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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4587-h.zip b/4587-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d661870 --- /dev/null +++ b/4587-h.zip diff --git a/4587-h/4587-h.htm b/4587-h/4587-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..75b81ee --- /dev/null +++ b/4587-h/4587-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10625 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Finger Posts on the Way of Life, +by T. S. Arthur +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Finger Posts on the Way of Life, by T. S. Arthur + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Finger Posts on the Way of Life + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 14, 2009 [EBook #4587] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: February 12, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINGER POSTS ON THE WAY OF LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +FINGER POSTS ON THE WAY OF LIFE. +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +T. S. ARTHUR. +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +BOSTON: +<BR> +PHILADELPHIA: +<BR> +1853 +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PREFACE. +</H3> + +<P> +OUR title, though savouring of quaintness, is yet in keeping with +the object of this volume. As we press onward in the journey of +life, to each of us the path is new and strange. Often it is rough +and thorny; often it winds through places beset with difficulties +and danger; often the sky is so dark that we can scarcely see the +narrow line upon which our advancing footsteps may rest in safety. +As "Finger-Posts on the Way of Life," pointing the wary traveller in +the right direction, has this little book been written. It does not, +professedly, take the high mission of the preacher; yet, while its +end is to guide in natural life, the author is never unmindful of +the fact that all natural life is for the sake of spiritual life, +and that no one can live well in the true sense, who does not live +for Heaven. He trusts, therefore, that while these "finger-posts" +indicate the path in which to walk safely through the world, they +will point, as well, to the narrow way that leadeth to Life Eternal. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS. +</H2> + +<H4> + <A HREF="#shadows">SHADOWS FROM A CLOUDED BROW</A><BR> + <A HREF="#hand">GENTLE HAND</A><BR> + <A HREF="#pay">WILL IT PAY?</A><BR> + <A HREF="#preacher">THE LAY PREACHER</A><BR> + <A HREF="#business">HOW TO DESTROY A GOOD BUSINESS</A><BR> + <A HREF="#invalids">THE TWO INVALIDS</A><BR> + <A HREF="#marrying">MARRYING WELL</A><BR> + <A HREF="#deed">BLESSING OF A GOOD DEED</A><BR> + <A HREF="#doctor">PAYING THE DOCTOR</A><BR> + <A HREF="#boundboy">THE LITTLE BOUND-BOY.</A><BR> + <A HREF="#euthanasy">EUTHANASY</A><BR> + <A HREF="#scenes">THREE SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A WORLDLING</A><BR> + <A HREF="#match">MATCH-MAKING</A><BR> + <A HREF="#return">THE RETURN; OR, WHO IS IT?</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="shadows"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SHADOWS FROM A CLOUDED BROW. +</H3> + +<P> +A LITTLE thing clouded the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie—a very little +thing. But if she had known how wide the shadows were often +diffused, and how darkly they fell, at times, on some hearts, she +would have striven more earnestly, we may believe, to keep the sky +of her spirit undimmed. +</P> + +<P> +It will not be uninstructive to note the incidents, in a single day, +of Mrs. Abercrombie's life—to mark the early cloud upon her brow, +and then to glance at the darkly falling shadows. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Abercrombie was a man of sensitive feelings, and though he had +striven for many years to overcome his sensitiveness, he had been no +more able to change this hereditary weakness than the leopard his +spots or the Ethiopian his skin. At home, the lightest jar of +discord disturbed him painfully, and the low vibration ceased not, +often, for many hours. The clouded brow of his wife ever threw his +heart into shadow; and the dusky vail was never removed, until +sunlight radiated again from her countenance. It was all in vain +that he tried to be indifferent to these changeful moods—to keep +his spirits above their influence: in the very effort at +disenthralment he was more firmly bound. +</P> + +<P> +From some cause, unknown to her husband, there was a cloud on the +brow of Mrs. Abercrombie one morning, as she took her place at the +breakfast-table. Mr. Abercrombie was reading, with his usual +interest, the newspaper, and the children were sporting in the +nursery, when the bell summoned them to the dining-room. All +gathered, with pleasant thoughts of good cheer, around the table, +and Mr. Abercrombie, after helping the little ones, was about +mentioning to his wife some pleasant piece of news which he had just +been reading, when, on lifting his eyes to her countenance, he saw +that it was clouded. The words died on his lips; a shadow darkened +over his feelings, and the meal passed in almost total silence—at +least so far as he was concerned. Once or twice he ventured a remark +to Mrs. Abercrombie; but the half-fretful tone in which she replied, +only disturbed him the more. +</P> + +<P> +Soon the pleasant aspect of the children's countenances changed, and +they became captious and irritable. Both parents were fretted at +this reaction upon their own states of mind, and manifested, at some +slight misconduct on the part of one or two of the children, a +degree of ill-nature that instantly transferred itself to those +against whom it was directed, and became apparent in their +intercourse one with another. +</P> + +<P> +Before summoned from the nursery, these children were playing +together in the utmost harmony and good feeling; on returning +thereto, the activity of another and far less amiable spirit was +manifest; and instead of merry shouts and joyous laughter, angry +words and complaining cries sounded through the apartment. +</P> + +<P> +As Mr. Abercrombie left the house, Mrs. Abercrombie entered the +nursery, attracted by the notes of discord. Had there been sunshine +on her countenance, and firm but gentle remonstrance on her tongue, +a quick change would have become apparent. But, ere this, the +shadows she had thrown around her had darkened the atmosphere of her +dwelling, and were now reflected back upon her heart, enshrouding it +in deeper gloom. The want of harmony among her children increased +her mental disturbance, obscured her perceptions, and added to her +state of irritability. She could not speak calmly to them, nor +wisely endeavour to restore the harmony which had been lost. Her +words, therefore, while, by their authoritative force, they subdued +the storm, left the sky black with clouds that poured down another +and fiercer tempest the moment her presence was removed. +</P> + +<P> +But this state of things could not be permitted. The mother +reappeared, and, after some hurried inquiries into the cause of +disturbance among her children, took for granted the statement of +those who were most forward in excusing themselves and accusing +others, and unwisely resorted to punishment—unwisely, in the first +place, because she decided hastily and from first appearances; and +in the second place, because she was in no state of mind to +administer punishment. The consequence was, that she punished those +least to blame, and thereby did a great wrong. Of this she was made +fully aware after it was too late. Then, indignant at the false +accusation by which she had been led into the commission of an +unjust act, she visited her wrath with undue severity, and in +unseemly passion, upon the heads of the real offenders. +</P> + +<P> +By this time the children were in a state of intimidation. It was +plain that their mother was fairly aroused, and each deemed it best +to be as quiet and inoffensive as possible. The reappearance of +harmony being thus restored, Mrs. Abercrombie, whose head and heart +were now both throbbing with pain, retired in a most unhappy state +of mind to her chamber, where she threw herself into a large chair, +feeling unutterably wretched. +</P> + +<P> +And what was the origin of all this discord and misery? Why came +that cloud, in the beginning, to the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie—that +cloud, whose shadow had already exercised so baleful an influence? +The cause was slight, very slight. But do not, fair reader, blame +Mrs. Abercrombie too severely, nor say this cause was censurably +inadequate. The touch of a feather will hurt an inflamed part. Ah! +does not your own experience in life affirm this. Think of the last +time the cloud was on your brow, and ask yourself as to the adequacy +of the cause. +</P> + +<P> +"But what was the cause?" you inquire. Well, don't smile: a pair of +gaiters had been sent home for Mrs. Abercrombie, late on the evening +previous, and one of her first acts in the morning was to try them +on. They did not fit! Now, Mrs. Abercrombie intended to go out on +that very morning, and she wished to wear these gaiters. "Enough to +fret her, I should say!" exclaims one fair reader. "A slight cause, +indeed!" says another, tossing her curls; "men are great +philosophers!" +</P> + +<P> +We crave pardon, gentle ladies all, if, in our estimate of causes, +we have spoken too lightly of this. But we have, at least, stated +the case fairly. Mrs. Abercrombie's brow was clouded because the new +gaiters did not fit her handsome foot—a member, by the way, of +which she was more than a little vain. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour Mrs. Abercrombie remained alone in her chamber, feeling +very sad; for, in that time, reflection had come, and she was by no +means satisfied with the part she had been playing, nor altogether +unconscious of the fact that from her clouded brow had fallen the +shadows now darkening over her household. As soon as she had gained +sufficient control of herself to act toward her children more wisely +and affectionately, the mother took her place in the nursery, and +with a tenderness of manner that acted like a charm, attracted her +little ones to her side, and inspired them with a new and better +spirit. To them sunshine was restored again; and the few rays that +penetrated to the mother's heart, lighted its dim chambers, and +touched it with a generous warmth. +</P> + +<P> +But the shadows from Mrs. Abercrombie's clouded brow fell not alone +upon her household. The spirit that pervades the home-circle is +often carried forth by those who go out into the world. It was so in +this case. Mr. Abercrombie's feelings were overcast with shadows +when he entered the store. There was a pressure, in consequence, +upon his bosom, and a state of irritability which he essayed, though +feebly and ineffectually, to overcome. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Edward?" he inquired, soon after his arrival. +</P> + +<P> +Edward was a lad, the son of a poor widow, who had recently been +employed in Mr. Abercrombie's store. +</P> + +<P> +"He hasn't come yet," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Not come yet?" said Mr. Abercrombie, in a fretful tone. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"This is the third time he has been late within the past week, is it +not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well: it shall be the last time." +</P> + +<P> +At this moment the boy came in. Mr. Abercrombie looked at him +sternly for a moment, and then said— +</P> + +<P> +"You won't suit me, sir. I took you on trial, and am satisfied. You +can go home." +</P> + +<P> +The poor lad's face crimsoned instantly, and he tried to say +something about his mother's being sick, but Mr. Abercrombie waved +his hand impatiently, and told him that he didn't wish to hear any +excuse. +</P> + +<P> +Scarcely had the boy left the presence of Mr. Abercrombie, ere this +hasty action was repented of. But the merchant's pride of +consistency was strong: he was not the man to acknowledge an error. +His word had passed, and could not be recalled. Deeper were the +shadows that now fell upon his heart—more fretted the state of mind +that supervened. +</P> + +<P> +Ah! the shadows would have been deeper still, could he have seen +that unhappy boy a little while afterward, as, with his face buried +in the pillow that supported the head of his sick mother, he sobbed +until his whole frame quivered. Had Mr. Abercrombie only asked the +reason why his appearance at the store was so late on this morning, +he would have learned that the delay had been solely occasioned by +needful attendance on his sick and almost helpless mother; and on a +little further inquiry, humanity would have dictated approval rather +than censure and punishment. But, touching all this painful consequence +of his ill-nature, the merchant knew nothing. How rarely do we +become cognizant of the evil wrought upon others by our hasty and +ill-judged actions! +</P> + +<P> +The shadow was still on Mr. Abercrombie's feelings, when, half an +hour afterward, a man came to him and said— +</P> + +<P> +"It will be impossible for me to lift the whole of that note +to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have to do it," was the quiet answer. Mr. Abercrombie +frowned darkly as he thus replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say that, Mr. Abercrombie. I only want help to the amount of +two hundred dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"I do say it. You must raise the money somewhere else. I don't like +this way of doing business. When a man gives his note, he should +make it a point of honour to pay it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, very well," said the man. "I'm sorry if I've troubled you. I'll +get the money from a friend. Good morning." +</P> + +<P> +And he turned off abruptly, and left the store. Mr. Abercrombie felt +rebuked. He had a large balance in the bank, and could have +accommodated him without the smallest inconvenience. In another +state of mind he would have done so cheerfully. +</P> + +<P> +"O dear!" sighed the unhappy merchant, speaking mentally; "what has +come over me? I'm losing all control of myself. This will never, +never do. I must set a guard upon my lips." +</P> + +<P> +And he did so. Conscious of his state of irritability, he subdued +his tones of voice, and restrained utterance when tempted to angry +or inconsiderate speech. Not again during the day was he guilty of +such inexcusable conduct as in the instances mentioned; yet the +shadow remained upon his feelings, strive as he would to throw off +the gloomy impression. +</P> + +<P> +It was late in the day when Mr. Abercrombie turned his steps +homeward. How little was he satisfied with himself! And now, when he +remembered, with painful distinctness, the clouded brow of his wife, +how little promise was there of home-sunlight, to dispel the gloom +of his own feelings! +</P> + +<P> +As the hand of the merchant rested upon his own door, he almost +dreaded to enter. He shrank from meeting that clouded visage. The +shadows were dark when he left in the morning, and experience told +him that he need scarcely hope to find them dispelled. Happily, +though still in the sky, the clouds were broken, and gleams of +sunshine came breaking through. Ah! if they had only possessed +sufficient power to disperse the shadows that all day long had been +gathering around the heart of Mr. Abercrombie! But that was +impossible. Self-respect had been forfeited; and a consciousness of +having, in his impatient haste, acted unjustly, haunted his +thoughts. And so, the shadows that were not to be dispersed by the +feeble sun-rays from the countenance of his wife, gradually diffused +themselves, until the light that struggled with them grew pale. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you know," said Mrs. Abercrombie, breaking in upon the +oppressive silence that succeeded, after all had retired for the +night but herself and husband, "that the mother of Edward Wilson is +very poor and in a decline?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was not aware of it," was the brief response. +</P> + +<P> +"It is so. Mrs. Archer was here this afternoon, and was telling me +about them. Mrs. Wilson, who, until within a few weeks past, has +been able to earn something, is now so weak that she cannot leave +her bed, and is solely dependent on the earnings of her son. How +much do you pay him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only three dollars a week," answered Mr. Abercrombie, shading his +face with his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Only three dollars! How can they live on that? Mrs. Archer says +that Edward is one of the best of lads—that he nurses his mother, +and cares for her with unfailing tenderness; indeed, he is her only +attendant. They are too poor to pay for the services of a domestic. +Could you not afford to increase his wages?" +</P> + +<P> +"I might, perhaps," said Mr. Abercrombie, abstractedly, still +shading his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you could," was the earnest reply. "It will be a real +charity." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Abercrombie made no response; and his wife pursued the subject +no further. But the former lay awake for hours after retiring to +bed, pondering the events of the day which had just closed. +</P> + +<P> +The sun had gone down amid clouds and shadows; but the morrow dawned +brightly. The brow of Mrs. Abercrombie was undimmed as she met her +family at the breakfast-table on the next morning, and every +countenance reflected its cheerful light. Even Mr. Abercrombie, who +had something on his conscience that troubled him, gave back his +portion of the general good feeling. Lighter far was his step as he +went forth and took his way to his store. His first act on his +arriving there, was, to ease his conscience of the pressure thereon, +by sending for Edward Wilson, and restoring him to his place under +new and better auspices. +</P> + +<P> +And thus the shadows passed; yet, not wholly were they expelled. The +remembrance of pain abides long after the smarting wound has healed, +and the heart which has once been enveloped in shadows, never loses +entirely its sense of gloomy oppression. How guarded all should be +lest clouds gather upon the brow, for we know not on whose hearts +may fall their shadows. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="hand"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GENTLE HAND. +</H3> + +<P> +I DID not hear the maiden's name; but in my thought I have ever +since called her "Gentle Hand." What a magic lay in her touch! It +was wonderful. +</P> + +<P> +When and where, it matters not now to relate—but once upon a time +as I was passing through a thinly peopled district of country, night +came down upon me, almost unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope +to gain the village toward which my steps were directed, until a +late hour; and I therefore preferred seeking shelter and a night's +lodging at the first humble dwelling that presented itself. +</P> + +<P> +Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I found +myself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtained +windows of which the light shone with a pleasant promise of good +cheer and comfort. The house stood within an enclosure, and a short +distance from the road along which I was moving with wearied feet. +Turning aside, and passing through an ill-hung gate, I approached +the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on its wooden hinges, and the +rattle of its latch, in closing, did not disturb the air until I had +nearly reached the little porch in front of the house, in which a +slender girl, who had noticed my entrance, stood awaiting my +arrival. +</P> + +<P> +A deep, quick bark answered, almost like an echo, the sound of the +shutting gate, and, sudden as an apparition, the form of an immense +dog loomed in the doorway. I was now near enough to see the savage +aspect of the animal, and the gathering motion of his body, as he +prepared to bound forward upon me. His wolfish growl was really +fearful. At the instant when he was about to spring, a light hand +was laid upon his shaggy neck, and a low word spoken. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you," said a voice, that to me +sounded very sweet and musical. +</P> + +<P> +I now came forward, but in some doubt as to the young girl's power +over the beast, on whose rough neck her almost childish hand still +lay. The dog did not seem by any means reconciled to my approach, +and growled wickedly his dissatisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +"Go in, Tiger," said the girl, not in a voice of authority yet in +her gentle tones was the consciousness that she would be obeyed; +and, as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the animal with her hand, +and he turned away, and disappeared within the dwelling. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question; and now a +heavy-looking man took the dog's place in the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you? What's wanted?" There was something very harsh and +forbidding in the way the man spoke. The girl now laid her hand upon +his arm, and leaned, with a gentle pressure, against him. +</P> + +<P> +"How far is it to G——?" I asked, not deeming it best to say, in +the beginning, that I sought a resting-place for the night. +</P> + +<P> +"To G——!" growled the man, but not so harshly as at first. "It's +good six miles from here." +</P> + +<P> +"A long distance; and I'm a stranger, and on foot," said I. "If you +can make room for me until morning, I will be very thankful." +</P> + +<P> +I saw the girl's hand move quickly up his arm, until it rested on +his shoulder, and now she leaned to him still closer. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in. We'll try what can be done for you." +</P> + +<P> +There was a change in the man's voice that made me wonder. +</P> + +<P> +I entered a large room, in which blazed a brisk fire. Before the +fire sat two stout lads, who turned upon me their heavy eyes, with +no very welcome greeting. A middle-aged woman was standing at a +table, and two children were amusing themselves with a kitten on the +floor. +</P> + +<P> +"A stranger, mother," said the man who had given me so rude a +greeting at the door; "and he wants us to let him stay all night." +</P> + +<P> +The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few moments, and then +replied coldly— +</P> + +<P> +"We don't keep a public-house." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me, and +it's a long way yet to G——." +</P> + +<P> +"Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of the +house, kindly, "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we must +give him a bed." +</P> + +<P> +So unobtrusively, that I scarcely noticed the movement, the girl had +drawn to the woman's side. What she said to her, I did not hear, for +the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed, as she +spoke, one small, fair hand rested on the woman's hand. Was there +magic in that gentle touch? The woman's repulsive aspect changed +into one of kindly welcome, and she said: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's a long way to G——. I guess we can find a place for him. +Have you had any supper?" +</P> + +<P> +I answered in the negative. +</P> + +<P> +The woman, without further remark, drew a pine table from the wall, +placed upon it some cold meat, fresh bread and butter, and a pitcher +of new milk. While these preparations were going on, I had more +leisure for minute observation. There was a singular contrast +between the young girl I have mentioned and the other inmates of the +room; and yet, I could trace a strong likeness between the maiden +and the woman, whom I supposed to be her mother—browned and hard as +were the features of the latter. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after I had commenced eating my supper, the two children who +were playing on the floor, began quarrelling with each other. +</P> + +<P> +"John! go off to bed!" said the father, in a loud, peremptory voice, +speaking to one of the children. +</P> + +<P> +But John, though he could not help hearing, did not choose to obey. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you hear me, sir? Off with you!" repeated the angry father. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to go," whined the child. +</P> + +<P> +"Go, I tell you, this minute!" +</P> + +<P> +Still, there was not the slightest movement to obey; and the little +fellow looked the very image of rebellion. At this crisis in the +affair, when a storm seemed inevitable, the sister, as I supposed +her to be, glided across the room, and stooping down, took the +child's hands in hers. Not a word was said; but the young rebel was +instantly subdued. Rising, he passed out by her side, and I saw no +more of him during the evening. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after I had finished my supper, a neighbour came in, and it was +not long before he and the man of the house were involved in a warm +political discussion, in which were many more assertions than +reasons. My host was not a very clear-headed man; while his +antagonist was wordy and specious. The former, as might be supposed, +very naturally became excited, and, now and then, indulged himself +in rather strong expressions toward his neighbour, who, in turn, +dealt back wordy blows that were quite as heavy as he had received, +and a good deal more irritating. +</P> + +<P> +And now I marked again the power of that maiden's gentle hand. I did +not notice her movement to her father's side. She was there when I +first observed her, with one hand laid upon his temple, and lightly +smoothing the hair with a caressing motion. Gradually the high tone +of then disputant subsided, and his words had in them less of +personal rancour. Still, the discussion went on; and I noticed that +the maiden's hand, which rested on the temple when unimpassioned +words were spoken, resumed its caressing motion the instant there +was the smallest perceptible tone of anger in the father's voice. It +was a beautiful sight; and I could but look on and wonder at the +power of that touch, so light and unobtrusive, yet possessing a +spell over the hearts of all around her. As she stood there, she +looked like an angel of peace, sent to still the turbulent waters of +human passion. Sadly out of place, I could not but think her, amid +the rough and rude; and yet, who more than they need the softening +and humanizing influences of one like the Gentle Hand. +</P> + +<P> +Many times more, during that evening, did I observe the magic power +of her hand and voice—the one gentle yet potent as the other. +</P> + +<P> +On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was preparing to take +my departure, when my host informed me that if I would wait for half +an hour he would give me a ride in his wagon to G——, as business +required him to go there. I was very well pleased to accept of the +invitation. In due time, the farmer's wagon was driven into the road +before the house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed the horse +as a rough-looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of stubborn +endurance. As the farmer took his seat by my side, the family came +to the door to see us off. +</P> + +<P> +"Dick!" said the farmer, in a peremptory voice, giving the rein a +quick jerk as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +But Dick moved not a step. +</P> + +<P> +"Dick! you vagabond! get up." And the farmer's whip cracked sharply +by the pony's ear. +</P> + +<P> +It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmly +disobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him, with an +impatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and sharp +the strokes were next dealt to the number of a half-dozen. The man +might as well have beaten his wagon, for all his end was gained. +</P> + +<P> +A stout lad now came out into the road, and catching Dick by the +bridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary +language on such occasions, but Dick met this new ally with +increased stubbornness, planting his forefeet more firmly, and at a +sharper angle with the ground. The impatient boy now struck the pony +on the side of his head with his clenched hand, and jerked cruelly +at his bridle. It availed nothing, however; Dick was not to be +wrought upon by any such arguments. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't do so, John!" I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voice +reached my ear. She was passing through the gate into the road, and, +in the next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn him away +from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of +his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought +beyond her gratification. +</P> + +<P> +And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a +single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles +relaxed—how quickly the stubborn air vanished. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or +softly patted it with a child-like hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, go along, you provoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding, +yet affectionate voice, as she drew upon the bridle. The pony turned +toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or +two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful +trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever +entered his stubborn brain. +</P> + +<P> +"What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking to my +companion, as we rode away. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at me for a moment as if my remark had occasioned +surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said, +briefly— +</P> + +<P> +"She's good! Everybody and every thing loves her." +</P> + +<P> +Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of her +soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts! +The father's explanation was, doubtless, the true one. Yet have I +ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay +in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something of the same +power, showing itself in the loving and the good, but never to the +extent as instanced in her, whom, for a better name, I must still +call "Gentle Hand." +</P> + +<P> +A gentle touch, a soft word. Ah! how few of us, when the will is +strong with its purpose, can believe in the power of agencies so +apparently insignificant! And yet all great influences effect their +ends silently, unobtrusively, and with a force that seems at first +glance to be altogether inadequate. Is there not a lesson for us all +in this? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="pay"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WILL IT PAY? +</H3> + +<P> +"I WANT an hour of your time this morning," said Mr. Smith, as he +entered the counting-room of his neighbour, Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"Will it pay?" inquired Mr. Jones, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Not much profit in money," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Jones shrugged his shoulders, and arched his eye-brows. +</P> + +<P> +"Time is money," said he. +</P> + +<P> +"But money isn't the all-in-all of life. There's something else in +the world besides dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes; and the man that has the dollars can command as much of +this 'something else' that you speak of as he pleases." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not so sure of that," replied Mr. Smith. "I can tell you +something that money will not procure." +</P> + +<P> +"Say on." +</P> + +<P> +"A contented mind." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take that risk at a very low percentage, so far as I am +concerned," answered Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"But, as to this hour of my time that you ask? What is the object?" +</P> + +<P> +"You remember Lloyd who used to do business on the wharf?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; what of him? I thought he died in New Orleans a year ago." +</P> + +<P> +"So he did." +</P> + +<P> +"Not worth a dollar!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not worth many dollars, I believe. He was never a very shrewd man, +so far as business was concerned, though honourable and +kind-hearted. He did not prosper after leaving our city." +</P> + +<P> +"Honourable and kind-hearted!" returned Mr. Jones, with a slight air +of contempt. "Such men are as plenty as blackberries. I can point +them out to you by the dozen in every square; but it does not pay to +be on too intimate terms with them." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are very apt to suffer through their amiable weaknesses." +</P> + +<P> +"Is this your experience?" inquired Mr. Smith. +</P> + +<P> +"My experience is not very extensive in that line, I flatter +myself," said Mr. Jones; "but I know of some who have suffered." +</P> + +<P> +"I was speaking of Mr. Lloyd." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—what of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I learned this morning that his widow arrived in our city +yesterday, and that she needs friendly aid and counsel. It seems to +me that those who knew and esteemed her husband ought not to regard +her with indifference. I propose to call upon her and inquire as to +her needs and purposes, and I want you to accompany me." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't do it," answered Mr. Jones, very promptly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"It won't pay," returned Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't expect it to pay in a business sense," said Mr. Smith; +"but, surely, humanity has some claim to consideration." +</P> + +<P> +"Humanity! humph. Humanity don't pay, Mr. Smith; that's my +experience. I've helped two or three in my time, and what return do +you suppose I received?" +</P> + +<P> +"The pleasing consciousness of having done good to your neighbour." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit of it. I lost my money for my pains, and made enemies +into the bargain. When I demanded my own, I received only +insult—that's my experience, Mr. Smith, and the experience of +ninety-nine in a hundred who listen to the so-called claims of +humanity. As I said before—it doesn't pay." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you will not go with me to see Mrs. Lloyd?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir. You don't catch me hunting up the widows of broken +merchants. Let them go to their own friends. I'd soon have plenty of +rather unprofitable business on my hands, if I were to engage in +affairs of this kind." +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly think it will pay to talk with you on this subject any +longer," said Mr. Smith. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm just of your opinion," was the laughing answer, "unless I can +induce you to let Mrs. Lloyd remain in ignorance of your benevolent +intentions, and mind your own concerns, like a sensible man." +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning," said Mr. Smith. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning," replied Jones; "in a week or two I shall expect to +hear your report on this widow-hunting expedition." +</P> + +<P> +"It will pay, I reckon," said Mr. Smith, as he passed from the +store. +</P> + +<P> +"Pay," muttered Jones, a sneer now curling his lip, "<I>he'll</I> have to +pay, and roundly, too, unless more fortunate than he deserves to +be." +</P> + +<P> +A little while after the departure of Mr. Smith, a sallow, +sharp-featured man, with a restless eye, entered the store of Mr. +Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Perkins!" said the latter, familiarly, "any thing afloat +to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, yes, there is; I know of one operation that is worth looking +at." +</P> + +<P> +"Will it pay, friend Perkins? That's the touchstone with me. Show me +any thing that will pay, and I'm your man for a trade." +</P> + +<P> +"I can get you fifty shares of Riverland Railroad stock, at +eighty-two!" +</P> + +<P> +"Can you?" The face of Jones brightened. +</P> + +<P> +"I can." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. I'll take it." +</P> + +<P> +"Give me your note at sixty days, and I'll have the shares +transferred at once." +</P> + +<P> +In five minutes from the time Perkins entered the store of Mr. +Jones, he left with the merchant's note for over four thousand +dollars in his hand. The shares in the Riverland Railroad had been +steadily advancing for some months, and Mr. Jones entertained not +the shadow of a doubt that in a very short period they would be up +to par. He had already purchased freely, and at prices beyond +eighty-two dollars. The speculation he regarded as entirely safe, +and one that would "pay" handsomely. +</P> + +<P> +"I think that will pay a good deal better than hunting up the poor +widows of insolvent merchants," said Mr. Jones to himself, as he +walked the length of his store once or twice, rubbing his hands +every now and then with irrepressible glee. "If I'd been led off by +Smith on that fool's errand, just see what I would have lost. +Operations like that don't go a begging long. But this gentleman +knows in what quarter his interest lies." +</P> + +<P> +Not long after the departure of Perkins, a small wholesale dealer, +named Armor, came into the store of Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"I have several lots that I am anxious to close out this morning," +said he. "Can I do any thing here?" +</P> + +<P> +"What have you?" asked Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"Ten boxes of tobacco, fifty prime hams, ten boxes Havana cigars, +some rice, &c." +</P> + +<P> +Now, these were the very articles Mr. Jones wanted, and which he +would have to purchase in a day or two. But he affected indifference +as he inquired the price. The current market rates were mentioned. +</P> + +<P> +"No temptation," said Mr. Jones, coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"They are prime articles, all; none better to be had," said the +dealer. +</P> + +<P> +"If I was in immediate want of them, I could give you an order; +but"—— +</P> + +<P> +"Will you make me an offer?" inquired Armor, somewhat earnestly. "I +have a good deal of money to raise to-day, and for cash will sell at +a bargain." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Jones mused for some time. He was not certain whether, in making +or requiring an offer, he would get the best bargain out of his +needy customer. At last he said— +</P> + +<P> +"Put down your prices to the very lowest figure, and I can tell you +at a word whether I will close out these lots for you. As I said +before, I have a good stock of each on hand." +</P> + +<P> +For what a small gain will some men sacrifice truth and honour! +</P> + +<P> +The dealer had notes in bank that must be lifted, and he saw no way +of obtaining all the funds he needed, except through forced sales, +at a depression on the market prices. So, to make certain of an +operation, he named, accordingly, low rates—considerably below +cost. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Jones, who was very cunning, and very shrewd, accepted the +prices on two or three articles, but demurred to the rest, and these +the most important of the whole. Finally, an operation was made, in +which he was a gainer, in the purchase of goods for which he had +almost immediate sale, of over two hundred dollars, while the needy +merchant was a loser by just that sum. +</P> + +<P> +"That paid!" was the self-congratulatory ejaculation of Mr. Jones, +"and handsomely, too. I should like to do it over again, about a +dozen times before night. Rather better than widow speculations—ha! +ha!" +</P> + +<P> +We shall see. On leaving the store of his neighbour, Mr. Smith went +to the hotel at which he understood Mrs. Lloyd had taken lodgings, +and made inquiry for her. A lady in deep mourning, accompanied by +two daughters, one a lovely girl, not over twenty years of age, and +the other about twelve, soon entered the parlour. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lloyd, I believe," said Mr. Smith. +</P> + +<P> +The lady bowed. As soon as all parties were seated, the gentleman +said— +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Smith. During your former residence in this city, I was +well acquainted with your husband. Permit me to offer my heartfelt +sympathy in the painful bereavement you have suffered." +</P> + +<P> +There was a slight pause, and then Mr. Smith resumed— +</P> + +<P> +"Hearing of your return to this city, I have called to ask if there +are any good offices that I can render you. If you have any plans +for the future—if you want advice—if a friend in need will be of +service—do not hesitate to speak freely, My high regard for your +husband's memory will not suffer me to be indifferent to the welfare +of his widow and children." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Smith had not purposed making, when he called, so general a +tender of service. But there was something in the lady's fine +countenance which told him that she had both independence and +decision of character, and that he need not fear an abuse of his +generous kindness. +</P> + +<P> +Touched by such an unexpected declaration, it was some moments +before she could reply. She then said— +</P> + +<P> +"I thank you, in the name of my departed husband, for this +unlooked-for and generous offer. Though back in the city, which was +formerly my home, I find myself comparatively a stranger. Yesterday +I made inquiry for Mr. Edward Hunter, an old and fast friend of Mr. +Lloyd's, and to my pain and regret learned that he was deceased." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, madam; he died about two months ago." +</P> + +<P> +"With him I purposed consulting as to my future course of action; +but his death has left me without a single friend in the city to +whose judgment I can confide my plans and purposes." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Hunter was one of nature's noblemen," said Mr. Smith, warmly; +"and you are not the only one who has cause to mourn his loss. But +there are others in our city who are not insensible to the claims of +humanity—others who, like him, sometimes let their thoughts range +beyond the narrow sphere of self." +</P> + +<P> +"My object in returning to this place," resumed Mrs. Lloyd, "was to +get started in some safe and moderately profitable business. A short +time before my husband's removal, by the death of a distant relative +I fell heir to a small piece of landed property, which I recently +sold in New Orleans. By the advice of my agent there, I have +invested the money in fifty shares of Riverland Railroad stock, +which he said I could sell here at a good advance. These shares are +now in the hands of a broker, named Perkins, who is authorized to +sell them at eighty-two dollars a share." +</P> + +<P> +"He'll find no difficulty in doing that, ma'am. I would have taken +them at eighty-three." +</P> + +<P> +At this stage of the conversation, Perkins himself entered the +parlour. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Mr. Smith!" said he, "I called at your place of business this +morning, but was not so fortunate as to find you in. I had fifty +shares of Riverland stock, the property of Mrs. Lloyd here, which I +presumed you would like to buy." +</P> + +<P> +"You were not out of the way in your presumption. Have you made the +sale?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. Not finding you in, I saw Mr. Jones, who took the shares at +a word." +</P> + +<P> +"At what price?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eighty-two. I have his note at sixty days for the amount, which you +know is perfectly good." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lloyd need not have the slightest hesitation in accepting it; +and if she wishes the money, I can get it cashed for her." Then +rising, he added, "I will leave you now, Mrs. Lloyd, as business +requires both your attention and mine. To-morrow I will do myself +the pleasure to call on you again." +</P> + +<P> +As Mr. Smith bowed himself out, he noticed, more particularly, the +beautiful smile of the elder daughter, whose eyes, humid from +grateful emotion, were fixed on his countenance with an expression +that haunted him for hours afterward. +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly think that paid," was the remark of Mr. Jones, on meeting +Mr. Smith some hours afterward. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" asked the latter. +</P> + +<P> +"Your visit to Lloyd's widow." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say so?" +</P> + +<P> +"You lost a bargain which came into my hands, and on which I could +get an advance of a hundred dollars to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, what was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perkins had fifty shares of Riverland stock, which he was +authorized to sell at eighty-two. He called on you first; but +instead of being on hand, in business hours, you were off on a +charity expedition. So the ripe cherry dropped into my open mouth. I +told you it wouldn't pay, neighbour Smith." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet it has paid, notwithstanding your prophecy," said Smith. +</P> + +<P> +"It has!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"In what way?" +</P> + +<P> +But Mr. Smith was not disposed to cast his pearls before swine, and +so evaded the direct question. He knew that his mercenary neighbour +would trample under foot, with sneering contempt, any expression of +the pure satisfaction he derived from what he had done—would +breathe upon and obscure the picture of a grateful mother and her +daughter, if he attempted to elevate it before his eyes. It had +paid, but beyond this he did not seek to enlighten his fellow-merchant. +</P> + +<P> +Three days later, Mr. Jones is at his desk, buried in calculations +of profit and loss, and so much absorbed is he, that he has not +noticed the entrance of Perkins the broker, through whom he obtained +the stock from Mrs. Lloyd. +</P> + +<P> +"How much of the Riverland Railroad stock have you?" inquired the +broker, and in a voice that sent a sudden fear to the heart of the +merchant. +</P> + +<P> +"A hundred shares. Why do you ask?" was the quick response. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry for you, then. The interest due this day is not +forthcoming." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" Mr. Jones starts from his desk, his lips pale and quivering. +</P> + +<P> +"There's something wrong in the affairs of the company, it is +whispered. At any rate, the interest won't be paid, and the stock +has tumbled down to thirty-five dollars. If you'll take my advice +you'll sell. The first loss is usually the best in these cases—that +is my experience." +</P> + +<P> +It is very plain that one operation hasn't paid, for all its golden +promise—an operation that would hardly have been effected by Mr. +Jones, had he accompanied Mr. Smith on the proposed visit to Mrs. +Lloyd. The fifty shares of stock, which came, as he thought, so +luckily into his hand, would, in all probability, have become the +property of another. +</P> + +<P> +And not a week glided by ere Mr. Jones became aware of the fact that +another operation had failed to pay. A cargo of coffee and sugar +arrived one morning; the vessel containing it had been looked for +daily, and Mr. Jones fully expected to receive the consignment; he +was not aware of the arrival until he met the captain in the street. +</P> + +<P> +"Captain Jackson! How are you? This is really an unexpected +pleasure!" exclaimed the merchant, as he grasped the hand of the +individual he addressed, and shook it warmly. +</P> + +<P> +Captain Jackson did not seem equally gratified at meeting the +merchant. He took his hand coldly, and scarcely smiled in return. +</P> + +<P> +"When did you arrive?" asked Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"This morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! I was not aware of it. For over a week I have been +expecting you." +</P> + +<P> +The captain merely bowed. