"Hannah, it will not do," said Captain Currier to his eldest daughter, a neat, quiet looking girl about eighteen, who sat sewing by a window. "I say Hannah," continued he sternly, as her eyes met his, "it will never do for you to throw yourself away upon that miserable scapegrace that has visited you so often of late."

The blood mounted in torrents to her cheeks as she replied,

"Why, father, you surely cannot mean William Lawrence?"

"And who else should I mean? He is not worth a single iota, and what is more, he is never like to be."

"True, he is not rich, but he is industrious, and with his excellent habits I have no fears on that account."

"Oh, you have not, have you," said her father, almost fiercely, "but I tell you Miss, it will never do, so you may think the matter over at your leisure, and settle the affair, I hope, without any farther interference on my part."

She raised her eyes timidly to her father's and said, "I think, sir, you will be obliged to finish the work if it is ever done; my faith is plighted to William, and you know, father, I cannot break my word."

This candid avowal but added "fuel to the flame" of the enraged father, and he sternly said, "My commands are upon you, and I expect you to obey me."

"But father," began the trembling girl,

"There is no but in the case. But I will leave you now, for I see your milk and water looking gentleman is coming, and I expect, Hannah, it will be the last time his shadow will ever darken my doors."

As he passed out at one door the young man entered at the opposite, and fixed his handsome eyes, with a searching glance, upon Hannah, as he gave her his cordial greeting, saying,

"Are you ill?" "O no, William, I am not ill, but let us walk out into the garden; perhaps the cool winds of heaven will cool the fever upon my brow."

And so they wandered forth among the flowers, to breathe the air that comes alike to the children of affluence and pinching want. They reached a seat where they had spent many happy hours, over which climbing honeysuckles shed their perfume, and many bright flowers danced in the wind, or drank the pure dews of night as the pitying angel wept upon their bosoms. Hannah was upon her accustomed seat, and the eyes of her lover were fixed upon her with that fond expression she so well understood, and which found a ready response in her youthful heart. Now that heart was almost bursting with its agony of grief; but William was beside her, whispered words of tenderness and hope were murmured in her ear, and how could she break the spell? how could she speak of the gathering storm? The commands of a stern father were upon her, and she knew his indomitable spirit would never swerve one inch from his determination.

They sat till the family clock struck nine ere Hannah could muster courage to announce her father's decision, and related the conversation that had just occurred. William was perfectly astonished, as he replied,

"You certainly cannot yield to his commands? Hannah, the happiness of my life depends upon our union."

"Well, we will keep quiet a while and see what further light we can get upon the subject. I have a fearful foreboding that the haughty, stern looking stranger who has been here so much of late, has something to do with it. He has been officious in his attention to me, and I have trembled when I have seen his savage eyes fixed upon, me with such a peculiar expression. And so we will be quiet and wait the moving of the waters."

The following afternoon Captain Currier called his daughter into the parlor, and closing the door, said abruptly,

"Well, Hannah, I 'spose you have squared up accounts with William, and are now ready to enter a new firm. There is a noble chance for you my gal. The rich Mr. Benson has offered his hand to you in marriage."

"Impossible! Why, father, is not he an Indian?"

"No more of an Indian than you are; to be sure he is not quite as white as your milk and water Billy."

"I should think he was milk and molasses, at least, and the largest part molasses, but without its sweetness."

"Well, be that as it may, I'm thinking his thousands will make the dose quite palatable at any rate. You must know, Miss, my affairs at present are in an embarrassed state, and he proposes taking that large tract of land adjoining mine, and giving me a generous price upon it, provided you will become his wife. He is going to lay out the ground like a garden, build a princely mansion, and you are to be its mistress."

"O father, would you have me fall down and worship the golden calf?"

"But you must obey me; I cannot, I must not be frustrated in this arrangement."

"But why, father, cannot you and he complete your bargain without sacrificing my happiness on the shrine of Mammon?"

"No, he will leave the country immediately unless you consent to marry him, and this, with my other property, is mortgaged, and cannot be redeemed, and beggary stares me in the face. This step, and this only, can save me. I told William the arrangement as he was marching hurriedly away this morning with Colonel Somer's regiment, who were ordered to reach the eastern border of the State as quick as possible, as they fear an attack from the French and Indians in that quarter. Mr. Benson is eager to have the marriage take place as soon as possible."

Hannah sat like one in a dream for a moment, when she said,

"Father, has nature no voice to plead for me?"

