaf," on my next
visit to Cedarville. At the first glance, I saw no change in the
countenance, manner, or general bearing of Simon Slade, the landlord.
With him, the year seemed to have passed like a pleasant summer day.
His face was round, and full, and rosy, and his eyes sparkled with that
good humor which flows from intense self-satisfaction. Everything about
him seemed to say--"All 'right with myself and the world."

I had scarcely expected this. From what I saw during my last brief
sojourn at the "Sickle and Sheaf," the inference was natural, that
elements had been called into activity, which must produce changes
adverse to those pleasant states of mind that threw an almost perpetual
sunshine over the landlord's countenance. How many hundreds of times
had I thought of Tom Morgan and Willy Hammond--of Frank, and the
temptations to which a bar-room exposed him. The heart of Slade must,
indeed, be as hard as one of his old mill-stones, if he could remain an
unmoved witness of the corruption and degradation of these.

"My fears have outrun the actual progress of things," said I to myself,
with a sense of relief, as I mused alone in the still neatly arranged
sitting-room, after the landlord, who sat and chatted for a few
minutes, had left me. "There is, I am willing to believe, a basis of
good in this man's character, which has led him to remove, as far as
possible, the more palpable evils that ever attach themselves to a
house of public entertainment. He had but entered on the business last
year. There was much to be learned, pondered, and corrected.
Experience, I doubt not, has led to many important changes in the
manner of conducting the establishment, and especially in what pertains
to the bar."

As I thought thus, my eyes glanced through the half-open door, and
rested on the face of Simon Slade. He was standing behind his
bar--evidently alone in the room--with his head bent in a musing
attitude. At first I was in some doubt as to the identity of the
singularly changed countenance. Two deep perpendicular seams lay
sharply defined on his forehead--the arch of his eyebrows was gone, and
from each corner of his compressed lips, lines were seen reaching
half-way to the chin. Blending with a slightly troubled expression, was
a strongly mar