Summary

Austin Potter From Wealth to Poverty; Or, the Tricks of the Traffic…

There was something in the singing of his little prattler which filled Richard Ashton with strange awe. As she lisped out "I am so glad," with note as clear as the carolling of a lark, the look of seraphic rapture which overspread her face evinced that she had entered into the spirit of the piece and that her little heart was glad. As he looked into the face of his wife he saw, intuitively, her thoughts were as his, and he whispered to her: "Ruth, dear, she seems too fair, too sweet, too good for earth; I am sometimes afraid that God will take her from us."
Source: Gutenberg

Austin Potter From Wealth to Poverty; Or, the Tricks of the Traffic…

Also, frequently, when the children were fast asleep in their little cot, as she looked with a mother's tenderness and pride upon them, thinking what a picture of innocence and beauty they presented as their heads nestled lovingly together on the pillow—the raven-black and gold mingling in beautiful confusion—she would kneel beside them, and as the deepest, holiest feelings of her heart were stirred, she would pray that the one who was so dear to them all might be redeemed from evil and become again a loving husband, a kind father, and a child of God.
Source: Gutenberg

Austin Potter From Wealth to Poverty; Or, the Tricks of the Traffic…

The words of Bottlesby had a magical effect upon Dalton, and he seemed to become sober in a moment. He sprang to his feet, his eyes flashed fire, and cutting, stinging words came to his lips.
"I am no greater slave than you are, Bottlesby," he said; "and, if I were, you are the last man in the world should taunt me with the fact. You know you drink twice the quantity of liquor that I do, and if you don't get drunk, it is because it does not find any brain to expend its strength upon. Whiskey attacks a man in his most prominent point, which, in your case, is your stomach.
Source: Gutenberg

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