"Child, it is your good I am seeking. How can you ever expect happiness with William? It takes all he can earn to support his sick mother, and let me tell you your chance will be a small one. Mr. Benson's pockets are lined with gold, and he rides the best horse that the country can produce; and let me tell you, your love, as you call it, never yet put anything into the pot or kept it boiling, and it is well said, 'when poverty stalks in at the door love creeps out at the key hole.'"

"Well, father," said Hannah, rising up at her full height, "if I am any judge in the case, that man is unprincipled, remorseless, and a villian."

"I think you are no judge. What can you know about it?

"Well, you chose to put the business in my hands, and I have arranged it to my own liking. Now you must be prepared by one week from this day to become Mrs. Benson."

So saying he left the room, to bluster about Capulet like, to hurry the coming event.

It was soon known by every member of the family, that great preparations were expected for the coming wedding. Deeds were drawn up, the land transferred into the hands of Mr. Benson at an extravagant price, a large house erected upon it, and many carpenters employed to finish one room, and a bed-room, so that they could occupy it till the rest could be completed.

And so the shuttle was played to weave the woof into the meshy warp that had thus been spread.

Hannah wept long after her father left her. She felt convinced it was through his means William was pressed to go with Colonel Somers, and her heart rebelled against his tyranny; and nothing would have induced her to yield but her father's assurance that that alone could save him from beggary. And she felt she would make the sacrifice for her father's sake.

As she entered the kitchen, Sarah, the black slave, met her with,

"Why, Miss Hanner, 'pears to me I should not like to swap Mr. Lawrence for Mr. Benson; 'pears he aint haff so perticler like."

"It is my father's wish, and I suppose it must be complied with," and she passed out of the room to bury her feelings in her own bosom, and nerve herself for the coming trial.

"Massa is doing good business, Sambo," said Sarah to a black man that sat preparing some peas to plant, "he selling tu gals at once."

"Yes, yes; but I guess Miss Hanner hab no choice," and he rolled up the whites of his eyes, and fetched a pompous nod of the head, as he glanced at his sable companion.

"That does make some differ; now tree year don't seem bery long when we bese so much wid one tother."

"The tree year most out now, white man buy his gal wid gold; but poor nigger hab to work hard for his'n. Well, we be free then."

The conversation was closed by Capt. Currier's sharp voice calling Sambo to bring the peas. He hastily obeyed the summons, as he did so displaying by his open smile his ivory teeth to Sarah, who returned the compliment in a very satisfactory manner.

All was bustle, stir, and preparation during the week. Dress makers, milliners, and almost all classes of people were called into requisition.

Mr. Benson strove hard to play the agreeable; but Hannah could scarcely endure him. And the week passed away, as all weeks will pass, whether laden with joy or sorrow; and the pale bride stood trembling by the altar of Hymen, and the solemn words were passed that united the destinies of two immortal spirits, and the recording angel registered them in heaven.

After partaking of a sumptuous dinner, according to the custom of those days, they entered a splendid carriage Mr. Benson had purchased for the occasion, and with Sambo for a driver and Sarah for a waiting maid, set out upon their wedding tour. But we will not accompany them.

Suffice it to say, it was productive of little happiness to the new married pair. Sambo and Sarah enjoyed it very well, as she often rode with him upon the driver's box, and they thus had a delightful view of the country.

On their return, their house was ready for their reception, or at least so that they could live in it while the other part was finished.

Hannah had frequently been surprised by her husband's frequent potations of brandy during their journey, and his whole bearing had been haughty and reserved.

They had been at home but a short time, when, after being absent one night and day, Mr. Benson returned home with a dark frown resting upon his countenance; he slammed the door, kicked every chair that came in his way, and stamping about, went and dismissed all his hands, took another dram from his brandy bottle, and sat moodily down by the fire, grumbling because supper was not on the table.

Poor Hannah pressed her hand upon her throbbing heart, and struggled with the tears that rose to her eyes and seemed scalding her very eye balls with their burning heat. There was a choking sensation in her throat, but she swallowed it back, and prepared supper in the best manner she was capable. Her husband seated himself at the table, took a biscuit, looked at it, flung it back upon the plate, called his tea dish water, and throwing back his chair hastily, left the table.

But why dwell upon the sorrowful years they spent together? He ever came like a dark shadow upon the sunlight of home. Children gathered around their fire side, but there was no gentle corner for them in his heart.

His only son was ever with him like his shadow, drinking in his precepts, practising his examples, breathing his oaths, domineering over his mother and sisters, and a terror to the neighborhood.

