Ah! with what an eager zest does the
heart drink in of evil. And how almost hopeless is the case of a
boy, surrounded, as Frank was, by the corrupting, debasing
associations of a bar-room! Had his father meditated his ruin, he
could not have more surely laid his plans for the fearful
consummation; and he reaped as he had sown. With a selfish desire
to get gain, he embarked in the trade of corruption, ruin, and
death, weakly believing that he and his could pass through the
fire harmless. How sadly a few years demonstrated his error, we
have seen.
Flora, I learned, was with her mother, devoting her life to her.
The dreadful death of Willy Hammond, for whom she had conceived a
strong attachment, came near depriving her of reason also. Since
the day on which that awful tragedy occurred, she had never even
looked upon her old home. She went away with her unconscious
mother, and ever since had remained with her--devoting her life to
her comfort. Long before this, all her own and mother's influence
over her brother had come to an end. It mattered not how she
sought to stay his feet, so swiftly moving along the downward way,
whether by gentle entreaty, earnest remonstrance, or tears; in
either case, wounds for her own heart were the sure consequences,
while his steps never lingered a moment. A swift destiny seemed
hurrying him on to ruin. The change in her father--once so tender,
so cheerful in his tone, so proud of and loving toward his
daughter--was another source of deep grief to her pure young
spirit.
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