another surfeited. The sound of the viol is again heard, and the merry dance is kept up till near morning light. The parties then gradually retire. Some of the young ladies, from over excitement in the ball-chamber, and subsequent exposure to the night air, take severe colds, become speedily consumptive, and from the place of rioting and mirth are carried to the grave! In this country, where consumption is so prevalent, and accomplishes its work so rapidly, the distance from the midnight ball-room to the grave is very short.

Most young men who attend balls go home inflamed with wine. I say most of them. It is not unfrequently the case, however, that some of them cannot get home. They have to stay behind until they have, in a measure, slept off the fumes of strong drink: and then, with bloodshot eyes, fetid breath, and staggering gait, they reach their homes. Such young men have received a new impetus in the way that leads to destruction, and such are the common fruits of a village ball.

Why do fathers and mothers,—and some of them professedly Christian parents, too,—allow their daughters to mingle in these scenes, and expose themselves to the contaminating influence of such associations? How any well-disposed mother can do this I am at a loss to determine.

Such a ball as I have described was to be held in the town of ——. Young men and young ladies impatiently waited for the time appointed to arrive. Among those who designed to attend this ball was Charles Duran, then in his eighteenth year. Notwithstanding his habits and character, the position and respectability of his parents prevented him from being entirely excluded from society. He was still further aided in gaining admission to such parties by always having money. While some despised him in their heart, they were quite willing, for the sake of his purse, to have him in their company.

The anxiously looked for day arrived. The preparations were made. At night the ball was to come off. After dinner, Charles asked his father for money to bear the expenses of the evening. Mr. Duran gave him what he thought would be sufficient for the occasion. The amount did not satisfy him: more was asked. It was refused; and Charles, not having forgotten his early habits, immediately went into a fit of rage. More money he wanted, and more he would have. He went out, and arming himself with stones and blocks, soon commenced a regular assault upon the house. The weather-boards were battered, one window was smashed in, panes in the others were broken, and the fragments rattled on the floor and on the ground. The aged parents trembled for their safety; while the son, raving as a madman, seemed bent on their destruction. Stooping somewhat with age, and in great fear, Mr. Duran went to the door, with a bag in his hand, containing a quantity of specie:—

"Here, Charles," said the feeble old man, "come and get what money you want, and don't stone the house any more."

Thus appeased, the demon became quiet. Charles helped himself to as much money as he wanted, and was ready for the ball in the evening. Alas, what degradation for a parent! and what persevering depravity in a son!

The evening came. Parties began to assemble. Arrangements had been made for a great ball. The saloon was tastefully decorated. The kitchen gave evidence that a sumptuous repast was in preparation. The bar was fully supplied with all kinds of sparkling liquors. As the new-comers arrived, they met a smiling host, an attentive and ready bar-tender, and obsequious waiters and servants.

Fancy the scene. Groups of persons, gayly dressed, are in conversation in different parts of the ball-chamber. More are constantly coming in. The musicians, who for some time have been tuning their instruments, enter, and take their place. Partners are selected, the circle is formed, and the dancing begins. A scene of hilarity ensues. During the intervals, the merry laugh is heard, wine is drunk, and the glee becomes general. Sparkling eyes are made more sparkling by strong drink; and, under the influence of multiplied potations, the coarse jest is now and then uttered. In this scene of gayety and mirth Charles Duran mingled,—a prominent actor. A young and inexperienced girl had accompanied him to the place. Round and round went the dance, and round and round went Charles's head. He was flush with money, and many a friend did he treat at the bar. Long ere the festivities closed he was unable to walk steadily. Still, stimulated by the excitement of the occasion, and urged on by unprincipled comrades, he poured down the deadly poison. His brain reeled under its influence. He alternately roared and laughed as a maniac. "Another drink! another drink!" he said. His youthful system could endure it no longer: he uttered a moaning, sepulchral groan, and sunk to the floor!

The ball was over, and the night was nearly gone. A friend took charge of the thoughtless young girl that had accompanied Charles to the dance. Two young men, his companions in riot, undertook to convey him to his father's house. The stars were just beginning to fade away as they reached the threshold. Speechless, and almost lifeless, they laid him upon his bed. It proved his death-bed!

CHAPTER VII.

SICKNESS AND DEATH.

The debauch of the previous night laid the foundation of disease, from which Charles never recovered. On the following day he seemed at times wild, and partially deranged. A violent fever set in, and for many days he was confined to his bed. His sufferings were extreme; so high did his fever rise that it seemed as though the fire within would consume him. His physician watched the progress of his disease, and did all in his power to restore his health. The fever ran its course, and the crisis came. There was a change for the better. It was thought that he would get up. The hopes of his parents were revived; and many were the wishes that, with restored health, there might be a reformation of manners. Of this, however, there was little prospect.

These hopes of a recovery were soon cut off. Charles's disease assumed a new form. He was taken with a cough, and night-sweats followed. His eyes were a little sunken, but full of expression. His countenance was pale, and, slightly tinged with blue, gave evidence that consumption had marked him for its victim, and that the grave must soon swallow him up: he was rapidly sinking into the arms of death.

Toward the latter part of his sickness, a rude contrivance was adopted to change his position in bed. Two hooks were driven into the ceiling, over the foot of the bedstead. To these pulleys were attached. These pulleys were rigged with cords, one end of which was made fast to the upper part of the bed. By hoisting on these cords he could be raised to any desired angle; and, instead of being bolstered up, he hung as if in a hammock. [See Frontispiece.]

During his illness Charles gave little evidence of any change in his feelings. No sorrow was expressed for anything in his past conduct. He was still fretful, still obstinate. He appeared like one early sold to sin.

The minister of the parish came in to pray with him. He found him ignorant of spiritual things. He talked to him on the subject of religion,—urged him to prepare to meet God. He offered prayer by his bed-side. He left him, however, showing very little evidence of penitence, and entertaining for him very little hope.

Charles lingered along till early in March. The day of his departure came. The father and mother bent over his bed: they saw that the hopes which they entertained at his birth were now to perish. Instead of his