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you be around to my store this afternoon?" asked Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"I presume not." +</P> + +<P> +There was now, on the part of Mr. Jones, an embarrassed pause. Then +he said— +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I have the sale of your cargo?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," was promptly and firmly answered. +</P> + +<P> +"I have made the consignment to Armor." +</P> + +<P> +"To Armor!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, in ill-concealed surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a perfectly fair man, is he not?" said the captain. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. Perfectly fair. He'll do you justice, without doubt. Still +I must own to being a little disappointed, you were satisfied with +the way your business was done last time." +</P> + +<P> +"Not altogether, Mr. Jones," said Captain Jackson. "You were a +little too sharp for, me—rather too eager, in securing your own +advantage, to look narrowly enough to mine. Such was my impression, +and it has, been confirmed since my arrival this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"That's a grave charge, Captain Jackson," said Mr. Jones; "You must +explain yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a plain spoken, and a straightforward sort of a man, sir." The +captain drew himself up, and looked particularly dignified. "The +truth is, as I have said, I thought you were rather too sharp for me +the last time. But I determined to try you once more, and to watch +you as closely as a cat watches a mouse. I was on my way to your +store, when I met an old friend, in business here, and, put to him +the direct question as to what he thought of your fairness in trade. +'He's sharp,' was the answer. 'He will not take an undue advantage?' +said I. 'Your idea as to what constitutes an undue advantage would +hardly agree with that of Mr. Jones,' replied my friend. And then he +related the circumstance of your finding Armor in a tight place last +week, and getting from him a lot of goods for two hundred dollars +less than they were worth. I went to Armor, and, on his confirming +the statement, at once placed my cargo in his hands. The commissions +will repair his loss, and give him a few hundred dollars over. I'm +afraid of men who are too sharp in dealing. Are you satisfied with +my explanation?" +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, sir," said Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning," returned, Captain Jackson. And bowing formally, the +two men separated. +</P> + +<P> +"That didn't pay," muttered Jones between his teeth, as he moved on +with his eyes cast to the ground, even in his chagrin and +mortification using his favourite word— +</P> + +<P> +"No, it, didn't pay," And, in truth, no operations of this kind do +really pay. They may seem to secure advantage, but always result in +loss—if not in lose of money, in loss of that which should be +dearer to a man than all the wealth of the Indies—his self-respect +and virtuous integrity of character. +</P> + +<P> +On the evening of that day, a pleasant little company was assembled +at the house of Mr. Smith, made up of the merchant's own family and +three guests—Mrs. Lloyd and her daughters. Through the advice of +Mr. Smith, and by timely action on his part, a house of moderate +capacity had been secured, at a great bargain, for the sum of three +thousand dollars, to which it was proposed to remove, as soon as +furniture, on the way from New Orleans, should arrive. The first +story of this house was already fitted up as a store; and, as the +object of Mrs. Lloyd was to get into business in a small way, the +purchase of the property was made, in order as well to obtain a good +location as to make a safe investment. With the thousand dollars +that remained, it was proposed to lay in a small stock of fancy +dry-goods. +</P> + +<P> +In the few interviews held with Mrs. Lloyd by the merchant, he was +struck with the beautiful harmony of her character, and especially +with her womanly dignity. As for the eldest daughter, something +about her had charmed him from the very beginning. And now when, for +the first time, this interesting family were his guests for a social +evening—when he saw their characters in a new aspect—and when he +felt, through the quick sympathy of a generous nature, how grateful +and happy they were—he experienced a degree of satisfaction such as +never pervaded the breast of any man whose love of mere gain was the +measure of his good-will toward others. +</P> + +<P> +How different was the social sphere in the house of Mr. Jones on +that evening! The brow of the husband and father was clouded, and +his lips sealed in silence; or if words were spoken, they were in +moody tones, or uttered in fretfulness and ill-nature. The wife and +children caught from him the same repulsive spirit, and, in their +intercourse one with the other, found little sympathy or affection. +There was a chilling shadow on the household of the merchant; it +fell from the monster form of his expanding selfishness, that was +uplifted between the sunlight of genuine humanity and the neighbour +he would not regard. Alas! on how many thousands and thousands of +households in our own land rests the gigantic shadow of this +monster! +</P> + +<P> +"Will it pay?" is the eager question we hear on all sides, as we +mingle in the business world. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Has</I> it paid?" Ah, that is the after-question! Reader, is the +monster's shadow in your household? If so, it has <I>not</I> paid. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="preacher"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LAY PREACHER. +</H3> + +<P> +WHETHER the Rev. Andrew Adkin had or had not a call to preach, is +more than we can say. Enough, that he considered it his duty to +"hold forth" occasionally on the Sabbath; and when "Brother Adkin" +saw, in any possible line of action, his duty, he never took counsel +of Jonah. +</P> + +<P> +Brother Adkin kept a store in the town of Mayberry, and being a man +of some force of character, and not, by any means, indifferent to +this world's goods, devoted himself to business during the six days +of the week with commendable assiduity. It is not the easiest thing +in the world to banish, on the Sabbath, all concern in regard to +business. Most persons engaged in trade, no matter how religiously +inclined, have experienced this difficulty. Brother Adkin's case +did, not prove an exception; and so intrusive, often, were these +worldly thoughts and cares, that they desecrated, at times, the +pulpit, making the good man's voice falter and his hands tremble, as +he endeavoured, "in his feeble way," to break the bread of life. +</P> + +<P> +He had his own trials and temptations—his own stern "exercises of +mind," going to the extent, not unfrequently, of startling doubts as +to the reality of his call to preach. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see much fruit of my labour," he would sometimes say to +himself, "and I often think I do more harm than good." +</P> + +<P> +Such thoughts, however, were usually disposed of, as suggestions of +the "adversary." +</P> + +<P> +A week in the life of Brother Adkin will show the peculiar +influences that acted upon him, and how far his secular pursuits +interfered with and marred his usefulness as a preacher. +</P> + +<P> +Monday morning had come round again. He had preached twice on the +Sabbath—once to a strange congregation, and with apparent good +effect, and once to a congregation in Mayberry. In the latter case, +he was favoured with little freedom of utterance. The beginning of +the secular week brought back to the mind of Mr. Adkin the old +current of thought, and the old earnest desire to get gain in +business. On the Sabbath he had taught the people that love was the +fulfilment of the law,—now, he had regard only to his own +interests; and, although he did not adopt the broad, unscrupulous +maxim, that all is fair in trade, yet, in every act of buying and +selling, the thought uppermost in his mind was, the amount of gain +to be received in the transaction. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you paying for corn to-day?" asked a man, a stranger to +Mr. Adkin. +</P> + +<P> +"Forty-eight cents," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this the highest market rate?" said the man. +</P> + +<P> +"I bought fifty bushels at that price on Saturday," replied Mr. +Adkin. +</P> + +<P> +Now, since Saturday, the price of corn had advanced four cents, and +Mr. Adkin knew it. But he thought he would just try his new customer +with the old price, and if he chose to sell at that, why there would +be so much gained. +</P> + +<P> +"I have forty bushels," said the man. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, I'll take it at forty-eight cents. Where is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"My wagon is at the tavern." +</P> + +<P> +"You may bring it over at once. My man is now at leisure to attend +to the delivery." +</P> + +<P> +The corn was delivered and paid for, and both parties, for the time +being, were well satisfied with the transaction. +</P> + +<P> +The day had nearly run to a close, and Mr. Adkin was in the act of +estimating his gains, when the man from whom he had purchased the +corn entered his store. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, my friend," said the latter speaking rather sharply, +"you paid me too little for that corn." +</P> + +<P> +"How so?" returned Mr. Adkin, in well-affected surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"You was to pay the highest market price," said the man. +</P> + +<P> +"I offered you forty-eight cents." +</P> + +<P> +"And I asked you if that was the highest rate, didn't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"I told you that I had bought fifty bushels at that price on +Saturday." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, ho! Now I comprehend you," said the man, with a sarcastic curl +of his lip. "I was recommended to you as a preacher, and one who +would deal fairly with me. I asked you a plain question, and you +purposely misled me in your answer, to the end that you might get my +corn at less than the market value. You have cheated me out of +nearly two dollars. Much good may it do you!" +</P> + +<P> +And saying this, he turned on his heel and left the store. Mr. Adkin +was, of course, no little disturbed. The charge of dishonesty in +dealing at first aroused his indignation; but as he grew calmer and +thought over the affair, his conscience troubled him. As a Christian +man, and especially as a Christian minister, he could not reconcile +his dealing with strict gospel requirements. The more he reflected, +the more closely he brought his conduct to the standard of Christian +principles, the less was he satisfied with himself. The final result +was, a determination to go to the man on the next morning, and pay +him the balance due him on the market price of his corn. But, when +he sought for him, he was not to be found, having gone back to his +home, a few miles from the village. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day he sent for a bill, which had been standing a good +while. His clerk brought back some impertinent and altogether +unsatisfactory answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Did Mr. Giles say that?" he asked, his eyes flashing indignantly. +</P> + +<P> +"His exact words," replied the clerk. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. I'll not send to him again," said Mr. Adkin. "He thinks, +because I am a preacher, that he can treat me as he pleases, but +I'll let him know that being a preacher doesn't make me any the less +a man, nor any the less inclined to protect myself." +</P> + +<P> +So Mr. Giles was served with a summons, to answer for debt, before +the week was out. +</P> + +<P> +On the day following, a certain lady, a member of the congregation +in Mayberry to which he preached, whenever, from sickness or other +causes, the regular minister was absent, came into Mr. Adkin's +store. Her manner was considerably excited. +</P> + +<P> +"There's a mistake in your bill, Mr. Adkin," said she, in rather a +sharp tone of voice. +</P> + +<P> +"If so, Mrs. Smith, the remedy is a very simple one," replied Mr. +Adkin. Her manner had disturbed him, yet he concealed the +disturbance under a forced suavity of manner. "Where does the +mistake lie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, see here. You've got me charged with six yards of muslin and +five pounds of butter that I never got!" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you certain of this, Mrs. Smith?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certain! Be sure I'm certain! D'ye think I'd say I hadn't the +things, if I had them? I'm not quite so bad as that, Mr. Adkin!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't get excited about the matter, Mrs. Smith. We are all liable +to mistakes. There's an error here, either on your side or mine, if +it is my error, I will promptly correct it." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it's your error. I never had either the muslin or the +butter," said Mrs. Smith, positively. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Adkin turned to his ledger, where Mrs. Smith's account was +posted. +</P> + +<P> +"The muslin is charged on the 10th of June." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Smith looked at the bill and answered affirmatively. +</P> + +<P> +"You bought a pound of yarn and a straw hat on the same day." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I remember them. But I didn't get the muslin." +</P> + +<P> +"Think again, Mrs. Smith. Don't you remember the beautiful piece of +Merrimac that I showed you, and how cheap you thought it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never had six yards of muslin, Mr. Adkin." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Mrs. Smith, I have distinct recollection of measuring it off, +and the charge is here in my own handwriting." +</P> + +<P> +"I never had it, Mr. Adkin!" said the lady much excited. +</P> + +<P> +"You certainly had, Mrs. Smith." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll never pay for it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say that, Mrs. Smith. You certainly wouldn't want my goods +without paying for them!" +</P> + +<P> +"I never had the muslin, I tell you!" +</P> + +<P> +Argument in the case Mr. Adkin found to be useless. The sale of the +five pounds of butter was as distinctly remembered by him; and as he +was not the man to yield a right when he had no doubt as to its +existence, he would not erase the articles from Mrs Smith bill, +which was paid under protest. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the last cent you'll ever get of my money!" said Mrs. Smith, +as she handed over, the amount of the bill. "I never had those +articles; and I shall always say that I was wronged out of so much +money." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure, madam, I don't want your custom, if I'm expected to let +you have my goods for nothing," retorted Mr. Adkin, the natural man +in him growing strong under an allegation that implied dishonesty. +</P> + +<P> +So the two parted, neither feeling good-will toward the other, and +neither being in a very composed state of mind. +</P> + +<P> +Each day in that week brought something to disturb the mind of Mr. +Adkin; and each day brought him into unpleasant business contact +with someone in the town of Mayberry. To avoid, these things was +almost impossible, particularly for a man of Mr. Adkin's +temperament. +</P> + +<P> +Saturday night came, always a busy night for the storekeeper. It was +ten o'clock, and customers were still coming in, when a lad handed +Mr. Adkin a note, it was from the regularly stationed minister of +the church in Mayberry to which Mr. Adkin belonged. The note stated, +briefly, that the writer was so much indisposed, that he would not +be able to preach on the next day, and conveyed the request that +"Brother Adkin" would "fill the pulpit for him in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +Brother Adkin almost groaned in spirit at this unwelcome and +not-to-be-denied invitation to perform ministerial duties on the +Sabbath. Of theological subjects, scarcely a thought had entered his +mind since Monday morning; and, certainly, the states through which +he had passed were little calculated to elevate his affections, or +make clear his spiritual intuitions. +</P> + +<P> +It was twelve o'clock before Mr. Adkin was able to retire on that +night. As he rested his weary and now aching head on his pillow, he +endeavoured to turn his mind from worldly things, and fix it upon +things heavenly and eternal. But, the current of thought and +affection had too long been flowing in another channel. The very +effort to check its onward course, caused disturbance and obscurity. +There was a brief but fruitless struggle, when overtaxed nature +vindicated her claims, and as the lay preacher found relief from +perplexing thoughts and a troubled conscience, in refreshing +slumber. +</P> + +<P> +In the half-dreaming, half-waking state that comes with the dawning +of day, Mr. Adkin's thoughts flowed on again in the old channel, and +when full consciousness came, he found himself busy with questions +of profit and loss. Self-accusation and humiliation followed. He +"wrote bitter things against himself," for this involuntary +desecration of the Sabbath. +</P> + +<P> +Rising early, he took his Bible, and after turning over book after +book and scanning chapter after chapter, finally chose a verse as +the text from which he would preach. Hurriedly and imperfectly our +lay preacher conned his subject. Clearness of discrimination, grasp +of thought, orderly arrangement, were out of the question. That +would have been too much for a master mind, under similar +circumstances. +</P> + +<P> +Eleven o'clock came around quickly, and painfully conscious of an +obscure and confused state of mind, Mr. Adkin entered the house of +God and ascended the pulpit. A little while he sat, endeavouring to +collect his thoughts; then he arose and commenced giving out a hymn. +Lifting his eyes from the book, as he finished reading the first +verse, he saw, directly in front of him, the man from whom he had +purchased the forty bushels of corn. He was looking at him fixedly, +and there was on his countenance an expression of surprise and +contempt, that, bringing back, as the man's presence did, a vivid +recollection of the events of Monday, almost deprived Mr. Adkin, for +a moment or two, of utterance. He faltered, caught his breath, and +went on again with the reading. On raising his eyes at the +conclusion of the second verse, Mr. Adkin saw his corn customer +slowly moving down the aisle toward the door of entrance. How keenly +he felt the rebuke! How sadly conscious was he of being out of place +in the pulpit! +</P> + +<P> +After the singing of the hymn, the preacher made a prayer; but it +was cold and disjointed. He had no freedom of utterance. A chapter +was read, an anthem sung, and then Mr. Adkin arose in the pulpit, +took his text, and, ere giving utterance to the first words of his +discourse, let his eyes wander over the congregation. A little to +the right sat Mr. Giles, wearing a very sober aspect of countenance, +and looking at him with knit brows and compressed lips. The sight +caused the words "brother going to law with brother" to pass almost +electrically through his mind. As his glance rebounded from Mr. +Giles quickly, it next rested upon Mrs. Smith, who, with perked head +and a most malicious curling of the lip, said, as plain as manner +could say it—"You're a nice man for a preacher, a'n't you?" +</P> + +<P> +How Mr. Adkin beat about the bushes and wrought in obscurity, +darkening counsel by words without knowledge, during the half hour +that followed the enunciation of his text, need not here be told. +None was more fully conscious than himself of his utter failure to +give spiritual instruction to the waiting congregation. The climax, +so far as he was concerned, was yet to come. As he descended the +pulpit stairs, at the close of the service, some one slipped a piece +of paper into his hand. Glancing at the pencilled writing thereon, +he read the rebuking words: +</P> + +<P> +"The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed." +</P> + +<P> +How could he feed them? Are holy and divine things of such easy +comprehension, that a man may devote the whole energies of his mind +to worldly business during six days, and then become a lucid +expounder of heavenly, mysteries on the Sabbath? The influx of +intelligence into the mind of a speaker, is in exact ratio with the +knowledge he has acquired. He may have, without this previous +preparation, "free utterance," as it is called; but this utterance +brings no rational convictions; it sways only by the power of +contagious enthusiasm. Moreover, as in the case of Mr. Adkin, every +lay preacher takes with him into the pulpit a taint from worldly and +business contact, and his presence there must turn the thoughts of +many hearers from his clerical to his personal character—from the +truth he enunciates, to his practical observance thereof in daily +life. He may be judged falsely; but the fact of his blending the two +separate characters of clergyman and layman, forms an occasion for +false judgment, and detracts from the usefulness of the sacred +office. +</P> + +<P> +Whether Mr. Adkin "held forth" again, we cannot apprize the reader. +New light, and new perceptions of duty certainly came into his mind; +and we may hope that, as he was a well-meaning and conscientious +man, he was led to act wisely in the future. +</P> + +<P> +Having given a true picture of a week in the life of the lay +preacher, our business with him is done. It is for those whom it may +concern to study the sketch, and see if it does not contain some +points worthy their especial consideration. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="business"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW TO DESTROY A GOOD BUSINESS. +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H4> + +<P> +"WELL, Mr. Tompkins, what do you think about it? I wish you would +speak. I've been talking at you for full ten blessed minutes, and +you haven't as much as opened your lips in reply." +</P> + +<P> +"About what?" asked Mr. Tompkins, looking up with an air of +surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"About what, indeed!" rejoined the lady, in no very melodious tone. +"Why, about that house in Franklin Street, to be sure. What else did +you suppose it was?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! ah! yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Tompkins, why don't you answer me like a man? Oh! ah! yes! I +hate that." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and I hate that just as bad. But you needn't think to put me +off with a 'humph!' Have you made up your mind about buying that +house—say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to make up my mind about something else first." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! And what is that, pray?" +</P> + +<P> +"About where the money is to come from." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Tompkins, I am out of all patience with you! Its precious +little that I ask for, dear knows! But even that little is never +granted." +</P> + +<P> +"If you'll get me the money, Ellen, I'll buy the house with +pleasure," returned Mr. Tompkins, in a quiet voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Me! I wonder where I'd get the money? It's an insult for you to +talk to me in this way, when you keep me as poor as a church mouse +all the time. Every dollar I get from you is like pulling a tooth." +</P> + +<P> +"And causes me as much pain, sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't put up with such treatment from you, Mr. Tompkins," said +the good lady, passionately, and walked from the room with a stately +step and an effort at dignity. The husband retreated precipitately, +and sought his place of business. He sighed as he took his seat upon +a counting-house stool at the desk, and commenced turning over the +pages of various large account-books. While thus engaged, a person +entered his store, and was shown back to that portion of it where he +had retired. Mr. Tompkins looked up on hearing his name pronounced, +and met the steady eye of one whose presence was not very agreeable +to him just at that time. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Mr. Wolford! How are you to-day? I am glad to see you," he +said, with an effort to seem pleased and indifferent. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. How are you?" was the blunt response. +</P> + +<P> +"Take a chair, Mr. Wolford." +</P> + +<P> +The visitor sat down, with considerable emphasis in his manner, +threw one leg over the other, and leaned back in his chair. Tompkins +was nervous. His effort to seem at ease led him into overaction. +</P> + +<P> +He smiled, or rather smirked—for a smile is always natural, never +forced—and introduced various topics of conversation, one after the +other, with the manner of a man whose thoughts were far away from +his words, and who yet wished to be very agreeable to a personage +from whom he wished a favour. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of the news from Washington to-day, Mr. Wolford? +Strange doings there!" +</P> + +<P> +"Rather." +</P> + +<P> +"Our party were completely outgeneralled in that measure." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Bad news from London." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, bad enough." +</P> + +<P> +"It has played the mischief with stocks." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank fortune, I don't deal in stocks." +</P> + +<P> +And thus Tompkins run on, and Wolford replied cold and sententiously +for some ten minutes. Then there came a pause, and the two men +looked into each other's faces for a short time, without either of +them speaking. +</P> + +<P> +"The year for which I loaned you ten thousand dollars expires next +week," said Wolford, in a quiet tone, breaking the silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Does it?" returned Tompkins, affecting surprise. "I had no idea the +time was so near being up. Are you sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never make mistakes in such matters, Mr. Tompkins, and can't +understand how other people can." +</P> + +<P> +"Creditors are said to have better memories than debtors," replied +Tompkins, attempting something like pleasantry. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I know. You will, of course, be prepared to take up the +mortgage upon your property?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid not, Mr. Wolford. Money is exceedingly tight. But as +your security is perfectly good, and you do not want the money, you +will let the matter remain as it is for a little while longer?" +</P> + +<P> +"I loaned you the money for a year, did I not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. The year will be up in a week." +</P> + +<P> +"I would like to borrow the same amount for another year." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no objection to your doing so, if you can find any one who +will lend it." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you not do so?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I have other use for my money." +</P> + +<P> +"I will increase the interest, if that will be any inducement. Money +in a good business like mine can bear a heavy interest." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not satisfied with the security. Property is falling in +value." +</P> + +<P> +"Not satisfied!'" exclaimed Tompkins, in unfeigned surprise. "The +property is worth double the sum you have advanced for my use." +</P> + +<P> +"I differ with you—and I am not alone in differing." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Mr. Wolford," said Tompkins, in a changed tone, that +evinced roused and half-indignant feeling, "you shall be paid. I can +easily transfer the security to some other person, if I find it +necessary to do so, and raise the amount due you." +</P> + +<P> +Wolford, phlegmatic as he was, seemed slightly moved by this +unexpected change in the manner and position of Tompkins. He +narrowly observed the expression of his face, but did not reply. He +was afraid to trust himself to speak, lest he should betray his real +thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"You will be prepared to pay me next week, then," he at length said, +rising. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. You shall have the money," replied Tompkins. +</P> + +<P> +"Good day." And Wolford retired; not altogether satisfied that he +had gained all he had hoped to gain by the visit. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah me!" sighed Tompkins, turning to his desk as soon as this man +had departed. "Here comes more trouble. That miserly wretch has no +more use for his money than the man in the moon. It seems to give +him delight to make every one feel his power. It is for no other +reason than this, that I am now to be harassed half out of my life +in order to raise ten thousand dollars in a week, besides meeting my +other payments. I must try and get some one to take the mortgage he +is about releasing." +</P> + +<P> +While thus musing, the individual who had just left him was walking +slowly down Market Street, with his eyes upon the pavement, in deep +thought. He was a short, stoutly built old man, dressed in a +well-worn suit of brown broadcloth. His hat was white, large in the +brim, low in the crown, and pulled down so heavily on the high +collar of his coat, that it turned up behind in a very decided way, +indicating the save-all propensities of its owner. His face was as +hard as iron: it was deeply seamed by years or the indulgence of the +baser cupidities of a perverted nature. His lower lip projected +slightly beyond the upper that was pressed closely upon it. His +small gray eyes were deeply sunk beneath a wrinkled forehead, and +twinkled like stars when any thing excited him; usually they were as +calm and passionless as any part of his face. +</P> + +<P> +This man had never engaged, during his whole life, in any useful +branch of business. Money was the god he worshipped, and to gain +this, he was ready to make almost any sacrifice. He started in life +with five thousand dollars—a legacy from a distant relative. To +risk this sum, or any portion of it, in trade, would have been, in +his view, the most egregious folly. His first investment was in six +per cent. ground-rents, from which he received three hundred dollars +per annum. It cost him two hundred to live; he had, therefore, at +the end of the year, a surplus of one hundred dollars. He was +casting about in his mind what he should do with this in, order to +make it profitable, when a hard-pressed tradesman asked him for the +loan of a hundred dollars for a short time. The idea of loaning his +money, when first presented, almost made his hair stand on end. He +shook his head, and uttered a decided "No." It so happened that the +man was so much in need of money, that he became importunate. +</P> + +<P> +"I know you have it, if you would only lend it, Wolford," said he. +"Let me have a hundred dollars for a month, and I will give you a +good interest for it, and security besides." +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of security?" eagerly asked the miser, his face +brightening. The idea had struck him, as being a good one. The man +was a tailor. +</P> + +<P> +"I will let you hold Mr. S—— P——'s note, at six months, for one +hundred and fifty dollars, as security." +</P> + +<P> +Wolford shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"He might die or break, and then where would be my hundred dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +"I would pay it to you." +</P> + +<P> +Wolford continued to shake his head. +</P> + +<P> +"How would a piece of broadcloth answer your purpose?" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it worth?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have a piece of twenty yards, worth eight dollars a yard. It +would bring six and a half under the hammer. You can hold that, if +you please." +</P> + +<P> +"How much interest will you pay?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will give you two dollars for the use of one hundred for thirty +days." +</P> + +<P> +"If you will say three, you may have it." +</P> + +<P> +"Three per cent. a month!—thirty-six per cent. a year! Oh no! That +would ruin any man." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think the operation worth making for less than three +dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"It is too much, Wolford. But I'll tell you what I'll do. Let it be +for sixty days, and make the interest five dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"I to hold the cloth as security until it is paid?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. You shall have the money." +</P> + +<P> +A note for one hundred and five dollars, at sixty days, was drawn +and handed to the young shaver, who paid down one hundred dollars, +and went off with his collateral under his arm. +</P> + +<P> +This transaction opened a new world to Wolford's imagination. Two +and a half per cent. a month, and six per cent. per annum, could +hardly be compared together. He sat down and began to figure up the +result of the one operation in comparison with the other, and found +that while his investment in ground-rents yielded only three hundred +dollars a year, five thousand dollars, at two and a half per cent. a +month, the rate at which he had made the operation just referred to, +would yield fifteen hundred dollars per annum! +</P> + +<P> +From that moment he became dissatisfied with ground-rents as an +investment. As quickly as it could be done, he sold, for one +thousand dollars, a piece of real estate, and, depositing the money +in bank, looked around him for good paper to shave. He did not have +to look very long. Borrowers quickly presented themselves, but no +one got money except on the most tangible kind of security, and at a +ruinous interest. Careful as he tried to be, Wolford was not always +successful in his operations. One or two failures on the part of his +borrowers, made him acquainted at a magistrate's office, where he +acquired another new idea upon which he improved. +</P> + +<P> +"If you wish to invest money safely and profitably, I will put you +in the way of doing it," said a petty dispenser of justice to poor +debtors, rogues and vagabonds, aside to the miser one day, after he +had given judgment against a delinquent borrower. +</P> + +<P> +"How?" eagerly asked Wolford. +</P> + +<P> +"A great many cases of debt are decided by me every week, on amounts +varying from one to fifty dollars," replied the magistrate. "As soon +as a judgment is given, the debtor has to pay the money, find +security, or go to jail, In most cases, the matter is settled by +security for six months, when the debt, with costs and interest, has +to be paid." +</P> + +<P> +"Legal interest?" asked Wolford. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," replied the magistrate, with a smile. "It is a legal +matter, and only legal interest can be charged." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, of course! I didn't think of that." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well: after a judgment is obtained, in five cases out of six +the prosecutor is sick, of the business, and perfectly willing to +sell out the judgment and have no more to do with it. The best +business in the world is to buy these judgments. You can make at +least forty per cent. per annum." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" +</P> + +<P> +"Forty per cent." +</P> + +<P> +"Forty per cent!" and Wolford's eyes sparkled. "Are you sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. If I were allowed to buy them, as I am not, I would wish +no better business." +</P> + +<P> +"You think it safe?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing can be safer. If the judgment is not paid at the end of six +months, you can go to work immediately, with an execution, on the +property of the original debtor, or his security, as you may think +best, and at once obtain your money." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose neither of them have any property?" +</P> + +<P> +"I take very good care not to accept bad security. Besides, you will +find but few persons out of whom fifty dollars, or less, may not be +obtained, under the pressure of an execution." +</P> + +<P> +"I like the idea amazingly," said Wolford, thoughtfully. "Forty per +cent. per annum! Capital! I will buy judgments." +</P> + +<P> +"I have two hundred dollars' worth in my desk now, which I have +directions to sell. Do you want them? They have six months to run. +Twenty per cent. off will be just forty dollars—here they are." +</P> + +<P> +Wolford carefully examined the documents which the magistrate placed +in his hands, and, after considering the subject for some time, said +that he would buy them. His check for one hundred and sixty dollars +was received by the magistrate, and the judgments became his +property. +</P> + +<P> +"It's even better than forty per cent. per annum," remarked the +magistrate, as he folded up the check he had received. +</P> + +<P> +"How so?" +</P> + +<P> +"You make over fifty-five per cent." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—look at it. You have just paid one hundred and sixty dollars +for what will yield you two hundred and six dollars in six +months,—for you must remember that you will get legal interest on +the claim you have bought. Now this is a fraction over fifty-five +per cent. per annum. What do you think of that for an investment?" +</P> + +<P> +"Capital! But have you much of this kind of business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Enough to, keep several thousand dollars constantly employed for +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" +</P> + +<P> +With this brief ejaculation, that came from Wolford's heart, he +turned away and left the office. +</P> + +<P> +On this operation, the magistrate made six per cent. The regular +selling price of judgments was twenty-five per cent., with a +commission of one per cent. for effecting the sale. +</P> + +<P> +In a few months, Wolford had all his money invested in judgments. +This business he continued for several years, meeting with but few +losses. He could then write himself worth twenty-five thousand +dollars, and began to find it necessary to seek for some heavier +investments than buying judgments, even if they did not pay quite so +well. +</P> + +<P> +Loaning money on mortgages of real estate, at about ten per centum, +he found a very safe business; with this he united the shaving of +undoubted paper, at from one to two per cent. a month. Mr. Tompkins +he had frequently shaved so closely as almost to make the blood +come. This was previous to the loan before alluded to. Since that +had been made, Mr. Tompkins rarely found it necessary to put good +paper into Wolford's hands for discount. This the miser considered a +dead loss, and he therefore determined that the loan should be taken +up, and made in some quarter not likely to affect the shaving +operations. +</P> + +<P> +The declaration of Mr. Tompkins, that he could easily get some one +else to take the mortgage, was not too well relished by Wolford, If +he were sure this could be done, he would be content to accept an +increase of interest and continue the loan, for the security was of +the very safest kind, and ample. +</P> + +<P> +"I must think about this," said he to himself, as he walked +homeward, after parting with Tompkins. "I rarely make false moves, +and should not like to do so in this case." +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H4> + +<P> +WHEN Mr. and Mrs. Tompkins met, at dinnertime, neither of them +appeared in the most happy frame of mind. The lady looked especially +disagreeable. The meal passed in silence, and was eaten with little +appetite. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as her husband had retired from the house, which he did very +soon after he had left the table, Mrs. Tompkins's manner changed. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" said she, tossing her head, "he needn't begin the sulky +game with me. Two can play at that, as he ought to know very well. +I've set my heart on having a handsomer establishment than the +purse-proud Mrs. Gileston, and, what is more, I will be gratified. +Mr. Tompkins is worth two dollars to her husband's one, and yet she +sweeps about the street with the air of a duchess, and never so much +as looks me in the face, though I have been twice introduced to her. +But, I'll be even with my lady! I've set my heart on this, and will +move heaven and earth to accomplish it." +</P> + +<P> +This half-spoken soliloquy will afford the reader some clue to the +character of Mrs. Tompkins. Her husband, to whom she had been +married about ten years, had gradually risen from the position of a +clerk to that of a merchant, in a small way, when the death of a +distant relative put him in possession of about, thirty thousand +dollars. Up to that time, his wife, who was a poor girl when he +married her, had been content to live in a style suited to their +means. But the moment a fortune so large in her eyes, fell to their +share, her ideas expanded, and she suddenly became aware of the fact +that she was a woman of no mean importance. +</P> + +<P> +To Mr. Tompkins, this money came just in time to save him from +failure. He had started, as too many do, without capital, and had +unwisely attempted to do more business than means so limited would +bear. He, consequently, knew the value of money far better than his +wife, and was disposed to invest what he did not require in his +business, in a safe way. She, on the contrary, proposed that they +should, at once, adopt a style of living in consonance with their +bettered fortunes. +</P> + +<P> +"We live very comfortably, as we now are," he said, in answer to a +repetition of her plea for a handsome house, on the evening +following the day of his interview with Wolford. "We live as well as +our means have, until within a few years, enabled us to live." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Tompkins rejoined— +</P> + +<P> +"With improved fortunes, we should adopt a different style." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think we should be in any particular hurry about it," said +the husband. "Let the change, if any be made, come gradually." +</P> + +<P> +"All eyes are upon us," was Mrs. Tompkins's answer to this. "And +everybody expects us to take a different and higher place in +society." +</P> + +<P> +"It is my opinion," said the husband, "that we are free to live in +any style that may suit us." +</P> + +<P> +"It is all very well to say that, Mr. Tompkins, but it will not do. +We must, while in the world, do as the world does. People in our +circumstances do not live in a rented house;—we should have a +dwelling of our own, and that a handsome one—handsomer than +Gileston's house, about which there, is so much talk." +</P> + +<P> +"Gileston's house!" said Mr. Tompkins, in surprise. "Why that house +didn't cost a cent less than twenty-five thousand dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, suppose it did not. What then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you imagine that we can build a house at an expense of +twenty-five thousand dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not, Mr. Tompkins?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where is the money to come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"There it is again! But I can tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to my heart you would, for it's more than I can." +</P> + +<P> +"Take it out of bank, where it lies rusting." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"How much do you suppose I have in bank tonight?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dear knows! Forty or fifty thousand dollars, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"Just seventy-nine dollars and ten cents! And what is more, I have +two thousand dollars to pay to-morrow, five hundred on the day +after, and ten or twelve thousand more to make up within the next +two weeks. If You will tell me where all this money is to come from, +I will build you a dozen houses: as it is, you must build your own +castles—in the air." +</P> + +<P> +A flood of tears answered this bitterly spoken reply. Her tears, the +lady had found, on more occasions than one, to have a powerful +effect upon her husband. It must be said for her, that she did not +believe a word of what Mr. Tompkins had alleged in regard to the +balance of his bank account. For a man who had been in a good +business for a number of years, and had received a legacy of thirty +thousand dollars, to be so near out of cash, was to her mind +preposterous. She knew he had invested nearly twenty thousand +dollars in property, but what of that? Her tears disturbed Mr. +Tompkins, as they always did. +</P> + +<P> +"What I tell you is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the +truth," said he, in a calm, but serious voice, after, the sobs of +his wife had begun to die away. "And now, what would you have me +do?" +</P> + +<P> +"You can do just as you please, Mr. Tompkins. It is nothing to me. +You know your own business best." This was said with an offended +air, in which was something of indifference. +</P> + +<P> +"You are unreasonable, Ellen." +</P> + +<P> +"Very likely I am; at least in your eyes. I believe you never had a +very exalted opinion of your wife's good sense: nor much regard for +her wishes!" