or dram-drinking grew stronger, after
a while, and he drank more and more. Not that he ever got absolutely
drunk; but it was not an uncommon thing for him to get _high_, as they
sometimes say of the first stages of drunkenness--so high that he
talked and acted very like a fool.

A habit of this kind is apt to grow upon a person. It grew upon
Frederick. I will not trace his path, through all its windings, from
tasting to moderate drinking, from moderate drinking to drunkenness,
and from drunkenness to ruin. But such was his course. He drank till
he entirely lost the power of controlling his appetite. His business
affairs got out of order, and they became worse and worse. He failed.
Not long after this, he was often seen reeling about the streets of
Boston, a poor, miserable, drunken wretch.

One night, when he was drunk, some one who knew him, ordered a
carriage, and took him to the neat little cottage which was the home
of his childhood. His aged parents were already aware, to some extent,
of Frederick's habits; but when they saw there, before their eyes,
that living wreck of what was once their son, it seemed as if their
hearts would break with anguish. That night they said not a word to
their son. They knew that he was not himself, and that anything he
might say then, would only add to their grief.

[Illustration: THE DRUNKARD AND HIS FATHER.]

The next day, however, after the reason of their miserable son had
been partly restored, they had a long talk with him. He knew to what a
depth he had fallen. But he declared, over and over again, that there
was no hope for him. "I am lost!" said he; "I am lost! Father," he
continued, "I am drinking up my soul, and no power on earth can stop
me. I could no more live without liquor, than a fish can live out of
water. I am on fire, and nothing will help to quench the flames, but
the liquor which feeds them."

Then he told the old man the story of that first glass of gin. "It was
that," said he, "which has done all the mischief. If I had not played
the fool then, I might have been somebody now. But I yielded to
temptation. I formed the taste for liquor. It has grown upon me, until
I am the loathsome beast that you see before you. No, I never can
stop drinking until I die."

Poor, poor man! in less than three weeks after this interview with his
parents, he died--died of that most terrible disease, the delirium
tremens.

My young friends, before I leave this story of Fr