CHAPTER V.




The "tavern" at which our hero boarded was of the country, or,
rather, the colony order of architecture,--for piece had been added
to piece, until what was once a small shed was now quite an
extensive edifice.

As was the case with all taverns in those days, so also with
this,--the bar-room was its most prominent feature. Mr. Blinge, the
landlord, not only smoked, but was an inveterate lover of raw
whiskey, which often caused him to perform strange antics. The fact
that he loved whiskey was not strange, for in those days all drank.
The aged drank his morning, noon and evening potations, because he
had always done so; the young, because his father did; and the
lisping one reached forth its hands, and in childish accents called
for the "thugar," and the mother, unwilling to deny it that which
she believed could not harm it, gave.

Those were the days when seed was being sown, and now the harvesting
is in progress. Vain were it for us to attempt its description; you
will see it in ruined families, where are gathered blasted hopes,
withered expectations, and pangs, deep pangs of untold sorrow.