Nearly Lost but Dearly Won

by Theodore P. Wilson

“It is a pity that more people are not of your mother’s mind,” said Mrs Franklin, laughing.

“So it is indeed; but I shouldn’t, perhaps, have said anything about it, only the teapot you’ve got in your hand now was my dear old mother’s brewery, and that set me thinking and talking about it.”

It was not their host’s fault, nor Mr John Randolph’s, who acted as joint entertainer, if their guests did not make a hearty tea. The meal concluded, Mr Tankardew requested his young friend to bring out some of his curiosities. These greatly interested all the party—especially Mrs Franklin and Mary, who were delighted with the traveller’s liveliness and intelligence.

“Show our friends some of your sketches,” said the old man. These were produced, and were principally in water colours, evidently being the work of a master’s hand. As he turned to a rather un-English scene, the young artist sighed and said, “I have some very sad remembrances connected with that sketch.”

“Pray let us have them,” said Mr Tankardew. Mr Randolph complied, and proceeded: “This is an Australian sketch: you see those curious-looking trees, they are blue and red gums: there is the wattle, too, with its almond-scented flowers, and the native lilac. That cottage in the foreground was put up by an enterprising colonist, who went out from England some fifteen years ago; you see how lovely its situation is with its background of hills. I was out late one evening with a young companion, and we were rather jaded with walking, when we came upon this cottage. We stood upon no ceremony, but marched in and craved hospitality, which no one in the bush ever dreamt of refusing. We found the whole family at supper: the father had died about a year before of consumption, after he had fenced in his three acres and built his house, and planted vineyard and peach orchard. There were sheep, too, with a black fellow for a shepherd, and a stock yard with some fine bullocks in it; altogether, it was a tidy little property, and a blooming family to manage it. The widow sat at the head of the table, and her son, a young man of two-and-twenty, next to her. There were three younger children, two girls and a boy, all looking bright and healthy. We had a hearty welcome, and poured out news while they poured out tea, which with damper (an Australian cake baked on the hearth), and mutton made an excellent meal. When tea was over we had a good long talk, and found that the young farmer was an excellent son, and in a fair way to establish the whole family in prosperity. Well, the time came for parting, they pressed us to stay the night, but we could not.

Just as we were leaving, my companion took out a flask of spirits, and said, ‘Come, let us drink to our next happy meeting, and success to the farm.’ I shall never forget the look of the poor mother, nor of the young man himself; the old woman turned very pale, and the son very red, and said, ‘Thank you all the same, I’ve done with these things, I’ve had too much of them.’ ‘Oh! Nonsense,’ my friend said; ‘a little drop won’t hurt you, perhaps we may never meet again.’ ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said the other, in a sort of irresolute way. I could see he was thirsting for the drink, for his eye sparkled when the flask was produced. I whispered to my friend to forbear, but he would not. ‘Nonsense,’ he said; ‘just a little can do them no harm, it is only friendly to offer it.’ ‘Just a taste, then, merely a taste,’ said our host, and produced glasses. The mother tried to interfere, but her son frowned her into silence. So grog was made, and the younger ones, too, must taste it, and before we left the flask had been emptied. I took none myself, for never has a drop of intoxicants passed my lips since I first left my English home. I spoke strongly to my companion when we were on our way again, but he only laughed at me, and said, ‘What’s the harm?’”

“And what was the harm?” asked Mark, in a rather sarcastic tone.

“I will tell you,” replied John Randolph, quietly. “Four years later I passed alone across the same track, and thought I would look in on my old entertainer. I found the place, but where were the owners? All was still as death, little of the fence remained, the stock yard was all to pieces, the garden was a wilderness, the cottage a wreck. I made inquiries afterward very diligently, and heard that the young farmer had taken to drinking, that the younger children had followed his example, the poor mother was in her grave, and her eldest son a disreputable vagabond; where the rest were no one knew. Oh! I resolved when I heard it that never would I under any circumstances offer intoxicating drinks to others, as I had previously, while myself a total abstainer, occasionally done.”

“But surely,” said Mr Rothwell, “we are not answerable for the abuse which others may make of what is lawful and useful if taken in moderation. The other day I offered the guard of my train a glass of ale; he took it; afterward the train ran off the line through his neglect; it seems he was drunken, but he appeared all right when I gave him the ale; surely I was not answerable there? The guard ought to have stopped and refused when he knew he had had enough.”