WITH A- WINE-GLASS. v7

me; and the servants, little knowing the say-
ageness that was in my heart, kept hustling
me into the hall, saying, ‘Go to him, Peggy ;
he’ll mind you, Peggy ; he doesn’t understand ;’
and there he was . his blue, watering eyes,
unwinking, staring, but seeing nothing, not
‘the broken glasses, nor the sputtering lights
| flaring out, nor the slops on the mahogany,
and the furniture broken and tossed; the
great, grand pictures of his ancestors, looking
erim from the broken frames and the smoky
walls. His long, white, powerless right hand
curled round the half empty tumbler, which
it had not strength to hold, and the servants
so scared, calling, ‘Go to him, Pegey ;’ and
Idid go to him ; I flew at the poor’ helpless
drunkard like a wild beast. It was God’s
merey I did not murder him. I forgot what
he was and what I was. I felt choked with
the curses I’d have poured on him; at last

I got words for the terrible truth, and the