e day.

So habit triumphed. Wilkinson, without even pausing at the door,
entered the drinking-house and obtained his accustomed glass of brandy.

"I feel a hundred per cent. better," said he, as he emerged from the
bar-room and took his way to his store. "That was just what my system
wanted."

Yet, if he felt, for a little while, better as regarded his bodily
sensations, the act did not leave him more comfortable in mind. His
instinctive consciousness of having done wrong in yielding to the
desire for brandy, troubled him.

"I shall have to break up this habit entirely," he remarked to himself
during the morning, as his thought returned, again and again, to the
subject. "I don't believe I'm in any particular danger; but, then, it
troubles Mary; and I can't bear to see her troubled."

While he thus communed with himself, his friend Ellis dropped in.

"I meant to have called earlier," said Ellis, "to ask about your sick
child, but was prevented by a customer. She is better, I hope?"

"Oh, yes, much better, thank you."

"What was the matter?" inquired Ellis.

"She is teething, and was thrown into convulsions."

"Ah! yes. Well, I never was so startled in my life as by the appearance
of Mrs. Wilkinson. And the child is better?"

"When I came away this morning, I left her sleeping calmly and sweetly;
and, what is more, the points of two teeth had made their way through
the red and swollen gums."

"All right, then. But how is Mary?"

"Not very well, of course. How could she be, after such a night of
anxiety and alarm? The fact is, Harry, I was to blame for having left
her alone during the evening, knowing, as I did, that Ella was not very
well."

Ellis shrugged his shoulders, as he replied--"Not much excuse for you,
I must admit. I only wish the attraction at my home was as strong as it
is at yours: Parker's would not see me often. As for you, my old
friend, if I speak what I think, I must say that your inclination to go
out in the evening needs correcting. I spend most of my evenings from
home, because home is made unpleasant; you leave your wife, because a
love of conviviality and gay company entices you away. Such company I
know to be dangerous, and especially so for you. There now, as a
friend, I have talked out plainly. What do you think of it? Ain't I
right?"

"I don't know," replied Wilkinson, musingly. "Perhaps you are. I have
thought as much, sometimes, myself."

"I know I'm right," said Ellis, po