Mr Chester was more than usually gay; but not caring, as it seemed, to open a conversation with one whose humour was so different, he vented the lightness of his spirit in smiles and sparkling looks, and made no effort to awaken his attention.

So they remained for some time: the father lying on a sofa with his accustomed air of graceful negligence; the son seated opposite to him with downcast eyes, busied, it was plain, with painful and uneasy thoughts.
'My dear Edward,' said Mr Chester at length, with a most engaging laugh, 'do not extend your drowsy influence to the decanter.

Suffer THAT to circulate, let your spirits be never so stagnant.' Edward begged his pardon, passed it, and relapsed into his former state.
'You do wrong not to fill your glass,' said Mr Chester, holding up his own before the light.

'Wine in moderation--not in excess, for that makes men ugly--has a thousand pleasant influences.

It brightens the eye, improves the voice, imparts a new vivacity to one's thoughts and conversation: you should try it, Ned.' 'Ah father!' cried his son, 'if--' 'My good fellow,' interposed the parent hastily, as he set down his glass, and raised his eyebrows with a startled and horrified expression, 'for Heaven's sake don't call me by that obsolete and ancient name.