The Lights and Shadows of Real Life

"O, yes, pa! I've conquered him to-night! He couldn't refuse to take a glass of wine with me on this occasion!" the daughter said, in great glee.

"He must take one with me, too, then."

"You must excuse me, indeed, sir," Haley replied—rallying himself, and bracing up into firmness his broken and still wavering resolutions.

"Indeed, then, and I won't."

"O, no. Don't excuse him at all, pa! He drank with me, and then with brother, and now to refuse to drink with you would be a downright shame."

"He has taken a glass with George, too, has he? And now wants to be excused when I ask him. Upon my word! Here, George, tell the servant to come over this way."

The servant came, of course, in a moment or two, with the wine.

"Fill up his glass, George," the father said.

Haley's glass was, of course, filled again.

"Now, my boy!—Here's a health to my children! May this night's happiness be but as a drop to the ocean of delight in reserve for them." Drinking.

"And here's to our father! May his children never love him less than they do now." Drinking in turn.

"Thank you, my boy!"

"And thank you in return, for your kind wishes."

"That wine didn't seem to taste unpleasantly, James?"

"O, no, sir. It is rich and generous."

"How long is it since you tasted wine?"

"About three years."

"Are you not fond of it?"

"O, yes. I like a good glass of wine."

"Then what in the world has made you act so singularly about it?"

"A mere whim of mine, I suppose you will call it. And perhaps it was. I thought I was just as well without it."

"Nonsense! Don't let me ever again hear of this foolishness."

And then the old man mingled with the happy company.

"Come, James, you must drink with me, too," the mother said, a little while afterward.

Haley did not seem unwilling, but turned off a glass of wine with an air of real pleasure.

"You must drink with me, too," went through the room. Every little while some one, with whom the young man had on former occasions refused to drink, finding out that he had been driven from his cold-water resolutions, insisted upon taking a glass with him. Such being the case, it is not to be wondered at that a remark like this should be made before the passage of an hour.

"See! As I live, Haley's getting lively!"

"I think that 'rich and generous wine' is beginning to brighten you up a little," Mr. Manley said, about this time, slapping his son-in-law familiarly upon the shoulder?

"I feel very happy, sir," was Haley's reply.

"That's right. This is a happy occasion."

"I never was so happy in my life! I hardly know what to do with myself. Come! Won't you take some wine with me. I drank with you a little while ago."

"Certainly! Certainly! My boy! Or, perhaps you would try a little brandy."

"No objection," said the young man. And then the two went to the side-board, and each took a stiff glass of brandy.

"That's capital! It makes me feel good!" ejaculated Haley, as he set his empty glass down.

Cotillions were now formed, and the bride and groom took the floor in the first set. Clara felt very proud of her husband as she leaned upon his arm, waiting for the music to begin, and glanced around upon her maiden companions with a look of triumph. But she soon had cause to abate her exultation, for when the music struck up, and the dancers commenced their intricate movements, she found that her husband blundered so as to throw all into confusion. The reason of this instantly flashed upon her mind, for she knew him to be a correct and graceful dancer. He was too much intoxicated to dance! Her woman's pride caused her to make the effort to guide him through the figures. But it was of no use. The second attempt failed signally by his breaking the figures, and reeling with a loud, drunken laugh, through and through, and round and round the astonished group of dancers, thrown thus suddenly into confusion.

Poor Clara, overwhelmed with mortification, retired to a seat, while her husband continued his antics, ending them finally with an Indian whoop, such as may often be heard late at night in the streets, from a company of drunken revellers,—when he sought her out, and came and took a seat by her side.

"Aint you happy to-night, Clara! Aint you, old girl!" he said, in a loud voice, striking her with his open hand upon the shoulder. "I'm so happy that I feel just ready to jump out of my skin! Whoop!—Now see how beautifully I can cut a pigeon's-wing."

And he sprang from his seat, and commenced describing the elegant figure he had named, with industrious energy, much to the amusement of one portion of the company, but to the painful mortification of another. A circle was soon formed around him, to witness his graceful movements, which strongly reminded those present who had witnessed the performances, of a corn-field negro's Juba, or the double-shuffle.

"Come," old Mr. Manley said, interrupting the young man in his evolutions, by laying his hand upon his arm.

"Come! I want you a moment."

"Hel-lel-lel-lo, o-o, there! What's wanting? ha!" he said, pausing, and then staggering forwards against Mr Manley. "Who are you, sir?"

"For shame, sir!" the old man replied in a stern voice. "Come with me, I wish to speak to you."

"Speak here, then, will you? I've no se-se-secrets. I'm open and above board! Jim Haley's the boy that knows what he's about! Who-o-o-oop! Clear the track there!"

And starting away from the old man, he ran two or three paces, and then sprang clear over the head of a young lady, frightening her almost out of her wits.

"There! Who'll match me that? Jim Haley's the boy what's hard to beat! Whoo-oo-oop, hurrah! But where's Clara? Where's my dear little wifie? Ah! there—No, that isn't her, neither. Wh-wh-where is the little jade?"

The whole of this passed in a few moments, with all the drunken gestures required to give it the fullest effect.

Poor Clara, at first mortified, when she saw what a perfect madman her husband had become, was so shocked that her feelings overcame her, and she was carried fainting from the room. O, how bitter was her momentary repentance of her blind folly, ere her bewildered senses forsook her.

As for Haley, he grew worse and worse, until the brandy which he continued to pour down, had completely stupified him, when he was carried off to bed in a state of drunken insensibility; after which, the company retired in oppressive and embarrassed silence.

Sad and lonely was the bridal chamber that night, and the couch of the young bride was wet with bitter, but unavailing tears.

On the next morning, those who first entered the room where Haley had slept, found it empty. Towards the middle of the day, a letter was left for Clara by an unknown hand. It ran thus: