Mrs. G. was a mild and a motherly woman, just the one fitted to inspire young men with confidence and that _home_ feeling which all men desire to find somewhere. Her house was a free and easy ground, social for most of the young people of her acquaintance, and Harry was a favorite and domesticated visitor. During the height of the temperance reform, fathers and brothers had given it their open and decided support, and Mrs. G.--always easily enlisted for any good movement--sympathized warmly in their endeavors. The great fault was, that too often incident to the gentleness of woman--a want of self-reliant principle. Her virtue was too much the result of mere sympathy, too little of her own conviction. Hence, when those she loved grew cold towards a good cause, they found no sustaining power in her, and those who were relying on her judgment and opinions insensibly controlled them. Notwithstanding, she was a woman that always acquired a great influence over young men, and Harry had loved and revered her with something of the same sentiment that he cherished towards his own mother. It was the most brilliant party of the season. Every thing was got up in faultless taste, and Mrs. G. was in the very spirit of it. The girls were looking beautifully; the rooms were splendid; there was enough and not too much of light and warmth, and all were doing their best to please and be cheerful. Harry was more brilliant than usual, and in fact outdid himself. Wit and mind were the spirit of the hour. "Just taste this tokay," said one of the sisters to him; "it has just been sent us from Europe, and is said to be a genuine article." "You know I'm not in that line," said Harry, laughing and coloring. "Why not?" said another young lady, taking a glass. "O, the temperance pledge, you know! I am one of the pillars of the order, a very apostle; it will never do for me." "Pshaw! those temperance pledges are like the proverb, 'something musty,'" said a gay girl. "Well, but you said you had a headache the beginning of the evening, and you really look pale; you certainly need it as a medicine," said Fanny. "I'll leave it to mamma;" and she turned to Mrs. G., who stood gayly entertaining a group of young people. "Nothing more likely," replied she, gayly; "I think, Harry, you have looked pale lately; a glass of wine might do you good." Had Mrs. G. known all of Harry's past history and temptations, and had she not been in just the inconsiderate state that very good ladies sometimes get into at a party, she would sooner have sacrificed her right hand than to have thrown this observation into the scales; but she did, and they turned the balance for him. "You shall be my doctor," he said, as, laughing and coloring, he drank the glass--and where was the harm? One glass of wine kills nobody; and yet if a man falls, and knows that in that glass he sacrifices principle and conscience, every drop may be poison to the soul and body.