ctual face, you would have
seen something that marred the harmony of its fine features and dimmed
its clear expression--something to stir a doubt or awaken a feeling of
concern. The eyes, that were deep and intense, had a shadow in them,
and the curves of the mouth had suffering and passion and evidences of
stern mental conflict in every line. This was no common man, no social
drone, but one who in his contact with men was used to making himself
felt.

"Come home early, Ralph, won't you?" said his wife.

The man bent down and kissed her, and then pressed his lips to the
baby's head.

"Yes, dear; I don't mean to stay late. If it wasn't for the expectation
of meeting General Logan and one or two others that I particularly wish
to see, I wouldn't go at all. I have to make good, you know, all the
opportunities that come in my way."

"Oh yes, I know. You must go, of course." She had taken her husband's
hand, and was holding it with a close pressure. He had to draw it away
almost by force.

"Good-night, dear, and God bless you." His voice trembled a little. He
stooped and kissed her again. A moment after and she was alone. Then
all the light went out of her face and a deep shadow fell quickly over
it. She shut her eyes, but not tightly enough to hold back the tears
that soon carne creeping slowly out from beneath the closed lashes.

Ralph Ridley was a lawyer of marked ability. A few years before, he had
given up a good practice at the bar for an office under the State
government. Afterward he was sent to Congress and passed four years in
Washington. Like too many of our ablest public men, the temptations of
that city were too much for him. It was the old sad story that repeats
itself every year. He fell a victim to the drinking customs of our
national capital. Everywhere and on all social occasions invitations to
wine met him. He drank with a friend on his way to the House, and with
another in the Capitol buildings before taking his seat for business.
He drank at lunch and at dinner, and he drank more freely at party or
levee in the evening. Only in the early morning was he free from the
bewildering effects of liquor.

Four years of such a life broke down his manhood. Hard as he sometimes
struggled to rise above the debasing appetite that had enslaved him,
resolution snapped like thread in a flame with every new temptation. He
stood erect and hopeful to-day, and to-morrow lay prone and despairing
under the heel of hi