"If
there had been no more bitter fruit than this, no more lives
sacrificed, it would have been sad enough. But--"
"Sir, you are trifling," exclaimed Mr. Birtwell, starting from his
chair. "I cannot admit your right to talk to me in this way."
"Be calm, my dear sir," answered Mr. Elliott, laying his hand upon
his companion. "I am not trifling with you. As your warm personal
friend as well as your spiritual counselor, I am here to-night to
give a solemn admonition, and I can best do this through the
communication of facts--facts that stand on record for ever
unchangeable whether you know them or not. Better that you should
know them."
Mr. Birtwell sat down, passive now, his hand grasping the arms of
his chair like one bracing himself for a shock.
"You remember General Abercrombie?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what has become of him?"
"No. I heard something about his having been dismissed from the
army."
"Did you hear the cause?"
"It was drunkenness, I believe."
"Yes, that was the cause. He was a fine officer and a man of high
character, but fell into habits of intemperance. Seeing himself
drifting to certain ruin, he made a vigorous effort to reform his
life. Experience told him that his only safety lay in complete
abstinence, and this rule he adopted. For many months he remained
firm. But he fell at your house. The odor of wine that pervaded all
the air and stirred within him the long-sleeping appetite, the
freedom he saw around him, the invitations that met him from
distinguished men and beautiful women, the pressure of a hundred
influences upon his quickened desires, bore him down at last, and he
fell.
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