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe, Ellen," returned the husband, "that few men regard the +happiness of their wives more than I have regarded the happiness of +mine. Perhaps if I had been less considerate, it might have been +better for all." +</P> + +<P> +"Considerate, indeed! Oh, yes! You're very considerate to buy old +warehouses to rent, in place of a decent dwelling for your family! +Very considerate that—wasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +At this point of the contest, Mr. Tompkins retired from the field, +his forces reduced and in disorder. He saw but one hope of peace, +and that was by an early surrender, and on the best terms that could +be made. The property that he had purchased yielded him about +fourteen hundred a year. To sell this, and build, with the proceeds, +a splendid mansion, from which no income could possibly arise, +seemed to him an act of egregious folly. But any thing for peace. To +sell it, and put the money in his business, was a much more +desirable act, instead of borrowing money, at an exorbitant +interest, in order to make his payments. He had more than once +thought of doing this. At the time the investment was made, his +business operations were light, and he did not need the use of over +ten thousand dollars of the timely legacy he had received. Since +then his business had increased, and with this increase came the +need of more ready money than he could command. He did not like the +idea of selling his real estate, because he was very confident, from +the many improvements going on in the quarter of the city where it +was situated, that it would double in value in the course of ten +years. He was so confident of this, that he preferred paying a high +rate of interest for money for temporary purposes, rather than sell +his property. So hard did he become pressed at last, that he +resorted to the expedient of raising ten thousand dollars on +mortgage, at ten per centum per annum. Wolford held this mortgage, +as the reader is aware. +</P> + +<P> +It was with painful reluctance that Mr. Tompkins made up his mind to +part with his warehouse property, in order to gratify the love of +display which was the besetting sin of his better half. But, even +should he do that, he would have to let ten thousand dollars go to +clear off the mortgage; and if it brought him twenty-two or three +thousand, or even twenty-five thousand, he would not have enough to +build the elegant mansion his wife desired: and should he build one +in a style not consonant with her exalted ideas, his position, +instead of being better, would be much worse. +</P> + +<P> +The next week, to poor Mr. Tompkins, he was called a rich man, was +one of sad perplexity and anxious deliberation upon what it was best +for him to do. He had great difficulty in raising sufficient money +to meet his payments, independent of the ten thousand dollars +demanded by Wolford. Where that sum was to come from he could not +tell. He had made several applications for a loan to take the place +of the one now upon his property, and had even caused advertisements +to be inserted in the newspapers, addressed to "capitalists," but +without effect. +</P> + +<P> +During all this time, Mrs. Tompkins was as disagreeable as it was +possible for her to be. When her husband returned home, in the +evening, sick at heart with the toil and anxiety of the day, he was +met by no pleasant words or cheerful smiles. A sober face presided +at his table, where the words were few and coldly spoken. +</P> + +<P> +The period for which Wolford's loan had been made was within two +days of its expiration, when, half beside himself with perplexity, +Mr. Tompkins advertised his property for sale. There were enough who +understood its real value precisely, and were ready to come forward +and offer to purchase. As soon as the miser and usurer saw the +course events were taking, he very kindly informed Mr. Tompkins that +he had just received, unexpectedly, a large sum of money, and should +not want the ten thousand dollars due him. +</P> + +<P> +"You are too late," replied Mr. Tompkins, when he communicated this +intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +"Why so?" asked Wolford. +</P> + +<P> +"I have made up my mind to sell." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want my money." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, very well, I can keep it." +</P> + +<P> +"On what security." +</P> + +<P> +"My note of hand." +</P> + +<P> +The miser shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you like that security?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no objection to your warehouse property." +</P> + +<P> +"But that I shall sell." +</P> + +<P> +Wolford retired in a dissatisfied mood. He had overreached himself. +</P> + +<P> +In the course of a week the sale was made, and for cash. The +property brought twenty-five thousand dollars. After the mortgage +was released, and his borrowed money account balanced, Mr. Tompkins +had just twelve thousand dollars to his credit in bank, with a +month's heavy payments before him. +</P> + +<P> +On this basis, and with this position of affairs to sustain him, Mr. +Tompkins, feeling in a desperate mood, determined that he would +build himself an elegant residence. The plan was furnished by an +architect, and the work commenced forthwith. Mrs. Tompkins was all +her husband could wish, from the day she was apprized of his +decision in regard to a matter that had so long been near her heart. +He said nothing of the sacrifice he had made, nor intimated any +thing about what might be the ultimate consequence, although every +sober thought of the future awoke a fear. The house, when finished, +cost twenty-three thousand dollars; and when furnished twenty-eight +thousand. It need not be said that Mr. Tompkins was hard run for +money. On the day he moved into his splendid mansion, he borrowed +from Mr Wolford, on a mortgage of his new property, fifteen thousand +dollars, at twelve per cent. per annum. He had but one or two +alternatives—to borrow at this ruinous rate of interest, or fail. +The operation was for one year, without any privilege of renewal; +this was the longest time at which the usurer ever loaned his money. +</P> + +<P> +For one year Mrs. John Tompkins was in her glory. She gave six large +parties during that time, at a heavy cost. Her husband, +notwithstanding the loan of fifteen thousand dollars, was in trouble +about money matters; Business had been unusually dull both in the +spring and fall, and money hard to collect. Nearly ten thousand +dollars, which he had fully expected to receive from distant +customers, failed to come in. As the period for which he had +borrowed from Wolford drew toward its close, he could not but feel +uneasy. From no other quarter had he any hope of raising so large a +sum as fifteen thousand dollars upon his house. He was poring over +his bill-book, one day, when the man he had thought of far more +frequently than was pleasant to him, came in. Mr. Tompkins felt +uneasy. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah—how do you do, Mr. Wolford?" said he, affecting a pleased air. +"Sit down." +</P> + +<P> +Wolford looked grave. He had come on business, and to him business +matters were of serious import. He returned the merchant's +salutation with formality, seated himself deliberately, and, resting +his hands upon the head of his cane, looked up with a sinister +expression on his face. +</P> + +<P> +"A fine day this, Mr. Wolford," said Tompkins. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, very fine. How is business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dull—terribly dull. I have never known such a business season. +There is absolutely nothing doing." +</P> + +<P> +Wolford made no reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you have plenty of money to lend," remarked the merchant, +hardly knowing why he said so. +</P> + +<P> +"No—not a dollar. It's tight with me as well as it is with you. And +this brings me to the subject-matter of my visit. You are no doubt +aware that, according to the terms of the loan, you are to return my +fifteen thousand dollars in a few days?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am aware of it. Must you have it all?" +</P> + +<P> +"Every dollar; and I want three times as much, if I can get it." +</P> + +<P> +"I was in hope you would renew the loan, Mr. Wolford." +</P> + +<P> +"That's impossible." +</P> + +<P> +"I really don't see how I am to raise fifteen thousand dollars in a +few days—these times." +</P> + +<P> +"You have had long enough to make it up, I am sure. You knew very +well that the loan would come due next week, and that it was only +for one year." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I knew all that, very well." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet you are not prepared to pay it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I certainly am not to-day. What I may be in a week is more than +I can tell." +</P> + +<P> +Wolford did not want the money he had loaned to Mr. Tompkins—that +is, he had no <I>use</I> for it. But he could never rest contented for +any length of time under the reflection that another person was +enjoying his money. He took an insane delight, too, in making others +feel his power. If Mr. Tompkins had obtained the amount, and +tendered it to Wolford, two weeks before it was due, the miser would +have, in all probability, solicited him to keep it on even better +terms than at first obtained; but to appear anxious about the +matter, was to foreclose all chances of a renewal. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H4> + +<P> +AFTER Wolford had left the store of Mr. Tompkins, the merchant tried +to rally his thoughts, and review the whole matter calmly. Thinking, +however, did not make him feel much better. He could not see his way +clear. If the loan were not paid off, his property would, he had not +the least doubt, be sold forthwith, under the mortgage. +</P> + +<P> +"I was a fool ever to build such a house, and involve myself as I +have done," he murmured, fretfully. "I wish to my heart it was in +the bottom of the sea. Between my wife's extravagance and this +accursed usurer, I shall be ruined at last." +</P> + +<P> +This was uttered almost involuntarily, but it had the effect to give +his thoughts a new direction. After thinking intensely for some +time, he took a long inspiration, compressed his lips tightly as he +breathed out again, and then said, half aloud, and in a tone of +decision— +</P> + +<P> +"I will not suffer myself to be made a fool of any longer, by wife +or usurer. Mrs. John Tompkins will have to lay aside a portion of +her dignity, or get some other means of supporting it. I am called a +man, and I will be a man." +</P> + +<P> +On the evening of that day, while seated at the tea-table, Mrs. +Tompkins said— +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever noticed, dear, the beautiful equipage of Mrs. Van +D——?" +</P> + +<P> +"The what?" +</P> + +<P> +"The beautiful establishment of Mrs. Van D——?" +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of an establishment?" +</P> + +<P> +The manner of her husband disturbed the self-satisfaction of Mrs. +Tompkins. Her reply was not in so bland a voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Her carriage and pair, I mean, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I never notice such things." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't, indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you ever expect to keep a carriage?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure you will." +</P> + +<P> +"You labour under a mistake, Ellen. I have no such intention." +</P> + +<P> +"If I wish for one, I am sure you will gratify me." Mrs. Tompkins +spoke softly and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"No—not even to gratify you, Ellen." Mr. Tompkins spoke seriously, +and his brow contracted. +</P> + +<P> +"You built this beautiful house to gratify me." +</P> + +<P> +"True—and by doing so have set myself half crazy." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Tompkins, I don't understand you. You are in a strange mood +this evening." +</P> + +<P> +"And so would you be in a strange mood, if you had suffered as much +as I have during the day." +</P> + +<P> +"Suffered! What have you suffered about?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I built this house." +</P> + +<P> +"You speak in riddles. Why do you not explain yourself?" Mrs. +Tompkins's voice trembled, and there were tears in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I will explain myself, Ellen," said her husband, his manner +becoming serious and earnest: it had been fretful and captious +before. "I was weak enough to yield to your urgent desire to have an +elegant mansion, as you called it, and build this house, at a very +heavy cost. I knew that I was doing wrong at the time, and that both +you and I would live to regret the act of folly. But you held the +reins, and I suffered myself to be driven. The consequence is, that +I am involved in difficulties, and this house has to be sold within +ten days." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Tompkins paused. He wished to see the effect of what he had +said. Had an earthquake shaken the house to its foundation, Mrs. +Tompkins could not have been more astonished than she was by this +speech. Her face became deadly pale; she trembled violently from +head to foot, and panted like a frightened hare. To utter a word in +reply was impossible. The husband was startled at the effect +produced, but did not waver an instant in his purpose. The +suddenness of the annunciation had one good effect: it opened the +eyes of Mrs. Tompkins completely. The manner of her husband left no +doubt upon her mind that all he had said was true—that the house +would have to go, spite of all he could do to save it. He might be +to blame for getting into difficulties—might have mismanaged his +business—but that could not alter the present position of things. +On recovering from the shock occasioned by so astounding a +declaration, she did not resort to any of her old tricks to manage +her husband. She felt that they would be useless. As soon as she +could speak, she said, firmly— +</P> + +<P> +"Is all this true?" +</P> + +<P> +"As true as you live and breathe." +</P> + +<P> +"And it is <I>my</I> fault?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry that I cannot say otherwise." There was a good deal of +feeling in the husband's tone as he made this reply. "I need not +relate how I strove to convince you that I could not afford to build +such a house—that to sell my warehouse property, in order to do so, +would be to rob myself of at least seven or eight thousand +dollars—for that property would inevitably increase in value this +amount in the next five years. Already it has been sold at an +advance of three thousand dollars on what I received for it. I need +not relate how unhappy you made both yourself and me, until I +consented to do as you wished. It is all within your remembrance. A +man cannot stand every thing. I had trouble enough, even then, with +my business—but found no compensation at home. In a desperate mood, +I resolved to make home pleasant, if possible. I made the sacrifice, +and here is the result!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Tompkins wept bitterly when her husband ceased speaking. Every +word went to her heart. She saw her folly, nay, her crime, in having +acted as she had done. She was a weak, vain woman, but not all +perverted. Notwithstanding rank weeds had long overgrown the garden +of her mind, some plants of goodly promise yet remained. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day, without hesitating a moment, Mr. Tompkins went to a +real-estate broker, and employed him to sell his house as quickly as +possible. He mentioned this to his wife, as a thing of course, and +suggested the necessity of disposing of their splendid furniture, +and retiring from their too prominent position in the social world. +</P> + +<P> +"There is but one way of safety and peace," he said, "and that way +we must take, whether the entrance to it be smooth or thorny." +</P> + +<P> +"Why need we sell our handsome furniture?" asked Mrs. Tompkins, in a +hoarse voice. +</P> + +<P> +"For the same reason that we have for selling our house," firmly +returned her husband—"because it is necessary." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Tompkins spoke so decidedly, that his wife felt that +remonstrance would be unavailing. Having once admitted the truth of +all he had alleged, she had no ground for opposition. Completely +subdued, she became altogether passive, and left her husband to do +just as he pleased. The pressing nature of his affairs made him +prompt to carry out all the reforms he had proposed. In less than a +week he found a purchaser for his house, and was able to sell it on +tolerably fair terms. The real-estate agent who had made the sale +for him, had left his store but a short time after communicating all +the preliminaries of the transaction, when old Wolford entered with +a slow gait and a look of resolution. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you be ready with that money to-morrow?" said he, fixing his +small, keen eyes upon the merchant, and bending his brows. +</P> + +<P> +"No!" was the decisive answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall foreclose the mortgage." +</P> + +<P> +"You will not do that, certainly," returned Tompkins, in a quiet +tone, something like a smile playing about his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't I? Don't trust to that, my friend. I always keep contracts to +the letter, and exact them from others, when made to me, as rigidly. +You borrowed my money for a year, on a mortgage of your property. +That year is up to-morrow. If the money does not come, I will +immediately have your property sold." +</P> + +<P> +"I have been ahead of you," coolly replied Tompkins. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have already sold the property." +</P> + +<P> +The miser seemed stunned by the intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +"Sold it?" he asked, after a moment—"why have you sold it?" +</P> + +<P> +"In order to get out of your clutches, now and for ever. You have +had a good deal of my money in your time, and fool enough have I +been to let you get your fingers upon it! But you will never get +another dollar from me! You were not content with eighteen hundred +dollars a year as the interest on fifteen thousand—wasn't I a fool +to pay it?—but you must try to put your foot still more heavily on +my neck! But you have overreached yourself. Your mortgage on my +property is not worth that!—(snapping his fingers.) Didn't you know +this before?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" Wolford showed considerable alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"You took twelve per cent. per annum?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know I did." +</P> + +<P> +"And that is usury?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is a fair interest. Money is always worth the market price." +</P> + +<P> +"The law says that all over six per cent. is usury; and the taking +of such excess vitiates the transaction." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean to put in that plea?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, if you take the first step toward foreclosing your mortgage, +or show yourself in my store until I send for you, which I will do +when it is perfectly convenient for me to pay your fifteen thousand +dollars, and not before." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, take your time, Mr. Tompkins—take your time—I am in no +particular hurry for the money," said Wolford, with an altered tone +and manner—"Just when it is convenient will suit me." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure of that?" said the merchant, speaking with a slight +sneer upon his lip. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes! I thought I would need the money now, but I believe I will +not. The mortgage can remain as long as you want it." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want it long," muttered Tompkins, turning toward his desk, +and taking no further notice of the alarmed and discomfited usurer. +</P> + +<P> +In about two weeks he had the pleasure of handing him the whole +amount of the loan, and getting a release of the property. Wolford +tried to be very affable and apologetic; but he was treated +according to the merchant's estimation of his real character, and +not otherwise. +</P> + +<P> +"Free from your clutches, and for ever!" said Mr. Tompkins, speaking +to himself, as he stepped into the street from Wolford's dwelling, +feeling lighter in heart than he had felt for a long time. "What +madness, with the means I have had in my hands, ever to have fed +your avaricious maw!" +</P> + +<P> +Although Mr. Tompkins could see the sky by looking upward, he was +still in the forest, and had a hard journey before him, ere he +gained the pleasant champaign he was seeking so eagerly. The cash he +received on selling his house was barely sufficient to clear it of +all encumbrance. He was, therefore, still hard pressed for money in +his business. The sale of his handsome furniture would help him a +good deal, and he determined, resolutely, to have this done +forthwith. His wife ventured a demurrer, which he immediately +overruled. She had lost the ability to contend with him. A sale at +auction was proposed. +</P> + +<P> +"Just think of the exposure," urged his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care a fig for that. A protested note would be a worse +exposure. I must have the money. We can board for a couple or three +years, or keep house in a plain way, until I make up some of the +losses sustained by our folly." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Tompkins was passive. A vendue was called, and three thousand +dollars in cash realized. This succour came just in time, for it +saved the merchant's credit, and met his pressing demands, until he +could turn the paper given in part payment for his house, into +money. From that time he began to feel his business resting less +heavily upon his shoulders. Money came in about as fast as he needed +it. In a few months he began to have quite a respectable balance in +bank—a thing he had not known for years. +</P> + +<P> +It was a good while before Mrs. Tompkins could hold up her head in +society, where she had, for some time, held it remarkably high. She +never carried it as stately as before. As for Wolford, he but seldom +passed the store of the merchant: when he did so, it was not without +a pang—he had lost a good customer by grinding him too hard, and +could not forgive himself for the error. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="invalids"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE TWO INVALIDS. +</H3> + +<P> +THE chamber in which the sick woman lay was furnished with every +thing that taste could desire or comfort demand. Yet, from none of +these elegant surroundings came there an opiate for the weary +spirit, or a balm to soothe the pain from which she suffered. With +heavy eyes, contracted brow, and face almost as white as the +lace-fringed pillow it pressed, canopied with rich curtains, she +reclined, sighing away the weary hours, or giving, voice to her +discontent in fruitless complainings. +</P> + +<P> +She was alone. A little while before, her attendant had left the +room, taking with her a child, whose glad spirits—glad because +admitted to his mother's presence—had disturbed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Take him out," she had said, fretfully. +</P> + +<P> +"You must go back to the nursery, dear." The attendant spoke kindly, +as she stooped to lift the child in her arms. +</P> + +<P> +"No—no—no. I want to stay here. Do let me stay here, won't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma is sick, and you disturb her," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no. I won't disturb her. I'll be so good." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you take him out at once?" exclaimed the mother, in a +harsh, excited voice. "It's too much that I can't have a little +quiet! He's made my head ache already. What does nurse mean by +letting him come over here?" +</P> + +<P> +As the screaming child was borne from the room, the sick woman +clasped her hand to her temples, murmuring— +</P> + +<P> +"My poor head! It was almost quiet; but now it throbs as if every +vein were ready to burst! Why don't they soothe that child?" +</P> + +<P> +But the child screamed on, and his voice came ringing upon her ears. +Nurse was cross, and took no pains to hush his cries; so the +mother's special attendant remained, for some time, away from the +sick-chamber. By slow degrees she succeeded in diverting the child's +mind from his disappointment; but it was many minutes after his +crying ceased before he would consent to her leaving him. +</P> + +<P> +In the mean time the sun's bright rays had found a small opening in +one of the curtains that draped the windows, and commenced pouring +in a few pencils of light, which fell, in a bright spot, on a +picture that hung against the wall; resting, in fact upon the fair +forehead of a beautiful maiden, and giving a hue of life to the +features. It was like a bit of fairy-work—a touch almost of +enchantment. The eyes of the invalid were resting on this picture as +the magic change began to take place. +</P> + +<P> +How the lovely vision, if it might so be called, won her from +thoughts of pain! Ah, if we could say so? Raising herself, she +grasped the pendent tassel of the bell-rope, and rang with a violent +hand; then sank down with a groan, exhausted by the effort, shut her +eyes, and buried her face in the pillow. Leaving the only +half-comforted child, her attendant hastily obeyed the summons. +</P> + +<P> +"The sun is blinding me!" said the unhappy invalid, as she entered +the chamber. "How could you be so careless in arranging the +curtains!" +</P> + +<P> +A touch, and the sweet vision which had smiled all so vainly for the +poor sufferer, was lost in shadows. There was a subdued light, and +almost pulseless silence in the chamber. +</P> + +<P> +"Do take those flowers away, their odour is dreadful to me!" +</P> + +<P> +A beautiful bouquet of sweet flowers, sent by a sympathizing friend, +was removed from the chamber. Half an hour afterward—the attendant +thought her sleeping—she exclaimed— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, how that does worry me!" +</P> + +<P> +"What worries you, ma'am?" was kindly asked. +</P> + +<P> +"That doll on the mantel. It is entirely out of place here. I wish +you would remove it. Oh, dear, dear! And that toilette-glass—straighten +it, if you please. I can't bear any thing crooked. And there's Mary's +rigolette on the bureau; the careless child! She never puts any thing +away." +</P> + +<P> +These little annoyances were removed, and the invalid was quiet +again—externally quiet, but within all was fretfulness and mental +pain. +</P> + +<P> +"There come the children from school," she said, as the ringing of +the door-bell and gay voices were heard below. "You must keep them +from my room. I feel unusually nervous to-day, and my head aches +badly." +</P> + +<P> +Yet, even while she spoke, two little girls came bounding into the +room, crying— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, mother! Dear mother! We've got something good to tell you. Miss +Martin says we've been two of the best"—— +</P> + +<P> +The attendant's imperative "H-u-s-h!" and the mother's hand waving +toward the door, the motion enforced by a frowning brow, were +successful in silencing the pleased and excited children, who, +without being permitted to tell the good news they had brought from +school, and which they had fondly believed would prove so pleasant +to their mother's ears, were almost pushed from the chamber. +</P> + +<P> +No matter of surprise is it that a quick revulsion took place in +their feelings. If the voice of wrangling reached, soon after, the +mother's ears, and pained her to the very soul, it lessened not the +pressure on her feelings to think that a little self-denial on her +part, a little forgetfulness of her own feelings, and a +thoughtfulness for them, would have prevented unhappy discord. +</P> + +<P> +And so the day passed; and when evening brought her husband to her +bedside, his kind inquiries were answered only by +complainings—complainings that made, from mental reactions, bodily +suffering the greater. For so long a time had this state of things +existed that her husband was fast losing his wonted cheerfulness of +temper. He was in no way indifferent to his wife's condition; few +men, in fact, could have sympathized more deeply, or sought with +more untiring assiduity to lighten the burden which ill-health had +laid upon her. But, in her case, thought was all turned to self. It +was like the blood flowing back in congestion upon the heart, +instead of diffusing itself healthfully over the system. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it went on—the invalid growing worse instead of better. Not a +want was expressed that money did not supply; not a caprice or fancy +or appetite, which met not a proffered gratification. But all +availed not. Her worst disease was mental, having its origin in +inordinate selfishness. It never came into her mind to deny herself +for the sake of others; to stifle her complaints lest they should +pain the ears of her husband, children, or friends; to bear the +weight of suffering laid upon her with at least an effort at +cheerfulness. And so she became a burden to those who loved her. In +her presence the sweet voices of children were hushed, and smiles +faded away. Nothing that was gay, or glad, or cheerful came near her +that it did not instantly change into sobriety or sadness. +</P> + +<P> +Not very far away from the beautiful home of this unhappy invalid, +is another sufferer from ill-health. We will look in upon her. The +chamber is poorly furnished, containing scarcely an article the +absence of which would not have abridged the comfort of its +occupant. We enter. +</P> + +<P> +What a light has come into those sunken eyes, and over that pale +face! We take the thin, white hand; a touch of sadness is in our +voice that will not be repressed, as we make inquiries about her +health; but she answers cheerfully and hopefully. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suffer pain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but mostly at night. All day long I find so much to interest +me, and so many thoughts about my children fill my mind, that I +hardly find time to think of my own feelings. Care is a blessing." +</P> + +<P> +With what a patient, heavenly smile this is said! How much of life's +true philosophy is contained in that closing sentence! Yes, care is +a blessing. What countless thousands would, but for daily care, be +unutterably miserable. And yet we are ever trying to throw off care; +to rise into positions where we will be free from action or duty. +</P> + +<P> +The voice of a child is now heard. It is crying. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear little Aggy! What can ail her?" says the mother, tenderly. And +she inclines an ear, listening earnestly. The crying continues. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor child! Something is wrong with her. Won't you open the door a +moment?" +</P> + +<P> +The door is opened, and the sick mother calls the name of "Aggy" two +or three times. But her voice too feeble to reach the distant +apartment. +</P> + +<P> +We second the mother's wishes, and go for the grieving little one. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother wants Aggy." +</P> + +<P> +What magic words! The crying has ceased instantly, and rainbow +smiles are seen through falling tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear little dove! What has troubled it?" How tender and soothing +and full of love is the voice that utters these words! We lift Aggy +upon the bed. A moment, and her fresh warm cheek is close to the +pale face of her mother; while her hand is nestling in her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +The smile that plays so beautifully over the invalid's face has +already answered the question we were about to ask—"Will not the +child disturb you?" But our face has betrayed our thoughts, and she +says— +</P> + +<P> +"I can't bear to have Aggy away from me. She rarely annoys me. A +dear, good child—yet only a child, for whom only a mother can think +wisely. She rarely leaves my room that she doesn't get into some +trouble; but my presence quickly restores the sunshine." +</P> + +<P> +The bell rings. There is a murmur of voices below; and now light +feet come tripping up the stairs. The door opens and two little +girls enter, just from school. Does the sick mother put up her hand +to enjoin silence? Does she repel them,—by look or word? Oh no. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Mary—well, Anna?" she says, kindly. They bend over and kiss +her gently and lovingly; then speak modestly to the visitor. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you feel, mother?" asks the oldest of the two girls. "Does +your head ache?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not now, dear. It ached a little while ago; but it is better now." +</P> + +<P> +"What made it ache, mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Something troubled Aggy, and her crying sent a pain through my +temples. But it went away with the clouds that passed from her +darling little face." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, she's asleep, mother!" exclaimed Anna. +</P> + +<P> +"So she is. Dear little lamb! Asleep with a tear on her cheek. Turn +her crib around, love, so that I can lay her in it." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you mustn't lift her," says Mary. "It will make your head +ache." And the elder of the children lifts her baby-sister in her +arms, and carefully lays her in the crib. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you say all your lessons correctly this morning?" now asks the +mother. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't miss a word," answers Mary. +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I," says Anna. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad of it. It always does me good to know that you have said +your lessons well. Now go and take a run in the yard for exercise." +</P> + +<P> +The little girls leave the chamber, and soon their happy voices came +ringing up from the yard. The sound is loud, the children in their +merry mood unconscious of the noise they make. +</P> + +<P> +"This is too loud. It will make your head ache," we say, making a +motion to rise, as if going to check the exuberance of their +spirits. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no," is answered with a smile. "The happy voices of my children +never disturb me. Were it the sound of wrangling, my weak head would +throb instantly with pain. But this comes to me like music. They +have been confined for hours in school, and health needs a reaction. +Every buoyant laugh or glad exclamation expands their lungs, +quickens the blood in their veins, and gives a measure of health to +mind as well as body. The knowledge of this brings to me a sense of +pleasure; and it is better for me, therefore, that they should be +gay and noisy for a time, after coming out of school, than it would +be if they sat down quietly in the house, or moved about stealthily, +speaking to each other in low tones lest I should be disturbed." +</P> + +<P> +We could not say nay to this. It was true, because unselfish, +philosophy. +</P> + +<P> +"Doesn't that hammering annoy you?" we ask. +</P> + +<P> +"What hammering?" +</P> + +<P> +"In the new building over the way." +</P> + +<P> +She listens a moment, and then answers— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no. I did not remark it until you spoke. Such things never +disturb me, for the reason that my mind is usually too much occupied +to think of them. Though an invalid, and so weak that my hands are +almost useless, I never let my thoughts lie idle. A mother, with +three children, has enough to occupy her mind usefully—and useful +thoughts, you know, are antidotes to brooding melancholy, and not +unfrequently to bodily pain. If I were to give way to +weaknesses—and I am not without temptations—I would soon be an +unhappy, nervous, helpless creature, a burden to myself and all +around me." +</P> + +<P> +"You need sympathy and strength from others," we remark. +</P> + +<P> +"And I receive it in full measure," is instantly replied. "Not +because I demand it. It comes, the heart-offering of true affection. +Poorly would I repay my husband, children, and friends, for the +thousand kindnesses I receive at their hands, by making home the +gloomiest place on all the earth. Would it be any the brighter for +me that I threw clouds over their spirits? Would they more truly +sympathize with me, because I was for ever pouring complaints into +their ears? Oh no. I try to make them forget that I suffer, and, in +their forgetfulness, I often find a sweet oblivion. I love them all +too well to wish them a moment's sadness." +</P> + +<P> +What a beautiful glow was on her pale countenance as she thus spoke! +</P> + +<P> +We turn from the home of this cheerful invalid with a lesson in our +hearts not soon to be forgotten. Ill-health need not always bring +gloom to our dwellings. Suffering need not always bend the thoughts +painfully to self. The body may waste, the hands fall nerveless to +the side, yet the heart retain its greenness, and the mind its power +to bless. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="marrying"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MARRYING WELL. +</H3> + +<P> +"AND so, dear," said Mrs. Waring to her beautiful niece, Fanny +Lovering, "you are about becoming a bride." The aunt spoke tenderly, +and with a manner that instantly broke down all barriers of reserve. +</P> + +<P> +"And a happy bride, I trust," returned the blushing girl, as she +laid her hand in that of her aunt, and leaned upon her confidingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray heaven it may be so, Fanny." Mrs. Waring's manner was slightly +serious. "Marriage is a very important step; and in taking it the +smallest error may become the fruitful source of unhappiness." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall make no error, Aunt Mary," cried the lovely girl. "Edward +Allen is one of the best of young men; and he loves me as purely and +tenderly as any maiden could wish to be loved. Oh, I want you to see +him so much!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will have that pleasure soon, no doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, very soon. He is here almost every evening." +</P> + +<P> +"Your father, I understand, thinks very highly of him." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. He is quite a pet of father's," replied Fanny. +</P> + +<P> +"He's in business, then, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He keeps a fancy dry-goods' store, and is doing exceedingly +well—so he says." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waring sat silent for some time, lost in a train of reflection +suddenly started in her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"You look serious, aunt. What are you thinking about?" said Fanny, a +slight shadow flitting over her countenance. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waring smiled, as she answered— +</P> + +<P> +"People at my age are easily led into serious thoughts. Indeed, I +can never contemplate the marriage of a young girl like yourself, +without the intrusion of such thoughts into my mind. I have seen +many bright skies bending smilingly over young hearts on the morning +of their married life, that long ere noon were draped in clouds." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk so, dear aunt!" said the fair young girl. "I know that +life, to all, comes in shadow as well as sunshine. But, while the +sky is bright, why dim its brightness by thoughts of the time when +it will be overcast. Is that true philosophy, Aunt Mary?" +</P> + +<P> +"If such forethought will prevent the cloud, or provide a shelter +ere the storm breaks, it may be called true philosophy. But, forgive +me, dear, for thus throwing a shadow where no shadow ought to rest. +I will believe your choice a wise one, and that a happy future +awaits you." +</P> + +<P> +"You cannot help believing this when you see Edward. He will be here +to-night; then you will be able to estimate him truly." +</P> + +<P> +As Fanny had said, the young man called in after tea, when Mrs. +Waring was introduced. Allen responded to the introduction somewhat +coldly. In fact he was too much interested in Fanny herself to think +much, or care much for the stranger, even though named as a +relative. But, though he noticed but casually, and passed only a few +words with Mrs. Waring, that lady was observing him closely, and +noting every phase of character that was presented for observation; +and, ere he left her presence, had read him far deeper than he +imagined. +</P> + +<P> +"And now, Aunt Mary, tell me what you think of Edward," said Fanny +Lovering, as soon as the young man had departed, and she was alone +with Mrs. Waring. +</P> + +<P> +"I must see him two or three times more ere I can make up my mind in +regard to him," said Mrs. Waring with something evasive in her +manner. "First impressions are not always to be relied on," she +added, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! I understand you,"—Fanny spoke with a sudden gayety of +manner—"you only wish to tease me a little. Now, confess at once, +dear Aunt Mary, that you are charmed with Edward." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not much given to quick prepossessions," answered Mrs. Waring. +"It may be a defect in my character; but so it is. Mr. Allen, no +doubt, is a most excellent young man. You are sure that you love +him, Fanny?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Aunt Mary! How can you ask such a question? Are we not soon to +be married?" +</P> + +<P> +"True. And this being so, you certainly should love him. Now, can +you tell me why you love him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, aunt!" +</P> + +<P> +"My question seems, no doubt, a strange one, Fanny. Yet, strange as +it may appear to you, it is far from being lightly made. Calm your +mind into reflection, and ask yourself, firmly and seriously, why +you love Edward Allen. True love ever has an appreciating regard for +moral excellence—and knowledge must precede appreciation. What do +you know of the moral wisdom of this young man, into whose hands you +are about placing the destinies of your being for time—it may be +for eternity? Again let me put the question—Why do you love Edward +Allen?" +</P> + +<P> +Fanny looked bewildered. No searching interrogations like these had +been addressed to her, even by her parents; and their effect was to +throw her whole mind into painful confusion. +</P> + +<P> +"I love him for his excellent qualities, and because he loves me," +she at length said, yet with a kind of uncertain manner, as if the +reply did not spring from a clear mental perception. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean by excellent qualities?" further inquired Mrs. +Waring. +</P> + +<P> +Tears came into Fanny's sweet blue eyes, as she answered— +</P> + +<P> +"A young girl like me, dear Aunt Mary, cannot penetrate very deeply +into a man's character. We have neither the opportunity nor the +experience upon which, coldly, to base an accurate judgment. The +heart is our guide. In my own case its instincts, I am sure, have +not betrayed me into a false estimate of my lover. I know him to be +good and noble; and I am sure his tender regard for the maiden he +has asked to become his bride, will ever lead him to seek her +happiness, as she will seek his. Do not doubt him, aunt." +</P> + +<P> +Yet, Mrs. Waring could not help doubting him. The young man had not +impressed her favourably. No word had fallen from his lips during +the evening unmarked by her—nor had a single act escaped +observation. In vain had she looked, in his declarations of +sentiments, for high moral purposes—for something elevated and +manly in tone. In their place she found only exceeding worldliness, +or the flippant commonplace. +</P> + +<P> +"No basis there, I fear, on which to build," said Mrs. Waring, +thoughtfully, after parting with her niece for the night. "Dear, +loving, confiding child! The heart of a maiden is not always her +best guide. Like the conscience, it needs to be instructed; must be +furnished with tests of quality." +</P> + +<P> +On the day following, Mrs. Waring went out alone. Without, seeming +to have any purpose in her mind, she had asked the number of Mr. +Allen's store, whither she went with the design of making a few +purchases. As she had hoped it would be, the young man did not +recognise her as the aunt of his betrothed. Among the articles, she +wished to obtain was a silk dress. Several pieces of goods were +shown to her, one of which suited exactly, both in colour and +quality. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the price of this?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +The answer was not prompt. First, the ticket-mark was consulted; +then came a thoughtful pause; and then the young storekeeper said— +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot afford to sell you this piece of goods for less than a +dollar thirteen." +</P> + +<P> +"A dollar thirty, did you say?" asked Mrs. Waring, examining the +silk more closely. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye—yes, ma'am," quickly replied Allen. "A dollar thirty. And it's +a bargain at that, I do assure you." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waring raised her eyes and looked steadily for a moment or two +into the young man's face. +</P> + +<P> +"A dollar and thirty cents," she repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am. A dollar thirty," was the now assured answer. "How many +yards shall I measure off for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want about twelve yards." +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't a cheaper piece of goods in market," said the young +man, as he put his scissors into the silk—"not a cheaper piece, I +do assure you. I had a large stock of these silks at the opening of +the season, and sold two-thirds of them at a dollar and a half. But, +as they are nearly closed out, I am selling the remainder at a +trifle above cost. Can I show you any thing else, ma'am?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not to-day, I believe," replied Mrs. Waring, as she took out her +purse. "How much does it come to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Twelve yards at one dollar and thirty cents—just fifteen dollars +and sixty cents," said Allen. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Waring counted out the money, and, as she handed it to the +young man, fixed her eyes again searchingly upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I send it home for you?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No—I will take it myself," said Mrs. Waring, coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you been buying, aunt?" inquired Fanny, when Mrs. Waring +had returned home with her purchase. +</P> + +<P> +"A silk dress. And I want to know what you think of my bargain?" +</P> + +<P> +The silk was opened, and Fanny and her mother examined and admired +it. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you pay for it, sister?" asked Mrs. Lovering, the mother +of Fanny. +</P> + +<P> +"A dollar and thirty cents," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a dollar thirty?" Marked surprise was indicated. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Don't you think it cheap?" +</P> + +<P> +"Cheap!" said Fanny. "It isn't worth over a dollar at the outside. +Mr. Allen has been selling the same goods at ninety and +ninety-five." +</P> + +<P> +"You must certainly be in error," replied Mrs. Waring. +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all," was the positive assertion. "Where did you get the +silk?" +</P> + +<P> +A somewhat indefinite answer was given; to which Fanny returned— +</P> + +<P> +"I only wish we had known your intention. Mother would have gone +with you to Edward's store. It is too bad that you should have been +so cheated. The person who sold you the silk is no better than +downright swindler." +</P> + +<P> +"If it is as you say," replied Mrs. Waring, calmly, "he is not an +honest man. He saw that I was a stranger, ignorant of current +prices, and he took advantage of the fact to do me a wrong. I am +more grieved for his sake than my own. To me, he loss is only a few +dollars; to him—alas! by what rule can we make the estimate?" +</P> + +<P> +Much more was said, not needful here to repeat. In the evening, +Edward Allen called to see Fanny, who spoke of the purchase made by +Mrs. Waring. Her aunt was present. The silk was produced in evidence +of the fact that she had been most shamefully wronged by some +storekeeper. +</P> + +<P> +"For what can you sell goods of a similar quality?" was the direct +question of Fanny. +</P> + +<P> +The moment Allen saw the piece of silk, he recognised it as the same +he had sold in the morning. Turning quickly, and with a flushing +countenance, to that part of the room where Mrs. Waring sat, partly +in the shadow, he became at once conscious of the fact that she was +the purchaser. The eyes of Fanny followed those of the lover, and +then came back to his face. She saw the o'ermantling blush; the +sudden loss of self-possession, the quailing of his glance beneath +the fixed look of Mrs. Waring. At once the whole truth flashed upon +her mind, and starting up, she said, in a blended voice of grief and +indignation— +</P> + +<P> +"Surely, surely, Edward, you are not the man!" +</P> + +<P> +Before Allen could reply, Mrs. Waring said firmly: "Yes, it is too +true. He is the man!" +</P> + +<P> +At this, Fanny grew deadly pale, staggered toward her mother, and +sunk, sobbing wildly, upon her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +Too much excited and confused for coherent explanation, and too +clearly conscious of his mean dishonesty toward a stranger, Allen +attempted no vindication nor excuse, lest matters should assume even +a worse aspect. A moment or two he stood irresolute, and then +retired from the house. As he did so, Mr. Lovering entered the room +where this little scene had just transpired, and was quite startled +at the aspect of affairs. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this? What has happened? Fanny, child, what in the name of +wonder is the matter? Where's Edward?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Lovering spoke hurriedly. As soon as practicable, the whole +affair was related. +</P> + +<P> +"And is that all?" exclaimed Mr. Lovering, in surprise. "Pooh! pooh! +I'm really astonished! I thought that some dreadful thing had +happened." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you regard this as a very serious matter?" inquired Mrs. +Waring. +</P> + +<P> +"Serious? No! It's a thing of every day occurrence. If you are not a +judge of the goods you attempt to purchase, you must expect to pay +for your ignorance. Shopkeepers have to make up their ratio of +profits in the aggregate sales of the day. Sometimes they have to +sell a sharp customer at cost, rather than lose the sale; and this +must be made up on some one like you." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a serious matter," replied Fanny's aunt, "to discover that the +betrothed of your daughter is a dishonest man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense! nonsense! you don't know what you are talking about," +said Mr. Lovering, fretfully. "He's shrewd and sharp, as every +business-man who expects to succeed must be. As to his trade +operations, Fanny has nothing to do with them. He'll make her a kind +husband, and provide for her handsomely. What more can she ask?" +</P> + +<P> +"A great deal more," replied Mrs. Waring, firmly. +</P> + +<P> +"What more, pray?" +</P> + +<P> +"A husband, in whose high moral virtues, and unselfish regard for +the right, she can unerringly confide. One who will never, in his +eager desire to secure for himself some personal end or +gratification, forget what is due to the tender, confiding wife who +has placed all that is dear to her in his guardianship. Brother, +depend upon it, the man who deliberately wrongs another to gain an +advantage to himself, will never, in marriage, make a truly virtuous +woman happy. This I speak thoughtfully and solemnly; and I pray you +take it to heart, ere conviction of what I assert comes upon you too +late. But, I may have said too much. Forgive my plain speaking. From +the fulness of the heart is this utterance." +</P> + +<P> +And so saying, Mrs. Waring passed from the room, and left the +parents of Fanny alone with their weeping child. Few words were +spoken by either Mr. or Mrs. Lovering. Something in the last remarks +of Mrs. Waring had startled their minds into new convictions. As for +the daughter, she soon retired to her own apartment, and did not +join the family again until the next morning. Then, her sad eyes and +colorless face too plainly evidenced a night of sleeplessness and +suffering. +</P> + +<P> +By a kind of tacit consent on the part of each member of the family, +no allusion, whatever, was made to the occurrences of the day +previous. Evening came, but not as usual came Edward Allen. The next +day, and the next went by, without his accustomed appearance. For a +whole week his visits were omitted. +</P> + +<P> +Grievous was the change which, in that time, had become visible in +Fanny Lovering. The very light of her life seemed to go out +suddenly; and, for a while, she had groped about in thick darkness. +A few feeble rays were again becoming visible; but from a quarter of +the heavens where she had not expected light. Wisely, gently, and +unobtrusively had Mrs. Waring, during this period of gloom and +distress, cast high truths into the mind of her suffering niece—and +from these, as stars in the firmament of thought, came the rays by +which she was able to see a path opening before her. When, at the +end of the tenth day of uncertainty, came a note from Allen, in +these brief words: "If it is Miss Lovering's wish to be free from +her engagement, a word will annul the contract"—she replied, within +ten minutes, "Let the contract be annulled; you are free." +</P> + +<P> +Two weeks later, and Mr. Lovering brought home the intelligence that +Allen was to be married in a few days to a certain Miss Jerrold, +daughter of a man reputed wealthy. +</P> + +<P> +"To Miss Jerrold! It cannot be!" said Mrs. Lovering in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"I will not believe it, father." Fanny spoke with quivering lips and +a choking voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is Miss Jerrold?" asked Mrs. Waring. +</P> + +<P> +"A coarse, vulgar-minded girl, of whom many light things have been +said," replied Mrs. Lovering, indignantly. "But her father is rich, +and she is an only child." +</P> + +<P> +"He never loved you, dear," said Mrs. Waring to Fanny about a week +later, as the yet suffering girl laid her tearful face on her bosom. +The news had just come that Miss Jerrold was the bride of Allen. The +frame of the girl thrilled for a moment or two; then all was calm, +and she replied— +</P> + +<P> +"Not as I wished to be loved. O aunt! what an escape I have made! I +look down the fearful gulf on the very brink of which my feet were +arrested, and shudder to the heart's core. If he could take her, he +never could have appreciated me. Something more than maiden purity +and virtue attracted him. Ah! how could my instincts have been so at +fault!" +</P> + +<P> +"Dear child," said Mrs. Waring, earnestly, "there can be no true +love, as I have before said to you, without an appreciation of +quality. A fine person, agreeable manners, social position—in a +word, all external advantages and attractions are nothing, unless +virtue be in the heart. It is a man's virtues that a woman must +love, if she loves truly. If she assumes the possession of moral +wisdom, without undoubting evidence, she is false to herself. To +marry under such circumstances is to take a fearful risk. Alas! how +many have repented through a long life of wretchedness. Can a true +woman love a man who lacks principle—who will sacrifice honour for +a few paltry dollars—who will debase himself for gain—whose gross +sensuality suffocates all high, spiritual love? No! no! It is +impossible! And she who unites herself with such a man, must either +shrink, grovelling, down to his mean level, or be inconceivably +wretched." +</P> + +<P> +Two years later, and results amply justified the timely +interposition of Mrs. Waring, and demonstrated the truth of her +positions. Her beautiful, true-hearted niece has become the bride of +a man possessing all the external advantages sought to be obtained +by Mr. and Mrs. Lovering in the proposed marriage with Mr. Allen; +and what is more and better, of one whose love of truth and goodness +is genuine, and whose appreciation of his wife rests on a perception +of her womanly virtues. As years pass, and their knowledge of each +other becomes more intimate, their union will become closer and +closer, until affection and thought become so blended, that they +will act in all their mutual life-relations as one. +</P> + +<P> +Alas! how different it is already with Edward Allen and the woman he +led to the altar, where each made false vows the one to the other. +There were no qualities to be loved; and to each, person and +principles soon grew repellant. Through sharp practices in business, +Allen is rapidly adding to the fortune already acquired by trade and +marriage; but, apart from the love of accumulation, which keeps his +mind active and excited during business hours, he has no pleasure in +life. He does not love the woman who presides in his elegant home, +and she affects nothing in regard to him. They only tolerate each +other for appearance sake. Sometimes, Fanny Lovering, now Mrs. ——, +meets them in public; but never without an almost audibly breathed +"Thank God, that I am not in her place!" as her eyes rest upon the +countenance of Allen, in which evil and selfish purposes have +already stamped their unmistakable meanings. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="deed"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BLESSING OF A GOOD DEED. +</H3> + +<P> +"I SHOULD like to do that, every day, for a year to come," said Mr. +William Everett, rubbing his hands together quickly, in +irrepressible pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Everett was a stock and money broker, and had just made an +"operation," by which a clear gain of two thousand dollars was +secured. He was alone in his office: or, so much alone as not to +feel restrained by the presence of another. And yet, a pair of dark, +sad eyes were fixed intently upon his self-satisfied countenance, +with an expression, had he observed it, that would, at least, have +excited a moment's wonder. The owner of this pair of eyes was a +slender, rather poorly dressed lad, in his thirteenth year, whom Mr. +Everett had engaged, a short time previously, to attend in his +office and run upon errands. He was the son of a widowed mother, now +in greatly reduced circumstances. His father had been an early +friend of Mr. Everett. It was this fact which led to the boy's +introduction into the broker's office. +</P> + +<P> +"Two thousand dollars!" The broker had uttered aloud his +satisfaction; but now he communed with himself silently. "Two +thousand dollars! A nice little sum that for a single day's work. I +wonder what Mr. Jenkins will say tomorrow morning, when he hears of +such an advance in these securities?" +</P> + +<P> +From some cause, this mental reference to Mr. Jenkins did not +increase our friend's state of exhilaration. Most probably, there +was something in the transaction by which he had gained so handsome +a sum of money, that, in calmer moments, would not bear too close a +scrutiny—something that Mr. Everett would hardly like to have +blazoned forth to the world. Be this as it may, a more sober mood, +in time, succeeded, and although the broker was richer by two +thousand dollars than when he arose in the morning, he was certainly +no happier. +</P> + +<P> +An hour afterward, a business friend came into the office of Mr. +Everett and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Have you heard about Cassen?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; what of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's said to be off to California with twenty thousand dollars in +his pockets more than justly belongs to him." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" +</P> + +<P> +"Too true, I believe. His name is in the list of passengers who left +New York in the steamer yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett, who, by this time, was very +considerably excited. +</P> + +<P> +"He owes you, does he?" said the friend. +</P> + +<P> +"I lent him three hundred dollars only day before yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"A clear swindle." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is. Oh, if I could only get my hands on him!". +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Everett's countenance, as he said this, did not wear a very +amiable expression. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't get excited about it," said the other. "I think he has let +you off quite reasonably. Was that sum all he asked to borrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I know two at least, who are poorer by a couple of thousands by his +absence." +</P> + +<P> +But Mr. Everett was excited. For half an hour after the individual +left who had communicated this unpleasant piece of news, the broker +walked the floor of his office with compressed lips, a lowering +brow, and most unhappy feelings. The two thousand dollars gain in no +way balanced in his mind the three hundred lost. The pleasure +created by the one had not penetrated deep enough to escape +obliteration by the other. +</P> + +<P> +Of all this, the boy with the dark eyes had taken quick cognizance. +And he comprehended all. Scarcely a moment had his glance been +removed from the countenance or form of Mr. Everett, while the +latter walked with uneasy steps the floor of his office. +</P> + +<P> +As the afternoon waned, the broker's mind grew calmer. The first +excitement produced by the loss, passed away; but it left a sense of +depression and disappointment that completely shadowed his feelings. +</P> + +<P> +Intent as had been the lad's observation of his employer during all +this time, it is a little remarkable that Mr. Everett had not once +been conscious of the fact that the boy's eyes were steadily upon +him. In fact he had been, as was usually the case too much absorbed +in things concerning himself to notice what was peculiar to another, +unless the peculiarity were one readily used to his own advantage. +</P> + +<P> +"John," said Mr. Everett, turning suddenly to the boy, and +encountering his large, earnest eyes, "take this note around to Mr. +Legrand." +</P> + +<P> +John sprang to do his bidding; received the note and was off with +unusual fleetness. But the door which closed upon his form did not +shut out the expression of his sober face and humid glance from the +vision of Mr. Everett. In fact, from some cause, tears had sprung to +the eyes of the musing boy at the very moment he was called upon to +render a service; and, quicker than usual though his motions were, +he had failed to conceal them. +</P> + +<P> +A new train of thought now entered the broker's mind. This child of +his old friend had been taken into his office from a kind of +charitable feeling—though of very low vitality. He paid him a +couple of dollars a week, and thought little more, about him or his +widowed mother. He had too many important interests of his own at +stake, to have his mind turned aside for a trifling matter like +this. But now, as the image of that sad face—for it was unusually +sad at the moment when Mr. Everett looked suddenly toward the +boy—lingered in his mind, growing every moment more distinct, and +more touchingly beautiful, many considerations of duty and humanity +were excited. He remembered his old friend, and the pleasant hours +they had spent together in years long since passed, ere generous +feelings had hardened into ice, or given place to all-pervading +selfishness. He remembered, too, the beautiful girl his friend had +married, and how proudly that friend presented her to their little +world as his bride. The lad had her large, dark, spiritual +eyes—only the light of joy had faded therefrom, giving place to a +strange sadness. +</P> + +<P> +All this was now present to the mind of Mr. Everett, and though he +tried once or twice during the boy's absence to obliterate these +recollections, he was unable to do so. +</P> + +<P> +"How is your mother, John?" kindly asked the broker, when the lad +returned from his errand. +</P> + +<P> +The question was so unexpected, that it confused him. +</P> + +<P> +"She's well—thank you, sir. No—not very well, either—thank you, +sir." +</P> + +<P> +And the boy's face flushed, and his eyes suffused. +</P> + +<P> +"Not very well, you say?" Mr. Everett spoke with kindness, and in a +tone of interest. "Not sick, I hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; not very sick. But"—— +</P> + +<P> +"But what, John," said Mr., Everett, encouragingly. +</P> + +<P> +"She's in trouble," half stammered the boy, while the colour +deepened on his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, indeed? I'm sorry for that. What is the trouble, John?" +</P> + +<P> +The tears which John had been vainly striving to repress now gushed +over his face, and, with a boyish shame for the weakness, he turned +away and struggled for a time with his overmastering feelings. Mr. +Everett was no little moved by so unexpected an exhibition. He +waited with a new-born consideration for the boy, not unmingled with +respect, until a measure of calmness was restored. +</P> + +<P> +"John," he then said, "if your mother is in trouble, it may be in my +power to relieve her." +</P> + +<P> +"O sir!" exclaimed the lad eagerly, coming up to Mr. Everett, and, +in the forgetfulness of the moment, laying his small hand upon that +of his employer, "if you will, you can." +</P> + +<P> +Hard indeed would have been the heart that could have withstood the +appealing, eyes lifted by John Levering to the face of Mr. Everett. +But Mr. Everett had not a hard heart. Love of self and the world had +encrusted it with indifference toward others, but the crust was now +broken through. +</P> + +<P> +"Speak freely, my good lad," said he, kindly. "Tell me of your +mother. What is her trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"We are very poor, sir." Tremulous and mournful was the boy's voice. +"And mother isn't well. She does all she can; and my wages help a +little. But there are three of us children; and I am the oldest. +None of the rest can earn any thing. Mother couldn't help getting +behind with the rent, sir, because she hadn't the money to pay it +with. This morning, the man who owns the house where we live came +for some money, and when mother told him that she had none, he got, +oh, so angry! and frightened us all. He said, if the rent wasn't +paid by to-morrow, he'd turn us all into the street. Poor mother! +She went to bed sick." +</P> + +<P> +"How much does your mother owe the man?" asked Mr. Everett. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's a great deal, sir. I'm afraid she'll never be able to pay +it; and I don't know what we'll do." +</P> + +<P> +"How much?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fourteen dollars, sir," answered the lad. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that all?" And Mr. Everett thrust his hand into his pocket. +"Here are twenty dollars. Run home to your mother, and give them to +her with my compliments." +</P> + +<P> +The boy grasped the money eagerly, and, as he did so, in an +irrepressible burst of gratitude, kissed the hand from which he +received it. He did not speak, for strong emotion choked all +utterance; but Mr. Everett saw his heart in his large, wet eyes, and +it was overflowing with thankfulness. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay a moment," said the broker, as John Levering was about passing +through the door. "Perhaps I had better write a note to your +mother." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you would, sir," answered the boy, as he came slowly back. +</P> + +<P> +A brief note was written, in which Mr. Everett not only offered +present aid, but promised, for the sake of old recollections that +now were crowding fast upon his mind, to be the widow's future +friend. +</P> + +<P> +For half an hour after the lad departed, the broker sat musing, with +his eyes upon the floor. His thoughts were clear, and his feelings +tranquil. He had made, on that day, the sum of two thousand dollars +by a single transaction, but the thought of this large accession to +his worldly goods did not give him a tithe of the pleasure he +derived from the bestowal of twenty dollars. He thought, too, of the +three hundred dollars he had lost by a misplaced confidence; yet, +even as the shadow cast from that event began to fall upon his +heart, the bright face of John Levering was conjured up by fancy, +and all was sunny again. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Everett went home to his family on that evening, a +cheerful-minded man. Why? Not because he was richer by nearly two +thousand dollars. That circumstance would have possessed no power to +lift him above the shadowed, fretful state which he loss of three +hundred dollars had produced. Why? He had bestowed of his abundance, +and thus made suffering hearts glad; and the consciousness of this +pervaded his bosom with a warming sense of delight. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it is, that true benevolence carries with it, ever a double +blessing. Thus it is, that in giving, more is often gained than in +eager accumulation or selfish withholding. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="doctor"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PAYING THE DOCTOR. +</H3> + +<P> +AFTER a day of unusual anxiety and fatigue, Dr. Elton found himself +snugly wrapped up in a liberal quantity of blankets and bed-quilts, +just as the clock struck twelve one stormy night in February. For +over half an hour he had lain awake, racking his brain in reference +to two or three critical cases which were on his hands; but tired +nature could keep up no longer, and the sweet oblivion of sleep was +stealing over his senses. But just as he had lost himself, the bell +over his head began to ring furiously, and brought him into the +middle of the floor in an instant. Pushing his head out of the +window, he interrogated the messenger below, just too late to save +that individual the trouble of giving the bell-rope another violent +demonstration of his skill. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Marvel wants you to come and see Charley immediately," replied +the messenger. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with Charley?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's got the croup, I believe." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him I'll be there in a moment," said Dr. Elton, drawing in his +head. Hurrying on his clothes, he descended to his office, and, +possessing himself of some necessary medicines, it being too late +for the family to send out a prescription, wrapped his cloak around +him, and turned out into the storm. +</P> + +<P> +It was at least half a mile to the residence of Mr. Marvel, and by, +the time the doctor arrived there, he was cold, wet, and +uncomfortable both in mind and body. Ascending to the chamber, he +was not a little surprised to find Charley, a bright little fellow +of some two years old, sitting up in his crib as lively as a +cricket. +</P> + +<P> +"O doctor! we've been <I>so</I> frightened!" said Mrs. Marvel, as Dr. +Elton entered. "We thought Charley had the croup, he breathed so +loud. But he don't seem to get any worse. What do you think of him, +doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Elton felt his pulse, listened to his respiration, examined the +appearance of his skin, and then said, emphatically— +</P> + +<P> +"I think you'd better all be in bed!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's better to be scared than hurt, doctor," responded Mr. Marvel. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" ejaculated Dr. Elton. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think you'd better give him something, doctor?" said Mrs. +Marvel. +</P> + +<P> +"What for, ma'am?" +</P> + +<P> +"To keep him from having the croup. Don't you think he's threatened +with it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not half as much as I am," replied the doctor, who made a quick +retreat, fearing that he would give way too much to his irritated +feelings, and offend a family who were able to pay. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, on the debtor side of his ledger, under the name of +Mr. Marvel, Dr. Elton made this entry; <I>To one night-visit to son,</I> +$5. "And it's well for me that he's able to pay," added the doctor, +mentally, as he replaced the book in the drawer from which he had +taken it. Scarcely had this necessary part of the business been +performed, when the same messenger who had summoned him the night +before, came post-haste into the office, with the announcement that +Mrs. Marvel wanted him to come there immediately, as Charley had got +a high fever. +</P> + +<P> +Obedient to the summons, Dr. Elton soon made his appearance, and +found both Mr. and Mrs. Marvel greatly concerned about their little +boy. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm <I>so</I> 'fraid of the scarlet fever, doctor!" said Mrs. Marvel. +"Do you think it's any thing like that?" she continued with much +anxiety, turning upon Charley a look of deep maternal affection. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Elton felt of Charley's pulse, and looked at his tongue, and +then wrote a prescription in silence. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked the father, much +concerned. +</P> + +<P> +"He's not dangerous, sir. Give him this, and if he should grow +worse, send for me." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor bowed and departed, and the fond parents sent off for the +medicine. It was in the form of a very small dose of rhubarb, and +poor Charley had to have his nose held tight, and the nauseous stuff +poured down his throat. In the afternoon, when the doctor called, on +being sent for, there were some slight febrile symptoms, consequent +upon excitement and loss of rest. The medicine, contrary to his +expectation, heightened, instead of allaying these; and long before +nightfall he was summoned again to attend his little patient. Much +to his surprise, he found him with a hot skin, flushed face, and +quickened pulse. Mrs. Marvel was in a state of terrible alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew there was more the matter with him than you thought for, +doctor!" said the mother, while Dr. Elton examined his patient. "You +thought it was nothing, but I knew better. If you'd only prescribed +last night, as I wanted you to, all this might have been saved." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be alarmed, madam," said the doctor, "there is nothing +serious in this fever. It will soon subside." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Marvel shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the scarlet fever, doctor, I know it is!" said she, +passionately, bursting into tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me beg of you, madam, not to distress yourself. I assure you +there is no danger!" +</P> + +<P> +"So you said last night, doctor; and just see how much worse he is +getting!" +</P> + +<P> +As Dr. Elton was generally a man of few words, he said no more, but +wrote a prescription, and went away, promising, however, at the +earnest request of Mrs. Marvel, to call again that night. +</P> + +<P> +About nine o'clock he called in, and found Charley's fever in no +degree abated. Mrs. Marvel was in tears, and her husband pacing the +floor in a state of great uneasiness. +</P> + +<P> +"O doctor, he'll die, I'm sure he'll die!" said Mrs. Marvel, weeping +bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be alarmed, my dear madam," replied the doctor. "I assure you +it is nothing serious." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm 'sure it's the scarlet fever! It's all about now." +</P> + +<P> +"No, madam, I am in earnest when I tell you it is nothing of the +kind. His throat is not in the least sore." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, doctor, it is sore!" +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" responded the doctor, examining Charley's mouth +and throat, which showed not the least symptom of any irritation of +the mucous membrane. "It can't be sore from any serious cause. Some +trifling swelling of the glands is all that can occasion it, if any +exist." +</P> + +<P> +Thus assured, and in a positive manner, Mrs. Marvel's alarm in some +degree abated, and after ordering a warm bath, the doctor retired. +</P> + +<P> +About three o'clock the doctor was again sent for in great haste. On +entering the chamber of his little patient, he found his fever all +gone, and he in a pleasant sleep. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked Mrs. Marvel, in a low, +anxious whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"I think he's doing as well as he can." +</P> + +<P> +"But a'n't it strange, doctor, that he should breathe so low? He +looks so pale, and lays so quiet! Are you sure he's not dying?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dying!" exclaimed Dr. Elton,—"he's no more dying than you are! +Really, Mrs. Marvel, yon torment yourself with unnecessary fears! +Nature is only a little exhausted from struggling with the fever, he +will be like a new person by morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Do not mistake the case, doctor, for we are very much concerned," +said Mr. Marvel. +</P> + +<P> +"I do assure you, sir, that I understand the case precisely; and you +must believe me, when I tell you that no patient was ever in a +better way than your little boy." +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, among other charges made by Dr. Elton, were two +against Mr. Marvel, as follows: <I>To four visits to son,</I> $4. <I>To one +night-visit to son,</I> $5. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bad customer!" said the doctor, with a smile, as he ran up +the whole account, and then closed the book. +</P> + +<P> +In the constant habit of sending for the doctor on every trifling +occasion, whether it occurred at noonday or midnight, it is not to +be wondered at that a pretty large bill should find its way to Mr. +Marvel at the end of the year. And this was not the worst of it; the +health of his whole family suffered in no slight degree from the +fact of each individual being so frequently under the influence of +medicine. Poor Charley was victimized almost every week; and, +instead of being a fresh, hearty boy, began to show a pale, thin +face, and every indication of a weakened vital action. This +appearance only increased the evil, for both parents, growing more +anxious in consequence, were more urgent to have him placed under +treatment. Dr. Elton sometimes remonstrated with them, but to no +purpose; and yielding to their ignorance and their anxiety, became a +party in the destruction of the boy's health. +</P> + +<P> +"What is that, my dear?" asked Mrs. Marvel of her husband, some ten +months after their introduction to the reader, as the latter +regarded, with no pleasant countenance, a small piece of paper which +he held in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it's Dr. Elton's bill." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! How much is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"One hundred and fifty dollars!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, husband!" +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"One hundred and fifty dollars, did you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, one hundred and fifty dollars. A'n't it outrageous?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's scandalous! It's downright swindling! I'd never pay it in the +world! Who ever heard of such a thing! One hundred and fifty dollars +for one year's attendance! Good gracious!"—and Mrs. Marvel held up +her hands, and lifted her eyes in profound astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't understand it!" said Mr. Marvel. "Why, nobody's had a spell +of sickness in the family for the whole year. Charley's been a +little sick once or twice; but nothing of much consequence. There +must be something wrong about it. I'll go right off and see him, and +have an understanding about it at once." +</P> + +<P> +Carrying out his resolution on the instant, Mr. Marvel left the +house and proceeded with rapid steps toward the office of Dr. Elton. +He found that individual in. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning Mr. Marvel! How do you do to-day?" said the doctor, +who understood from his countenance that something was wrong, and +had an instinctive perception of its nature. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, doctor! I got your bill to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; I sent it out." +</P> + +<P> +"But a'n't there something wrong about it, doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I presume not. I make my charges carefully, and draw off my +bills in exact accordance with them." +</P> + +<P> +"But there must be, doctor. How in the world could you make a bill +of one hundred and fifty dollars against me? I've had no serious +sickness in my family." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet, Mr. Marvel, I have been called in almost every week, and +sometimes three or four times in as many days." +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll show you my ledger, if that will satisfy you, where every +visit is entered." +</P> + +<P> +"No, it's no use to do that. I know that you have been called in +pretty often, but not frequently enough to make a bill like this." +</P> + +<P> +"How many night-visits do you suppose I have made to your family, +during the year?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I don't know. Not more than three or four." +</P> + +<P> +"I've made ten!" +</P> + +<P> +"You must be mistaken, doctor." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember that I was called in last February, when you +thought Charley had the croup?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And the night after?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That's but two." +</P> + +<P> +"And the night you thought he had the measles?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And the night after?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But that's only four." +</P> + +<P> +"And the three times he fell out of bed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not three times, doctor!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it was three times. Don't you recollect the knob on his head?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"And the sprained finger?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And the bruised cheek?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I believe you are right about that, doctor. But that don't +make ten times." +</P> + +<P> +"You have not forgotten, of course, the night he told you he had +swallowed a pin?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," said the father, turning pale. "Do you think there is +any danger to be apprehended from its working its way into the +heart, doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +"None at, all, I should think. And you remember"— +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind, doctor, I suppose you are right about that. But how can +ten visits make one hundred and fifty dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +"They will make fifty, though, and that is one-third of the bill." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't pretend to charge five dollars a visit, though, doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +"For all visits after ten o'clock at night, we are allowed by law to +charge five dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Outrageous!" +</P> + +<P> +"Would you get up out of your warm bed after midnight, turn out in a +December storm, and walk half a mile for five dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't say that I would. But then it's your business." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it is, and I must be paid for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Any how, doctor, that don't account for the whole of this +exorbitant bill." +</P> + +<P> +"But one hundred day and evening visits here on my ledger will, +though." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't pretend to say you have paid my family a hundred visits, +certainly?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will give you day and date for them, if necessary." +</P> + +<P> +"No, it's no use to do that," said Mr. Marvel, whose memory began to +be a little more active. "I'll give you a hundred dollars, and say +no more about it; that is enough, in all conscience." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't do any such thing, Mr. Marvel. I have charged you what was +right, and can take nothing off. What would you think of a man who +had made a bill at your store of one hundred and fifty dollars, if +he were to offer you one hundred when he came to pay, and ask for a +receipt in full?" +</P> + +<P> +"But that a'n't to the point." +</P> + +<P> +"A'n't it, though? I should like to hear of a case more applicable. +But it's no use to multiply words about the matter. My bill is +correct, and I cannot take a dollar off of it." +</P> + +<P> +"It's the last bill you ever make out of me, remember that, doctor!" +said Mr. Marvel, rising, and leaving the office in a state of angry +excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what does he say?" asked Mrs. Marvel, who had waited for her +husband's return with some interest. +</P> + +<P> +"He tried to beat me down that the bill was all right; but I'm too +old a child for that. Why, would you believe it?—he has charged +five dollars for every night-visit." +</P> + +<P> +"That's no better than highway robbery." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit. But it's the last money he ever gets out of me." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd never call him in, I know. He must think we're made of money." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I suppose we're the first family he's had who wasn't poor, and +he wanted to dig as deep as possible. I hate such swindling, and if +it wasn't for having a fuss I'd never pay him a dollar." +</P> + +<P> +"He's charged us for every poor family in the neighbourhood, I +suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt of it. I've heard of these tricks before; but it's the +last time I'll submit to have them played off upon me." +</P> + +<P> +The visit of Mr. Marvel somewhat discomposed the feelings of Dr. +Elton, and he had begun to moralize upon the unthankful position he +held in the community, when he was aroused from his reverie by the +entrance of a servant from one of the principal hotels, with a +summons to attend immediately a young lady who was thought to be +exceedingly ill. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is she?" asked the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +"She is the daughter of Mr. Smith, a merchant from the East." +</P> + +<P> +"Is any one with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, her father." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him I will be there immediately." +</P> + +<P> +In the course of fifteen minutes Dr. Elton's carriage drove up to +the door of the hotel. He found his patient to be a young lady of +about seventeen, accompanied by her father, a middle-aged man, whose +feelings were much, and anxiously excited. +</P> + +<P> +At a glance, his practised eye detected symptoms of a serious +nature, and a closer examination of the case convinced him that all +his skill would be called into requisition. With a hot, dry skin, +slightly flushed face, parched lips, and slimy, furred tongue, there +was a dejection, languor, and slight indication of delirium—and +much apparent confusion of mind. Prescribing as he thought the case +required, he left the room, accompanied with the father. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, doctor, what do you think of her?" said Mr. Smith, with a +heavy, oppressed expiration. +</P> + +<P> +"She is ill, sir, and will require attention." +</P> + +<P> +"But, doctor, you don't think my child dangerous, do you?" said the +father with an alarmed manner. +</P> + +<P> +"It is right that you should know, sir, that your daughter is, to +all appearance, threatened with the typhus fever. But I don't think +there is any cause for alarm, only for great care in her physician +and attendants." +</P> + +<P> +"O doctor, can I trust her in your hands? But I am foolish; I know +that there is no one in this city of more acknowledged skill than +yourself. You must pardon a father's fears. Spare no attentions, +doctor—visit her at least twice every day, and you shall be well +paid for your attentions. Save my child for me, and I will owe you +eternal gratitude." +</P> + +<P> +"All that I can do for her, shall be done, sir," said Dr. Elton. +</P> + +<P> +Just relieved from the care of a dangerous case, in its healthy +change, Dr. Elton's mind had relaxed from the anxiety which too +frequently burdened it; for a physician's mind is always oppressed +while the issue, of life or death hangs upon his power to subdue a +disease, which may be too deeply seated to yield to the influence of +medicine. Now, all the oppressive sense of responsibility, the care, +the anxiety, were to be renewed, and felt with even a keener +concern. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening he called in, but there was no perceptible change, +except a slight aggravation of all the symptoms. The medicine had +produced no visible salutary effect. During the second day, there +was exhibited little alteration, but on the morning of the third +day, symptoms of a more decided character had supervened—such as +suffused and injected eyes, painful deglutition, an oppression in +the chest, accompanied with a short, dry cough, pains in the back, +loins, and extremities; and a soreness throughout the whole body. +These had not escaped the father's observation, and with the most +painful anxiety did he watch the countenance of the physician while +he examined the case in its new presentation. Much as he tried to +control the expression of his face, he found it impossible. He felt +too deeply concerned, and was too conscious of the frequent +impotence of medicine, when administered with the most experienced +skill. +</P> + +<P> +In the afternoon he called again, and found the father, as usual, by +the bedside. His patient seemed to be in a narcotic sleep, and when +roused from it, complained of much giddiness, and soon sunk down +again into a state of torpor. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of her now, doctor?" asked the father, in a +hoarse whisper, on the physician's leaving the chamber of his +patient. +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible to form any correct idea respecting a case like +this. I have seen many much worse recover, and have no doubt, as far +as human calculation will go, that your daughter will get well. But +the fever is a tedious one, usually defying all attempts at breaking +it. It must run its course, which is usually some ten or fifteen +days. All we can do is to palliate, and then assist nature, when the +disease has abated its violence." +</P> + +<P> +It is not necessary to trace the progress of the disease from day to +day, until it reached its climax. When the fever did break, and a +soft, gentle moisture penetrated the skin, the patient had but a +spark of life remaining. +</P> + +<P> +At the close of the fifteenth day, when every symptom indicated that +convalescence or death would soon ensue, no one but a physician can +imagine the painful, restless anxiety, which was felt by Dr. Elton. +He took but little food, and slept hardly any during the whole +night, frequently starting from his brief periods of troubled +slumber, in consequence of great nervous excitement. +</P> + +<P> +Early in the morning he called at the room of his patient, +trembling, lest a first glance should dash every hope to the ground. +He entered softly, and perceived the father bending over her with a +pale anxious face. She was asleep. He took her hand, but let it drop +instantly. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter?" asked the father in an alarmed whisper, his +face growing paler. +</P> + +<P> +"She is safe?" responded the doctor, in a low whisper, every pulse +thrilling with pleasant excitement. +</P> + +<P> +The father clasped his hands, looked upward a moment, and then burst +into tears. +</P> + +<P> +"How can I ever repay you for your skill in saving my child!" he +said, after his feelings had grown calmer. +</P> + +<P> +It was nearly a month before the daughter was well enough to return +home, during most of which time Dr. Elton was in attendance. For +fifteen days he had attended twice a day regularly, and for nearly +as long a period once a day. +</P> + +<P> +While sitting in his office one day about three o'clock, waiting for +his carriage to come up to the door, Mr. Smith entered, and asked +for his bill, as he was about to leave. On examining his +account-book, Dr. Elton found that he had made about fifty visits, +and accordingly he made out his bill fifty dollars. +</P> + +<P> +"How much is this, doctor?" said Mr. Smith, eyeing the bill with +something of doubt in the expression of his countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty dollars, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty dollars! Why, surely, doctor, you are not going to take +advantage of me in that way?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand you, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I never heard of such an extravagant bill in my life. I have +my whole family attended at home for fifty dollars a year, and you +have not been visiting one of them much over a month." +</P> + +<P> +"Such as the bill is, you will have to pay it, sir. It is just, and +I shall not abate one dollar," responded Dr. Elton, considerably +irritated. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Smith drew out his pocket-book slowly, selected a fifty-dollar +bill from a large package, handed it to the doctor, took his +receipt, and rising to his feet, said emphatically— +</P> + +<P> +"I am a stranger, and you have taken advantage of me. But remember, +the gains of dishonesty will never prosper!" and turning upon his +heel, left the office. +</P> + +<P> +"Who would be a doctor?" murmured Dr. Elton, forcing the unpleasant +thoughts occasioned by the incident from his mind, and endeavouring +to fix it upon a case of more than usual interest which he had been +called to that day. +</P> + +<P> +A word to the wise is sufficient; it is therefore needless to +multiply scenes illustrative of the manner in which too many people +pay the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +When any one is sick, the doctor is sent for, and the family are all +impatient until he arrives. If the case is a bad one, he is looked +upon as a ministering angel; the patient's eye brightens when he +comes, and all in the house feel more cheerful for hours after. Amid +all kinds of weather, at all hours in the day or night, he obeys the +summons, and brings all his skill, acquired by long study, and by +much laborious practice, to bear upon the disease. But when the sick +person gets well, the doctor is forgotten; and when the bill +appears, complaint at its amount is almost always made; and too +frequently, unless he proceed to legal measures, it is entirely +withheld from him. These things ought not so to be. Of course, there +are many honourable exceptions; but every physician can +exclaim—"Would that their number was greater!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="boundboy"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LITTLE BOUND-BOY. +</H3> + +<P> +IN a miserable old house, in Commerce street, north of Pratt street +Baltimore,—there are fine stores there now—lived a shoemaker, +whose wife took a particular fancy to me as a doctor, (I never felt +much flattered by the preference,) and would send for me whenever +she was sick. I could do no less than attend her ladyship. For a +time I tried, by pretty heavy bills, to get rid of the honour; but +it wouldn't do. Old Maxwell, the husband, grumbled terribly, but +managed to keep out of my debt. He was the reputed master of his +house; but I saw enough to satisfy me that if he were master, his +wife was mistress of the master. +</P> + +<P> +Maxwell had three or four apprentices, out of whom he managed to get +a good deal of work at a small cost. Among these was a little +fellow, whose peculiarly delicate appearance often attracted my +attention. He seemed out of place among the stout, vulgar-looking +boys, who stitched and hammered away from morning until night in +their master's dirty shop. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you get that child?" I asked of the shoemaker one day. +</P> + +<P> +"Whom do you mean? Bill?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the little fellow you call Bill." +</P> + +<P> +"I took him out of pure charity. His mother died about a year and a +half ago, and if I hadn't taken him in, he would have gone to the +poor house as like as not." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was his mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"She was a poor woman, who sewed for the slopshops for a living—but +their pay won't keep soul and body together." +</P> + +<P> +"And so she died?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she died, and I took her child out of pure charity, as I have +said." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he bound to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. I never take a boy without having him bound." +</P> + +<P> +"What was his mother's name?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe they called her Mrs. Miller." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever meet with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No: but my wife knew her very well. She was a strange kind of +woman—feeling something above her condition, I should think. She +was always low-spirited, my wife says, but never complained about +any thing. Bill was her only child, and he used to go for her work, +and carry it home when it was finished. She sent him out, too, to +buy every thing. I don't believe she would have stirred beyond her +own door if she had starved to death." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pride, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +"Pride? Why should she be proud?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dear knows! Maybe she once belonged to the bettermost class of +people, and was afraid of meeting some of them in the street." +</P> + +<P> +This brief conversation awoke an interest in my mind for the lad. As +I left the shop, I met him at the door with a large bucket of water +in his hand—too heavy for his strength. I looked at him more +narrowly than I had ever done before. There was a feminine delicacy +about every feature of his face, unusual in boys who ordinarily +belong to the station he was filling. His eyes, too, had a softer +expression, and his brow was broader and fairer. The intentness with +which I looked at him, caused him to look at me as intently. What +thoughts were awakened in his mind I could not tell. I put my hand +upon his head, involuntarily; but did not speak to him; and then +passed on. I could not help turning to take another glance at the +boy. He had turned also. I saw that there were tears in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor fellow!" I murmured, "he is out of his place." I did, not go +back to speak to him, as I wished afterward that I had done, but +kept on my way. +</P> + +<P> +Not having occasion to visit the shoemaker's wife again for some +months, this boy did not, during the time, fall under my notice. It +was midwinter when I next saw him. +</P> + +<P> +I was preparing to go out one stormy morning in February, when a lad +came into my office. He was drenched to the skin by the rain, that +was driving fiercely along under the pressure of a strong +northeaster, and shivering with cold. His teeth chattered so that it +was some time before he could make known his errand. I noticed that +he was clad in a much worn suit of common corduroy, the cracks in +which, here and there, showed the red skin beneath, and proved +clearly enough that this was all that protected him from the bitter +cold. One of his shoes gaped widely at the toe; and the other was +run down at the heel so badly, that part of his foot and old ragged +stocking touched the floor. A common sealskin cap, with the front +part nearly torn off, was in his hand. He had removed this from his +head on entering, and stood, with his eyes now resting on mine, and +now dropping beneath my gaze, waiting for me to ask his errand. I +did not recognise him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, my little man," I said, "is any one sick?" +</P> + +<P> +"Please sir, Mr. Maxwell wants you to come down and see Johnny." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Maxwell! Do you live with Mr. Maxwell?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +I now recognized the lad. He was a good deal changed since I last +saw him, and changed for the worse. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter with Johnny?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe he's got the croup." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! Is he very sick?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. He can't hardly breathe at all, and goes all the time +just so—" Imitating the wheezing sound attendant upon constricted +respiration. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, my boy, I will be there in a little while, But, bless +me! you will get the croup as well as Johnny, if you go out in such +weather as this and have on no warmer clothing than covers you now. +Come up to the stove and warm yourself—you are shivering all over. +Why did not you bring an umbrella?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Maxwell never lets me take the umbreller," said the boy +innocently. +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't? But he sends you out in the rain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes—always. Sometimes I am wet all day." +</P> + +<P> +"Doesn't it make you sick?" +</P> + +<P> +"I feel bad, and ache all over sometimes after I have been wet; and +sometimes my face swells up and pains me so I can't sleep." +</P> + +<P> +"Do not your feet get very cold? Have you no better shoes than +these?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've got a better pair of shoes: but they hurt my feet so I can't +wear them. Thomas, one of the boys, gave me these old ones." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do they hurt your feet? Are they too small?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, I don't think they are. But my feet are sore." +</P> + +<P> +I feared as much as this. "What is the matter with your feet?" I +asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, sir. The boys say that nothing's the matter with +them, only they're a little snow-burnt." +</P> + +<P> +"How do they feel?" +</P> + +<P> +"They burn and itch, and are so tender I can hardly touch them. I +can't sleep at nights sometimes for the burning and itching." +</P> + +<P> +I examined the boy's feet, and found them red, shining and tumefied, +with other indications of a severe attack of chilblains. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you done for your feet?" I asked. "Does Mr. Maxwell know +they are so bad?" +</P> + +<P> +"I showed them to him, and he said it was only a snow-burn, and that +I must put my feet in snow and let it draw the cold out." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you do so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir, as long as I could bear it; but it hurt dreadful bad. Mr. +Maxwell said I didn't keep them in half long enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Were they better afterward?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir, I think they were; but I go out so much in the snow, and +get them wet so often, that they can't get well." +</P> + +<P> +"What is your name?" I asked. +</P> + +<P> +"William." +</P> + +<P> +"What else?" +</P> + +<P> +"William Miller." +</P> + +<P> +"Is your mother alive?" +</P> + +<P> +The tone and manner of the boy, when he gave a half inarticulate +negative, made me regret having asked the question. It was a +needless one, for already knew that his mother was dead. It was +meant, however, as a preliminary inquiry, and, having been made, I +proceeded to question him, in order to learn something, briefly, of +his history. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you born in Baltimore?" I continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any relatives here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. P—— W—— is my uncle." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. W——?" I said, in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir—mother said he was my uncle." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he your mother's brother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he ever come to see your mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir, he never came near us, and mother never went to see him." +</P> + +<P> +"What was the reason?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, sir." +</P> + +<P> +The child continued to look intently in my face, but I questioned +him no further. I knew Mr. W—— very well, and settled it at once in +my mind that I would call and see him about the lad. I stood musing +for some moments after the boy's last reply, and then said— +</P> + +<P> +"Tell Mr. Maxwell, that I will call down in about half an hour: Run +home as quickly as you can, and try and keep out of the rain." +</P> + +<P> +The sad, rebuking earnestness with which the boy looked at me, when +I said this, touched my feelings. He had, evidently, expected more +than a mere expression of sympathy; but I did not think it right to +create any false hopes in his mind. I meant to do all I could to +relieve his wretched condition; but did not know how far I would be +successful. +</P> + +<P> +I found, on visiting the child of Maxwell, that I had quite a severe +case of croup on my hands. His respiration was very difficult, and +sounded as if the air were forced through a metallic tube. There was +a good deal of fever, and other unfavourable symptoms. The +albuminous secretion was large, and the formation of the false +membrane so rapid as to threaten suffocation. I resorted to the +usual treatment in such cases, and, happily, succeeded in producing +a healthy change in the course of a few hours. So urgent had been +the case, that, in attending to it, my mind had lost sight of the +little boy on my first and second visits. As I was leaving the house +on the morning succeeding the day on which I had been called in, I +met him coming along the passage with an armful of wood. The look he +gave me, as he passed, rebuked my forgetfulness, and forced me to +turn back and speak to his master. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, Maxwell," I said, speaking decidedly, but in a voice so +low that my words could not be heard distinctly by others in the +room—"you must take better care of that boy Bill, or you will get +into trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"How so, doctor? I am not aware that I ill-treat him," returned the +shoemaker, looking up with surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"He is not clothed warmly enough for such weather as this." +</P> + +<P> +"You must be mistaken. He has never complained of not feeling warm." +</P> + +<P> +I took hold of Maxwell's pantaloons. They were made of coarse, thick +cloth, and I perceived that there were thick woollen drawers under +them. +</P> + +<P> +"Take off these heavy trowsers and drawers," said I, and in place of +them put on a pair of half-worn corduroy pantaloons, "and go out of +doors and stand in the rain until you are drenched to the skin. The +experiment will enable you to decide for yourself whether Bill is +warmly enough clad." +</P> + +<P> +I spoke with earnestness. Either my manner, or what I said, produced +a strong effect upon the shoemaker. I could see that I had offended +him, and that he was struggling to keep down a feeling of anger that +was ready to pour itself forth upon me for having presumed to remark +upon and interfere with his business. +</P> + +<P> +"Understand me," said I, wishing to prevent the threatened outbreak +of passion, "I speak as a physician, and my duty as a physician +requires me to do so. The knowledge of, and the experience in +diseases, which I possess, enable me to understand better than other +men the causes that produce them, and to give, as I should give, to +the unthinking, a warning of danger. And this I give to you now." +</P> + +<P> +"All very well, doctor," returned Maxwell, "if you don't raise false +alarms." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think I have done so in the present case?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think any thing about it. I know you have." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you think the lad warmly enough clothed?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I did not think so, I would dress him more warmly." +</P> + +<P> +"You have on three times the thickness of clothing that he has." I +fixed my eyes intently on the man as I spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"And his blood is three times as warm as mine. I need not tell you +that, doctor." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"How do I know?" speaking contemptuously—"does not everybody know +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"How hot do you suppose your blood is?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us suppose it to be eighty degrees. Three times eighty would be +two hundred and forty. Water boils at two hundred and twelve. If it +be indeed true that the lad's blood is above the boiling-point, I +must agree with you that his clothes are quite sufficient to keep +out the cold at any season." +</P> + +<P> +"You understand me well enough, doctor," replied Maxwell, exhibiting +a good deal of confusion. "I mean that a boy's blood is much warmer +than a man's, which, with his greater activity, causes him to be +less affected by cold. I have seen a good deal of boys, and have +been a boy myself, and know all about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Generally speaking, what you affirm about the greater warmth of +young persons is true," I said to this. "But there are many +exceptions. It is true, where there is good health, good spirits, +plenty of good food, and activity. But it is not true where these +are lacking. Nor is it true in any case to the extent you seem to +imagine. Particularly is it not true in the case of the boy about +whom we are conversing." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not in his case, doctor? I can see no reason." +</P> + +<P> +"He has not the vital activity of most boys of his age, and +consequently not the warmth of body. His face is pale and thin, and +his limbs have not the fulness of youth. He has no activity in his +movements." +</P> + +<P> +"Because he is a lazy fellow," replied the shoemaker, knitting his +brows. "He wants the strap two or three times a day; that would make +his blood circulate freely enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Brutal wretch!" I could hardly keep from exclaiming. But for the +boy's sake I put a curb upon my feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"In doing so," I quietly replied, "you would be guilty of sad +cruelty and injustice. The lad can no more help what you call +laziness, than you could help being born with gray eyes. It his +natural bodily temperament. He has not the robust constitution we +see in most boys; and this is his misfortune, not his fault." +</P> + +<P> +Maxwell replied to this by pushing out his lips, drawing up his +chin, half closing his eyes, and nodding his head in a very +contemptuous manner; saying almost as plainly as words could express +it—"All gammon, doctor! You needn't try to come over me with that +kind of nonsense." +</P> + +<P> +Satisfied that it would be useless to say any thing more upon the +subject at that time, I turned away, remarking as I did so— +</P> + +<P> +"If you are not influenced by my advice in this matter, you may +chance to feel more potent reasons. A word to the wise is +sufficient." +</P> + +<P> +The shoemaker made no reply, and we parted. My first impression was +to go immediately to Mr. W—— and apprize him of the condition of +his nephew. But a little reflection convinced me that it would be +much better to make some previous inquiries in regard to his family, +and endeavour to ascertain the reason of his estrangement from his +sister. I would then be able to act with more certainty of success. +I soon obtained all the information I desired. The history was an +impressive one. I will give it as briefly as possible. +</P> + +<P> +Anna W——, at the age of twenty, was esteemed and beloved by all +who knew her. Her family was one of wealth and standing, and she +moved in our first circles. She had but one brother, to whom she was +tenderly attached. Philip was her elder by some years. Among the +many who sought the regard of Anna, was a young man named Miller, +who had been for years the intimate friend of her brother. Extremely +fond of his sister, and highly valuing his friend for his many +estimable qualities, Philip was more than gratified when he saw +evidences of attachment springing up between them. +</P> + +<P> +Besides Miller, Anna had another suitor, a young man named +Westfield, who had become quite intimate with her, but who had made +no open declaration of love before Miller came forward and offered +for her hand. Westfield loved Anna passionately, but hesitated to +declare his feelings, long after he had come to the conclusion that +without her for his companion through life, existence would be +undesirable. This arose from the fact of his not being certain in +regard to the maiden's sentiments, Anna was always kind, but +reserved. She was, he could see, ever pleased to meet him; but how +far this pleasure was the same that she experienced in meeting other +friends, he could not tell. While thus hesitating, business required +him to go to New Orleans, and spend some months there. Before +leaving he called three several times upon Miss W——, with the +intention of making known his sentiments, but each time shrank from +the avowal, and finally resolved that he would make the declaration +in writing immediately on his arrival at New Orleans. With this +object in view, he asked her if she were willing to correspond with +him. Anna hesitated a moment or two before replying, and then +assented with a blushing cheek. +</P> + +<P> +For some months before this, Miller had shown more than his usual +attentions to the sister of his friend; and these had been +sufficiently marked to attract Anna's notice. He was a man of +intelligence, fine attainments, honourable sentiments, and of good +personal appearance. To his attractions the maiden was by no means +insensible. But Westfield had a prior claim upon her heart—she +admired the former, but loved the latter unacknowledged to herself. +</P> + +<P> +Immediately on his arrival at New Orleans, Westfield wrote to Anna, +but did not speak of the true nature of his feelings. The letter +touched upon all subjects but the one nearest to his heart. Anna +replied to it briefly, and with evident reserve. This threw such a +damper upon the young man, that he did not write again for nearly +two months, and then not with the warmth and freedom that had +distinguished his first letter. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime, Miller grew more and more constant in his attentions to +Anna: To second these attentions, Philip W—— frequently alluded to +his friend in terms of admiration. Gradually Anna became interested +in the young man, and pleased whenever he made her a visit. When +Westfield asked the privilege of opening a correspondence with her, +she believed, from many corroborating circumstances, that he +designed formally addressing her, and that the correspondence would +lead to that result. But as his letters, with the lapse of time, +grew less and less frequent, and more constrained and formal, she +was led to form a different opinion. During all this time Miller's +attentions increased, and Anna's feelings became more and more +interested. Finally, an offer of marriage was made, and, after due +reflection accepted. Three days afterward Miss W—— received the +following letter:— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"NEW ORLEANS, June 8th, 18—. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MY DEAR ANNA, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"A letter from an intimate and mutual friend prompts me at once to +open to you my whole heart. For many months—nay, for more than a +year—I have loved you with an ardour that has made your image ever +present with me, sleeping or waking. Often and often have I resolved +to declare this sentiment, but a foolish weakness has hitherto kept +me silent; and now the danger of losing you constrains me to speak +out as abruptly as freely. When I asked the privilege of opening a +correspondence with you, it was that I might, in my very first +epistle, say what I am now saying; but the same weakness and +hesitation remained. Many times I wrote all I wished to say, folded +and sealed the letter, and—cast it into the flames. I had not the +courage to send it. Foolish weakness! I tremble to think of the +consequences that may follow. Dear Anna!—I will thus address you +until you forbid the tender familiarity, and bid my yearning heart +despair—Dear Anna! write me at once and let me know my fate. Do not +wait for a second post. Until I hear from you I shall be the most +unhappy of mortals. If your heart is still free—if no promise to +another has passed your lips, let me urge my suit by all the +tenderest, holiest, and purest, considerations. No one can love you +with a fervour and devotion surpassing mine; no heart can beat +responsive to your own more surely than mine; no one can cherish you +in his heart of hearts, until life shall cease, more tenderly than I +will cherish you. But I will write no more. Why need I? I shall +count the days and hours until your answer come. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Yours, in life and death, +<BR> +"H. WESTFIELD." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Tears gushed from the eyes of Anna W——, as she read the last line +of this unlooked for epistle, her whole frame trembled, and her +heart beat heavily in her bosom. It was a long time before she was +sufficiently composed to answer the letter. When she did answer, it +was, briefly, thus— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"BALTIMORE, June 28, 18—. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MR. H. WESTFIELD. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Dear Sir:—Had your letter of the 18th, come a week earlier, my +answer might have been different. Now I can only bid you forget me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Yours, &c. +<BR> +ANNA." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Forget you?" was the answer received to this. "Forget you? Bid me +forget myself! No, I can never forget you. A week!—a week earlier? +Why should a single week fix our fates for ever. You are not +married. That I learn from my friend. It need not, then, be too +late. If you love me, as I infer from your letter, throw yourself +upon the magnanimity of the man to whom you are betrothed, and he +will release you from your engagement. I know him. He is +generous-minded, and proud. Tell him he has not and cannot have your +whole heart. That will be enough. He will bid you be free." +</P> + +<P> +The reply of Anna was in these few words. "Henry Westfield; it is +too late. Do not write to me again. I cannot listen to such language +as you use to me without dishonour." +</P> + +<P> +This half-maddened the young man. He wrote several times urging Anna +by every consideration he could name to break her engagement with +Miller. But she laid his letters aside unanswered. +</P> + +<P> +An early day for the marriage was named. The stay of Westfield at +the South was prolonged several months beyond the time at first +determined upon. He returned to Baltimore a month after the proposed +union of Anna with Miller had been consummated. +</P> + +<P> +Although induced, from the blinding ardency of his feelings, to urge +Anna to break the engagement she had formed, this did not arise from +any want of regard in his mind to the sacredness of the marriage +relation. So suddenly had the intelligence of her contract with +Miller come upon him, coupled with the admission that if his +proposal had come a week earlier it might have been accepted, that +for a time his mind did not act with its usual clearness. But, when +the marriage of her he so idolized took place, Westfield, as a man +of high moral sense, gave up all hope, and endeavoured to banish +from his heart the image of one who had been so dearly beloved. On +his return to Baltimore, he did not attempt to renew his +acquaintance with Anna. This he deemed imprudent, as well as wrong. +But, as their circle of acquaintance was the same, and as the +husband and brother of Anna were his friends, it was impossible for +him long to be in the city without meeting, her. They met a few +weeks after his return, at the house of a friend who had a large +company. Westfield saw Anna at the opposite side of one of the +parlours soon after he came in. The question of leaving the house +came up and was some time debated. This he finally determined not to +do, for several reasons. He could not always avoid her; and the +attempt to do so would only make matters worse, for it would attract +attention and occasion remarks. But, although he remained with the +company, he preferred keeping as distant as possible from Anna. His +feelings were yet too strong. To meet her calmly was impossible, and +to meet her in any other way, would, he felt, be wrong. While he +thus thought and felt, the husband of Anna touched him on the arm +and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Come! I must introduce you to my wife. You were one of her old +friends, but have not once called upon her since your return from +the South. She complains of your neglect, and, I think, justly. +Come!" +</P> + +<P> +Westfield could not hesitate. There was no retreat. In a space of +time shorter than it takes to write this sentence, he was standing +before the young bride, struggling manfully for the mastery over +himself. This was only partial—not complete. Anna, on the contrary, +exhibited very few, if any signs of disturbance. She received him +with a warm, frank, cordial manner, that soon made him feel at +ease—it caused a pleasant glow in his bosom. As soon as they had +fairly entered into conversation, the young husband left them. His +presence had caused Westfield to experience some restraint; this +gave way as soon as he withdrew to another part of the room, and he +felt that no eye but an indifferent one was upon him. An hour passed +like a minute. When supper was announced, Westfield offered his arm +to conduct Anna to the refreshment room. She looked around for her +husband, and, not seeing him, accepted the attention. Just as they +were about leaving the parlour, Miller came up, and Westfield +offered to resign his wife to his care, but he politely declined +taking her from his arm. At supper, the husband and the former lover +seemed to vie with each other in their attention to Anna, who never +felt happier in her life. Why she experienced more pleasurable +feelings than usual, she did not pause to inquire. She was conscious +of being happy, and that was all. +</P> + +<P> +From that time, Westfield became a regular visitor at the house of +Mr. Miller, with whom he was now more intimate than before. He came +and went without ceremony, and frequently spent hours with Anna +while her husband was away. This intimacy continued for two or three +years without attracting any attention from the social gossips who +infest every circle. +</P> + +<P> +"It is high time you were married." +</P> + +<P> +Or— +</P> + +<P> +"Westfield, why don't you go more into company?" +</P> + +<P> +Or— +</P> + +<P> +"I really believe you are in love with Mrs. Miller." +</P> + +<P> +Were laughing remarks often made by his friends, to which he always +made some laughing answer; but no one dreamed of thinking his +intimacy with Anna an improper one. He was looked upon as a warm +friend of both her husband and herself, and inclined to be something +of an "old bachelor." If she were seen at the theatre, or on the +street, with Westfield, it was looked upon almost as much a matter +of course as if she were with her husband. It is but fair to state, +that the fact of his ever having been an avowed lover was not known, +except to a very few. He had kept his own secret, and so had the +object of his misplaced affection. +</P> + +<P> +No suspicion had ever crossed the generous mind of Miller, although +there were times when he felt that his friend was in the way, and +wished that his visits might be less frequent and shorter. But such +feelings were of rare occurrence. One day, about three years after +his marriage, a friend said to him, half in jest, and half in +earnest— +</P> + +<P> +"Miller, a'n't you jealous of Westfield?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes—very jealous," he returned, in mock seriousness. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think I would like my wife's old flame to be quite as +intimate with her as Westfield is with your wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I would be a little jealous if I believed him to be an old +flame." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you know it?" +</P> + +<P> +The tone and look that accompanied this question, more than the +question itself, produced an instant revulsion in Miller's feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I do not know it!" he replied, emphatically—"Do <I>you</I> know +it?" +</P> + +<P> +Conscious that he had gone too far, the friend hesitated, and +appeared confused. +</P> + +<P> +"Why have you spoken to me in the way that you have done? Are you +jesting or in earnest?" +</P> + +<P> +Miller's face was pale, and his lip quivered as he said this. +</P> + +<P> +"Seriously, my friend," replied the other, "if you do not know that +Westfield was a suitor to your wife, and only made known his love to +her after you had offered her your hand, it is time that you did +know it. I thought you were aware of this." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I never dreamed of such a thing. Surely it cannot be true." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it to be true, for I was in correspondence with Westfield, +and was fully aware of his sentiments. Your marriage almost set him +beside himself." +</P> + +<P> +As soon as Miller could get away from the individual who gave him +this startling information, he turned his steps homeward. He did not +ask himself why he did so. In fact, there was no purpose in his +mind. He felt wretched beyond description. The information just +conveyed, awakened the most dreadful suspicions, that would not +yield to any effort his generous feelings made to banish them. +</P> + +<P> +On arriving at home, (it was five o'clock in the afternoon,) he +found that his wife had gone out; and further learned that Westfield +had called for her in a carriage, and that they had ridden out +together. This information did not, in the least, tend to quiet the +uneasiness he felt. +</P> + +<P> +Going up into the chambers, he noticed many evidences of Anna's +having dressed, herself to go out, in haste. The door of the +wardrobe stood open, and also one of her drawers, with her bunch of +keys lying upon the bureau. The dress she had on when he left her at +dinner-time, had been changed for another, and, instead of being +hung up, was thrown across a chair. +</P> + +<P> +The drawer that stood open was her private drawer, in which she kept +all her trinkets, and little matters particularly her own. Its +contents her husband had never seen, and had never desired to see. +Now, however, something more than mere curiosity prompted him to +look somewhat narrowly into its contents. In one corner of this +drawer he found a small casket, beautifully inlaid, that had never +before come under his notice. Its workmanship was costly and +exquisite. He lifted it and examined it carefully, and then taking +the bunch of keys that lay before him, tried the smallest in the +lock. The lid flew open. A few letters, and a small braid of hair, +were its only contents. These letters were addressed to her under +her maiden name. The husband was about unfolding one of them, when +he let it fall suddenly into the casket, saying, as he did so— +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! I have no right to read these letters. They were not +addressed to my wife." With an effort he closed the drawer and +forced himself from the room. But the fact that Westfield had been a +suitor for the hand of Anna, and was now on terms of the closest +intimacy with her, coming up vividly in his mind, he came, after +some reflection, to the firm conclusion that he ought to know the +contents of letters treasured so carefully—letters that he had +every reason now to believe were from Westfield. Their post-mark he +had noticed. They were from New Orleans. +</P> + +<P> +After again hesitating and debating the question for some time, he +finally determined to know their contents. He read them over and +over again, each sentence almost maddening him. They were from +Westfield. The reader already knows their contents. From their +appearance, it was evident that they had been read over very many +times; one of them bore traces of tears. For some time the feelings +of Miller were in a state of wild excitement. While this continued, +had his wife or Westfield appeared, he would have been tempted to +commit some desperate act. But this state gradually gave way to a +more sober one. The letters were replaced carefully, the casket +locked, and every thing restored to its former appearance. The +husband then sat down to reflect, as calmly as was in his power, +upon the aspect of affairs. The more he thought, the more closely he +compared the sentiments of the letters so carefully treasured with +the subsequent familiarity of his wife with Westfield, the more +satisfied was he that he had been deeply and irreparably +wronged—wronged in a way for which there was no atonement. +</P> + +<P> +As this conviction fully formed itself in his mind, the question of +what he should do came up for immediate decision. He had one child, +about eighteen months old, around whom his tenderest affections had +entwined themselves; but when he remembered that his friend's +intimacy with his wife had run almost parallel with their marriage, +a harrowing suspicion crossed his mind, and made his heart turn from +the form of beauty and innocence it had loved so purely. +</P> + +<P> +The final conclusion of the agonized husband was to abandon his wife +at once, taking with him the corroborating evidence of her +unfaithfulness. He returned to her private drawer, and taking from +it the letters of Westfield and the braid of hair, placed them in +his pocket. He then packed his clothes and private papers in a +trunk, which he ordered to be sent to Gadsby's Hotel. Half an hour, +before his wife's return, he had abandoned her for ever. +</P> + +<P> +When Mrs. Miller came home, it was as late as tea-time. She was +accompanied by Westfield, who came into the house with his usual +familiarity, intending to share with the family in their evening +meal, and enjoy a social hour afterward. +</P> + +<P> +Finding that her husband was not in the parlour—it was past the +usual hour of his return—nor anywhere in the house, Mrs. Miller +inquired if he had not been home. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, ma'am," said the servant to whom she spoke, "he came home +more than two hours ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he go out again?" she asked, without suspicion of any thing +being wrong. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am. He went up-stairs and stayed a good while, and then +came down and told Ben to take his trunk to Gadsby's." +</P> + +<P> +The face of Mrs. Miller blanched in an instant. She turned quickly +away and ran up to her chamber. Her drawer, which she had not +noticed before, stood open. She eagerly seized her precious casket; +this, too, was open, and the contents gone! Strength and +consciousness remained long enough for her to reach the bed, upon +which she fell, fainting. +</P> + +<P> +When the life-blood once more flowed through her veins, and she was +sufficiently restored to see what was passing around her, she found +the servants and Westfield standing by her bedside. The latter +looked anxiously into her face. She motioned him to come near. As he +bent his ear low toward her face, she whispered— +</P> + +<P> +"Leave me. You must never again visit this house, nor appear to be +on terms of intimacy with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go, Mr. Westfield. Let what I have said suffice. Neither of us have +acted with the prudence that should have governed our conduct, all +things considered. Go at once! In time you will know enough, and +more than enough." +</P> + +<P> +Westfield still hesitated, but Mrs. Miller motioned him away with an +imperative manner; he then withdrew, looking earnestly back at every +step. +</P> + +<P> +A glass of wine and water was ordered by Anna, after drinking which, +she arose from the bed, and desired all her domestics to leave the +room. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime, her husband was suffering the most poignant anguish of +mind. On retiring to a hotel, he sent for the brother of his wife, +and to him submitted the letters he had taken from Anna's casket. +After they had been hurriedly perused, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"You know the intimacy of Westfield with Anna. Put that fact +alongside of these letters and their careful preservation, and what +is your conclusion?" +</P> + +<P> +"Accursed villain!" exclaimed W——, grinding his teeth and stamping +upon the floor, his anger completely overmastering him. "His life +shall pay the price of my sister's dishonour. Madness!" +</P> + +<P> +"You think, then, as I do," said the husband, with forced calmness, +"that confidence, nay, every thing sacred and holy, has been +violated?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can I doubt? If these were his sentiments," (holding up the letters +of Westfield,) "before my sister's marriage, can they have changed +immediately afterward. No, no; our confidence has been basely +betrayed. But the wretch shall pay for this dearly." +</P> + +<P> +On the next day W—— called upon Westfield in company with a friend +who had possession of the letters, and who read them as a +preliminary explanation of the cause of the visit. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you write those letters?" W—— asked, with a stern aspect. +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly did," was the firm reply. "Do you question my right to +do so?" +</P> + +<P> +"No: not your right to make known to my sister your sentiments +before marriage, but your right to abuse her husband's confidence +after marriage." +</P> + +<P> +"Who dares say that I did?" +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say it," returned the brother, passionately. +</P> + +<P> +"You! Bring your proof." +</P> + +<P> +"I want no better proof than the fact that, entertaining sentiments +such as are here avowed, you have visited her at all times, and +under nearly all circumstances. You have abused a husband's and a +brother's confidence. You have lain like a stinging viper in the +bosom of friendship." +</P> + +<P> +"It is false!" replied Westfield, emphatically. +</P> + +<P> +W——'s feelings were chafed to the utmost already. This remark +destroyed entirely the little self-control that remained. He sprang +toward Westfield, and would have grappled his throat, had not his +friend, who had feared some such result, been perfectly on his +guard, and stepped between the two men in time to prevent a +collision. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing was now left W—— but to withdraw, with his friend. A +challenge to mortal combat followed immediately. A meeting was the +result, in which Westfield was severely wounded. This made public +property of the whole matter; and as public feeling is generally on +the side of whoever is sufferer, quite a favourable impression of +the case began to prevail, grounded upon the denial of Westfield to +the charge of improper intimacy with Mrs. Miller. But this feeling +soon changed. The moment Mrs. Miller heard that Westfield had been +seriously wounded by her brother, she flew to his bedside, and +nursed him with unwearying devotion for three weeks; when he died of +inflammation arising from his wound. +</P> + +<P> +This act sealed her fate: it destroyed all sympathy for her; it was, +in the mind of every one, proof positive of her guilt. When she +returned home, the house was closed against her. An application for +a divorce had already been laid before the legislature; then in +session at Annapolis, and, as the inferential proofs of defection +were strongly corroborated by Mrs. Miller's conduct after the +hostile meeting between Westfield and her brother, the application +was promptly granted, with the provision of five hundred dollars a +year for her support. The decision of the legislature, with +information of the annual amount settled upon her, were communicated +through the attorney of her husband. Her only answer was a prompt +and indignant refusal to accept the support the law had awarded her. +From that moment she sank into obscurity with her child, and with +her own hands earned the bread that sustained both their lives. From +that moment until the day of her death, all intercourse with her +family and friends was cut off. How great were her sufferings, no +one can know. They must have been nearly up to the level of human +endurance. +</P> + +<P> +I learned this much from one who had been intimate with all the +circumstances. He remembered the duel very well, but had never +before understood the true cause. My informant had no knowledge +whatever of Mrs. Miller from the time of her divorce up to the +period of my inquiries. Miller himself still lived. I had some +slight acquaintance with him. +</P> + +<P> +Under this aspect of things, I hardly knew what course to pursue in +order to raise the lad at Maxwell's above his present unhappy +condition. I entertained, for some time, the idea of communicating +with his father and uncle on the subject; but I could not make up my +mind to do this. The indignation with which they had thrown off his +erring mother, and the total oblivion that had been permitted to +fall upon her memory, made me fearful that to approach them on the +subject would accomplish no good for the boy, and might place me in +a very unpleasant position toward them. Thus far I had kept my own +counsel, although the nature of my inquiries about Mrs. Miller had +created some curiosity in the minds of one or two, who asked me a +good many questions that I did not see proper to answer directly. +</P> + +<P> +"The child is innocent, even if the mother were guilty." This I said +to myself very frequently, as a reason why I should make every +effort in my power to create an interest in favour of little Bill, +and get him out of the hands of his master, who, in my view, treated +him With great cruelty. In thinking about the matter, it occurred to +me that in case Mrs. Miller were innocent of the derelictions +charged upon her, she would leave some evidence of the fact, for the +sake of her child at least. So strongly did this idea take hold of +my mind, that I determined to question Bill closely about his mother +as early as I could get an opportunity. This did not occur for +several weeks. I then met the boy in the street, hobbling along with +difficulty. I stopped him and asked him what ailed his feet. He said +they were sore, and all cracked open, and hurt him so that he could +hardly walk. +</P> + +<P> +"Come round to my office and let me see them," said I. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to take these shoes to the binder's,"—he had a package +of "uppers" in his hand—"and must be back in twenty minutes, or Mr. +Maxwell says he will give me the strap." The boy made this reply, +and then hobbled on as fast as he could. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop, stop, my lad," I called after him. "I want you for a little +while, and will see that Mr. Maxwell does not give you the strap. +You must come to my office and get something done for your feet." +</P> + +<P> +"They are very bad," he said, turning round, and looking down at +them with a pitiable expression on his young face. +</P> + +<P> +"I know they are, and you must have something done for them +immediately." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me go to the binder's first." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Go to the binder's. But be sure to come to my office as +you return; I want to see you particularly." +</P> + +<P> +My words made the blood rush to the child's pale face. Hope again +was springing up in his bosom. +</P> + +<P> +In about ten minutes he entered my office. His step was lighter, but +I could see that each footfall gave him pain. The first thing I did +was to examine his feet. They were in a shocking condition. One of +them had cracked open in several places, and the wounds had become +running sores; other parts were red and shining, and much swollen, I +dressed them carefully. When I came to replace his shoes, I found +them so dilapidated and out of shape, as to be no protection to his +feet whatever, but rather tending to fret them, and liable to rub +off the bandages I had put on. To remedy this, I sent my man out for +a new pair, of soft leather. When these were put on, and he stood +upon, his feet, he said that they did not hurt him at all. I needed +not his declaration of the fact to convince me of this, for the +whole expression of his face had changed. His eyes were no longer +fixed and sad; nor were his brows drawn down, nor his lips +compressed. +</P> + +<P> +"I think you told me that your name was Miller?" I said to him, as +he stood looking earnestly in my face after the dressing of his feet +was completed. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +"And that your mother was dead?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you said that W—— was your uncle?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. Mother told me that he was my uncle." +</P> + +<P> +"Is your father living?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Did your mother ever speak to you about him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you can't tell whether he is living or not?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; but I suppose he is dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you think so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I never saw him, nor heard mother speak of him." +</P> + +<P> +"You are sure your name is Miller?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"And that Mr. W—— is your uncle?" +</P> + +<P> +"My mother said he was." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever see him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you go, to see him, and tell him who you are?" +</P> + +<P> +"I asked mother, one day, to let me do so, but she said I must never +think of such a thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"And so you never went to see him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed; mother said I must not." This was said with great +artlessness. +</P> + +<P> +"What became of your mother's things after she died?" +</P> + +<P> +"The woman we rented from took them all. Mother owed her, she said." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! Where did you live?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Commerce street, three or four doors from Mr. Maxwell's. Mother +rented a room up-stairs." +</P> + +<P> +"Does the woman live there still?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you ever go to see her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; she won't let me come into the house." