Charles Romaine is sleeping in a drunkard’s grave.  After the death of his boy there was a decided change in him.  Night after night he tore himself away from John Anderson’s saloon, and struggled with the monster that had enslaved him, and for awhile victory seemed to be perching on the banner of his resolution.  Another child took the place of the first born, and the dead, and hope and joy began to blossom around Jeanette’s path.  His mother who had never ceased to visit the house marked the change with great satisfaction and prevailed upon his father to invite Charles and Jeanette to a New Year’s dinner (only a family gathering).  Jeanette being unwell excused herself from going, and Charles went alone.  Jeanette felt a fearful foreboding when she saw him leaving the door, and said to herself, “I hope his father will not offer him wine.  I am so afraid that something will happen to him, and yet I hated to persuade him not to go.  His mother might think I was averse to his reconciliation with his father.”

“It looks very natural to have Charles with us again,” said Mrs. Ro[maine] looking fondly on her son.

“Yes, it seems like old times, when I always had my seat next to yours.”

“And I hope,” said his father, “it will never be vacant so long again.”

The dinner hour passed on enlivened by social chat and pleasant reminiscences, and there was nothing to mar the harmony of the occasion.  Mrs. Romaine had been careful to keep everything from the table that would be apt to awaken the old appetite for liquor, but after dinner Mr. Romaine invited Charles into the library to smoke.  “Here,” said he, handing him a cigar, “is one of the finest brands I have smoked lately, and by the way here is some rare old wine, more than 25 years old, which was sent to me yesterday by an old friend and college class mate of mine.[9] Let me pour you out a glass.”  Charles suddenly became agitated, but as his father’s back was turned to him, pouring out the wine, he did not notice the sudden paling of his cheek, and the hesitation of his manner.  And Charles checking back his scruples took the glass and drained it, to the bottom.

There is a fable, that a certain king once permitted the devil to kiss his shoulder, and out of those shoulders sprang[10] two serpents that in the fury of their hunger aimed at his head and tried to get at his brain.  He tried to extricate himself from their terrible power.  He tore at them with his fingers and found that it was his own flesh that he was lacerating.  Dormant but not dead was the appetite for strong drink in Charles Romaine, and that one glass awakened the serpent coiled up in his flesh.  He went out from his father’s house with a newly awakened appetite clamoring and raging for strong drink.  Every saloon he passed adding intensity to his craving.  At last his appetite overmastered him and he almost rushed into a saloon, and waited impatiently till he was served.  Every nerve seemed to be quivering with