[TWO PICTURES BY THE WAYSIDE.]
IN passing along one of the busy crowded streets of a large city, it was my lot, on the same day, to witness two pictures very opposite in character. There was much of sadness in each, and much to learn from both.
The figures in the first were an elderly man and woman; evidently husband and wife. By right, the wife should have leaned on the arm of her partner; but, alas! His step Was unsteady, his gait tottering, and she was guiding him with a firm clasp, looking around from time to time, as if afraid and ashamed to be seen by any casual passenger to whom they might be known. It was evident that the wife's sorrowful task was a new thing to her, and that the man was no habitual drunkard.
All the way along the road as they tottered on, it was touching to hear the poor old fellow pouring out expressions of regret for having yielded to temptation, and promises to avoid it for the future. The woman wiped her eyes now and then with the corner of her apron, and spoke soothingly and tenderly, as if she would fain comfort her old partner in his evident humiliation. Then the man began to remind her in a broken pleading voice of all the years and years during which he had never transgressed by taking a drop too much; adding, "And thee knaws, my lass, I've had to wark reet hard a' the time."
The wife tightened her hold of her husband's arm, and, as she clasped her other hand across it, said, while her voice was fairly broken with a sob, "Doan't I knaw it, Jem? Doan't I knaw it?"
As she uttered these words, she and her half-helpless charge came to the turning into a narrow street, down which they went, and I saw them no more.
There was a dark shadow cast over this little picture by the condition of the old man; but there were some beautiful lights in it nevertheless. To see that wife's homely face, full of combined love and sorrow, and the earnestness with which she strove, as far as her strength would allow, to hide her husband's fault from the eyes of their neighbours, stirred my warmest admiration and sympathy. Not one word of reproach did she utter, to increase the pain her husband was already feeling. She was ready to meet his penitence half-way; to call to mind his long perseverance and hard work, and to strengthen him in making and keeping good resolutions for the future.
My fancy followed them to their little home, and I seemed to see its fast-closed door shut, to prevent prying eyes from knowing anything to Jem's discredit. And I pictured, too, the sorrowing wife on her knees, asking pardon for his fault and new strength for both. The two, doubtless, long joined together by the strongest earthly ties, would be drawn closer still; for all who practise such conduct as that wife manifested realise the truth of those sweet words, "He that covereth a transgression seeketh love."