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot tell. She was going to send me to the poorhouse, when Mr. +Maxwell took me in. I have often and often wanted to see the room +where we lived in, and where mother died, but she wouldn't let me go +up. One day I begged and cried for her to let me go up—I wanted to, +so bad; but she called me a dirty little brat, and told me to go +about my business, or she would get Mr. Maxwell to give me a +beating. I never have tried to go there since." +</P> + +<P> +"What is the woman's name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Her name is Mrs. Claxon." +</P> + +<P> +"And she lives three or four doors from Mr. Maxwell's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"I am going home with you in a little while, and will get you to +show me the house. Your mother had some furniture in her room?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. We had a bureau, and a bedstead, and a good many things." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know what was in the bureau?" +</P> + +<P> +"Our clothes." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing else?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother had a beautiful little box that was always locked. It had +letters in it, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever see her reading them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, often, when she thought I was asleep; and she would cry, +sometimes, dreadful hard." +</P> + +<P> +"This box Mrs. Claxon kept?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; she kept every thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. We will see if we can't make her give up some of the +things." +</P> + +<P> +"If she will give me that little box, she may have every thing +else," said the lad. +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you so desirous to have that box?" +</P> + +<P> +"I sometimes think if I could get that box, and all the letters and +papers it had in it, that I would be able to know better who I am, +and why I mustn't go and see my uncle, who is rich, and could take +me away from where I am now." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't like to live with Mr. Maxwell, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, sir." +</P> + +<P> +I did not question him as to the reason; that was unnecessary. +</P> + +<P> +After putting up one or two prescriptions, (we had not then fallen +into the modern more comfortable mode of <I>writing</I> them,) I told the +boy that I would walk home with him, and excuse him to his master +for having stayed away so long. I had no great difficulty in doing +this, although the shoemaker seemed at first a little fretted at my +having taken up the lad's cause again. In passing to his shop, the +house where Mrs. Claxon lived was pointed out to me. Before leaving, +I made Maxwell promise to let the boy come up on the next evening to +get his feet dressed, telling him, what was true, that this was +necessary to be done, or very serious consequences might follow. +</P> + +<P> +I then called upon Mrs. Claxon. She was a virago. But the grave and +important face that I put on when I asked if a Mrs. Miller did not +once live in her house, subdued her. After some little hesitation, +she replied in the affirmative. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew as much," I said, thinking it well to let her understand +from the beginning that it would not do to attempt deception. +</P> + +<P> +"She died here, I believe?" I continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; she died in my house." +</P> + +<P> +"She left some property in your hands, did she not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Property? Humph! If you call an old bed and bedstead, with other +trumpery that didn't sell for enough to pay her back rent, +<I>property</I>, why, then, she did leave property." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," I said, calmly. "Whatever she left was property; and, +of course, in taking possession of it, you did so under a regular +legal process. You took out letters of administration, I presume, +and brought in your bill against the effects of the deceased, which +was regularly passed by the Orphans' Court, and paid out of the +amount for which the things sold." +</P> + +<P> +The effect of this was just what I desired. The woman looked +frightened. She had done no such thing, as I knew very well. +</P> + +<P> +"If you have proceeded in this way," I resumed, "all is well enough; +but if you have not done so, I am sorry to say that you will most +likely get yourself into trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"How so, sir?" she asked, with increasing alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"The law is very rigid in all these matters. When a person dies, +there must be a regular administration upon his property. The law +permits no one to seize upon his effects. In the case of Mrs. +Miller, if you were legally authorized to settle her estate, you +can, of course, account for all that came into your hands. Now, I am +about instituting a rigid examination into the matter, and if I do +not get satisfaction, shall have you summoned to appear before the +Orphans' Court, and answer for your conduct. Mrs. Miller was highly +connected, and it is believed had papers in her possession of vital +importance to the living. These were contained in a small casket of +costly and curious workmanship. This casket, with its contents, must +be produced. Can you produce them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Y-y-yes!" the alarmed creature stammered out. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Produce them at once, if you wish to save yourself a +world of trouble." +</P> + +<P> +The woman hurried off up-stairs, and presently appeared with the +casket. +</P> + +<P> +"It is locked," she said. "I never could find the key, and did not +like to force it open. She handed me the box as she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, this is it," I remarked, as if I was perfectly familiar with +the casket. "You are sure the contents have not been disturbed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes: very sure." +</P> + +<P> +"I trust it will be found so. I will take possession of the casket. +In a few days you will hear from me." +</P> + +<P> +Saying this, I arose and left the house. I directed my steps to the +shop of a locksmith, whose skill quickly gave me access to the +contents. They consisted mainly of papers, written in a delicate +female hand; but there were no letters. Their contents were, to me, +of a most gratifying kind. I read on every page the injured wife's +innocence. The contents of the first paper I read, I will here +transcribe. Like the others, it was a simple record of feelings, +coupled with declarations of innocence. The object in view, in +writing these, was not fully apparent; although the mother had +evidently in mind her child, and cherished the hope that, after her +death, these touching evidences of the wrong she had endured, would +cause justice to be done to him. +</P> + +<P> +The paper I mentioned was as follows, and appeared to have been +written a short time after her divorce:— +</P> + +<P> +"That I still live, is to me a wonder. But a few short months ago I +was a happy wife, and my husband loved me with a tenderness that +left my heart nothing to ask for. I am now cast off from his +affections, driven from his home, repudiated, and the most horrible +suspicions fastened upon me; And worse, the life of one who never +wronged me by a look, or word, or act—in whose eyes my honour was +as dear as his own—has been murdered. Oh! I shall yet go mad with +anguish of spirit! There are heavy burdens to bear in this life; but +none can be heavier than that which an innocent wife has to endure, +when all accuse her as I am accused, and no hope of justice is left. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me think calmly. Are not the proofs of my guilt strong? Those +letters—those fatal letters—why did I keep them? I had no right to +do so. They should have been destroyed. But I never looked at them +from the day I gave my hand with my heart at the altar to one who +now throws me off as a polluted wretch. But I knew they were there, +and often thought of them; but to have read over one line of their +contents, would have been false to my husband; and that I could not +be, under any temptation. I think Westfield was wrong, under the +circumstances, to visit me as constantly as he did; but my husband +appeared to like his company, and even encouraged him to come. Many +times he has asked him to drive me out, or to attend me to a concert +or the theatre, as he knew that I wished to go, and he had business +that required his attention, or felt a disinclination to leave home. +In not a single instance, when I thus went out, would not my +pleasure have been increased, had my husband been my companion; and +yet I liked the company of Westfield—perhaps too well. The remains +of former feelings may still have lingered, unknown to me, in my +heart. But I was never false to my husband, even in thought; nor did +Westfield ever presume to take the smallest liberty. Indeed, whether +in my husband's presence, or when with me, his manner was polite, +and inclined to be deferential rather than familiar. I believe that +the sentiments he held toward me before my marriage, remained; and +these, while they drew him to my side, made him cherish my honour +and integrity as a wife, as he would cherish the apple of his eye. +And yet he has been murdered, and I have been cast off, while both +were innocent! Fatal haste! Fatal misjudgment! How suddenly have I +fallen from the pinnacle of happiness into the dark pit of despair! +Alas! alas! Who can tell what a day may bring forth?" +</P> + +<P> +Another, and very important paper, which the casket contained, was a +written declaration of Mrs. Miller's innocence, made by Westfield +before his death. It was evidently one of his last acts, and was +penned with a feeble and trembling hand. It was in these impressive +words:— +</P> + +<P> +"Solemnly, in the presence of God, and without the hope of living +but a few hours, do I declare that Mrs. Anna Miller is innocent of +the foul charges made against her by her husband and brother, and +that I never, even in thought, did wrong to her honour. I was on +terms of close intimacy with her, and this her husband knew and +freely assented to. I confess that I had a higher regard for her +than for any living woman. She imbodied all my highest conceptions +of female excellence. I was never happier than when in her company. +Was this a crime? It would have been had I attempted to win from her +any thing beyond a sentiment of friendship. But this I never did +after her marriage, and do not believe that she regarded me in any +other light than as her own and her husband's friend. This is all +that, as a dying man, I can do or say. May heaven right the +innocent! HENRY WESTFIELD." +</P> + +<P> +Besides the paper in the handwriting of Mrs. Miller, which I have +given, there were many more, evidently written at various times, but +all shortly after her separation from her husband. They imbodied +many touching allusions to her condition, united with firm +expressions of her entire innocence of the imputation under which +she lay. One sentiment particularly arrested my attention, and +answered the question that constantly arose in my mind, as to why +she did not attempt, by means of Westfield's dying asseveration, to +establish her innocence. It was this:— +</P> + +<P> +"He has prejudged me guilty and cast me off without seeing me or +giving me a hearing, and then insulted me by a legislative tender of +five hundred dollars a year. Does he think that I would save myself, +even from starvation, by means of his bounty? No—no—he does not +know the woman he has wronged." +</P> + +<P> +After going over the entire contents of the casket, I replaced them, +and sent the whole to Mr. Miller, with a brief note, stating that +they had come into my possession in rather a singular manner, and +that I deemed it but right to transmit them to him. Scarcely half an +hour had elapsed from the time my messenger departed, before Miller +himself entered my office, pale and agitated. I had met him a few +times before, and had a slight acquaintance with him. +</P> + +<P> +"This is from you, I believe, doctor?" he said, holding up the note +I had written him. +</P> + +<P> +I bowed. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you come in possession of the casket you sent me?" he +continued as he took the chair I handed him. +</P> + +<P> +I was about replying, when he leaned over toward me, and laying his +hand upon my arm, said, eagerly— +</P> + +<P> +"First tell me, is the writer of its contents living?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," I replied; "she has been dead over two years." +</P> + +<P> +His countenance fell, and he seemed, for some moments, as if his +heart had ceased to beat. "Dead!" he muttered to himself—"dead! and +I have in my hands undoubted proofs of her innocence." +</P> + +<P> +The expression of his face became agonizing. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what would I not give if she were yet alive," he continued, +speaking to himself. "Dead—dead—I would rather be dead with her +than living with my present consciousness." +</P> + +<P> +"Doctor," said he, after a pause, speaking in a firmer voice, "let +me know how those papers came into your hands?" I related, as +rapidly as I could, what the reader already knows about little Bill +and his mother dwelling as strongly as I could upon the suffering +condition of the poor boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Good heavens!" ejaculated Miller, as I closed my narrative—"can +all this indeed be true? So much for hasty judgment from +appearances! You have heard the melancholy history of my wife?" +</P> + +<P> +I bowed an assent. +</P> + +<P> +"From these evidences, that bear the force of truth, it is plain +that she was innocent, though adjudged guilty of one of the most +heinous offences against society. Innocent, and yet made to suffer +all the penalties of guilt. Ah, sir—I thought life had already +brought me its bitterest cup: but all before were sweet to the taste +compared with the one I am now compelled to drink. Nothing is now +left me, but to take home my child. But, as he grows up toward +manhood, how can I look him in the face, and think of his mother +whom I so deeply wronged." +</P> + +<P> +"The events of the past, my dear sir," I urged, "cannot be altered. +In a case like this, it is better to look, forward with hope, than +backward with self-reproaches." +</P> + +<P> +"There is little in the future to hope for," was the mournful reply +to this. +</P> + +<P> +"But you have a duty to perform, and, in the path of duty, always +lie pleasures." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean to my much wronged and suffering child. Yes, I have a +duty, and it shall be performed as faithfully as lies in my power. +But I hope for little from that source." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you may hope for much. Your child I have questioned +closely. He knows nothing of his history; does not even know that +his father is alive. The only information he has received from his +mother is, that W—— is his uncle." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure of this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. I have, as I said, questioned him very closely on this +point." +</P> + +<P> +This seemed to relieve the mind of Mr. Miller. He mused for some +minutes, and then said— +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to see my son, and at once remove him from his present +position. May I ask you to accompany me to the place where he now +is." +</P> + +<P> +"I will go with pleasure," I returned, rising. +</P> + +<P> +We left my office immediately, and went direct to Maxwell's shop. As +we entered, we heard most agonizing cries, mingled with hoarse angry +imprecations from the shoemaker and the sound of his strap. He was +whipping some one most severely. My heart misgave me that it was +poor little Bill. We hurried into the shop. It was true. Maxwell had +the child across his knees, and was beating him most cruelly. +</P> + +<P> +"That is your son," I said, in an excited voice to Miller, pointing +to the writhing subject of the shoemaker's ire. In an instant +Maxwell was lying four or five feet from his bench in a corner of +his shop, among the lasts and scraps of leather. A powerful blow on +the side of his head, with a heavy cane, had done his. The father's +hand had dealt it. Maxwell rose to his feet in a terrible fury, but +the upraised cane of Miller, his dark and angry countenance, and his +declaration that if he advanced a step toward him, or attempted to +lay his hand again upon the boy, he would knock his brains out, +cooled his ire considerably. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, my boy," Miller then said, catching hold of the hand of the +sobbing child—"let me take you away from this accursed den for +ever." +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" cried Maxwell, coming forward at this; "you cannot take that +boy away. He is bound to me by law, until he is twenty-one. Bill! +don't you dare to go." +</P> + +<P> +"Villain!" said Miller, in a paroxysm of anger, turning toward +him—"I will have you before the the court in less than twenty-four +hours for inhuman treatment of this child—of <I>my child</I>." +</P> + +<P> +As Miller said this, the trembling boy at his side started and +looked eagerly in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, sir! Are you indeed my father?" said he, in a voice that +thrilled me to the finger ends. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, William; I am your father, and I have come to take you home." +</P> + +<P> +Tears gushed like rain over the cheeks of the poor boy. He shrank +close to his father's side, and clung to him with a strong grasp, +still looking up into a face that he had never hoped to see, with a +most tender, confiding, hopeful, expressive countenance. +</P> + +<P> +The announcement of the fact subdued the angry shoemaker. He made a +feeble effort at apology, but was cut short by our turning abruptly +from him and carrying of the child he had so shamefully abused. +</P> + +<P> +I parted from the father and son at the first carriage-stand that +came in our way. When I next saw Bill, his appearance was very +different indeed from what it was when I first encountered him. His +father lived some ten years from this time during the most of which +period William was at school or college. At his death he left him a +large property, which remained with him until his own death, which +took place a few years ago. He never I believe, had the most distant +idea of the cause which had separated his mother from his father. +That there had been a separation he knew too well but, he always +shrank from inquiring the reason, and had always remained in +ignorance of the main facts here recorded. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="euthanasy"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +EUTHANASY. +</H3> + +<P> +"YOU remember Anna May, who sewed for you about a year ago?" said +one fashionably-dressed lady to another. +</P> + +<P> +"That pale, quiet girl, who made up dresses for the children?" +</P> + +<P> +"The one I sent you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes; very well. I had forgotten her name. What has become of +her? If I remember rightly, I engaged her for a week or two in the +fall; but she did not keep her engagement." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor thing!" said the first lady, whose name was Mrs. Bell, "she'll +keep no more engagements of that kind." +</P> + +<P> +"Why so? Is she dead?" The tone in which these brief questions were +asked, evinced no lively interest in the fate of the poor +sewing-girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Not dead; but very near the end of life's weary pilgrimage." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, well! we must all die, I suppose—though it's no pleasant thing +to think about. But I am glad you called in this morning"—the +lady's voice rose into a more cheerful tone—"I was just about +putting on my things to go down to Mrs. Bobinet's opening. You +intend going, of course. I shall be so delighted to have you along, +for I want to consult your taste about a bonnet." +</P> + +<P> +"I came out for a different purpose altogether, Mrs. Ellis," said +Mrs. Bell, "and have called to ask you to go with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"To see Anna May." +</P> + +<P> +"What!—that poor seamstress of whom you just spoke?" There was a +look of unfeigned surprise in the lady's countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; the poor seamstress, Anna May. Her days in this world are +nearly numbered. I was to see her yesterday, and found her very low. +She cannot long remain on this side the river of death. I am now on +my way to her mother's house. Will you not go with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," replied Mrs. Ellis, quickly, while a shadow fell over her +face; "why should I go? I never took any particular interest in the +girl. And as for dying, every thing in relation thereto is +unpleasant to me. I can't bear to think of death: it makes me +shudder all over." +</P> + +<P> +"You have never looked in the face of death," said Mrs. Lee. +</P> + +<P> +"And never wish to," replied Mrs. Ellis, feelingly. "Oh, if it +wasn't for this terrible consummation, what a joyful thing life +might be!" +</P> + +<P> +"Anna May has looked death in the face; but does not find his aspect +so appalling. She calls him a beautiful angel, who is about to take +her by the hand, and lead her up gently and lovingly to her Father's +house." +</P> + +<P> +There came into the face of Mrs. Ellis a sudden look of wonder. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you in earnest, Mrs. Bell?" +</P> + +<P> +"Altogether in earnest." +</P> + +<P> +"The mind of the girl is unbalanced." +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mrs. Ellis; never was it more evenly poised. Come with me: it +will do you good." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't urge me, Mrs. Bell. If I go, it will make me sad for a week. +Is the sick girl in want any comfort?—I will freely minister +thereto. But I do not wish to look upon death." +</P> + +<P> +"In this aspect it is beautiful to look upon. Go with me, then. The +experience will be something accompany you through life. The image +of frightful monster is in your mind; you may now have it displaced +by the form of an angel." +</P> + +<P> +"How strangely you talk, Mrs. Bell! How can death be an angel? Is +any thing more terrible than death?" +</P> + +<P> +"The phantom called death, which a diseased imagination conjures up, +may be terrible to look upon; but death itself is a kind messenger, +whose it is to summon us from this world of shadows and changes, to +a world of eternal light and unfading beauty. But come, Mrs. Ellis; +I must urge you to go with me. Do not fear a shock to your feelings, +for none will be experienced." +</P> + +<P> +So earnest were Mrs. Bell's persuasions, that her friend at last +consented to go with her. At no great distance from the elegant +residence of Mrs. Ellis, in an obscure neighbourhood, was a small +house, humble in exterior, and modestly, yet neatly attired within. +At the door of this house the ladies paused, and were admitted by a +woman somewhat advanced in years, on whose mild face sorrow and holy +resignation were beautifully blended. +</P> + +<P> +"How is your daughter?" inquired Mrs. Bell, as soon as they were +seated in the small, neat parlour. +</P> + +<P> +"Not so strong as when you were here yesterday," was answered, with +a faint smile. "She is sinking hourly." +</P> + +<P> +"But continues in the same tranquil, heavenly state?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes." There was a sweet, yet touching earnestness in the +mother's voice. "Dear child! Her life has been pure and unselfish; +and now, when her change is about to come, all is peace, and hope, +and patient waiting for the time when she will be clothed upon with +immortality." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she strong enough to see any one?" asked Mrs. Bell. +</P> + +<P> +"The presence of others in no way disturbs her. Will you walk up +into her chamber, friends?" +</P> + +<P> +The two ladies ascended the narrow stairs, and Mrs. Ellis found +herself, for the first time in many years, in the presence of one +about to die. A slender girl, with large, mild eyes, and face almost +as white as the pillow it pressed, was before her. The unmistakable +signs of speedy dissolution were on the pale, shrunken features; not +beautiful, in the ordinary acceptation of beauty, but from the pure +spirit within. Radiant with heavenly light was the smile that +instantly played upon her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"How are you to-day, Anna?" kindly inquired Mrs. Bell, as she took +the shadowy hand of the dying girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Weaker in body than when you were here yesterday," was answered; +"but stronger in spirit." +</P> + +<P> +"I have brought Mrs. Ellis to see you. You remember Mrs. Ellis?" +</P> + +<P> +Anna lifted her bright eyes to the face of Mrs. Ellis, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, very well;" and she feebly extended her hand. The lady +touched her hand with an emotion akin to awe. As yet, the scene +oppressed and bewildered her. There was something about it that was +dreamlike and unreal. "Death! death!" she questioned with herself; +"can this be dying?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your day will soon close, Anna," said Mrs. Bell, in a cheerful +tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Or, as we say," quickly replied Anna, smiling, "my morning will +soon break. It is only a kind of twilight here. I am waiting for the +day-dawn." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear young lady," said Mrs. Ellis, with much earnestness, +bending over the dying girl as she spoke—the newness and +strangeness of the scene had so wrought upon her feelings, that she +could not repress their utterance—"Is all indeed as you say? Are +you inwardly so calm, so hopeful, so confident of the morning? +Forgive me such a question, at such a moment. But the thought of +death has ever been terrible to me; and now, to see a fellow-mortal +standing, as you are, so near the grave, and yet speaking in +cheerful tones of the last agony, fills me with wonder. Is it all +real? Are you so full of heavenly tranquillity?" +</P> + +<P> +Was the light dimmed in Anna's eyes by such pressing questions? Did +they turn her thoughts too realizingly upon the "last agony?" Oh no! +Even in the waning hours of life, her quickest impulse was to render +service to another. Earnest, therefore, was her desire to remove +from the lady's mind this fear of death, even though she felt the +waters of Jordan already touching her own descending feet. +</P> + +<P> +"God is love," she said, and with an emphasis that gave to the mind +of Mrs. Ellis a new appreciation of the words. "In his love he made +us, that he might bless us with infinite and eternal blessings, and +these await us in heaven. And now that he sends an angel to take me +by the hand and lead me up to my heavenly home, shall I tremble and +fear to accompany the celestial messenger? Does the child, long +separated from a loving parent, shrink at the thought of going home, +or ask the hours to linger? Oh no!" +</P> + +<P> +"But all is so uncertain," said Mrs. Ellis, eager to penetrate +further into the mystery. +</P> + +<P> +"Uncertain!" There was something of surprise in the voice of Anna +May. "God is truth as well as love; and both in his love and truth +he is unchangeable. When, as Divine Truth, he came to our earth, and +spake as never man spake, he said, 'In my Father's house are many +mansions. I go to prepare a place for you.' The heavens and the +earth may pass away, Mrs. Ellis, but not a jot or tittle of the +divine word can fail." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! but the preparation for those heavenly mansions!" said Mrs. +Ellis. "The preparation, Anna! Who may be certain of this?" +</P> + +<P> +The eyes of the sick girl closed, the long lashes resting like a +dark fringe on her snowy cheek. For more than a moment she lay +silent and motionless; then looking up, she answered— +</P> + +<P> +"God is love. If we would be with him, we must be like him." +</P> + +<P> +"How are we to be like him, Anna?" asked Mrs. Ellis. +</P> + +<P> +"He is love; but not a love of himself. He loves and seeks to bless +others. We must do the same." +</P> + +<P> +"And have you, Anna"— +</P> + +<P> +But the words died on the lips of the speaker. Again had the +drooping lashes fallen, and the pale lids closed over the beautiful +eyes. And now a sudden light shone through the transparent tissue of +that wan face—a light, the rays of which none who saw them needed +to be told were but gleams of the heavenly morning just breaking for +the mortal sleeper. +</P> + +<P> +How hushed the room—how motionless the group that bent forward +toward the one just passing away! Was it the rustle of angels +garments that penetrated the inward sense of hearing? +</P> + +<P> +It is over! The pure spirit of that humble girl, who, in her sphere, +was loving, and true, and faithful, hath ascended to the God in +whose infinite love she reposed a childlike and unwavering +confidence. Calmly and sweetly she went to sleep, like an infant on +its mother's bosom, knowing that the everlasting arms were beneath +and around her. +</P> + +<P> +And thus, in the by-ways and obscure places of life, are daily +passing away the humble, loving, true-hearted ones. The world +esteems them lightly; but they are precious in the sight of God. +When the time of their departure comes, they shrink not back in +fear, but lift their hands trustingly to the angel messenger, whom +their Father sends to lead them up to their home in heaven. With +them is the true "Euthanasy." +</P> + +<P> +"Is not that a new experience in life?" said Mrs. Bell, as the two +ladies walked slowly homeward. With a deep sigh, the other +answered— +</P> + +<P> +"New and wonderful. I scarcely comprehend what I have seen. Such a +lesson from such a source! How lightly I thought of that poor +sewing-girl, who came and went so unobtrusively! How little dreamed +I that so rich a jewel was in so plain a casket! Ah! I shall be +wiser for this—wiser, and I may hope, better. Oh, to be able to die +as she has died!—what of mere earthly good would I not cheerfully +sacrifice!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is for us all," calmly answered Mrs. Bell. "The secret we have +just heard—we must be like God." +</P> + +<P> +"How—how?" +</P> + +<P> +"He loves others out of himself, and seeks their good. If we would +be like him, we must do the same." +</P> + +<P> +Yes; this is the secret of an easy death, and the only true secret. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="scenes"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THREE SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A WORLDLING. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE FIRST. +</H4> + +<BR> + +<P> +"IT is in vain to urge me, brother Robert. Out into the world I must +go. The impulse is on me. I should die of inaction here." +</P> + +<P> +"You need not be inactive. There is work to do. I shall never be +idle." +</P> + +<P> +"And such work! Delving in and grovelling close to the very ground. +And for what? Oh no, Robert. My ambition soars beyond your 'quiet +cottage in a sheltered vale.' My appetite craves something more than +simple herbs and water from the brook. I have set my heart on +attaining wealth; and, where there is a will there is always a way." +</P> + +<P> +"Contentment is better than wealth." +</P> + +<P> +"A proverb for drones." +</P> + +<P> +"No, William; it is a proverb for the wise." +</P> + +<P> +"Be it for the wise or simple, as commonly understood, it is no +proverb for me. As a poor plodder along the way of life, it were +impossible for me to know content. So urge me no further, Robert. I +am going out into the world a wealth-seeker, and not until wealth is +gained do I purpose to return." +</P> + +<P> +"What of Ellen, Robert?" +</P> + +<P> +The young man turned quickly toward his brother, visibly disturbed, +and fixed his eyes upon him with an earnest expression. +</P> + +<P> +"I love her as my life," he said, with a strong emphasis on his +words. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you love wealth more than life, William?" +</P> + +<P> +"Robert!" +</P> + +<P> +"If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her for the sake of +getting riches, then you must love money more than life." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk to me after this fashion. I cannot bear it. I love Ellen +tenderly and truly. I am going forth as well for her sake as my own. +In all the good fortune that comes as the meed of effort, she will +be a sharer." +</P> + +<P> +"You will see her before you leave us?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I will neither pain her nor myself by a parting interview. Send +her this letter and this ring." +</P> + +<P> +A few hours later, and the brothers stood with tightly grasped +hands, gazing into each other's faces. +</P> + +<P> +"Farewell, Robert." +</P> + +<P> +"Farewell, William. Think of the old homestead as still your home. +Though it is mine, in the division of our patrimony, let your heart +come back to it as yours. Think of it as home; and, should fortune +cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors +will ever be open, and its hearth-fire bright for you as of old. +Farewell." +</P> + +<P> +And they turned from each other, one going out into the restless +world, an eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to +linger among the pleasant places dear to him by every association of +childhood, there to fill up the measure of his days—not idly, for +he was no drone in the social hive. +</P> + +<P> +On the evening of that day, two maidens sat alone, each in the +sanctuary of her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of +one, and a glad light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and +wet her drooping lashes. And she that sorrowed held an open letter +in her hand. It was full of tender words; but the writer loved +wealth more than the maiden, and had gone forth to seek the mistress +of his soul. He would "come back;" but when? Ah, what a vail of +uncertainty was upon the future! Poor stricken heart! The other +maiden—she of the glowing cheeks and dancing eyes—held also a +letter in her hand. It was from the brother of the wealth-seeker; +and it was also full of loving words; and it said that, on the +morrow, he would come to bear her as a bride to his pleasant home. +Happy maiden! +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE SECOND. +</H4> + +<P> +TEN years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the +glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears? +Has he returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour? +Not since the day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a +word of intelligence from the wanderer been received; and, to those +he left behind him, he is now as one who has passed the final +bourne. Yet he still dwells among the living. +</P> + +<P> +In a far-away, sunny clime, stands a stately mansion. We will not +linger to describe the elegant exterior, to hold up before the +reader's imagination a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely +heightened by art, but enter its spacious hall, and pass up to one +of its most luxurious chambers. How hushed and solemn the pervading +atmosphere! The inmates, few in number, are grouped around one on +whose white forehead Time's trembling finger has written the word +"Death." Over her bends a manly form. There—his face is toward you. +Ah! You recognise the wanderer—the wealth-seeker. What does he +here? What to him is the dying one? His wife! And has he, then, +forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes lay wet on her pale cheeks +for many hours after she read his parting words? He has not +forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he the prize, to +contend for which he went forth. Years came and departed; yet still +hope mocked him with ever-attractive and ever-fading illusions. +To-day he stood with his hand just ready to seize the object of his +wishes—to-morrow, a shadow mocked him. At last, in an evil hour, he +bowed down his manhood prostrate even to the dust in mammon-worship, +and took to himself a bride, rich in golden attractions, but poorer, +as a woman, than even the beggar at his father's gate. What a thorn +in his side she proved!—a thorn ever sharp and ever piercing. The +closer he attempted to draw her to his bosom, the deeper went the +points into his own, until, in the anguish of his soul, again and +again he flung her passionately from him. +</P> + +<P> +Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there of earthly good to +compensate therefor? But, in this last desperate throw, did the +worldling gain the wealth, station, and honour he coveted? He had +wedded the only child of a man whose treasure might be counted by +hundreds of thousands; but, in doing so, he had failed to secure the +father's approval or confidence. The stern old man regarded him as a +mercenary interloper, and ever treated him as such. For five years, +therefore, he fretted and chafed in the narrow prison whose gilded +bars his own hands had forged. How often, during that time, had his +heart wandered back to the dear old home, and the beloved ones with +whom he had passed his early years And ah! how many, many times came +between him and the almost hated countenance of his wife, the +gentle, loving face of that one to whom he had been false! How often +her soft blue eyes rested on his own! How often he started and +looked up suddenly, as if her sweet voice came floating on the air! +</P> + +<P> +And so the years moved on, the chain galling more deeply, and a +bitter sense of humiliation as well as bondage robbing him of all +pleasure in life. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it is with him when, after ten years, we find him waiting, in +the chamber of death, for the stroke that is to break the fetters +that so long have bound him. It has fallen. He is free again. In +dying, the sufferer made no sign. Sullenly she plunged into the dark +profound, so impenetrable to mortal eyes, and as the turbid waves +closed, sighing, over her, he who had called her wife turned from +the couch on which her frail body remained, with an inward "Thank +God! I am a man again!" +</P> + +<P> +One more bitter drug yet remained for his cup. Not a week had gone +by, ere the father of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting +words— +</P> + +<P> +"You were nothing to me while my daughter lived—you are less than +nothing now. It was my wealth, not my child, that you loved. She has +passed away. What affection would have given to her, dislike will +never bestow on you. Henceforth we are strangers." +</P> + +<P> +When next the sun went down on that stately mansion which the +wealth-seeker had coveted, he was a wanderer again—poor, +humiliated, broken in spirit. +</P> + +<P> +How bitter had been the mockery of all his early hopes! How terrible +the punishment he had suffered! +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +SCENE THIRD. +</H4> + +<P> +ONE more eager, almost fierce struggle with alluring fortune, in +which the worldling came near steeping his soul in crime, and then +fruitless ambition died in his bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"My brother said well," he murmured, as a ray of light fell suddenly +on the darkness of his spirit: "Contentment <I>is</I> better than wealth. +Dear brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen! Ah, why did I leave you? +Too late! too late! A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips; +but I turned my head away, asking for a more fiery and exciting +draught. How vividly comes before me now that parting scene! I am +looking into my brother's face. I feel the tight grasp of his hand. +His voice is in my ears. Dear brother! And his parting words, I hear +them now, even more earnestly than when they were first +spoken:—'Should fortune cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return +to your home again. Its doors will ever be open, and its +hearth-fires bright for you as of old.' Ah! do the fires still burn? +How many years have passed since I went forth! And Ellen? But I dare +not think of her. It is too late—too late! Even if she be living +and unchanged in her affections, I can never lay this false heart at +her feet. Her look of love would smite me as with a whip of +scorpions." +</P> + +<P> +The step of time had fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those +to whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, that few +footmarks were visible. Yet there had been changes in the old +homestead. As the smiling years went by, each, as it looked in at +the cottage-window, saw the home circle widening, or new beauty +crowning the angel brows of happy children. No thorn in his side had +Robert's gentle wife proved. As time passed on, closer and closer +was she drawn to his bosom; yet never a point had pierced him. Their +home was a type of paradise. +</P> + +<P> +It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread, +and they are about gathering around the table, when a stranger +enters. His words are vague and brief, his manner singular, his air +slightly mysterious. Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to +face. +</P> + +<P> +"Are these all your children?" he asks, surprise and admiration +mingling in his tones. +</P> + +<P> +"All ours. And, thank God! the little flock is yet unbroken." +</P> + +<P> +The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is +impossible to conceal. +</P> + +<P> +"Contentment is better than wealth," he murmurs. "Oh that I had +earlier comprehended this truth!" +</P> + +<P> +The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too +distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly +recognises in the stranger his long wandering, long mourned brother. +</P> + +<P> +"William!" +</P> + +<P> +The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand +gazing at each other, then tenderly embrace. +</P> + +<P> +"William!" +</P> + +<P> +How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet +maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so +unobtrusively, the one he had parted from years before—the one to +whom he had been so false. But her voice has startled his ears with +the familiar tones of yesterday. +</P> + +<P> +"Ellen!" Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years. +He has leaped back over the gloomy gulf, and stands now as he stood +ere ambition and lust for gold lured him away from the side of his +first and only love. It is well both for him and the faithful maiden +that he can so forget the past as to take her in his arms and clasp +her almost wildly to his heart. But for this, conscious shame would +have betrayed his deeply repented perfidy. +</P> + +<P> +And here we leave them, reader. "Contentment is better than wealth." +So the wordling proved, after a bitter experience—which may you +be spared! It is far better to realize a truth perceptively, and +thence make it a rule of action, than to prove its verity in a +life of sharp agony. But how few are able to rise into such a +realization! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="match"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MATCH-MAKING. +</H3> + +<P> +"YOU are a sly girl, Mary." +</P> + +<P> +"Not by general reputation, I believe, Mrs. Martindale." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no. Every one thinks you a little paragon of propriety. But I +can see as deep as most people." +</P> + +<P> +"You might as well talk in High Dutch to me, Mrs. Martindale. You +would be equally intelligible." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a very innocent girl, Mary." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope I am. Certainly I am not conscious of wishing harm to any +one. But pray, Mrs. Martindale, oblige me by coming a little nearer +to the point." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't remember any thing about Mrs. Allenson's party—of +course?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would be strange if I did not." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. Now you begin to comprehend a little." +</P> + +<P> +"Do speak out plainly, Mrs. Martindale!" +</P> + +<P> +"So innocent! Ah me, Mary! you are a sly girl. You didn't see any +thing of a young man there with dark eyes and hair, and a beautiful +white, high forehead?" +</P> + +<P> +"If there was an individual there, answering to your description, it +is highly probable that I did see him. But what then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nothing, of course!" +</P> + +<P> +"You are trifling with me, Mrs. Martindale." +</P> + +<P> +"Seriously, then, Mary, I was very much pleased to notice the +attentions shown you by Mr. Fenwick, and more pleased at seeing how +much those attentions appeared to gratify you. He is a young man in +a thousand." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure I saw nothing very particular in his attentions to me; +and I am very certain that I was also more gratified at the +attentions shown by him, than I was by those of other young men +present." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not." +</P> + +<P> +"You seem to doubt my word?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no—I don't doubt your word. But on these subjects young ladies +feel themselves privileged to—to"—— +</P> + +<P> +"To what, Mrs. Martindale?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—only. But don't you think Mr. Fenwick a charming young +man?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't perceive any thing very remarkable about him." +</P> + +<P> +"He did about you. I saw that, clearly." +</P> + +<P> +"How can you talk so to me, Mrs. Martindale?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh la! Do hear the girl! Did you never have a beau, Mary?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, many a one. What of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"And a lover too?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing about lovers." +</P> + +<P> +As Mary Lester said this, her heart made a fluttering bound, and an +emotion, new and strange, but sweet, swelled and trembled in her +bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"But you soon will, Mary, or I'm mistaken." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Martindale saw the cheek of the fair girl kindle, and her eye +brighten, and she said to herself, with an inward smile of +satisfaction— +</P> + +<P> +"I'll make a match of it yet—see if I don't! What a beautiful +couple they will be!