His father telling him, he was in hopes to see the time he would dance on Dr. Somers' grave, as he hated him with a perfect hatred, because he had been his wife's attending physician, when she had been sick during the years they had lived together.

James, for such was the name of the son, was instructed to hate everybody that came in his way, and, of course, was hated by every one.

The money that came by gambling, went in the same way, and poverty--abject poverty--was now an inmate of their dwelling.

The house remained unfinished; the frame, which had never been clap-boarded, had gone to decay in a great measure; and when one meal was obtained, they scarcely knew where another would come from.

Discord reigned among them. Hannah was a wreck of her former self. She had strung up her patience to its utmost tension, and would often bear the scorn and abuse of her husband in sorrowful silence.

But this state of things passed away, and when her children shared in her sufferings, the bitter waters were stirred in their deep fountains, and she became a worn woman, with a hasty spirit. The biting retort was now often upon her lips, and she became in a true sense of the word, what might well be called a scold.

One gloomy fall day, when the sighing winds shook the mellow apples from the trees in the large thrifty orchard, that stood before the house, casting so deep a shade that the rays of the sun could scarcely penetrate it, and the old house looked blacker for the rain that had fallen upon it, Mr. Benson was seized for debt, and, conveyed to jail.

During his absence Mrs. Benson purchased some apples of the man that then owned the orchard, and dried them, hoping to obtain some needful clothing for herself and children. She cleaned her ceiling, whitewashed the plastering, and made everything about the house look as comfortable as possible, and enjoyed the privilege, at least, of doing as she pleased, without being found fault with, which was to her a great luxury, as her expressed wishes were generally vetoed at once.

She was a true mother, and strove to bring her children up in the paths of truth and honesty. But there was such an opposing current, and such frequent bickerings between herself and husband, that they caught the infection, and seemed to live only to torment each other.

"O," said Mrs. Benson one day, to her sister Sarah, who was spending a, day with her, "this is the princely mansion father promised me, as a reward for giving up all my cherished hopes. Poor William has lost his dear mother, I hear."

"Yes, she died one day last week; she liked much where they lived, and after William came into possession of his uncle's princely fortune, her life was spent in ease and affluence. He is likely to become one of the richest men in the country, and he is loved for his kindness and respected for his virtues. Your marriage doomed him to celibacy."

A shade rested for a moment upon Mrs. Benson's brow, as she said,

"O, these dark brown years have brought no joy to me in their course. How I have lived I scarcely know. How dim-sighted is human reason? The poor William is now the rich man, and the rich Benson is the poor one. Could father know the misery I have undergone, he would think his comforts dearly purchased; but he is gone from earth, and I will not reproache his memory; but, oh, it has been hard--very hard."

"But come, Sarah, come into this old room with me, and help me pack my dried apple for market. Is'nt it nice? I took great pains with it, as I wished it to fetch the first price in the market. I am going to get me a new cheap calico dress. This old patched faded thing is the only one I have.

"I have wove a great deal this fall, and I think what I shall get for that and the apple, will fix the children and me up quite comfortably. The children paid for these apples, by picking up apples for Mr. Lambert, and he says he shall want them again. I don't know as I care much how long Benson stays in jail, for I enjoy myself much better than I did when he was at home, scolding round all the time. And it has made a perfect vixen of me, and I scold almost as bad as he does; and the children catch it, and we have a little bedlam here all the time; O, I wish it were not so, I cannot lie down quietly and sleep at night, and I know something fearful will come of it."

"O, sister, I hope nothing worse than has come. I am glad to hear your prospects look more favorable, and wish it were in my power to help you. If you get a dress I will help you make it, and the children's clothing. But I forgot to tell you Sarah is dead, and Sambo has got a cancer, and it is thought he will survive her but a short time."

"Indeed; well, she was a faithful servant, and has gone to her reward; and poor Sambo, how patiently he toiled, early and late, to purchase her freedom, and they were very happy."

"O, yes, because they loved each other, and there was no one to interfere with them."

They were now startled by hearing Mr. Benson chiding the children in a loud, angry voice, with many oaths, for leaving the gate open, and letting a cow into a small yard of shrivelled, stinted looking cabbages.

The children scampered for the house, with terrified looks, whispering, "father has come," and crouching down in a heap in one corner of the room, remained very quiet; the old cow ran for the street, with Mr. Benson at her heels, storming furiously, and plying a large stick across her back, which he had picked up in his rage.

