pstone, if driven with
all the force of your great arm through my seeming substance, would
leave me sitting here still, not to mock, but to try and save you."

The baffled and stricken shoemaker looked up and muttered. "Then you
are not human, you are a demon. But, after all," added Nick,
softening, "whether you are of this world or of some other, you are
right in what you say."

The Goblin made no reply, and Nick continued, "I have sunk very low,
indeed, but I cannot shake this habit; it clings to me so firmly, that
I have not only forfeited the regard of my neighbors and friends, but
I even loathe myself."

"Why not make an effort, Nick? You can if you will."

"Yes, yes," responded Nick, "it is easy enough to say give it up, but
you have never felt this accursed appetite for strong drink; this
constant craving for more; this inward sinking sensation, as if the
parts of the body were about to separate, impelling the victim on in a
career of sin and shame. You know nothing of all this."

"No, I confess I do not," acknowledged the Goblin, "but I think any
man may resist it, if he will make the trial."

"Ah, you might as soon expect," pursued Nick, "to see the starving man
cast bread from him, as to hope for the drunkard to resist liquor when
the frenzy of this appetite is on him."

"But you have not tried, Nick."

"Yes, I have tried and failed, and tried again and then failed."

"Keep on trying," said velvet cap.

"A glass of liquor," resumed Baba, "is a trifling thing, and it is
very easy, you think, to cast it into the gutter. But I tell you,
whoever and whatever you are, that this sparkling and seductive drink
is the pygmy that binds the giant to the post with a thread, and
lashes him with thongs of fire.

"Try again," urged the Goblin, "I am sure you can regain all that you
have lost."

"No, no," moaned Nick, "I am too low down; I am an absolute slave to
rum."

"Baba," commanded the Goblin, "take up the shoe you have nearly
finished, look into the sole and tell me what you see there. It is a
mirror of the past."

Nick took the shoe from the floor and gazed at it intently for a few
seconds. He was agitated, and his powerful breast heaved as only a
strong man may be moved--he wept.

"What do you see? Speak!" said his tormentor.

"I see," responded Nick, mechanically, "a scene of seven years ago. It
is the image of a fair-haired, blue-eyed girl before the altar in her
wedding garments. I am there a