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Martindale was one of that singular class of elderly ladies +whose chief delight consists in match-making. Many and many a couple +had she brought together in her time, and she lived in the pleasing +hope of seeing many more united. It was a remarkable fact, however, +that in nearly every instance where her kind offices had been +interposed, the result had not been the very happiest in the world. +This fact, however, never seemed to strike her. The one great end of +her life was to get people together—to pair them off. Whether they +jogged on harmoniously together, or pulled separate ways, was no +concern of hers. Her business was to make the matches. As to living +in harmony, or the opposite, that concerned the couples themselves, +and to that they must look themselves. It was enough for her to make +the matches, without being obliged to accord the dispositions. +</P> + +<P> +As in every thing else, practice makes perfect, so in this +occupation, practice gave to Mrs. Martindale great skill in +discerning character—at least, of such character as she could +operate on. And she could, moreover, tell the progressive states of +mind of those upon whom she exercised her kind offices, almost as +truly as if she heard them expressed in words. It was, therefore, +clear to her, after her first essay, that Mary Lester's affections +might very easily be brought out and made to linger about the young +man whom she had, in her wisdom, chosen as her husband. As Mary was +a very sweet girl, and, moreover, had a father well to do in the +world, she had no fears about interesting Mr. Fenwick in her favour. +</P> + +<P> +Only a few days passed before Mrs. Martindale managed to throw +herself into the company of the young man. +</P> + +<P> +"How were you pleased with the party, Mr. Fenwick?" she began. +</P> + +<P> +"At Mrs. Allenson's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Very much." +</P> + +<P> +"So I thought." +</P> + +<P> +"Did I seem, then, particularly pleased?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought so." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! Well, I can't say that I was interested a great deal more +than I usually am on such occasions." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a <I>great deal</I> more?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I certainly was not." +</P> + +<P> +"But a <I>little</I> more?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I was; but I cannot be positive." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. I know it. And I'm of the opinion that you were not the +only person there who was interested a <I>little more</I> than usual." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, indeed! And who was the other, pray?" +</P> + +<P> +"A dear little girl, whom I could mention." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was she?" +</P> + +<P> +"The sweetest young lady in the room." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what was her name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you guess?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not good at guessing." +</P> + +<P> +"Try." +</P> + +<P> +"Mary Lester?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course! Ha! ha! ha! I knew it." +</P> + +<P> +"Knew what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, Mr. Innocence! Knew what!" +</P> + +<P> +"You are disposed to be quite merry, Mrs. Martindale." +</P> + +<P> +"I always feel merry when I see a young couple like you and Mary +Lester mutually pleased with each other." +</P> + +<P> +"Mutually pleased?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, mutually pleased." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know that, Mrs. Martindale?" +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't I got a good pair of eyes in my head?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very good, I should certainly think, to make such a wonderful +discovery." +</P> + +<P> +"Seriously, though, Mr. Fenwick, do you not think Mary Lester a very +sweet girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I do." +</P> + +<P> +"And just such a one as you could love?" +</P> + +<P> +"Any one, it seems to me, might love Mary Lester; but then, it is +just as apparent that she could not love any one who might chance to +offer." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not. And I should be very sorry to think that she could. +But of one thing I am certain, she cannot look upon you with +unfavourable eyes." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Martindale!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am in earnest, Mr. Fenwick." +</P> + +<P> +"What reason have you for thinking so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very good reason. I had my eyes on you both at Mrs. Allenson's +party, and I saw as plain as could be that Mary was deeply +interested. Since then, I have met her, and observed her eye +brighten and her cheek kindle at the mention of your name. Mr. +Fenwick, she is a prize well worth winning, and may be yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you, then, really serious?" the young man now said, his tone +and manner changing. +</P> + +<P> +"Assuredly I am, Mr. Fenwick." +</P> + +<P> +"Mary Lester, you know, moves in a circle above my own; that is, her +father is accounted rich, and I am known to have nothing but my own +energies to depend upon." +</P> + +<P> +"All that is nothing. Win her affections, and she must be yours." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am not so certain that I can do that." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense! It is half done already." +</P> + +<P> +"You seem very positive about the matter." +</P> + +<P> +"Because I am never mistaken on these subjects. I can tell, the +moment I see a young couple together, whether they will suit each +other or not." +</P> + +<P> +"And you think, then, that we will just suit?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I do." +</P> + +<P> +"I only wish that I could think so." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you, indeed? I am glad to hear you say that. I thought you could +not be insensible to the charms of so sweet a girl." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you, then, really believe that if I offered myself to Mary +Lester, she would accept me?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you went the right way about it, I am sure she would." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean by the right way?" +</P> + +<P> +"The right way for you, of course, is to endeavour to win her +affections. She is already, I can see, strongly prepossessed in your +favour, but is not herself aware to what extent her feelings are +interested. Throw yourself into her company as much as you can, and +when in her company pay her the kindest attentions. But do not visit +her at her own house at present, or her father may crush the whole +affair. When I see her again, I will drop a word in your favour." +</P> + +<P> +"I am certainly very much indebted to you, Mrs. Martindale, for your +kind hints and promised interference. I have often felt drawn toward +Mary, but always checked the feeling, because I had no idea that I, +could make an impression on her mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Faint heart never won fair lady," was Mrs. Martindale's encouraging +response. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Mary," said the lady to Miss Lester, a few days afterward, +"have you seen Mr. Fenwick since?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Fenwick!" said she, in tones of affected surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Mr. Fenwick." +</P> + +<P> +"No—of course not. Why do you ask so strange a question? He does +not visit me." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't he? Well, I have seen him." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you? Then I hope you were very much delighted with his +company, for he seems to be a favourite of yours." +</P> + +<P> +"He certainly is a favourite of mine, Mary. I have known him for a +good many years, and have always esteemed him highly. There are few +young men who can claim to be his equal." +</P> + +<P> +"I doubt not but there are hundreds to be met with every day as good +as he." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so, Mary. I have not, however, been so fortunate as to come +across them." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt he is a paragon!" +</P> + +<P> +"Whether he be one or not, he at least thinks there is no one like +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Like me!" ejaculated Mary, taken thus suddenly by surprise, while +the colour mounted to her face, and deepened about her eyes and +forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, like you. The fact is, Mary, he thinks and speaks of you in +the kindest terms. You have evidently interested him very much." +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly never intended to do so, Mrs. Martindale." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not, Mary. I never supposed for a moment that you had. +Still he is interested, and deeply so." +</P> + +<P> +Having ventured thus far, Mrs. Martindale deemed it prudent to say +no more for the present, but to leave her insinuations to work upon +Mary's heart what they were designed to effect. She was satisfied +that all was as she could wish—that both Fenwick and Mary were +interested in each other; and she knew enough of the human heart, +and of her own power over it, when exercised in a certain way, to +know that it would not be long before they were much more deeply +interested. +</P> + +<P> +Like all the rest of Mrs. Martindale's selections of parties for +matrimony, the present was a very injudicious one. Mary was only +seventeen—too young, by three or four years, to be able properly to +judge of character; and Fenwick was by no means a suitable man for +her husband. He was himself only about twenty-one, with a character +not yet fully decided, though the different constituents of his mind +were just ready to take their various positions, and fixed and +distinctive forms. Unfortunately, these mental and moral relations +were not truly balanced; there was an evident bias of selfishness +and evil over generous and true principles. As Mrs. Martindale was +no profound judge of character, she could not, of course, make a +true discrimination of Fenwick's moral fitness for the husband of +Mary Lester. Indeed, she never attempted to analyze character, nor +had she an idea of any thing beneath the surface. Personal +appearance, an affable exterior, and a little flattery of herself, +were the three things which, in her estimation, went to make up a +perfect character—were enough to constitute the beau ideal of a +husband for any one. +</P> + +<P> +Mary's father was a merchant of considerable wealth and standing in +society, and possessing high-toned feelings and principles. Mary was +his oldest child. He loved her tenderly, and, moreover, felt all a +parent's pride in one so young, so lovely, and so innocent. +</P> + +<P> +Fenwick had, until within a few months, been a clerk in a retail +dry-goods store, at a very small salary. A calculating, but not too +honest a wholesale dealer in the same line, desirous of getting rid +of a large stock of unsaleable goods, proposed to the young man to +set him up in business—a proposition which was instantly accepted. +The credit thus furnished to Fenwick was an inducement for others to +sell to him; and so, without a single dollar of capital, he obtained +a store full of goods. The scheme of the individual who had thus +induced him to venture upon a troubled and uncertain sea, was to get +paid fair prices for his own depreciated goods out of Fenwick's +first sales, and then gradually to withdraw his support, compelling +him to buy of other jobbing houses, until his indebtedness to him +would be but nominal. He was very well assured that the young +merchant could not stand it over a year or two, and for that length +of time only by a system of borrowing and accommodations; but as to +the result he cared nothing, so that he effected a good sale of a +bad stock. +</P> + +<P> +Notwithstanding such an unpromising condition of his affairs, even +if fully known to Mr. Lester, that gentleman would not have strongly +opposed a union of his daughter with Mr. Fenwick, had he been a man +of strong mind, intelligence, energy, and high-toned principles—for +he was philosopher enough to know that these will elevate a man +under any circumstances. But Fenwick had no decided points in his +character. He had limited intelligence, and no energy arising from +clear perceptions and strong resolutions. He was a man fit to +captivate a young and innocent girl, but not to hold the affection +of a generous-minded woman. +</P> + +<P> +In the natural order of events, such a circumstance as a marriage +union between the daughter of Mr. Lester, and an individual like +Fenwick, was not at all likely to occur. But a meddlesome woman, +who, by the accident of circumstances, had found free access to the +family of Mr. Lester, set herself seriously at work to interfere +with the orderly course of things, and effect a conjunction between +two in no way fitted for each other, either in external +circumstances or similarity of character. But let us trace the +progress of this artificial passion, fanned into a blaze by the +officious Mrs. Martindale. After having agitated the heart of Mary +with the idea of being beloved, while she coolly calculated its +effects upon her, the match-monger sought an early opportunity for +another interview with Fenwick. +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen Mary since we last met," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, do you think I have any thing to hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I do. I mentioned your name to her on purpose, and I +could see that the heart of the dear little thing began to flutter +at the very sound; and when I bantered her, she blushed, and was all +confusion." +</P> + +<P> +"When shall I be able to meet her again?" +</P> + +<P> +"Next week, I think. There is to be a party at Mrs. Cameron's and as +I am a particular friend of the family, I will endeavour to get you +an invitation." +</P> + +<P> +"Mary is to be there, of course?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure that you can get me invited?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I think so. Mrs. Cameron, it is true, has some exclusive +notions of her own; but I have no doubt of being able to remove +them." +</P> + +<P> +"Try, by all means." +</P> + +<P> +"You may depend on me for that," was Mrs. Martindale's encouraging +reply. +</P> + +<P> +The evening of Mrs. Cameron's party soon came around. Mrs. +Martindale had been as good as her word, and managed to get Fenwick +invited, although he had never in his life met either Mr. or Mrs. +Cameron. But he had no delicate and manly scruples on the subject. +All he desired was to get invited; the way in which it was done was +of no consequence to him. +</P> + +<P> +Mary Lester was seated by the side of her interested friend when the +young man entered. Her heart gave a quick bound as she saw him come +in, while a pleasant thrill pervaded her bosom. He at once advanced +toward them, while Mrs. Martindale rose, and after receiving him +with her blandest manner, presented him to Mary, so as to give him +an opportunity for being in her society at once. Both were, as might +very naturally be supposed, a good deal embarrassed, for each was +conscious that now a new relation existed between them. This their +very kind friend observed, and with much tact introduced subjects of +conversation, until she had paved the way, for a freer intercourse, +and then she left them alone for a brief period, not, however, +without carefully observing them, to see how they "got along +together," as she mentally expressed it. +</P> + +<P> +She had little cause for further concern on this account, for +Fenwick had a smooth and ready tongue in his head, and five years +behind the counter of a retail dealer had taught him how to use it. +Instead of finding it necessary to prompt them, the wily Mrs. +Martindale soon discovered that her kind offices were needed to +restrain them a little, lest the evidence of their being too well +pleased with each other should be discovered by the company. +</P> + +<P> +Two or three interviews more were all that were needed to bring +about a declaration from the young man. Previous to his taking this +step, however, Mrs. Martindale had fully prepared Mary's mind for +it. +</P> + +<P> +"You own to me, Mary," said she, during one of the many +conversations now held with her on the subject of Fenwick's +attentions, "that you love him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do, Mrs. Martindale," the young lady replied, in a tone half sad, +leaning at the same time upon the shoulder of her friend. "But I am +conscious that I have been wrong in permitting my affections to +become so much interested without having consulted my mother." +</P> + +<P> +"It will never do for you to consult her now, Mary, for she does not +know Mr. Fenwick as you and I know him. She will judge of him, as +will your father, from appearances, and forbid you to keep his +company." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure that such will be the case, and you cannot tell how it +troubles me. From childhood up I have been taught to confide in +them, and, except in this thing, have never once deceived them. The +idea of doing so now, is one that gives me constant pain. I feel +that I have not acted wisely in this matter." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense, Mary! Parents never think with their children in these +matters. It would make no odds whom you happened to love, they would +most certainly oppose you. I never yet knew a young lady whose +parents fully approved her choice of a husband." +</P> + +<P> +"I feel very certain that mine will not approve my choice; and I +cannot bear the idea of their displeasure. Sometimes I feel half +determined to tell them all, let the consequences be what they may." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, no, Mary! not for the world. They would no doubt take steps +to prevent your again meeting each other." +</P> + +<P> +"What, then, shall I do, Mrs. Martindale?" +</P> + +<P> +"See Mr. Fenwick whenever an opportunity offers, and leave the rest +to me. I will advise you when and how to act." +</P> + +<P> +The almost involuntary admissions made by Mary in this conversation, +were at once conveyed to the ears of Fenwick, who soon sought an +opportunity openly to declare his love. Of course, his suit was not +rejected. Thus, under the advice and direction of a most injudicious +woman, who had betrayed the confidence placed in her, was a young +girl, unacquainted with life, innocent and unsuspicious, wooed and +won, and her parents wholly ignorant of the circumstance. +</P> + +<P> +Thoughts of marriage follow quickly a declaration of love. Once with +the prize in view, Fenwick was eager to have it wholly in his +possession. Mrs. Martindale was, of course, the mutual friend and +adviser, and she urged an immediate clandestine marriage. For many +weeks Mary resisted the persuasions of both. Fenwick and Mrs. +Martindale; but at last, in a state of half distraction of mind, she +consented to secretly leave her father's house, and throw herself +upon the protection of one she had not known for six months, and of +whose true character she had no certain knowledge. +</P> + +<P> +"Mary is out a great deal of late, it seems to me," Mr. Lester +remarked, as he sat alone with his wife one evening about ten +o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +"So I was just thinking. There is, scarcely an evening now in the +week that she has not an engagement somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot say that I much approve of such a course myself. There is +always danger of a girl, just at Mary's age, forming injudicious +preferences for young men, if she be thrown much into their company, +unattended by a proper adviser." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Martindale is very fond of Mary, and I believe is with her a +good deal." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Martindale? Humph! Do you know that I have no great confidence +in that woman?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you forgotten the hand she had in bringing about that most +unfortunate marriage of Caroline Howell?" +</P> + +<P> +"I had almost forgotten it. Or, rather, I never paid much attention +to the rumour in regard to her interference in the matter; because, +you know, people will talk." +</P> + +<P> +"And to some purpose, often; at least, I am persuaded that there is +truth in all that is alleged in this instance. And now that my +thoughts begin to run in this way, I do really feel concerned lest +the reason of Mary's frequent absence of late, in company with Mrs. +Martindale, has some reference to a matter of this kind. Have you +not observed some change in her of late?" +</P> + +<P> +"She has not been very cheerful for the last two or three months." +</P> + +<P> +"So I have once or twice thought, but supposed it was only my +imagination. If this, then, be true, it is our duty to be on our +guard—to watch over Mary with a careful eye, and to know +particularly into what company she goes." +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly agree with you that we ought to do so. Heaven grant +that our watchfulness do not come too late!" Mrs. Lester said, a +sudden feeling of alarm springing up in her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a late hour for her to be from home, and we not apprized of +where she is," the father remarked anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"It is, indeed. She has rarely stayed out later than nine o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +"Who has been in the habit of coming home with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Usually Mrs. Martindale has accompanied her home, and this fact has +thrown me off my guard." +</P> + +<P> +"It should have put you on your guard; for a woman like Mrs. +Martindale, gossiping about as she does, night after night, with +young folks, cannot, it seems to me, have the best ends in view." +</P> + +<P> +"She seems to be a very well-disposed woman." +</P> + +<P> +"That is true. And yet I have been several times persuaded that she +was one of the detestable tribe of match-makers." +</P> + +<P> +"Surely not." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid that it is too true. And if it be so, Mary is in +dangerous company." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed she is. From this time forth we must guard her more +carefully. Of all things in the world, I dread an improper marriage +for Mary. If she should throw away her affections upon an unworthy +object, how sad would be her condition! Her gentle spirit, wounded +in the tenderest part, would fail, and droop, and pine away in +hopeless sorrow. Some women have a strength of character that +enables them to rise superior, in a degree, to even such an +affliction; but Mary could not bear it." +</P> + +<P> +"I feel deeply the truth of what you say," replied Mr. Lester. "Her +affections are ardent, and easily called out. We have been to blame +in not thinking more seriously of this matter before." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish she would come home! It is growing far too late for her to +be absent," the mother said, in a voice of anxious concern. +</P> + +<P> +Then succeeded a long and troubled silence, which continued until +the clock struck eleven. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless me! where can she be?" ejaculated Mr. Lester, rising and +beginning to pace the floor with hurried steps. +</P> + +<P> +This he continued to do for nearly a quarter of an hour, when he +paused, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know where Mrs. Martindale lives?" +</P> + +<P> +"At No.—Pearl street." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt she can tell where Mary is." +</P> + +<P> +"I think it more than probable." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will see her at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Had you not better wait a little longer? I should be sorry to +attract attention, or cause remark about the matter, which would be +the result, if it got out that you went in search of her after +eleven o'clock at night." +</P> + +<P> +This had the effect to cause Mr. Lester to wait little longer. But +when the clock struck twelve, he could restrain himself no further. +Taking up his hat, he hurried off in the direction of Mrs. +Martindale's. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mrs. Martindale at home?" he asked of the servant, who, after he +had rung three or four times, found her way to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Will she be here to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she in the habit of staying away at night?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Where did she go early in the evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Disappointed, and doubly alarmed, Mr. Lester turned away, and +retraced his steps homeward. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see her?" eagerly inquired his wife, as he entered. +</P> + +<P> +"She is not at home." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" +</P> + +<P> +"The stupid servant could not or would not tell." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, indeed, I do not like the appearance of all this," said +Mrs. Lester, with a troubled countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Nor do I. I am sadly afraid all is not right in regard to Mary." +</P> + +<P> +"But she certainly could not be induced to go away with any one—in +a word, to marry clandestinely." +</P> + +<P> +"I should hope not. But one so innocent and unsuspecting as +Mary—one with so much natural goodness of character—is most easily +led away by the specious and designing, who can easily obscure their +minds, and take from them their own freedom of action. For this +reason, we should have guarded her much more carefully than we have +done." +</P> + +<P> +For two hours longer did the anxious parents wait and watch for +Mary's return, but in vain. They then retired to take a brief but +troubled repose. +</P> + +<P> +Early on the next morning, in going into Mary's room, her mother +found a letter for her, partly concealed among the leaves of a +favourite volume that lay upon her table. It contained the +information that she was about to marry Mr. Fenwick, and gave Mrs. +Martindale as authority for the excellence of his character: The +letter was written on the previous day, and the marriage was to take +place that night. +</P> + +<P> +With a stifled cry of anguish, Mrs. Lester sprang down the stairs, +on comprehending the tenor of the letter, and, placing it in the +hands of her husband, burst into tears. He read it through without +visible emotion; but the intelligence fell like a dead, oppressive +weight upon his heart—almost checking respiration. Slowly he seated +himself upon a chair, while his head sank upon his bosom, and thus +he remained almost motionless for nearly half an hour, while his +wife wept and sobbed by his side. +</P> + +<P> +"Mary," he at last said, in a mournful tone—"she is our child yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Wretched—wretched girl!" responded Mrs. Lester; "how could she so +fatally deceive herself and us?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fatally, indeed, has she done so! But upon her own head will the +deepest sorrow rest. I only wish that we were altogether guiltless +of this sacrifice." +</P> + +<P> +"But may it not turn out that this Mr. Fenwick will not prove so +unworthy of her as we fear?—that he will do all in his power to +make her happy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Altogether a vain hope, Mary. He is evidently not a man of +principle, for no man of principle would have thus clandestinely +stolen away our child—which he could only have done by first +perverting or blinding her natural perceptions of right. Can such an +one make any pure-minded, unselfish woman happy? No!—the hope is +altogether vain. He must have been conscious of his unworthiness, or +he would have come forward like a man and asked for her." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. and Mrs. Lester loved their daughter too well to cast her off. +They at once brought her, with her husband, back to her home again, +and endeavoured to make that home as pleasant to her as ever. But, +alas! few months had passed away, before the scales fell from her +eyes—before she perceived that the man upon whom she had lavished +the wealth of her young heart's affections, could not make her +happy. A weak and vain young man, Fenwick could not stand the honour +of being Mr. Lester's son-in-law, without having his brain turned. +He became at once an individual of great consequence—assumed airs, +and played the fool so thoroughly, as not only to disgust her +friends and family, but even Mary herself. His business was far too +limited for a man of his importance. He desired to relinquish the +retail line, and get into the jobbing trade. He stated his plans to +Mr. Lester, and boldly asked for a capital of twenty thousand +dollars to begin with. This was of course refused. That gentleman +thought it wisdom to support him in idleness, if it came to that, +rather than risk the loss of a single dollar in a business in which +there was a moral certainty of failure. +</P> + +<P> +Disgusted with his father-in-law's narrow-mindedness, as he called +it, Fenwick attempted to make the desired change on the strength of +his own credit. This scheme likewise proved a failure. And that was +not all, as in the course of a twelve-month his creditors wound him +up, and he came out a bankrupt. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Lester then offered him a situation as clerk in his own store; +but Fenwick was a young man of too much consequence to be clerk to +any man. If he could not be in business himself, he, would do no +business at all, he said. That he was determined on. He could do +business as well as any one, and had as much right to be in business +as any one. +</P> + +<P> +The consequence was, that idle habits took him into idle company, +and idle company led him on to dissipation. Three years after his +marriage with Mary Lester, he was a drunkard and a gambler, and she +a drooping, almost heart-broken young wife and mother. +</P> + +<P> +One night, nearly four years from the date of her unhappy marriage, +Mary sat alone in her chamber, by the side of the bed upon which +slept sweetly and peacefully a little girl nearly three years of +age, the miniature image of herself. Her face was very thin and +pale, and there was a wildness in her restless eyes, that betokened +a troubled spirit. The time had worn on until nearly one o'clock, +and still she made no movement to retire; but seemed waiting for +some one, and yet not in anxious expectation. At last the door below +was opened, and footsteps came shuffling along the hall, and noisily +up the stairs. In a moment or two, her room-door was swung widely +open, and her husband staggered in, so drunk that he could scarcely +keep his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"And pray what are you doing up at this time of night, ha?" said he, +in drunken anger. +</P> + +<P> +"You did not like it, you know, because I was in bed last night, and +so I have sat up for you this time," his wife replied, soothingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you've no business to be up this late, let me tell you, +madam. And I'm not agoing to have it. So bundle off to bed with you, +in less than no time!" +</P> + +<P> +"O Henry! how can you talk so to me?" poor Mary said, bursting into +tears. +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't go to blubbering in that way, I can tell you, madam; so +just shut up! I won't have it! And see here: I must have three +hundred dollars out of that stingy old father of yours to-morrow, +and you must get it for me. If you don't, why, just look out for +squalls." +</P> + +<P> +As he said this, he threw himself heavily upon the bed, and came +with his whole weight upon the body of his child. Mrs. Fenwick +screamed out, sprang to the bedside, and endeavoured to drag him off +the little girl. Not understanding what she meant, he rose up +quickly, and threw her from him with such force, as to dash her +against the wall opposite, when she fell senseless upon the floor. +Just at this moment, her father, who had overheard his first angry +words, burst into the room, and with the energy of suddenly aroused +indignation, seized Fenwick by the collar, dragged him down-stairs, +and thence threw him into the street from his hall-door, which he +closed and locked after him—vowing, as he did so, that the wretch +should never again cross his threshold. +</P> + +<P> +All night long did poor Mrs. Fenwick lie, her senses locked in +insensibility; and all through the next day she remained in the same +state, in spite of every effort to restore her. Her husband several +times attempted to gain admittance, but was resolutely refused. +</P> + +<P> +"He never crosses my door-stone again!" the old man said; and to +that resolution he determined to adhere. +</P> + +<P> +Another night and another day passed, and still another night, and +yet the heart-stricken young wife showed no signs of returning +consciousness. It was toward evening on the fourth day, that the +family, with Mrs. Martindale, who had called in, were gathered round +her bed, in a state of painful and gloomy anxiety, waiting for, yet +almost despairing again to see her restored to consciousness. All at +once she opened her eyes, and looked up calmly into the faces of +those who surrounded her bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is little Mary?" she at length asked. +</P> + +<P> +The child was instantly brought to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Does Mary love mother?" she asked of the child, in a tone of +peculiar tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +The child drew its little arms about her neck, and kissed her pale +lips and cheeks fondly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Mary loves mother. But mother is going away to leave Mary. +Will she be a good girl?" +</P> + +<P> +The little thing murmured assent, as it clung closer to its mother's +bosom. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fenwick then looked up into the faces of her father and mother +with a sad but tender smile, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"You will be good to little Mary when I am gone? +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk so, Mary!—don't, my child! You are not going to leave +us," her mother sobbed, while the tears fell from her eyes like +rain. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, dear! you will not leave us," said her father, in a +trembling voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear mother! dear father! I must go. But you will not let any +one take little Mary from you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no—ever! She is ours, and no one shall ever take her away." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fenwick then closed her eyes, while a placid expression settled +upon her sweet but careworn face. Again she looked up, but with a +more serious countenance. As she did so, her eyes rested upon Mrs. +Martindale. +</P> + +<P> +"I am about to die, Mrs. Martindale," she said, hit a calm but +feeble voice—"and with my dying breath I charge upon you the ruin +of my hopes and happiness. If my little girl should live to woman's +estate," she added, turning to her parents, "guard her from the +influence of this woman, as you would from the fangs of a serpent." +</P> + +<P> +Then closing her eyes again, she sank away into a sleep that proved +the sleep of death. Alas! how many like her have gone down to an +early grave, or still pine on in hopeless sorrow, the victims of +that miserable interference in society, which is constantly bringing +young people together, and endeavouring to induce them to love and +marry each other, without there being between them any true +congeniality or fitness for such a relation! Of all assumed social +offices, that of the match-maker is one of the most pernicious, and +her character one of the most detestable. She should be shunned with +the same shrinking aversion with which we shun a serpent which +crosses our path. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="return"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE RETURN; OR, WHO IS IT? +</H3> + +<P> +"IT'S nearly a year now since I was home," said Lucy Gray to her +husband; "and so you must let me go for a few weeks." +</P> + +<P> +They had been married some four or five years, and never during that +time had been separated for a single night. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you called this your home," said Gray, looking up with a +mock-serious air. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean my old home," replied Lucy, in a half-affected tone of +anger. "Or, to make it plain, I want to go, and see father and +mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you wait three or four months, until I can go with you?" +asked the young husband. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to go now. You said all along that I should go in May." +</P> + +<P> +"I know I did. But then I supposed that I would be able to go with +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, why can't you? I am sure you might, if you would." +</P> + +<P> +"No, Lucy, I cannot possibly leave home now. But if you are very +anxious to see the old folks, I can put you in the stage, and you +will go safely enough. Ellen and I can take care of little Lucy, no +doubt. How long a time do you wish to spend with them?" +</P> + +<P> +"About three weeks or so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Lucy, if you are not afraid to go lone, I have not a +word to say." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not afraid, dear," replied the wife in a voice hanged and +softened in its expression. "But are you perfectly willing to let me +go, Henry?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, certainly," was answered, although the tone in which the words +were uttered had in it something of reluctance. "It would be selfish +in me to say no. Your father and mother will be delighted receive a +visit just now." +</P> + +<P> +"And you think that you and Ellen can get along with little Lucy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, very well." +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to go so much." +</P> + +<P> +"Go, then, by all means." +</P> + +<P> +"But won't you be very lonesome without me?" suggested Lucy, in +whose own bosom a feeling of loneliness was already beginning to be +felt at the bare idea of a separation from her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"I can stand it as long as you," was Gray's laughing reply to this. +"And then I shall have our dear little Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Gray laughed in return, but did not feel as happy at the idea +of "going home" as she thought she would be before her husband's +consent was gained. The desire to go, however, remaining strong, it +was finally settled that the visit should take place. So all the +preparations were made, and in the course of a week Henry Gray saw +his wife take her seat in the stage, with a feeling of regret at +parting which it required all his efforts to conceal. As for Lucy, +when the time came, she regretted ever having thought of going +without her husband and child; but she was ashamed to let her real +feelings be known. So she kept on a show of indifference, all the +while that her heart was fluttering. The "good-bye" finally said, +the driver cracked his whip, and off rolled the stage. Gray turned +homeward with a dull, lonely feeling, and Lucy drew her vail over +her face to conceal the unbidden tears from her fellow-passengers. +</P> + +<P> +That night, poor Mr. Gray slept but little. How could he? His Lucy +was absent, and for the first time, from his side. On the next +morning, as he could think of nothing but his wife, he sat down and +wrote to her, telling her how lost and lonely he felt, and how much +little Lucy missed her, but still to try and enjoy herself, and by +all means to write him a letter by return mail. +</P> + +<P> +As for Mrs. Gray, during her journey of two whole days, she cried +fully half the time, and when she got "home" at last, that is, at +her father's, she looked the picture of distress, rather than the +daughter full of joy at meeting her parents. +</P> + +<P> +Right glad were the old people to see their dear child, but grieved +at the same time, and a little hurt too, at her weakness and evident +regret at having left her husband, to make them a brief visit. The +real pleasure that Lucy felt at once more seeing the faces of her +parents, whom she tenderly loved, was not strong enough to subdue +and keep in concealment, except for a very short period at a time, +her yearning desire again to be with her husband, for whom she never +before experienced a feeling of such deep and earnest affection. +Several times during the first day of her visit, did her mother +find, her in tears, which she would quickly dash aside, and then +endeavour to smile and seem cheerful. +</P> + +<P> +The day after her arrival brought her a letter—the first she had +ever received from her husband. How precious was every word! How +often and often did she read it over, until every line was engraven +on her memory! Then she sat down, and spent some two or three hours +in replying to it. As she sealed this first epistle to her husband, +full of tender expressions, she sighed as the wish arose in her +mind, involuntarily, to go with it on its journey to the village +of ——. +</P> + +<P> +Long were the hours, and wearily passed, to Henry Gray. It was the +sixth day of trial, before Lucy's answer came. How dear to his heart +was every word of her affectionate epistle! Like her, he went over +it so often, that every sentiment was fixed in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Two weeks longer! How can I bear it?" said he, rising up, and +pacing the floor backward and forward, after reading her letter for +the tenth time. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day, the seventh of his lonely state, Mr. Gray sat down +to write again to Lucy. Several times he wrote the words, as he +proceeded in the letter—"Come home soon,"—but often obliterated +them. He did not wish to appear over anxious for her return, on her +father and mother's account, who were much attached to her. But +forgetting this reason for not urging her early return, he had +commenced again writing the words, "Come home soon," when a pair of +soft hands were suddenly placed over his eyes, by some one who had +stolen softly up behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess my name," said a voice, in feigned tones. +</P> + +<P> +But he had no need to guess, for a sudden cry of joy from a little +toddling thing, told that "Mamma" had come. +</P> + +<P> +How "Mamma" was hugged and kissed all round, need not here be told. +That scene was well enough in its place, but would lose its interest +in telling. It may be imagined, however, without suffering any +particular detriment, by all who have a fancy for such things. +</P> + +<P> +"And father, too!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Gray, after he had almost +smothered his wife with kisses, looking up with an expression of +pleasure and surprise, at an old man, who stood looking on with his +good-humoured face covered with smiles. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I had to bring the good-for-nothing jade home," replied the +old man advancing, and grasping his son-in-law's hand, with a hearty +grip. "She did nothing but mope and cry all the while; and I don't +care if she never comes to see us again, unless she brings you along +to keep her in good humour." +</P> + +<P> +"And I never intend going alone again," said Mrs. Gray, holding a +little chubby girl to her bosom, while she kissed it over and over +again, at the same time that he pressed close up to her husband's +side. +</P> + +<P> +The old man understood it all. He was not jealous of Lucy's +affection, for he knew that she loved him as tenderly as ever. He +was too glad to know that she was happy with a husband to whom she +was as the apple of his eye. In about three months Lucy made another +visit "home." But husband and child were along this time, and the +visit proved a happy one all around. Of course "father and mother" +had their jest, and their laugh, and their affectation of jealousy +and anger at Lucy for her "childishness," as they termed it, when +home in May; but Lucy, though half vexed at herself for what she +called her weakness, nevertheless persevered in saying that she +never meant to go any where again without Henry. "That was settled." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Finger Posts on the Way of Life, by T. S. Arthur + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINGER POSTS ON THE WAY OF LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 4587-h.htm or 4587-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/8/4587/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Finger Posts on the Way of Life + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 14, 2009 [EBook #4587] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: February 12, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINGER POSTS ON THE WAY OF LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +FINGER POSTS ON THE WAY OF LIFE. + + +BY + +T. S. ARTHUR. + + + +BOSTON: + +PHILADELPHIA: + +1853 + + + + +PREFACE. + + +OUR title, though savouring of quaintness, is yet in keeping with +the object of this volume. As we press onward in the journey of +life, to each of us the path is new and strange. Often it is rough +and thorny; often it winds through places beset with difficulties +and danger; often the sky is so dark that we can scarcely see the +narrow line upon which our advancing footsteps may rest in safety. +As "Finger-Posts on the Way of Life," pointing the wary traveller in +the right direction, has this little book been written. It does not, +professedly, take the high mission of the preacher; yet, while its +end is to guide in natural life, the author is never unmindful of +the fact that all natural life is for the sake of spiritual life, +and that no one can live well in the true sense, who does not live +for Heaven. He trusts, therefore, that while these "finger-posts" +indicate the path in which to walk safely through the world, they +will point, as well, to the narrow way that leadeth to Life Eternal. