“I see,” said Herbert laughingly, “there _has_ been something, and though he is a married man, you still feel an interest in him, and want him to succeed; all right, and I’ll do what I can to help him; for I verily believe he’ll get Tom on his legs again in spite of what the temperance folks say about his blood’s being all turned into whisky!” At these words a shadow passed over Aunt Charlotte’s face, but it was soon chased away by the next remark of Herbert, which was, “Ain’t you glad, mother, I reformed before I got to be as bad as Tom? Why, girls (addressing Anna and me), I haven’t drank a drop since—since—how long is it mother, since I left off”—_drinking_ he could not say, so he finally added, “left off _imbibing_ occasionally?” There was a look of happiness on that mother’s face, as she replied, “Almost a year.” Yes, ’twas almost a year since her son had tasted ardent spirits, and had she not good reasons for thinking he would never fall again? Assured of this fact, how proud she would have been of her only boy; for, aside from this great error, he possessed many noble, generous qualities; and during my stay in Boston, I found that, in spite of his well-known habits, he was a pretty general favorite. Oh, how lovingly my aunt looked after him when he went out, and how earnestly she watched him when he came in, and all the while she was tempting him beyond what most men could bear; for regularly on her dinner-table appeared either porter, champagne, or madeira, one taste of which would set him all on fire. But, unfortunately, she belonged to that class of fashionable people who deem the wine-bottle a necessary appendage to the dinner table, and if, in the sequel, her son should fill a drunkard’s grave, would there be any just cause why, in her anguish, she should murmur at Providence for having dealt with her thus harshly? Ought she not rather to blame herself for having thus daily tempted him to sin by placing before him what she well knew was sure to work his ruin? But to our story. We were at dinner when Herbert came in from his morning ramble, and taking his accustomed seat at the table, he said to his mother, “I called on Ada as you desired, and found her sitting up in a rose-colored dressing-gown, which she thinks very becoming to her, I know, for she sat directly opposite the mirror, and I should not dare tell how many times I caught her casting admiring glances at herself.” Aunt Charlotte frowned, while Herbert, turning to me, continued—“Miss Montrose is so much better that I don’t believe I can patronize your doctor in that quarter, but I’ll do something for him—break my leg, may be—or have the delirium tremens.”