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If a young man drinks wine or brandy until he becomes intoxicated, as Whitford has done to-night, and we say he is drunk instead of exhilarated or a little gay, we do something toward making his conduct odious. We do not excuse, but condemn. We make it disgraceful instead of palliating the offence." The lady paused, when her companion said: "Look! Blanche Birtwell is trying to quiet him.

"Ah!" he said, in tones of deep solicitude, "if we but knew how to reach and influence him!" "We can do nothing if we stand afar off, Mr. Elliott," replied Mrs. Birtwell. "We must try to get near him. He must see our outstretched hands and hear our voices calling to him to come back. Oh, sir, my heart tells me that all is not lost.

"You must be mistaken about that," said Mr. Birtwell, evidently disturbed at this communication. "I wish to Heaven that I were! But the fact was too apparent. Blanche saw it, and tried to get him out of the supper-room. He acted in the silliest kind of a way, and mortified her dreadfully, poor child!" "Such things will happen sometimes," said Mr. Birtwell.

Another paper on the same subject was read by Mr. Birtwell at the Lake Placid Conference of the A. L. A. in 1894. Appreciation of this work is expressed in the 1915 report of the Children's Aid Society: "The most important service we render as a society is to show that the constructive forces within the average family, if properly directed, are tremendous in their power and effect.

He had, alas! tarried too long at the feast of wine and fat things dispensed by Mr. Birtwell, and in his effort to restore the relaxed tension of his nerves by stimulation had sent too sudden an impulse to his brain, and roused it to morbid action.

Happily for the poor mother, thought and feeling were yet bound. Long before this the police had been aroused and every effort made to discover a trace of the young man after he left the house of Mr. Birtwell, but without effect.

"Whose face?" "I thought for the moment it was that of Blanche." Mrs. Birtwell grew very pale, leaned back in her chair and turned her head listening for the waiter. Neither of them spoke until he returned. "Miss Blanche is not there." Both started from the table and left the room, the waiter looking after them in surprise. They were not long in suspense.

"How is she bearing this dreadful suspense?" "I can't just say, ma'am," was answered, "but I think they've had the doctor with her all night that is, all the last part of the night. She's lying in a faint, I believe." "Oh, it will kill her! Poor Frances! Poor Frances!" wailed out Mrs. Birtwell, wringing her hands and beginning to cry bitterly.

Eyes not veiled as Whitford's now were would have seen that the filmy cloud which had come over her face a little while before was less transparent, and sensibly dimmed its brightness. Scarcely had Mr. Birtwell left them when Mr.

When a man falls as low as Mr. Ridley has fallen, the case seems hopeless." "Don't say hopeless, Mr. Elliott." responded Mrs. Birtwell, her voice still more troubled. "Until a man is dead he is not wholly lost. The hand of God is not stayed, and he can save to the uttermost." "All who come unto him," added the clergyman, in a depressed voice that had in it the knell of a human soul.