FullReads

“And so saying, that malignant fiend, who, while he inhabited a material body, was called old Billy Adams, stepped down from the still. Then there arose three loud and long cheers, for Graves, and his ‘Sub-Treasury,’ that echoed and re-echoed wildly through that gloomy prison-house.

“You’re much thought of down there, you see,” continued Riley, with a cold grin of irony.–“Adams says, that if this temperance movement aint stopped soon, they will have to get you among them, and make you head devil in that department. How would you like that, old chap, say? How would you like to go now?”

As Riley said this, he threw himself forward, and clasped his thin, bony fingers around the neck of the rum-seller, with a strong grip.

“How would you like to go now, ha?” he screamed fiercely in his ear, clenching his hand tighter and still tighter, while his hot breath melted over the face of Graves in a suffocating vapour. The struggles of the rum-seller were vigorous and terrible–but the dying man held on with a superhuman strength. Soon everything around grew confused, and though still distinctly conscious, it was a consciousness in the mind of the tavern-keeper of the agonies of death. This became so terrible to him that he resolved on one last and more vigorous effort for life. It was made, and the hands of the dying man broke loose. Instantly starting to his feet, the wretched dealer in poison for both the bodies and souls of men, found himself standing in the centre of his own parlour, with the sweat rolling from his face in large drops.

“Merciful Heaven! And is it indeed a dream?” he ejaculated, panting with terror and exhaustion.

“A dream–and yet not all a dream,” he added, in a few moments, in a sad, low tone.–“In league with hell against my fellow-men! Can it indeed be true? But away! away such thoughts!”

Such thoughts, however, could not be driven away. They crowded upon his mind at every avenue, and pressed inward to the exclusion of every other idea.

“But I am not in league with evil spirits to do harm to my fellow-men. I do not wish evil to any one,” he argued.

“You are in such evil consociation,” whispered a voice within him. “There are but two great parties in the world–the evil and the good. No middle ground exists. You are with one of these–working for the good of your fellow-men, or for their injury. One of these great parties acts in concert with heaven, the other with hell. On the side of one stand arrayed good spirits–on the side of the other evil spirits. Can good spirits be on your side? Would they, for the sake of gain, take the food out of the mouths of starving children? Would they put allurements in a brother’s way to entice him to ruin? No! Only in such deeds can evil spirits take delight.”

“Then I am on the side of hell?”

“There are but two parties. You cannot be on the side of heaven, and do evil to your neighbour.”

“Dreadful thought! In league with infernal spirits to curse the human race! Can it be possible Am I really in my senses?”

For nearly half an hour did Graves pace the floor backwards and forwards, his mind in a wild fever of excitement. In vain did he try, over and over again, to argue the point against the clearest and strongest convictions of reason. Look at it as he would, it all resolved itself into that one bold and startling position, that he was in league with hell against his fellow-men.

“And now, what shall I do?” was the question that arose in his mind. “Give up my establishment?”

At that moment, Sandy, the bar-tender, opened the parlour door, and said with a broad smile–

“The Sub-Treasury is working wonders again! I’m overrun, and want help.”

“I can’t come down, just now, Sandy. I’m not very well. You will have to get along the best you can,” Graves replied.