ghbours;
they found the wretched woman quite dead. She had sinned away her day
of grace; and was gone to give in her account of body, soul, time,
talents, utterly wasted, and of her life taken by her own hands; and
all--all under the tyranny of the demon of drink.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

PLOTTING.

When Betty's cries of horror brought the neighbours round her, they
found the poor girl lying insensible by the corpse of her mother, which
was still suspended by the beam behind the door. They cut down the
wretched creature, and tried everything to restore her to consciousness;
but life was fled--the day of trial was over. Johnson returned from the
pit, from whence he was summoned, to find his wife dead, destroyed by
her own hand; and Betty utterly prostrate on her bed with the terrible
and agonising shock.

Oh, drink, drink! most heartless of all fiendish destroyers, thou dost
kill thy victims with a smile, plucking away from them every stay and
support that keeps them from the pit of destruction; robbing them of
every comfort, while hugging them in an embrace which promises delight,
and yet crushes out the life-blood both of body and soul; making
merriment in the eye and on the tongue, while home, love, character, and
peace are melting and vanishing away. Wretched Alice! she might have
been a happy mother, a happy wife, with her children loving, honouring,
and blessing her; but she had sold herself for the drink, and a life of
shame and a death of despair were her miserable reward.

Poor Johnson's life was now a very weary one. He had hope indeed to
cheer him--a better than any earthly hope, a hope full of immortality.
Still he was but a beginner in the Christian life, and had hard work to
struggle on through the gloom towards the guiding light through the deep
shadows of earth that were thickening around him. Betty tried to cheer
him; but, poor girl, she needed cheering herself. Her brother's flight;
the uncertainty as to what had really become of him; the hope deferred
of hearing from him which made her heart sick; and now the dreadful
death of her unhappy mother, and that, too, so immediately following on
their last miserable conversation;--all these sorrows combined weighed
down her spirit to the very dust. She longed to flee away and be at
rest; but she could not escape into forgetfulness, and she would not fly
from duty. So a dark cloud hung over that home, and it was soon to be
darker still. Ned Brie