The habits of Prentiss were daily growing worse—­the excitement he craved he found in the intoxicating bowl.  The influence of his lovely and loving wife greatly restrained him; but when she was away, he was too frequently surrounded by his friends and admirers, and in social conviviality forgot the prudence of restraint, and indulged to excess.  The more this indulgence was tolerated, the more exacting it became.  The great strength of his nervous system had successfully resisted the influence of these indulgences, and after potations deep and long, it was remarked that they had no inebriating effect upon him.  This nervous strength by degrees yielded to the power of alcohol, and as he advanced in life it was apparent the poison was doing its work.

Now it was that he found it necessary, in order to stimulate his genius to its wonted activity and vigor, on occasions demanding all his powers, to resort to artificial stimulants.  His friends urged upon him temperance, to forbear altogether, to visit his mother and friends in Maine, recreate amidst the scenes of his childhood, and to do so in company with his wife and his lovely children, for they were all a parent could wish them to be.  He promised to do so.  Sad memory brings up our last meeting, and when the subject of his intemperance was the theme of our parting conversation.  We stood together upon the portico of the St. Charles Hotel; he was preparing to leave for Maine; I was leaving for my home in the country.

“You still keep the old cane,” he said, taking from my hand his gift many years before.

“I shall do so, Prentiss, while I live.”

He continued to view the head, upon which our names were engraved, and a melancholy shade gathered upon his features.  “Oh, were I,” said he, “to-day, what I was the day I gave you this!” and he paused many minutes; still the shade darkened, and his voice trembled as he proceeded:  “We were both young then, and how light our hearts were!  We have gathered about us household gods, and we worship them; how sad to think we shall have to leave them!  You married long before I did.  Your children will grow up while yet you live; I shall never see mine other than children.”

“Say not so, Prentiss.  You are yet young.  You have but one thing to do, and you will live to see those boys men; and what may you not expect of them, with such a mother to aid you in rearing them!”

“I know what you mean, and I know what I will; but, like Laocoon in the folds of the snake, the serpent of habit coils around me, and I fear its strength is too powerful for mine.  Perhaps, had my angel of to-day been my angel when first a man, I had never wooed the scorpion which is stinging me to death; but all I can do I will.  This is all I can promise.  Keep this stick to remember me:  it will support you when tottering with the weight of years, and with strength will endure.  When age has done her work, and you are in the grave, give it to your son to remember us both.  Farewell.”