New Temperance Tales. No. 1: The Son of My Friend | Page 2

people in our circle
would accept. If we served coffee, tea, and chocolate instead, we would
be laughed at."
"Not by the fathers and mothers, I think. At least not by those who have
grown-up-sons," I returned. "Only last week I heard Mrs. Gordon say
that cards for a party always gave her a fit of low spirits. She has three
sons, you know."
"Rather fast young men, as the phrase is. I've noticed them in
supper-rooms, this winter, several times. A little too free with the

wine."
We both stood silent for the space of nearly a minute.
"Well, Agnes," said my husband, breaking the silence, "how are we to
decide this matter?"
"We must give a party, or decline invitations in future," I replied.
"Which shall it be?" His eyes looked steadily into mine. I saw that the
thing troubled him.
"Turn it in your thought during the day, and we'll talk it over this
evening," said I.
After tea my husband said, laying down the newspaper he had been
reading and looking at me across the centre-table, "What about the
party, Agnes?"
"We shall have to give it, I suppose." We must drop out of the
fashionable circle in which I desired to remain; or do our part in it. I
had thought it all over--looking at the dark side and at the bright
side--and settled the question. I had my weaknesses as well as others.
There was social eclat in a party, and I wanted my share.
"Wine, and brandy, and all?" said my husband.
"We cannot help ourselves. It is the custom of society; and society is
responsible, not we."
"There is such a thing as individual responsibility," returned my
husband. "As to social responsibility, it is an intangible thing; very well
to talk about, but reached by no law, either of conscience or the
statute-book. You and I, and every other living soul, must answer to
God for what we do. No custom or law of society will save us from the
consequences of our own acts. So far we stand alone."
"But if society bind us to a certain line of action, what are we to do?
Ignore society?"

"If we must ignore society or conscience, what then?"
His calm eyes were on my face. "I'm afraid," said I, "that you are
magnifying this thing into an undue importance."
He sighed heavily, and dropped his eyes away from mine. I watched his
countenance, and saw the shadows of uneasy thought gathering about
his lips and forehead.
"It is always best," he remarked, "to consider the probable
consequences of what we intend doing. If we give this party, one thing
is certain."
"What?"
"That boys and young men, some of them already in the ways that lead
to drunkenness and ruin, will be enticed to drink. We will put
temptation to their lips and smilingly invite them to taste its dangerous
sweets. By our example we will make drinking respectable. If we serve
wine and brandy to our guests, young and old, male and female, what
do we less than any dram-seller in the town? Shall we condemn him,
and ourselves be blameless? Do we call his trade a social evil of the
direst character, and yet ply our guests with the same tempting
stimulants that his wretched customers crowd his bar-room to obtain?"
I was borne down by the weight of what my husband said. I saw the
evil that was involved in this social use of wines and liquors which he
so strongly condemned. But, alas that I must say it! neither principle
nor conscience were strong enough to overcome my weak desire to
keep in good standing with my fashionable friends. I wanted to give a
party--I felt that I must give a party. Gladly would I have dispensed
with liquor; but I had not the courage to depart from the regular order
of things. So I decided to give the party.
"Very well, Agnes," said my husband, when the final decision was
made. "If the thing has to be done, let it be well and liberally done."
I had a very dear friend--a Mrs. Martindale. As school-girls, we were

warmly attached to each other, and as we grew older our friendship
became closer and tenderer. Marriage, that separates so many, did not
separate us. Our lots were cast in the same city, and in the same social
circle. She had an only son, a young man of fine intellect and much
promise, in whom her life seemed bound up. He went into the army at
an early period of the war, and held the rank of second lieutenant;
conducting himself bravely. A slight, but disabling wound sent him
home a short time previous to the surrender of Lee, and before he was
well