Temperance > Autobiography and personal recollections of John B. Gough

KETUKN HOME.
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“Come, madam, if you please, we will take your name.
Your husband has his certificate, and we have one for you;
we only wish you to give us your name—it is the rule for
those who receive these cards to give their names; we are
willing to wait for you.”
Still no reply; hut the mouth twitched nervously, and
her fingers were twisted together. Suddenly she lifted her
arm, as if to strike a blo'jv—but no! it was to dash away
a tear! Then another—and another—but they would
come; so, covering her face with her hands, she let them
come. How she did cry! The tears ran over her hands
—she could not, nor did she try to keep them back. We
stood near her, our eyes dim; but not a word was spoken.
At last she hastily took down her arms, and shaking out
the shawl, drew it over her shoulders, and with both
hands held it over her breast, and stood with bowed head.
The word of kindness had stirred the white ashes that
covered the last spark of the woman, and she stood, lite¬
rally clothed and in her right mind. The name was soon
given, the certificate handed to her, and the two poor
creatures looked positively bewildered at each other—the
man at her, and she at him. Degraded, debased, wretched,
filthy, vicious—the dark cloud seemed to be lifting, and
God only knew what was in their hearts, as they looked,
almost lovingly, each in the other’s face.
The gentleman who had paid the shilling laid his hand
on the man’s shoulder, and said: “ Now remember you are
one of us. You have signed the temperance pledge, you
belong to the society, and you must always remember you
are one of us.”
“Did ye hear that, old woman?” cried out the man.
‘Did ye hear that? He says we’re ‘one of us? Come
away wi’ me—‘one of us’—the gentleman—‘one of ui—”
and they went out of the hall.
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