with more agony than I had thought myself capable of feeling again. Farewell! and if the assistance of a true and faithful friend can ever be of service to you in any future difficulty, remember one who never can forget you." As if in mercy to me, Eleanor was permitted to sleep soundly that night. In the morning I learned that Morton had gone out early, saying that he should not return until the evening of the following day. I could not misconstrue his meaning. He wished not to meet me again. While sending me forth from his home, he had done what he could to smoothe my way. He had told the domestics that circumstances had occurred to induce me to leave his family immediately. The great difficulty was with poor Eleanor. For her he had left a note, and when I returned, after having placed it in her hand, I found that she had buried her face in the pillow, and that her tender frame was almost convulsed with the violence of her grief; but while trying to comfort her, I was enabled, in some measure, to forget my own. I sat with her all that day, and towards evening we could both converse more calmly. "My father has not told me," said she, "why you are going to leave us, nor do I seek to know, for, had it been right that I should, he would not have concealed it from me. I almost wish you had never come; and yet it will be pleasant to think sometimes when I am suffering, that you would gladly be near me. May God be good to you, as you have been to me. I will pray for you in the long night, when I cannot sleep; and if ever time hangs heavily upon you, if friends are unkind, or you are tossed about without a home, think, if it be any consolation to you, that you are remembered in the supplications of a poor child.” Eleanor talked and wept until wearied nature was worn out. I told her that I had concluded to set off with the first dawn of the morning. Before she sighed her last farewell, her strength was so much exhausted that I could perceive the poignancy of her grief was gone; and before I stole out of her chamber, I had the satisfaction of feeling her breathe quietly, and regularly, as I stooped down to gaze once more upon her calm and beautiful face. It was through the dull haze of a winter's morning that I turned to look again into that peaceful valley. I saw the light from the window I had called my own-I saw it for the last time glimmering through the trees. The river was still gliding on-all nature was the same as when I first beheld that scene. Another spring would clothe those trees in verdant beauty, but no bright hope of renovated gladness shone upon my path, for mine was the winter of the soul. THE END. A VOICE FROM THE VINTAGE, ON THE FORCE OF EXAMPLE: ADDRESSED TO THOSE WHO THINK AND FEEL. BY MRS. ELLIS, AUTHOR OF "THE WIVES OF ENGLAND," ETC., ETC., STO. AUTHOR'S EDITION, COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. NEW YORK: HENRY G. LANGLEY, 8 ASTOR-HOUSE, BROADWAY. 1844. A VOICE FROM THE VINTAGE. CHAPTER I. PECULIARITIES OF INTEMPERANCE AS A VICE. If the physician, on taking charge of an invalid, should simply employ himself in laying down rules for the preservation of perfect health, it is evident that his advice would be of but little service in the removal of any existing disease under which his patient might be laboring. His rules might be excellent, his theory correct; but how would such a patient benefit by either? His malady would require the application of some direct and practical remedy, before he could be in a situation to take advantage of any method, however excellent, for the preservation of perfect health. It is thus with the moral, as well as the physical maladies of mankind. It would be a comparatively easy and pleasant task to lay down rules for the preservation of sobriety, order, and happiness, provided they had never been interrupted; but when evil habits have once gained the ascendancy, and the moral harmony of society has been destroyed, there must be a corrective employed to check what is evil, before any incentive can efficiently operate in promoting what is good. Although the exceeding sinfulness of sin precludes all idea of there being in the Divine sight, any degree or modification in the nature of sin itself; yet with regard to particular vices as they come under human observation, there are certain points of distinction which demand particular attention, and require appropriate treatment, as we see by the variety of regulations instituted for the well-being of society, and the still greater variety of systems of moral discipline brought into exercise for the purpose of controlling the evil tendencies of our common nature. None who have ever been truly awakened to a sense of the all-sufficient power of religious influence upon the human heart, will be liable to suppose, that any mode or system of moral discipline, simply as such, can be effectual in its operation upon the life and character, so as, ultimately, to secure the salvation of the soul; but as a child is carefully taught that truth and kindness are good, and falsehood and cruelty evil, long before it knows any thing of the religion of the Bible; so, in the case of every particular vice which has been known in the world, it may fairly be said to be better that it should be given up, than continued; provided only, it cannot be overcome except by the substitution of another. It is no small point gained, when an immortal being, a fellow-traveller in the journey of life, is prevailed upon to cease to do evil in any one respect. He is, at least, in a better condition for learning to do well, than while persisting in his former course. If a child, a servant, or any one under our care, has been accustomed to tell his time deprived of that highest attribute of man-his rational faculties. It is, however, a fact, deserving our most se rious consideration, that in this state he is more alive, than under ordinary circumstances, to the impulse of feeling, and of passion; so that while on the one hand he has less reason to instruct him how to act, on the other he has more restlessness and impetuosity to force him into action. It has been calculated that of persons thus degraded, there are at the present time existing in Great Britain more than six hundred thousand, of whom sixty thousand die annually, the wretched victims of this appalling vice. falsehoods, we rejoice over the first symptoms of their having learned to fear a lie, even though their conduct should evince no other indication of a moral change. We do not say, "Let him return to the evil of his ways, for it is of no use his leading a stricter life in this respect, unless he becomes altogether a changed character." We do not say this, because we know that the well-being of society, and the good of every individual connected with him, require that he should give up this particular habit, and if for no other reason, we think it sufficient that it should be given up for this-that the tendency of all evil is to contaminate, and that no vice can exist alone, but if indulged will Such, then, is the peculiarity of intemnecessarily extend itself, and pollute what-perance, that while all other vices leave ever it comes in contact with, by this the mind untouched and the conscience at means producing innumerable poisonous liberty to detect and warn of their com fruits from one deleterious root. Thus mission, this alone subdues the reasoning the state of society is proportionally im- powers, so that they have no capability proved every time a vicious habit is whol- of resistance; and while all other vices ly given up; and if this be true of vice are such from their earliest commencein general, how eminently is it the case ment, this alone only begins to be a vice a: with that if intemperance; because there that precise point when the clearness of is no other, which, on the one hand, is so the mind, and the activity of the conscience, countenanced by the customs of the world, begin to fail; and thus it progresses, acand which, on the other, spreads its bane-cording to the generally received opinion, ful influence to so fearful and deadly an by increasing in culpability in the exact proportion by which mental capability and moral power are diminished. extent. Intemperance is the only vice in the dark catalogue of man's offences against the will, and the word, of his Maker, which directly assails the citadel of human reason, and by destroying the power to choose betwixt good and evil, renders the being whose similitude was originally divine, no longer a moral agent, but a mere idiot in purpose, and animal in action. The man who is habitually intemperate consequently makes a voluntary surrender of all control over his own conduct, and lives for the greater portion of What an extraordinary measurement of guilt is this for an enlightened world to make! In all other cases a man's culpability is measured precisely by the ability he has to detect evil, and the power he possesses to withstand temptation. In this alone he is first encouraged by socie ty, and this is while his natural powers remain unimpaired. No blame attaches to him then. He is a fit companion for wise and good men: but no sooner does his reason give way than he is first slightly |