Was it possible that in a few short years Roland West should have become the besotted, degraded-looking man, who flung himself into the one easy-chair the room possessed? "That boy up yet," he said with a scowl, "at those everlasting books; let him go to work like other boys of his age, and earn his salt." "That's what I intend him to do as soon as he is fit, Roland," answered his wife in the quiet, firm tone with which she always addressed her husband; usually he outwardly submitted to the controlling power that her voice and eye exerted upon him; but this night he was in no mood to be controlled or reasoned with. "Hold your tongue, you saucy jade! What right have you to be bringing up my boy to know more than his father, and teaching him your own fine airs and graces. I'll have no more of it. Here, boy, fetch me a pint of ale!" "Roland," said his wife, "Allan shall not go into that place of cursing and drunkenness; I'll go myself rather." "Oh," said the man, inwardly quailing before her flashing eyes, "is that it, my high and mighty dame? either you or Allan shall go, then." Seizing a jug, in a moment his wife had disappeared, returning shortly with her face crimson, and the foaming vessel in her hand. "Well, madam, you've had your way, now I'll have mine," said her husband, and filling a glass, he called his son downstairs. "Here, Allan," he said, "drain that, or I'll thrash you soundly." "Father, you forget, I belong to the Band of Hope," said the boy appealingly. "Drink it, I say," and the infuriated man seized the child's arm. "Roland, will you blight your boy's life as you have your own?" interposed the mother. Down came the cruel hand on wife and child, and, while a volley of oaths rained from the man's lips, Allan lifted the glass and drained the contents. "Now, go to bed, and remember that when your father speaks you are to obey. I'll make a man of you yet, you young milksop!" Sobbing bitterly, Allan crept to his bed, and his anguish found vent in the pitiful question: "What else can I be but a drunkard when my father makes me drink?" What, indeed, could be the future of the child, who from that time was compelled to fetch, and then partake of his brutal father's cup? What marvel that with early acquired taste for strong drink, he impatiently cast aside the restraint of a tender mother, and followed with rapid footsteps his father to a premature dishonoured end! Another scene, the closing one, and all that is needful for reproof and warning will have been drawn from the life-history of Roland West. * * * * *