ary Jones, leaning timidly on the arm of John Jenkins, enters the
church. But the bride is agitated, and the bridegroom betrays a
feverish nervousness. As they stand in the vestibule, John Jenkins
fumbles earnestly in his vest-pocket. Can it be the ring he is anxious
about? No. He draws a small brown substance from his pocket, and
biting off a piece, hastily replaces the fragment and gazes furtively
around. Surely no one saw him? Alas! the eyes of two of that wedding
party saw the fatal act. Judge Boompointer shook his head sternly.
Mary Jones sighed and breathed a silent prayer. Her husband chewed!

CHAPTER III.

AND LAST.

"What! more bread?" said John Jenkins, gruffly. "You're always asking
for money for bread. D--nation! Do you want to ruin me by your
extravagance?" and as he uttered these words he drew from his pocket a
bottle of whiskey, a pipe, and a paper of tobacco. Emptying the first
at a draught, he threw the empty bottle at the head of his eldest boy,
a youth of twelve summers. The missile struck the child full in the
temple, and stretched him a lifeless corpse. Mrs. Jenkins, whom the
reader will hardly recognize as the once gay and beautiful Mary Jones,
raised the dead body of her son in her arms, and carefully placing the
unfortunate youth beside the pump in the back yard, returned with
saddened step to the house. At another time, and in brighter days, she
might have wept at the occurrence. She was past tears now.

"Father, your conduct is reprehensible!" said little Harrison Jenkins,
the youngest boy. "Where do you expect to go when you die?"

"Ah!" said John Jenkins, fiercely; "this comes of giving children a
liberal education; this is the result of Sabbath schools. Down, viper!"

A tumbler thrown from the same parental fist laid out the youthful
Harrison cold. The four other children had, in the mean time, gathered
around the table with anxious expectancy. With a chuckle, the now
changed and brutal John Jenkins produced four pipes, and, filling them
with tobacco, handed one to each of his offspring and bade them smoke.
"It's better than bread!" laughed the wretch hoarsely.

Mary Jenkins, though of a patient nature, felt it her duty now to
speak. "I have borne much, John Jenkins," she said. "But I prefer
that the children should not smoke. It is an unclean habit, and soils
their clothes. I ask this as a special favor!"

John Jenkins hesitated,--the pangs of remorse bega