"Impossible! I believe it not! I believe not in the good of brandy.
It is hurtful--it is deadly. It has slain its thousands and its tens
of thousands--it is worse than the sword and the summer pestilence.
Many a man have I known to perish from strong drink. In my own
parts, upon the river Haw, in North Carolina state, I have known
many. Nay, wherefore should I spare the truth, Alfred Stevens?
--the very father of my own life, Ezekiel Cross, perished miserably
from this burning water of sin. I will not hear thee speak of it
again; and if thou wouldst have me think of thee with favor, as one
hopeful of the service of the brethren, cast the accursed beverage
of Satan from thy hands."

The youth, without a word, deliberately emptied tho contents of
his vessel upon the sands, and the garrulous lips of the preacher
poured forth as great a flood of speech in congratulation, as he had
hitherto bestowed in homily. The good, unsuspecting man, did not
perceive that the liquor thus thrown away, was very small in quantity,
and that his companion, when the flask was emptied, quietly restored
it to his bosom. John Cross had obtained a seeming victory, and
did not care to examine its details.






CHAPTER V.

THE SERPENT IN THE GARDEN.