his part. She could not but own to herself that her fears had been awakened by William Lister's grave and earnest reference to the evils of drinking, and she now observed Frank's indulgence with less allowance than was her wont. Presently she arose, and quietly put away the decanters. Frank turned to re-fill his glass once more, and to his surprise found they were removed from the table.

"Mother ?"

"Well, my son ?"

"You're not becoming infected with that foolish teetotalism, are you?"

"No, Frank; but I fear you are forgetting your usual moderation to night. You have had excitement enough, my dear boy."

"I can take care of myself mother, depend upon it;" and Frank, rather pettishly, marched off to bed.

Mrs. Hamer felt grieved, but whether at herself or at Frank she could hardly tell. Perhaps it would have been better not to interfere; young men were not so easily affected by wine; but then Mary's sorrowful, pointed remark-"my father only took a little once"came to her mind, and strengthened the purpose already forming in her heart, to make a firm stand against all excess. It was the first harsh word that had passed Frank's lips to his mother since his return home, and she felt it deeply. "But," she said to herself, "I must do my duty; I must discourage all but the most mod

P

erate use of this wine"-she could not help adding, "this evil thing, as William Lister truly calls it, for is it not even now threatening to cause dissension in our little circle of love?"

Mary went sadly home, leaning on the arm of her dear brother, and wishing, oh how earnestly! that Frank was self-denying and fearless as he in the good cause she had so much at heart. William too truly guessed the source of her sorrow, and delicately forbore to refer to the subject. But Mary felt that she needed sympathy and counsel, and who so likely to afford both as her good, wise brother? So she opened her whole heart to him, as they walked slowly home. Her griefs and fears, and the firm resolve she had made never to marry Frank unless he became practically an abstainer, were told in few words. And William applauded her determination, and encouraged her to hope that all would be well, if she persevered in the path of duty. He agreed with her that it was better not to make his taking the pledge a condition of the continuance of their connexion, but to wait patiently, and to hope that her own example and that of others would lead him to reflect, and in time to decide upon abstinence as the only safe

course.

"If he can once be convinced of that," said William, "I have no doubt he will act in accordance with his belief."

66

"O yes," replied Mary, "I'm sure he'll be true to principle. But William, I fear he is more addicted to the free use of wine than you are aware. Do you know he has been once completely intoxicated? Oh, my heart does ache to think of it!"

William stopped and looked Mary in the face. "He has not been so since he came back to Newburn, surely?"

"No, it was at Edinburgh, and, now I remember, he said he had told you of it."

"I did not need telling, Mary; I saw him brought home!

Mary sighed deeply. "I hope we shall have you here before long, William," she said presently, "with · that dear girl, whom I love already. Surely his sister

will have great influence ?"

"That's scarcely a settled matt er yet, love. If Mrs. Hamer has any doubt after seeing her, we shall never live in Newburn.” William had on his arrival delighted his mother and sister with the news that he had decided to leave his situation, and commence business for himself.

"Ah, I have a strong presentiment that all will be right, dear William. I quite long to see her, and shall love her all the same, whether Mrs. Hamer owns her or not."

William kissed his "sweet sister" once more, as soon as they were within doors, for her loving words. He stayed to spend a quiet Sunday at "The Cottage," and set out to Edinburgh early next morning; to attend, as we have seen, the death bed and interment of Robert Turner.

CHAPTER XIV.

SORROW AND JOY.

But there's a sure vicissitude below,
Of light and darkness, happiness and woe;
The dawn of day is an approach to night,
And grief is the conclusion of delight.

FRANK

YOUNG.

RANK did not forget the quiet surveillance his mother had exercised over his wine-drinking. It certainly had the effect of making him more cautious in her presence; but, on the other hand, he began to give way to greater indulgence abroad. Gradually, very gradually, he became a frequenter of the bar-room, in some of the more respectable public-houses in Newburn. And thus both his mother and the Listers had less of his company than before; and though there was no change in his love for Mary, or in his manner of showing it, his visits to "The Cottage" became less frequent and more hurried than formerly. We all saw and felt that he was often restless and uneasy; seemingly glad of the slightest excuse to leave earlier than had been his custom.