Something for a Cold

by T.S. Arthur

　　

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"Henry," said Mr. Green to his little son Henry, a lad in his eighthyear, "I want you to go to the store for me."Mr. Green was a working-man, who lived in a comfortable cottage,which he had built from money earned from honest industry. He was,moreover, a sober, kind-hearted man, well liked by all hisneighbors, and beloved by his own family."I'm ready, father," said Henry, who left his play, and went to lookfor his cap, the moment he was asked to go on an errand."Look in the cupboard, and get the pint flask. It's on the lowershelf."Henry did as desired, and then asked--"What shall I get, father?""Tell Mr. Brady to send me a pint of good Irish whiskey."The boy tripped lightly away, singing as he went. He was alwayspleased to do an errand for his father."This cold of mine gets worse," remarked Mr. Green to his wife, asHenry left the house. "I believe I'll try old Mr. Vandeusen'sremedy--a bowl of hot whiskey-punch. He says it always cures him; itthrows him into a free perspiration, and the next morning he feelsas clear as a bell.""It is not always good," remarked Mrs. Green, "to have the poresopen. We are more liable to take cold.""Very true. It is necessary to be careful how we expose ourselvesafterwards.""I think I can make you some herb-tea, that would do you as muchgood as the whiskey punch," said Mrs. Green."Perhaps you could," returned her husband, "but I don't like yourbitter stuff. It never was to my fancy."Mrs. Green smiled, and said no more."A few moments afterwards, the door opened, and Henry came in,looking pale and frightened."Oh, father!" he cried, panting, "Mr. Brooks is killing Margaret!""What!" Mr. Green started to his feet."Oh!" exclaimed the child, "he's killing her! he's killing her! Isaw him strike her on the head with his fist." And tears rolled overthe boy's cheeks.Knowing Brooks to be a violent man when intoxicated, Mr. Green lostnot a moment in hesitation or reflection, but left his househurriedly, and ran to the dwelling of his neighbor, which was nearat hand. On entering the house, a sad scene presented itself. Theoldest daughter of Brooks, a girl in her seventeenth year, was lyingupon a bed, insensible, while a large bruised and bloody spot on theside of her face showed where the iron fist of her brutal father haddone its fearful if not fatal work. Her mother bent over her,weeping; while two little girls were shrinking with frightened looksinto a corner of the room.Mr. Green looked around for the wretched man, who, in the insanityof drunkenness, had done this dreadful deed; but he was not to beseen."Where is Mr. Brooks?" he asked."He has gone for the doctor," was replied.And in a few minutes he came in with a physician. He was partiallysobered, and his countenance had a troubled expression. His eyesshrunk beneath the steady, rebuking gaze of his neighbors."Did you say your daughter had fallen down stairs?" said the doctor,as he leaned over Margaret, and examined the dreadful bruise on hercheek."Yes--yes," stammered the guilty father, adding this falsehood tothe evil act."Had the injury been a few inches farther up, she would ere thishave breathed her last," said the doctor--looking steadily atBrooks, until the eyes of the latter sunk to the floor.Just then there were signs of returning life in the poor girl, andthe doctor turned towards her all his attention. In a little while,she began to moan, and moved her arms about, and soon opened hereyes.After she was fully restored again to conscious life, Mr. Greenreturned to his home, where he was met with eager questions from hiswife.--After describing all he had seen, he made this remark--"There are few better men than Thomas Brooks when he it sober; butwhen he is drunk he acts like a demon.""He must be a demon to strike with his hard fist, a delicatecreature like his daughter Margaret. And she is so good a girl. Ah,me! to what dreadful consequences does this drinking lead!""It takes away a man's reason," said Mr. Green, "and when this isgone, he becomes the passive subject of evil influences. He is, infact, no longer a man."Mrs. Green sighed deeply."His poor wife!" she murmured; "how my heart aches for her, and hispoor children! If the husband and father changes, from a guardianand provider for his family, into their brutal assailant, to whomcan they look for protection? Oh, it is sad! sad!""It is dreadful! dreadful!" said Mr. Green.