We will, then, caution and advise without explaining, and call on our co-laborers to make a grand effort towards reformation, telling them that from the heart of the great cities there rises a wail of sorrow and desolation, that must fall on their ears like a cry of distress from the poor suffering stricken ones, that they must rise bravely, spontaneously, and joining hands they must come nobly to the rescue. It is their lawful, binding duty to reclaim. We must save from the wreck at least those "little ones" that are growing up around us, "for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." Why need they ever know the experience that is drunk in the wine cup? Why must they, too, walk in the well-printed footsteps of vice that their elders are treading before them? They must not; they shall not; they dare not! if they have noble women to direct them, to inspire them with great and holy and generous thoughts, to draw them round the family fireside, to gratify their eager hearts with innocent amusements that elevate the mind and bring the soul nearer to God. Where are the mothers now, who, like Blanche of Castile, can say to their sons, "My child, I would rather see thee dead at my feet than that thou shouldst offend God mortally." Alas! if in our city alone, mothers were to re-echo that wish and have it granted, many a strong youth would be laid in his coffin before night!
Mothers and sisters will ask, "What can one woman do by herself?" What good? If every mother sends a St. Louis to eternity before her, is not that a magnificent influence on society, and who denies it? Be not discouraged then—withdraw the misplaced sympathies that have been enlisted by thrilling manuscripts or exciting anecdotes in the cause of missions and religious undertakings abroad. At home, within your own most intimate circle you have a mighty field for your labors. Hearts to which you are closely attached are sadly in need of your attention, and while you are so solicitous in providing for corporal necessities and comforts, forget not the poverty, the destitution of the moral nature. Wrap the robe of innocence and repentance round the heart that is naked and susceptible to all the influences of foul weather. Go bravely forth in the bark of divine charity and save the soul that is tossing helplessly on an angry sea, without food or support or safety, plunging into irremediable debauchery, as Guy Elersley is to-night.
CHAPTER XV.
"Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear."
The cold, cloudy night was just at us period of transition when the misty grey of a foggy morning was slowly extending over the quiet city. A light fall of snow covered the rough fences and the bare branches, and a chilly, freezing atmosphere weighed heavily down upon the earth. There was scarcely a sound to be heard. Now and then the still measured tread of a solitary policeman, or the pitiful chirp of some homeless sparrow under the eaves of a neighboring house broke the monotonous silence of the early dawn. But suddenly another sound burst out upon the great stillness, it was the clock from the Parliament Tower striking the hour of three. The last vibrations had scarcely died out when the figures of two men, arm-in-arm, came round the corner. There is a well-known little on dit which says "when two men walk arm-in-arm it is more than probable that one is sober," but it was the exception and not the rule that applied this morning. Both were seemingly under the same influence and to the same degree. Though the sight had its revolting side, still one was also inclined to laugh at the ridiculous appearance they presented. One was short, but had all the disadvantages of his failing compensated in his breadth. The other was, as I have often described him before—tall and slim, our brave Guy Elersley. His features were barely visible, owing to the manner in which he wore his hat, which would willingly repose on his shoulders only for an occasional jerk upwards from the owner. His affectionate friend with the pronounced tendency to embonpoint, tried to persuade himself that his head was really covered, although Guy's hat, to do its most generous, could never shield more than the extreme top of his hair. Snatches of their conversation only reassure the looker-on of the absurdity of the situation. The good-natured looking companion, whose name was Morrison Jones, said in the most usual tone in the world—
"I think we're getting home kind of late, Guy," at which Guy laughed unreasonably long, and then added,
"Ye-s, he'l (l-ate) me up, by Jove!" and then Jones clapped Guy, saying,
"Here now! no more of this," and both went off into a ridiculous duet of laughter, that sounded harshly on the stilly air of the peaceful night.
Arrived at the gate of Mr. Rayne's house both young men stood, and
Morrison Jones who seemed a little bit the wiser of the two addressed
Guy in fatherly terms.
"Here now, Elersley, this is twice I've seen you home to night and I won't do it any more. It's time for honest people to be in bed, and I think I'll go to mine."