New Temperance Tales. No. 1: The Son of My Friend | Page 4

eyes, as we clasped hands and looked into each
other's faces, did not conceal the shadows of anxious fear that rested on
them. As I held Albert's hand, and gazed at him for a moment, a pang
shot through my heart. Would he go out as pure and manly as he had
come in? Alas, no! for I had made provision for his fall.
The company was large and fashionable. I shall not attempt a
description of the dresses, nor venture an estimate touching the value of
diamonds. I have no heart for this. No doubt the guests enjoyed
themselves to the degree usual on such occasions. I cannot say as much
for at, least one of the hosts. In the supper-room stood a table, the sight
of which had smitten my eyes with pain. Its image was perpetually
before me. All the evening, while my outward eyes looked into happy
faces, my inward gaze rested gloomily on decanters of brandy and
bottles of wine crowding the supper-table, to which I was soon to invite
the young men--mere boys, some of them--and maidens, whose glad
voices filled the air of my drawing-rooms.
I tried to console myself by the argument that I was only doing as the
rest did--following a social custom; and that society was
responsible--not the individual. But this did not lift the weight of
concern and self-condemnation that so heavily oppressed me.
At last word came that all was ready in the supper-room. The hour was
eleven. Our guests passed in to where smoking viands, rich
confectionery and exhilarating draughts awaited them. We had
prepared a liberal entertainment, a costly feast of all available
delicacies. Almost the first sound that greeted my ears after entering the
supper-room was the "pop" of a champagne cork. I looked in the

direction from whence it came, and saw a bottle in the hands of Albert
Martindale. A little back from the young man stood his mother. Our
eyes met. Oh, the pain and reproach in the glance of my friend! I could
not bear it, but turned my face away.
I neither ate nor drank anything. The most tempting dish had no
allurement for my palate, and I shivered at the thought of tasting wine.
I was strangely and unnaturally disturbed; yet forced to commend
myself and be affable and smiling to our guests.
"Observe Mrs. Gordon," I heard a lady near me say in a low voice to
her companion.
"What of her?" was returned.
"Follow the direction of her eyes."
I did so, as well as the ladies near me, and saw that Mrs. Gordon was
looking anxiously at one of her sons, who was filling his glass for, it
might be, the second or third time.
"It is no place for that young man," one of them remarked. "I pity his
mother. Tom is a fine fellow at heart, and has a bright mind; but he is
falling into habits that will, I fear, destroy him. I think he has too much
self-respect to visit bar-rooms frequently; but an occasion like this
gives him a liberty that is freely used to his hurt. It is all very
respectable; and the best people set an example he is too ready to
follow."
I heard no more, but that was quite enough to give my nerves a new
shock and fill my heart with a new disquietude. A few minutes
afterwards I found myself at the side of Mrs. Gordon. To a remark that
I made she answered in an absent kind of way, as though the meaning
of what I said did not reach her thought. She looked past me; I followed
her eyes with mine, and saw her youngest boy, not yet eighteen, with a
glass of champagne to his lips. He was drinking with a too apparent
sense of enjoyment. The sigh that passed the mother's lips smote my
ears with accusation. "Mrs. Carleton!" A frank, cheery voice dropped

into my ear. It was that of Albert Martindale, the son of my friend. He
was handsome, and had a free, winning manner. I saw by the flush in
his cheeks, and the gleam in his eyes, that wine had already quickened
the flow of blood in his veins.
"You are enjoying yourself," I said.
"Oh, splendidly!" then bending to my ear, he added.--"You've given the
finest entertainment of the season."
"Hush!" I whispered, raising my finger. Then added, in a warning
tone--"Enjoy it in moderation, Albert."
His brows knit slightly. The crowd parted us, and we did not meet
again during the evening.
By twelve o'clock, most of the ladies had withdrawn from the
supper-room; but the enticement of wine held too many of the men
there--young and old. Bursts of coarse laughter, loud exclamations, and
snatches of