The sisters placed the large bundle of dried apple in as secure a place as possible, and returned to the kitchen.

The door was burst violently open, and Mr. Benson entered the room, exclaiming, as he did so,

"What in thunder is going on here?"

And he proceeded to disarrange chairs, tables and everything that came in his way, till the house was all in confusion. He went to the cupboard, that stood in the corner of the room, to get a large jug he used to keep brandy in, in his better days, but which now was often filled with New England rum. Not finding it, he almost screamed,

"Hannah, you Jezebel, where is my jug?"

"I thought I would sell it, as you were boarding out."

"Woman," shouted he, "that shall be a dear jug to you."

"It has been that already."

The enraged husband cast at her the look of a fiend, and passed on to the adjoining room, which was calculated to be an elegant parlor when the house was raised, but which was now converted into a store room, for old barrels, old baskets, old hats and bonnets, and, in fine, a great variety of old things. In one corner stood a little old bedstead, with an old flock bed, covered with patched sheets and a ragged quilt, where James slept. The loom was in that room and the spinning wheels; an old churn and many other things, too numerous to mention.

Mr. Benson reached up his hand, to take down a large bunch of woolen yarn that hung suspended on a nail. His wife sprang forward, saying, "Do not touch that--it is not mine."

"I don't care whose it is. I must and will have something that will sell."

At that moment, seeing the package of dried apple, he pounced upon it, like a tiger upon its prey, and bore it rapidly away, with the remonstrances of a weeping wife ringing in his ears.

And the traffickers in human souls bought it at a price, paid him in liquid fire, and he returned to his home, more fiend than when he left it. The wife's dress was gone; the comfortable things she hoped to procure for the children were gone. She sat up and toiled late at night--and all for what? To procure that poison for her husband that was contaminating his and her own soul, and cast such a blight upon her home. Was it not enough that their house and land were mortgaged, their horse and carriage gone? but must she toil with her own hands, to satisfy that appetite that cries, "give, give?" As these thoughts passed through Mrs. Benson's mind, she mentally exclaimed,

"O, it is a sad thing to be a drunkard's wife."

A few weeks after she went to an old chest that stood in one corner of the room, to get a piece of woolen goods she had carefully prepared for the market, which would bring her several dollars. She had placed an old band box, quill wheel and some other rubbish upon the chest, to conceal it from view as much as possible. Upon opening it, she discovered her treasure was gone, and she knew too well, for what purpose. The son, too, drank with his father, and got so much the start of him in brutality, that even he cowered before him, thus realizing that "He that soweth the wind shall reap the whirlwind." But those years passed on; the children grew up in their perverseness, a family that feared neither God or man.

No prayer ever ascended, like sweet incense, from those hearts; no hymns of praise fell from those lips; but they daily invoked curses upon each other--and who shall say that the curse causeless came?

The eldest daughter married a miserable drunkard, contrary to the wishes of her father, threatening to fire the house over their heads, if they opposed her in the least. The second daughter lived in disgrace, with a man equally miserable, till the house was demolished over their heads.

The poor heart-broken wife died, and was borne away to the grave. The son became of age, took the homestead from his father by making arrangements to redeem it, and threw his father into the poor house, where he wore out the remainder of his days in wretchedness and misery.

The son, by perseverence, won the hand of an amiable young lady, of an excellent family, and contrary to the expectations of every one, treated her with the greatest kindness the two years he lived with her, attending church with her every Sabbath, and evincing a great change in many other ways.

But the desire of riches urged him, with hundreds of our fellow citizens, to seek the land of gold, and like many of them too, fell a prey to his ambition. He died on shipboard, never reaching the place of his destination.

Dr. Somers died about the same time, and was buried in his own quiet yard, in the little village that had been the theatre of his life. That young form that had been educated for the express purpose of dancing on his grave, was tossing beneath the tumultuous waves of the briny ocean, never to be at rest.

William Lawrence lived, loved and respected and transferred his earthly love to God, giving him his supreme affections, thus living to his honor and his glory while on earth, and meeting death with a calm resignation, sank peacefully down to slumber in the quiet grave.

All the actors in the little drama have sunk beneath the waves of death, (but three daughters and the son's wife,) and the dust of ages is gathering upon them; but their influence still lives and speaks to the generations of men.

The master and the slave are there. The father and the daughter, the husband and the wife, and the parents and the son are there, each one "to answer for himself for the deeds done in the body." Surely, "it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God."