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“WE shall have to give them a wedding party,” said Mrs. Eldridge to her husband.

Mr. Eldridge assented.

“They will be home to-morrow, and I think of sending out of invitations for Thursday.”

“As you like about that,” replied Mr. Eldridge. “The trouble will be yours.”

“You have no objections?”

“O, none in the world. Fanny is a good little girl, and the least we can do is to pay her this compliment on her marriage. I am not altogether satisfied about her husband, however; he was rather a wild sort of a boy a year or two ago.”

“I guess he’s all right now,” remarked Mrs. Eldridge; “and he strikes me as a very kind-hearted, well-meaning young man. I have flattered myself that Fanny has done quite well as the average run of girls.”

“Perhaps so,” said Mr. Eldridge, a little thoughtfully.

“Will you be in the neighborhood of Snyder’s?” inquired the lady.

“I think not. We are very busy just now, and I shall hardly have time to leave the store to-day. But I can step around there to-morrow.”

“To-morrow, or even the next day, will answer,” replied Mrs. Eldridge. “You must order the liquors. I will attend to everything else.”

“How many are you going to invite?” inquired Mr. Eldridge.

“I have not made out a list yet, but it will not fall much short of seventy or eighty.”

“Seventy or eighty!” repeated Mr. Eldridge.

“Let me see. Three dozen of champagne; a dozen of sherry; a dozen of port; a dozen of hock, and a gallon of brandy,–that will be enough to put life into them I imagine.”

“Or death!” Mrs. Eldridge spoke to herself, in an undertone.

Her husband, if he noticed the remark, did not reply to it, but said, “Good morning,” and left the house. A lad about sixteen years of age sat in the room during this conversation, with a book in his hand and his eyes on the page before him. He did not once look up or move; and an observer would have supposed him so much interested in his book as not to have heard the passing conversation. But he had listened to every word. As soon as Mr. Eldridge left the room his book fell upon his lap, and looking towards Mrs. Eldridge, he said, in an earnest but respectful manner,–

“Don’t have any liquor, mother.”

Mrs s Eldridge looked neither offended nor irritated by this remonstrance, as she replied,–

“I wish it were possible to avoid having liquor, my son; but it is the custom of society and if we give a party it must be in the way it is done by other people.”

This did not satisfy the boy, who had been for some time associated with the Cadets of Temperance, and he answered, but with modesty and great respect of, manner,–“If other people do wrong, mother–what then?”

“I am not so sure of its being wrong, Henry.”

“O, but mother,” spoke out the boy, quickly, “if it hurts people to drink, it must be wrong to give them liquor. Now I’ve been thinking how much better it would be to have a nice cup of coffee. I am sure that four out of five would like it a great deal better than wine or brandy. And nobody could possibly receive any harm. Didn’t you hear what father said about Mr. Lewis? That he had been rather wild? I am sure I shall never forget seeing him stagger in the street once. I suppose he has reformed. But just think, if the taste should be revived again and at our house, and he should become intoxicated at this wedding party! O, mother! It makes me feel dreadfully to think about it. And dear Cousin Fanny! What sorrow it would bring to her!”

“O, dear, Henry! Don’t talk in that kind of a way! You make me shudder all over. You’re getting too much carried away by this subject of temperance”