--"It is only a few years ago," he added, "since Brooks began to showthat he was drinking too freely. He always liked his glass, but heknew how to control himself, and never drowned his reason in hiscups. Of late, however, he seems to have lost all control overhimself. I never saw a man abandon himself so suddenly.""All effects of this kind can be traced back to very smallbeginnings," remarked Mrs. Green."Yes. A man does not become a drunkard in a day. The habit is one ofvery gradual formation.""But when once formed," said Mrs. Green, "hardly any power seemsstrong enough to break it. It clings to a man as if it were a partof himself.""And we might almost say that it was a part of himself," replied Mr.Green: "for whatever we do from a confirmed habit, fixes in the mindan inclination thereto, that carries us away as a vessel is borneupon the current of a river.""How careful, then, should every one be, not to put himself in theway of forming so dangerous a habit. Well do I remember when Mr.Brooks was married. A more promising young man could not befound--nor one with a kinder heart. The last evil I feared for himand his gentle wife was that of drunkenness. Alas! that thiscalamity should have fallen upon their household.--What evil, shortof crime, is greater than this?""It is so hopeless," remarked Mr. Green. "I have talked with Brooksa good many times, but it has done no good. He promises amendment,but does not keep his promise a day.""Touch not, taste not, handle not. This is the only safe rule," saidMrs. Green."Yes, I believe it," returned her husband.--"The man who neverdrinks is in no danger of becoming a drunkard."For some time, Mr. and Mrs. Green continued to converse about thesad incident which had just transpired in the family of theirneighbor, while their little son, upon whose mind the fearful sighthe had witnessed was still painfully vivid, sat and listened to allthey were saying, with a clear comprehension of the meaning of thewhole.After awhile the subject was dropped. There had been a silence ofsome minutes, when the attention of Mr. Green was again called tocertain unpleasant bodily sensations, and he said--"I declare! this cold of mine is very bad. I must do something tobreak it before it gets worse. Henry, did you get that Irish whiskeyI sent for?""No, sir," replied the child, "I was so frightened when I saw Mr.Brooks strike Margaret, that I ran back.""Oh, well, I don't wonder! It was dreadful. Mr. Brooks was verywicked to do so. But take the flask and run over to the store. TellBrady that I want a pint of good Irish whiskey."Henry turned from his father, and went to the table on which he hadplaced the flask. He did not move with his usual alacrity."It was whiskey, wasn't it," said the child, as he took the bottlein his hand, "that made Mr. Brooks strike Margaret?" And he lookedso earnestly into his father's face, and with so strange anexpression, that the man felt disturbed, while he yet wondered atthe manner of the lad."Yes," replied Mr. Green, "it was the whiskey. Mr. Brooks, if he hadbeen sober, would not have hurt a hair of her head."Henry looked at the bottle, then at his father, in so strange a way,that Mr. Green, who did not at first comprehend what was in thechild's thoughts wondered still more. All was soon understood, forHarry, bursting into tears, laid down the flask, and, throwing hisarms around his father's neck, said--"Oh, father! don't get any whiskey!"Mr. Green deeply touched by the incident, hugged his boy tightly tohis bosom. He said--"I only wanted it for medicine, dear. But, never mind. I won't letsuch dangerous stuff come into my house. Mother shall make me someof her herb-tea, and that will do as well."Henry looked up, after a while, timidly.--"You're not angry with me,father?" came from his innocent lips."Oh, no, my child! Why should I be angry?" replied Mr. Green,kissing the cheek of his boy. Then the sunshine came back again toHenry's heart, and he was happy as before.Mrs. Green made the herb-tea for her husband, and it proved quite asgood for him as the whiskey-punch. A glass or two of cold water, ongoing to bed, would probably have been of more real advantage in thecase, than either of these doubtful remedies.

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