ing in his day; and when this brief life is ended, he shall enter
into eternal joy.

PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY.

THE POOR MAN'S HOUSE REPAIRED;

OR,

THE WRETCHED MADE HAPPY.

A NARRATIVE OF FACTS.

[Illustration: Violent drunk with wife and child]

For fifteen years of my married life I was as miserable as any woman
could be. Our house was the picture of wretchedness externally, and it
looked still more wretched within. The windows were patched, the walls
shattered, the furniture defaced and broken, and every thing was going
to ruins.

It had not always been so: once my home was happy, and I used to take
much pleasure and some pride in hearing the neighbors say, "How neat and
trim neighbor N----'s house always looks!" But they could not say so
long. One thing after another changed. Our table was no longer spread
with comfortable food, nor surrounded with cheerful faces; but there
were scanty meals, sour looks, and loud and angry words; while, do the
best I could, I was not able to conceal the tatters of my own and my
children's clothing. My husband is a mechanic; his employment is good,
and he might have made his family as happy as any family in the place;
but he was in the habit of taking ardent spirit every day. _He_ thought
it did him good; _I_ knew it did not, for I found him every day more and
more unkind. Our comforts, one by one, were stripped away, till at last
I saw myself the wife of a confirmed drunkard.

I well remember, one evening, I was sitting by the fire, mending my poor
boy's tattered jacket. My heart was very sad. I had been thinking of the
happy evenings I had spent with my husband before our marriage; of the
few pleasant years that succeeded; of the misery that then came; of the
misery yet to come; and for me there seemed no ray of hope or comfort.
My husband was a terror to his family, and a nuisance to the
neighborhood; my children were idle, ragged, and disobedient; myself a
heart-broken wife and wretched mother. While I thought of all this, I
could no longer retain my composure, but, dropping my work, I leaned my
head upon my hand and wept bitterly. My husband had been absent all day,
and I was now expecting him home every minute. It was growing late, so I
wiped away my tears as well as I could, and put the embers together, to
make my fireside look as inviting as possible. But I dreaded my
husband's return--his sharp voice and bitter words pained me to the
he