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + SHADOWS FROM A CLOUDED BROW + GENTLE HAND + WILL IT PAY? + THE LAY PREACHER + HOW TO DESTROY A GOOD BUSINESS + THE TWO INVALIDS + MARRYING WELL + BLESSING OF A GOOD DEED + PAYING THE DOCTOR + THE LITTLE BOUND-BOY. + EUTHANASY + THREE SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A WORLDLING + MATCH-MAKING + THE RETURN; OR, WHO IS IT? + + + + +SHADOWS FROM A CLOUDED BROW. + + +A LITTLE thing clouded the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie--a very little +thing. But if she had known how wide the shadows were often +diffused, and how darkly they fell, at times, on some hearts, she +would have striven more earnestly, we may believe, to keep the sky +of her spirit undimmed. + +It will not be uninstructive to note the incidents, in a single day, +of Mrs. Abercrombie's life--to mark the early cloud upon her brow, +and then to glance at the darkly falling shadows. + +Mr. Abercrombie was a man of sensitive feelings, and though he had +striven for many years to overcome his sensitiveness, he had been no +more able to change this hereditary weakness than the leopard his +spots or the Ethiopian his skin. At home, the lightest jar of +discord disturbed him painfully, and the low vibration ceased not, +often, for many hours. The clouded brow of his wife ever threw his +heart into shadow; and the dusky vail was never removed, until +sunlight radiated again from her countenance. It was all in vain +that he tried to be indifferent to these changeful moods--to keep +his spirits above their influence: in the very effort at +disenthralment he was more firmly bound. + +From some cause, unknown to her husband, there was a cloud on the +brow of Mrs. Abercrombie one morning, as she took her place at the +breakfast-table. Mr. Abercrombie was reading, with his usual +interest, the newspaper, and the children were sporting in the +nursery, when the bell summoned them to the dining-room. All +gathered, with pleasant thoughts of good cheer, around the table, +and Mr. Abercrombie, after helping the little ones, was about +mentioning to his wife some pleasant piece of news which he had just +been reading, when, on lifting his eyes to her countenance, he saw +that it was clouded. The words died on his lips; a shadow darkened +over his feelings, and the meal passed in almost total silence--at +least so far as he was concerned. Once or twice he ventured a remark +to Mrs. Abercrombie; but the half-fretful tone in which she replied, +only disturbed him the more. + +Soon the pleasant aspect of the children's countenances changed, and +they became captious and irritable. Both parents were fretted at +this reaction upon their own states of mind, and manifested, at some +slight misconduct on the part of one or two of the children, a +degree of ill-nature that instantly transferred itself to those +against whom it was directed, and became apparent in their +intercourse one with another. + +Before summoned from the nursery, these children were playing +together in the utmost harmony and good feeling; on returning +thereto, the activity of another and far less amiable spirit was +manifest; and instead of merry shouts and joyous laughter, angry +words and complaining cries sounded through the apartment. + +As Mr. Abercrombie left the house, Mrs. Abercrombie entered the +nursery, attracted by the notes of discord. Had there been sunshine +on her countenance, and firm but gentle remonstrance on her tongue, +a quick change would have become apparent. But, ere this, the +shadows she had thrown around her had darkened the atmosphere of her +dwelling, and were now reflected back upon her heart, enshrouding it +in deeper gloom. The want of harmony among her children increased +her mental disturbance, obscured her perceptions, and added to her +state of irritability. She could not speak calmly to them, nor +wisely endeavour to restore the harmony which had been lost. Her +words, therefore, while, by their authoritative force, they subdued +the storm, left the sky black with clouds that poured down another +and fiercer tempest the moment her presence was removed. + +But this state of things could not be permitted. The mother +reappeared, and, after some hurried inquiries into the cause of +disturbance among her children, took for granted the statement of +those who were most forward in excusing themselves and accusing +others, and unwisely resorted to punishment--unwisely, in the first +place, because she decided hastily and from first appearances; and +in the second place, because she was in no state of mind to +administer punishment. The consequence was, that she punished those +least to blame, and thereby did a great wrong. Of this she was made +fully aware after it was too late. Then, indignant at the false +accusation by which she had been led into the commission of an +unjust act, she visited her wrath with undue severity, and in +unseemly passion, upon the heads of the real offenders. + +By this time the children were in a state of intimidation. It was +plain that their mother was fairly aroused, and each deemed it best +to be as quiet and inoffensive as possible. The reappearance of +harmony being thus restored, Mrs. Abercrombie, whose head and heart +were now both throbbing with pain, retired in a most unhappy state +of mind to her chamber, where she threw herself into a large chair, +feeling unutterably wretched. + +And what was the origin of all this discord and misery? Why came +that cloud, in the beginning, to the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie--that +cloud, whose shadow had already exercised so baleful an influence? +The cause was slight, very slight. But do not, fair reader, blame +Mrs. Abercrombie too severely, nor say this cause was censurably +inadequate. The touch of a feather will hurt an inflamed part. Ah! +does not your own experience in life affirm this. Think of the last +time the cloud was on your brow, and ask yourself as to the adequacy +of the cause. + +"But what was the cause?" you inquire. Well, don't smile: a pair of +gaiters had been sent home for Mrs. Abercrombie, late on the evening +previous, and one of her first acts in the morning was to try them +on. They did not fit! Now, Mrs. Abercrombie intended to go out on +that very morning, and she wished to wear these gaiters. "Enough to +fret her, I should say!" exclaims one fair reader. "A slight cause, +indeed!" says another, tossing her curls; "men are great +philosophers!" + +We crave pardon, gentle ladies all, if, in our estimate of causes, +we have spoken too lightly of this. But we have, at least, stated +the case fairly. Mrs. Abercrombie's brow was clouded because the new +gaiters did not fit her handsome foot--a member, by the way, of +which she was more than a little vain. + +For an hour Mrs. Abercrombie remained alone in her chamber, feeling +very sad; for, in that time, reflection had come, and she was by no +means satisfied with the part she had been playing, nor altogether +unconscious of the fact that from her clouded brow had fallen the +shadows now darkening over her household. As soon as she had gained +sufficient control of herself to act toward her children more wisely +and affectionately, the mother took her place in the nursery, and +with a tenderness of manner that acted like a charm, attracted her +little ones to her side, and inspired them with a new and better +spirit. To them sunshine was restored again; and the few rays that +penetrated to the mother's heart, lighted its dim chambers, and +touched it with a generous warmth. + +But the shadows from Mrs. Abercrombie's clouded brow fell not alone +upon her household. The spirit that pervades the home-circle is +often carried forth by those who go out into the world. It was so in +this case. Mr. Abercrombie's feelings were overcast with shadows +when he entered the store. There was a pressure, in consequence, +upon his bosom, and a state of irritability which he essayed, though +feebly and ineffectually, to overcome. + +"Where is Edward?" he inquired, soon after his arrival. + +Edward was a lad, the son of a poor widow, who had recently been +employed in Mr. Abercrombie's store. + +"He hasn't come yet," was answered. + +"Not come yet?" said Mr. Abercrombie, in a fretful tone. + +"No, sir." + +"This is the third time he has been late within the past week, is it +not?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very well: it shall be the last time." + +At this moment the boy came in. Mr. Abercrombie looked at him +sternly for a moment, and then said-- + +"You won't suit me, sir. I took you on trial, and am satisfied. You +can go home." + +The poor lad's face crimsoned instantly, and he tried to say +something about his mother's being sick, but Mr. Abercrombie waved +his hand impatiently, and told him that he didn't wish to hear any +excuse. + +Scarcely had the boy left the presence of Mr. Abercrombie, ere this +hasty action was repented of. But the merchant's pride of +consistency was strong: he was not the man to acknowledge an error. +His word had passed, and could not be recalled. Deeper were the +shadows that now fell upon his heart--more fretted the state of mind +that supervened. + +Ah! the shadows would have been deeper still, could he have seen +that unhappy boy a little while afterward, as, with his face buried +in the pillow that supported the head of his sick mother, he sobbed +until his whole frame quivered. Had Mr. Abercrombie only asked the +reason why his appearance at the store was so late on this morning, +he would have learned that the delay had been solely occasioned by +needful attendance on his sick and almost helpless mother; and on a +little further inquiry, humanity would have dictated approval rather +than censure and punishment. But, touching all this painful consequence +of his ill-nature, the merchant knew nothing. How rarely do we +become cognizant of the evil wrought upon others by our hasty and +ill-judged actions! + +The shadow was still on Mr. Abercrombie's feelings, when, half an +hour afterward, a man came to him and said-- + +"It will be impossible for me to lift the whole of that note +to-day." + +"You'll have to do it," was the quiet answer. Mr. Abercrombie +frowned darkly as he thus replied. + +"Don't say that, Mr. Abercrombie. I only want help to the amount of +two hundred dollars." + +"I do say it. You must raise the money somewhere else. I don't like +this way of doing business. When a man gives his note, he should +make it a point of honour to pay it." + +"Oh, very well," said the man. "I'm sorry if I've troubled you. I'll +get the money from a friend. Good morning." + +And he turned off abruptly, and left the store. Mr. Abercrombie felt +rebuked. He had a large balance in the bank, and could have +accommodated him without the smallest inconvenience. In another +state of mind he would have done so cheerfully. + +"O dear!" sighed the unhappy merchant, speaking mentally; "what has +come over me? I'm losing all control of myself. This will never, +never do. I must set a guard upon my lips." + +And he did so. Conscious of his state of irritability, he subdued +his tones of voice, and restrained utterance when tempted to angry +or inconsiderate speech. Not again during the day was he guilty of +such inexcusable conduct as in the instances mentioned; yet the +shadow remained upon his feelings, strive as he would to throw off +the gloomy impression. + +It was late in the day when Mr. Abercrombie turned his steps +homeward. How little was he satisfied with himself! And now, when he +remembered, with painful distinctness, the clouded brow of his wife, +how little promise was there of home-sunlight, to dispel the gloom +of his own feelings! + +As the hand of the merchant rested upon his own door, he almost +dreaded to enter. He shrank from meeting that clouded visage. The +shadows were dark when he left in the morning, and experience told +him that he need scarcely hope to find them dispelled. Happily, +though still in the sky, the clouds were broken, and gleams of +sunshine came breaking through. Ah! if they had only possessed +sufficient power to disperse the shadows that all day long had been +gathering around the heart of Mr. Abercrombie! But that was +impossible. Self-respect had been forfeited; and a consciousness of +having, in his impatient haste, acted unjustly, haunted his +thoughts. And so, the shadows that were not to be dispersed by the +feeble sun-rays from the countenance of his wife, gradually diffused +themselves, until the light that struggled with them grew pale. + +"Did you know," said Mrs. Abercrombie, breaking in upon the +oppressive silence that succeeded, after all had retired for the +night but herself and husband, "that the mother of Edward Wilson is +very poor and in a decline?" + +"I was not aware of it," was the brief response. + +"It is so. Mrs. Archer was here this afternoon, and was telling me +about them. Mrs. Wilson, who, until within a few weeks past, has +been able to earn something, is now so weak that she cannot leave +her bed, and is solely dependent on the earnings of her son. How +much do you pay him?" + +"Only three dollars a week," answered Mr. Abercrombie, shading his +face with his hand. + +"Only three dollars! How can they live on that? Mrs. Archer says +that Edward is one of the best of lads--that he nurses his mother, +and cares for her with unfailing tenderness; indeed, he is her only +attendant. They are too poor to pay for the services of a domestic. +Could you not afford to increase his wages?" + +"I might, perhaps," said Mr. Abercrombie, abstractedly, still +shading his face. + +"I wish you could," was the earnest reply. "It will be a real +charity." + +Mr. Abercrombie made no response; and his wife pursued the subject +no further. But the former lay awake for hours after retiring to +bed, pondering the events of the day which had just closed. + +The sun had gone down amid clouds and shadows; but the morrow dawned +brightly. The brow of Mrs. Abercrombie was undimmed as she met her +family at the breakfast-table on the next morning, and every +countenance reflected its cheerful light. Even Mr. Abercrombie, who +had something on his conscience that troubled him, gave back his +portion of the general good feeling. Lighter far was his step as he +went forth and took his way to his store. His first act on his +arriving there, was, to ease his conscience of the pressure thereon, +by sending for Edward Wilson, and restoring him to his place under +new and better auspices. + +And thus the shadows passed; yet, not wholly were they expelled. The +remembrance of pain abides long after the smarting wound has healed, +and the heart which has once been enveloped in shadows, never loses +entirely its sense of gloomy oppression. How guarded all should be +lest clouds gather upon the brow, for we know not on whose hearts +may fall their shadows. + + + + +GENTLE HAND. + + +I DID not hear the maiden's name; but in my thought I have ever +since called her "Gentle Hand." What a magic lay in her touch! It +was wonderful. + +When and where, it matters not now to relate--but once upon a time +as I was passing through a thinly peopled district of country, night +came down upon me, almost unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope +to gain the village toward which my steps were directed, until a +late hour; and I therefore preferred seeking shelter and a night's +lodging at the first humble dwelling that presented itself. + +Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I found +myself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtained +windows of which the light shone with a pleasant promise of good +cheer and comfort. The house stood within an enclosure, and a short +distance from the road along which I was moving with wearied feet. +Turning aside, and passing through an ill-hung gate, I approached +the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on its wooden hinges, and the +rattle of its latch, in closing, did not disturb the air until I had +nearly reached the little porch in front of the house, in which a +slender girl, who had noticed my entrance, stood awaiting my +arrival. + +A deep, quick bark answered, almost like an echo, the sound of the +shutting gate, and, sudden as an apparition, the form of an immense +dog loomed in the doorway. I was now near enough to see the savage +aspect of the animal, and the gathering motion of his body, as he +prepared to bound forward upon me. His wolfish growl was really +fearful. At the instant when he was about to spring, a light hand +was laid upon his shaggy neck, and a low word spoken. + +"Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you," said a voice, that to me +sounded very sweet and musical. + +I now came forward, but in some doubt as to the young girl's power +over the beast, on whose rough neck her almost childish hand still +lay. The dog did not seem by any means reconciled to my approach, +and growled wickedly his dissatisfaction. + +"Go in, Tiger," said the girl, not in a voice of authority yet in +her gentle tones was the consciousness that she would be obeyed; +and, as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the animal with her hand, +and he turned away, and disappeared within the dwelling. + +"Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question; and now a +heavy-looking man took the dog's place in the door. + +"Who are you? What's wanted?" There was something very harsh and +forbidding in the way the man spoke. The girl now laid her hand upon +his arm, and leaned, with a gentle pressure, against him. + +"How far is it to G----?" I asked, not deeming it best to say, in +the beginning, that I sought a resting-place for the night. + +"To G----!" growled the man, but not so harshly as at first. "It's +good six miles from here." + +"A long distance; and I'm a stranger, and on foot," said I. "If you +can make room for me until morning, I will be very thankful." + +I saw the girl's hand move quickly up his arm, until it rested on +his shoulder, and now she leaned to him still closer. + +"Come in. We'll try what can be done for you." + +There was a change in the man's voice that made me wonder. + +I entered a large room, in which blazed a brisk fire. Before the +fire sat two stout lads, who turned upon me their heavy eyes, with +no very welcome greeting. A middle-aged woman was standing at a +table, and two children were amusing themselves with a kitten on the +floor. + +"A stranger, mother," said the man who had given me so rude a +greeting at the door; "and he wants us to let him stay all night." + +The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few moments, and then +replied coldly-- + +"We don't keep a public-house." + +"I'm aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me, and +it's a long way yet to G----." + +"Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of the +house, kindly, "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we must +give him a bed." + +So unobtrusively, that I scarcely noticed the movement, the girl had +drawn to the woman's side. What she said to her, I did not hear, for +the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed, as she +spoke, one small, fair hand rested on the woman's hand. Was there +magic in that gentle touch? The woman's repulsive aspect changed +into one of kindly welcome, and she said: + +"Yes, it's a long way to G----. I guess we can find a place for him. +Have you had any supper?" + +I answered in the negative. + +The woman, without further remark, drew a pine table from the wall, +placed upon it some cold meat, fresh bread and butter, and a pitcher +of new milk. While these preparations were going on, I had more +leisure for minute observation. There was a singular contrast +between the young girl I have mentioned and the other inmates of the +room; and yet, I could trace a strong likeness between the maiden +and the woman, whom I supposed to be her mother--browned and hard as +were the features of the latter. + +Soon after I had commenced eating my supper, the two children who +were playing on the floor, began quarrelling with each other. + +"John! go off to bed!" said the father, in a loud, peremptory voice, +speaking to one of the children. + +But John, though he could not help hearing, did not choose to obey. + +"Do you hear me, sir? Off with you!" repeated the angry father. + +"I don't want to go," whined the child. + +"Go, I tell you, this minute!" + +Still, there was not the slightest movement to obey; and the little +fellow looked the very image of rebellion. At this crisis in the +affair, when a storm seemed inevitable, the sister, as I supposed +her to be, glided across the room, and stooping down, took the +child's hands in hers. Not a word was said; but the young rebel was +instantly subdued. Rising, he passed out by her side, and I saw no +more of him during the evening. + +Soon after I had finished my supper, a neighbour came in, and it was +not long before he and the man of the house were involved in a warm +political discussion, in which were many more assertions than +reasons. My host was not a very clear-headed man; while his +antagonist was wordy and specious. The former, as might be supposed, +very naturally became excited, and, now and then, indulged himself +in rather strong expressions toward his neighbour, who, in turn, +dealt back wordy blows that were quite as heavy as he had received, +and a good deal more irritating. + +And now I marked again the power of that maiden's gentle hand. I did +not notice her movement to her father's side. She was there when I +first observed her, with one hand laid upon his temple, and lightly +smoothing the hair with a caressing motion. Gradually the high tone +of then disputant subsided, and his words had in them less of +personal rancour. Still, the discussion went on; and I noticed that +the maiden's hand, which rested on the temple when unimpassioned +words were spoken, resumed its caressing motion the instant there +was the smallest perceptible tone of anger in the father's voice. It +was a beautiful sight; and I could but look on and wonder at the +power of that touch, so light and unobtrusive, yet possessing a +spell over the hearts of all around her. As she stood there, she +looked like an angel of peace, sent to still the turbulent waters of +human passion. Sadly out of place, I could not but think her, amid +the rough and rude; and yet, who more than they need the softening +and humanizing influences of one like the Gentle Hand. + +Many times more, during that evening, did I observe the magic power +of her hand and voice--the one gentle yet potent as the other. + +On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was preparing to take +my departure, when my host informed me that if I would wait for half +an hour he would give me a ride in his wagon to G----, as business +required him to go there. I was very well pleased to accept of the +invitation. In due time, the farmer's wagon was driven into the road +before the house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed the horse +as a rough-looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of stubborn +endurance. As the farmer took his seat by my side, the family came +to the door to see us off. + +"Dick!" said the farmer, in a peremptory voice, giving the rein a +quick jerk as he spoke. + +But Dick moved not a step. + +"Dick! you vagabond! get up." And the farmer's whip cracked sharply +by the pony's ear. + +It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmly +disobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him, with an +impatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and sharp +the strokes were next dealt to the number of a half-dozen. The man +might as well have beaten his wagon, for all his end was gained. + +A stout lad now came out into the road, and catching Dick by the +bridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary +language on such occasions, but Dick met this new ally with +increased stubbornness, planting his forefeet more firmly, and at a +sharper angle with the ground. The impatient boy now struck the pony +on the side of his head with his clenched hand, and jerked cruelly +at his bridle. It availed nothing, however; Dick was not to be +wrought upon by any such arguments. + +"Don't do so, John!" I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voice +reached my ear. She was passing through the gate into the road, and, +in the next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn him away +from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of +his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought +beyond her gratification. + +And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a +single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles +relaxed--how quickly the stubborn air vanished. + +"Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or +softly patted it with a child-like hand. + +"Now, go along, you provoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding, +yet affectionate voice, as she drew upon the bridle. The pony turned +toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or +two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful +trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever +entered his stubborn brain. + +"What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking to my +companion, as we rode away. + +He looked at me for a moment as if my remark had occasioned +surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said, +briefly-- + +"She's good! Everybody and every thing loves her." + +Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of her +soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts! +The father's explanation was, doubtless, the true one. Yet have I +ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay +in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something of the same +power, showing itself in the loving and the good, but never to the +extent as instanced in her, whom, for a better name, I must still +call "Gentle Hand." + +A gentle touch, a soft word. Ah! how few of us, when the will is +strong with its purpose, can believe in the power of agencies so +apparently insignificant! And yet all great influences effect their +ends silently, unobtrusively, and with a force that seems at first +glance to be altogether inadequate. Is there not a lesson for us all +in this? + + + + +WILL IT PAY? + + +"I WANT an hour of your time this morning," said Mr. Smith, as he +entered the counting-room of his neighbour, Mr. Jones. + +"Will it pay?" inquired Mr. Jones, smiling. + +"Not much profit in money," was answered. + +Mr. Jones shrugged his shoulders, and arched his eye-brows. + +"Time is money," said he. + +"But money isn't the all-in-all of life. There's something else in +the world besides dollars." + +"Oh yes; and the man that has the dollars can command as much of +this 'something else' that you speak of as he pleases." + +"I'm not so sure of that," replied Mr. Smith. "I can tell you +something that money will not procure." + +"Say on." + +"A contented mind." + +"I'll take that risk at a very low percentage, so far as I am +concerned," answered Mr. Jones. + +"But, as to this hour of my time that you ask? What is the object?" + +"You remember Lloyd who used to do business on the wharf?" + +"Yes; what of him? I thought he died in New Orleans a year ago." + +"So he did." + +"Not worth a dollar!" + +"Not worth many dollars, I believe. He was never a very shrewd man, +so far as business was concerned, though honourable and +kind-hearted. He did not prosper after leaving our city." + +"Honourable and kind-hearted!" returned Mr. Jones, with a slight air +of contempt. "Such men are as plenty as blackberries. I can point +them out to you by the dozen in every square; but it does not pay to +be on too intimate terms with them." + +"Why?" + +"You are very apt to suffer through their amiable weaknesses." + +"Is this your experience?" inquired Mr. Smith. + +"My experience is not very extensive in that line, I flatter +myself," said Mr. Jones; "but I know of some who have suffered." + +"I was speaking of Mr. Lloyd." + +"Yes--what of him?" + +"I learned this morning that his widow arrived in our city +yesterday, and that she needs friendly aid and counsel. It seems to +me that those who knew and esteemed her husband ought not to regard +her with indifference. I propose to call upon her and inquire as to +her needs and purposes, and I want you to accompany me." + +"Can't do it," answered Mr. Jones, very promptly. + +"Why not?" + +"It won't pay," returned Mr. Jones. + +"I don't expect it to pay in a business sense," said Mr. Smith; +"but, surely, humanity has some claim to consideration." + +"Humanity! humph. Humanity don't pay, Mr. Smith; that's my +experience. I've helped two or three in my time, and what return do +you suppose I received?" + +"The pleasing consciousness of having done good to your neighbour." + +"Not a bit of it. I lost my money for my pains, and made enemies +into the bargain. When I demanded my own, I received only +insult--that's my experience, Mr. Smith, and the experience of +ninety-nine in a hundred who listen to the so-called claims of +humanity. As I said before--it doesn't pay." + +"Then you will not go with me to see Mrs. Lloyd?" + +"No, sir. You don't catch me hunting up the widows of broken +merchants. Let them go to their own friends. I'd soon have plenty of +rather unprofitable business on my hands, if I were to engage in +affairs of this kind." + +"I hardly think it will pay to talk with you on this subject any +longer," said Mr. Smith. + +"I'm just of your opinion," was the laughing answer, "unless I can +induce you to let Mrs. Lloyd remain in ignorance of your benevolent +intentions, and mind your own concerns, like a sensible man." + +"Good morning," said Mr. Smith. + +"Good morning," replied Jones; "in a week or two I shall expect to +hear your report on this widow-hunting expedition." + +"It will pay, I reckon," said Mr. Smith, as he passed from the +store. + +"Pay," muttered Jones, a sneer now curling his lip, "_he'll_ have to +pay, and roundly, too, unless more fortunate than he deserves to +be." + +A little while after the departure of Mr. Smith, a sallow, +sharp-featured man, with a restless eye, entered the store of Mr. +Jones. + +"Ah, Perkins!" said the latter, familiarly, "any thing afloat +to-day?" + +"Well, yes, there is; I know of one operation that is worth looking +at." + +"Will it pay, friend Perkins? That's the touchstone with me. Show me +any thing that will pay, and I'm your man for a trade." + +"I can get you fifty shares of Riverland Railroad stock, at +eighty-two!" + +"Can you?" The face of Jones brightened. + +"I can." + +"All right. I'll take it." + +"Give me your note at sixty days, and I'll have the shares +transferred at once." + +In five minutes from the time Perkins entered the store of Mr. +Jones, he left with the merchant's note for over four thousand +dollars in his hand. The shares in the Riverland Railroad had been +steadily advancing for some months, and Mr. Jones entertained not +the shadow of a doubt that in a very short period they would be up +to par. He had already purchased freely, and at prices beyond +eighty-two dollars. The speculation he regarded as entirely safe, +and one that would "pay" handsomely. + +"I think that will pay a good deal better than hunting up the poor +widows of insolvent merchants," said Mr. Jones to himself, as he +walked the length of his store once or twice, rubbing his hands +every now and then with irrepressible glee. "If I'd been led off by +Smith on that fool's errand, just see what I would have lost. +Operations like that don't go a begging long. But this gentleman +knows in what quarter his interest lies." + +Not long after the departure of Perkins, a small wholesale dealer, +named Armor, came into the store of Mr. Jones. + +"I have several lots that I am anxious to close out this morning," +said he. "Can I do any thing here?" + +"What have you?" asked Mr. Jones. + +"Ten boxes of tobacco, fifty prime hams, ten boxes Havana cigars, +some rice, &c." + +Now, these were the very articles Mr. Jones wanted, and which he +would have to purchase in a day or two. But he affected indifference +as he inquired the price. The current market rates were mentioned. + +"No temptation," said Mr. Jones, coldly. + +"They are prime articles, all; none better to be had," said the +dealer. + +"If I was in immediate want of them, I could give you an order; +but"---- + +"Will you make me an offer?" inquired Armor, somewhat earnestly. "I +have a good deal of money to raise to-day, and for cash will sell at +a bargain." + +Mr. Jones mused for some time. He was not certain whether, in making +or requiring an offer, he would get the best bargain out of his +needy customer. At last he said-- + +"Put down your prices to the very lowest figure, and I can tell you +at a word whether I will close out these lots for you. As I said +before, I have a good stock of each on hand." + +For what a small gain will some men sacrifice truth and honour! + +The dealer had notes in bank that must be lifted, and he saw no way +of obtaining all the funds he needed, except through forced sales, +at a depression on the market prices. So, to make certain of an +operation, he named, accordingly, low rates--considerably below +cost. + +Mr. Jones, who was very cunning, and very shrewd, accepted the +prices on two or three articles, but demurred to the rest, and these +the most important of the whole. Finally, an operation was made, in +which he was a gainer, in the purchase of goods for which he had +almost immediate sale, of over two hundred dollars, while the needy +merchant was a loser by just that sum. + +"That paid!" was the self-congratulatory ejaculation of Mr. Jones, +"and handsomely, too. I should like to do it over again, about a +dozen times before night. Rather better than widow speculations--ha! +ha!" + +We shall see. On leaving the store of his neighbour, Mr. Smith went +to the hotel at which he understood Mrs. Lloyd had taken lodgings, +and made inquiry for her. A lady in deep mourning, accompanied by +two daughters, one a lovely girl, not over twenty years of age, and +the other about twelve, soon entered the parlour. + +"Mrs. Lloyd, I believe," said Mr. Smith. + +The lady bowed. As soon as all parties were seated, the gentleman +said-- + +"My name is Smith. During your former residence in this city, I was +well acquainted with your husband. Permit me to offer my heartfelt +sympathy in the painful bereavement you have suffered." + +There was a slight pause, and then Mr. Smith resumed-- + +"Hearing of your return to this city, I have called to ask if there +are any good offices that I can render you. If you have any plans +for the future--if you want advice--if a friend in need will be of +service--do not hesitate to speak freely, My high regard for your +husband's memory will not suffer me to be indifferent to the welfare +of his widow and children." + +Mr. Smith had not purposed making, when he called, so general a +tender of service. But there was something in the lady's fine +countenance which told him that she had both independence and +decision of character, and that he need not fear an abuse of his +generous kindness. + +Touched by such an unexpected declaration, it was some moments +before she could reply. She then said-- + +"I thank you, in the name of my departed husband, for this +unlooked-for and generous offer. Though back in the city, which was +formerly my home, I find myself comparatively a stranger. Yesterday +I made inquiry for Mr. Edward Hunter, an old and fast friend of Mr. +Lloyd's, and to my pain and regret learned that he was deceased." + +"Yes, madam; he died about two months ago." + +"With him I purposed consulting as to my future course of action; +but his death has left me without a single friend in the city to +whose judgment I can confide my plans and purposes." + +"Mr. Hunter was one of nature's noblemen," said Mr. Smith, warmly; +"and you are not the only one who has cause to mourn his loss. But +there are others in our city who are not insensible to the claims of +humanity--others who, like him, sometimes let their thoughts range +beyond the narrow sphere of self." + +"My object in returning to this place," resumed Mrs. Lloyd, "was to +get started in some safe and moderately profitable business. A short +time before my husband's removal, by the death of a distant relative +I fell heir to a small piece of landed property, which I recently +sold in New Orleans. By the advice of my agent there, I have +invested the money in fifty shares of Riverland Railroad stock, +which he said I could sell here at a good advance. These shares are +now in the hands of a broker, named Perkins, who is authorized to +sell them at eighty-two dollars a share." + +"He'll find no difficulty in doing that, ma'am. I would have taken +them at eighty-three." + +At this stage of the conversation, Perkins himself entered the +parlour. + +"Ah, Mr. Smith!" said he, "I called at your place of business this +morning, but was not so fortunate as to find you in. I had fifty +shares of Riverland stock, the property of Mrs. Lloyd here, which I +presumed you would like to buy." + +"You were not out of the way in your presumption. Have you made the +sale?" + +"Oh yes. Not finding you in, I saw Mr. Jones, who took the shares at +a word." + +"At what price?" + +"Eighty-two. I have his note at sixty days for the amount, which you +know is perfectly good." + +"Mrs. Lloyd need not have the slightest hesitation in accepting it; +and if she wishes the money, I can get it cashed for her." Then +rising, he added, "I will leave you now, Mrs. Lloyd, as business +requires both your attention and mine. To-morrow I will do myself +the pleasure to call on you again." + +As Mr. Smith bowed himself out, he noticed, more particularly, the +beautiful smile of the elder daughter, whose eyes, humid from +grateful emotion, were fixed on his countenance with an expression +that haunted him for hours afterward. + +"I hardly think that paid," was the remark of Mr. Jones, on meeting +Mr. Smith some hours afterward. + +"What?" asked the latter. + +"Your visit to Lloyd's widow." + +"Why do you say so?" + +"You lost a bargain which came into my hands, and on which I could +get an advance of a hundred dollars to-morrow." + +"Ah, what was it?" + +"Perkins had fifty shares of Riverland stock, which he was +authorized to sell at eighty-two. He called on you first; but +instead of being on hand, in business hours, you were off on a +charity expedition. So the ripe cherry dropped into my open mouth. I +told you it wouldn't pay, neighbour Smith." + +"And yet it has paid, notwithstanding your prophecy," said Smith. + +"It has!" + +"Yes." + +"In what way?" + +But Mr. Smith was not disposed to cast his pearls before swine, and +so evaded the direct question. He knew that his mercenary neighbour +would trample under foot, with sneering contempt, any expression of +the pure satisfaction he derived from what he had done--would +breathe upon and obscure the picture of a grateful mother and her +daughter, if he attempted to elevate it before his eyes. It had +paid, but beyond this he did not seek to enlighten his fellow-merchant. + +Three days later, Mr. Jones is at his desk, buried in calculations +of profit and loss, and so much absorbed is he, that he has not +noticed the entrance of Perkins the broker, through whom he obtained +the stock from Mrs. Lloyd. + +"How much of the Riverland Railroad stock have you?" inquired the +broker, and in a voice that sent a sudden fear to the heart of the +merchant. + +"A hundred shares. Why do you ask?" was the quick response. + +"I'm sorry for you, then. The interest due this day is not +forthcoming." + +"What!" Mr. Jones starts from his desk, his lips pale and quivering. + +"There's something wrong in the affairs of the company, it is +whispered. At any rate, the interest won't be paid, and the stock +has tumbled down to thirty-five dollars. If you'll take my advice +you'll sell. The first loss is usually the best in these cases--that +is my experience." + +It is very plain that one operation hasn't paid, for all its golden +promise--an operation that would hardly have been effected by Mr. +Jones, had he accompanied Mr. Smith on the proposed visit to Mrs. +Lloyd. The fifty shares of stock, which came, as he thought, so +luckily into his hand, would, in all probability, have become the +property of another. + +And not a week glided by ere Mr. Jones became aware of the fact that +another operation had failed to pay. A cargo of coffee and sugar +arrived one morning; the vessel containing it had been looked for +daily, and Mr. Jones fully expected to receive the consignment; he +was not aware of the arrival until he met the captain in the street. + +"Captain Jackson! How are you? This is really an unexpected +pleasure!" exclaimed the merchant, as he grasped the hand of the +individual he addressed, and shook it warmly. + +Captain Jackson did not seem equally gratified at meeting the +merchant. He took his hand coldly, and scarcely smiled in return. + +"When did you arrive?" asked Mr. Jones. + +"This morning." + +"Indeed! I was not aware of it. For over a week I have been +expecting you." + +The captain merely bowed. + +"Will you be around to my store this afternoon?" asked Mr. Jones. + +"I presume not." + +There was now, on the part of Mr. Jones, an embarrassed pause. Then +he said-- + +"Shall I have the sale of your cargo?" + +"No, sir," was promptly and firmly answered. + +"I have made the consignment to Armor." + +"To Armor!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, in ill-concealed surprise. + +"He's a perfectly fair man, is he not?" said the captain. + +"Oh yes. Perfectly fair. He'll do you justice, without doubt. Still +I must own to being a little disappointed, you were satisfied with +the way your business was done last time." + +"Not altogether, Mr. Jones," said Captain Jackson. "You were a +little too sharp for, me--rather too eager, in securing your own +advantage, to look narrowly enough to mine. Such was my impression, +and it has, been confirmed since my arrival this morning." + +"That's a grave charge, Captain Jackson," said Mr. Jones; "You must +explain yourself." + +"I'm a plain spoken, and a straightforward sort of a man, sir." The +captain drew himself up, and looked particularly dignified. "The +truth is, as I have said, I thought you were rather too sharp for me +the last time. But I determined to try you once more, and to watch +you as closely as a cat watches a mouse. I was on my way to your +store, when I met an old friend, in business here, and, put to him +the direct question as to what he thought of your fairness in trade. +'He's sharp,' was the answer. 'He will not take an undue advantage?' +said I. 'Your idea as to what constitutes an undue advantage would +hardly agree with that of Mr. Jones,' replied my friend. And then he +related the circumstance of your finding Armor in a tight place last +week, and getting from him a lot of goods for two hundred dollars +less than they were worth. I went to Armor, and, on his confirming +the statement, at once placed my cargo in his hands. The commissions +will repair his loss, and give him a few hundred dollars over. I'm +afraid of men who are too sharp in dealing. Are you satisfied with +my explanation?" + +"Good morning, sir," said Mr. Jones. + +"Good morning," returned, Captain Jackson. And bowing formally, the +two men separated. + +"That didn't pay," muttered Jones between his teeth, as he moved on +with his eyes cast to the ground, even in his chagrin and +mortification using his favourite word-- + +"No, it, didn't pay," And, in truth, no operations of this kind do +really pay. They may seem to secure advantage, but always result in +loss--if not in lose of money, in loss of that which should be +dearer to a man than all the wealth of the Indies--his self-respect +and virtuous integrity of character. + +On the evening of that day, a pleasant little company was assembled +at the house of Mr. Smith, made up of the merchant's own family and +three guests--Mrs. Lloyd and her daughters. Through the advice of +Mr. Smith, and by timely action on his part, a house of moderate +capacity had been secured, at a great bargain, for the sum of three +thousand dollars, to which it was proposed to remove, as soon as +furniture, on the way from New Orleans, should arrive. The first +story of this house was already fitted up as a store; and, as the +object of Mrs. Lloyd was to get into business in a small way, the +purchase of the property was made, in order as well to obtain a good +location as to make a safe investment. With the thousand dollars +that remained, it was proposed to lay in a small stock of fancy +dry-goods. + +In the few interviews held with Mrs. Lloyd by the merchant, he was +struck with the beautiful harmony of her character, and especially +with her womanly dignity. As for the eldest daughter, something +about her had charmed him from the very beginning. And now when, for +the first time, this interesting family were his guests for a social +evening--when he saw their characters in a new aspect--and when he +felt, through the quick sympathy of a generous nature, how grateful +and happy they were--he experienced a degree of satisfaction such as +never pervaded the breast of any man whose love of mere gain was the +measure of his good-will toward others. + +How different was the social sphere in the house of Mr. Jones on +that evening! The brow of the husband and father was clouded, and +his lips sealed in silence; or if words were spoken, they were in +moody tones, or uttered in fretfulness and ill-nature. The wife and +children caught from him the same repulsive spirit, and, in their +intercourse one with the other, found little sympathy or affection. +There was a chilling shadow on the household of the merchant; it +fell from the monster form of his expanding selfishness, that was +uplifted between the sunlight of genuine humanity and the neighbour +he would not regard. Alas! on how many thousands and thousands of +households in our own land rests the gigantic shadow of this +monster! + +"Will it pay?" is the eager question we hear on all sides, as we +mingle in the business world. + +"_Has_ it paid?" Ah, that is the after-question! Reader, is the +monster's shadow in your household? If so, it has _not_ paid. + + + + +THE LAY PREACHER. + + +WHETHER the Rev. Andrew Adkin had or had not a call to preach, is +more than we can say. Enough, that he considered it his duty to +"hold forth" occasionally on the Sabbath; and when "Brother Adkin" +saw, in any possible line of action, his duty, he never took counsel +of Jonah. + +Brother Adkin kept a store in the town of Mayberry, and being a man +of some force of character, and not, by any means, indifferent to +this world's goods, devoted himself to business during the six days +of the week with commendable assiduity. It is not the easiest thing +in the world to banish, on the Sabbath, all concern in regard to +business. Most persons engaged in trade, no matter how religiously +inclined, have experienced this difficulty. Brother Adkin's case +did, not prove an exception; and so intrusive, often, were these +worldly thoughts and cares, that they desecrated, at times, the +pulpit, making the good man's voice falter and his hands tremble, as +he endeavoured, "in his feeble way," to break the bread of life. + +He had his own trials and temptations--his own stern "exercises of +mind," going to the extent, not unfrequently, of startling doubts as +to the reality of his call to preach. + +"I don't see much fruit of my labour," he would sometimes say to +himself, "and I often think I do more harm than good." + +Such thoughts, however, were usually disposed of, as suggestions of +the "adversary." + +A week in the life of Brother Adkin will show the peculiar +influences that acted upon him, and how far his secular pursuits +interfered with and marred his usefulness as a preacher. + +Monday morning had come round again. He had preached twice on the +Sabbath--once to a strange congregation, and with apparent good +effect, and once to a congregation in Mayberry. In the latter case, +he was favoured with little freedom of utterance. The beginning of +the secular week brought back to the mind of Mr. Adkin the old +current of thought, and the old earnest desire to get gain in +business. On the Sabbath he had taught the people that love was the +fulfilment of the law,--now, he had regard only to his own +interests; and, although he did not adopt the broad, unscrupulous +maxim, that all is fair in trade, yet, in every act of buying and +selling, the thought uppermost in his mind was, the amount of gain +to be received in the transaction. + +"What are you paying for corn to-day?" asked a man, a stranger to +Mr. Adkin. + +"Forty-eight cents," was answered. + +"Is this the highest market rate?" said the man. + +"I bought fifty bushels at that price on Saturday," replied Mr. +Adkin. + +Now, since Saturday, the price of corn had advanced four cents, and +Mr. Adkin knew it. But he thought he would just try his new customer +with the old price, and if he chose to sell at that, why there would +be so much gained. + +"I have forty bushels," said the man. + +"Very well, I'll take it at forty-eight cents. Where is it?" + +"My wagon is at the tavern." + +"You may bring it over at once. My man is now at leisure to attend +to the delivery." + +The corn was delivered and paid for, and both parties, for the time +being, were well satisfied with the transaction. + +The day had nearly run to a close, and Mr. Adkin was in the act of +estimating his gains, when the man from whom he had purchased the +corn entered his store. + +"Look here, my friend," said the latter speaking rather sharply, +"you paid me too little for that corn." + +"How so?" returned Mr. Adkin, in well-affected surprise. + +"You was to pay the highest market price," said the man. + +"I offered you forty-eight cents." + +"And I asked you if that was the highest rate, didn't I?" + +"I told you that I had bought fifty bushels at that price on +Saturday." + +"Oh, ho! Now I comprehend you," said the man, with a sarcastic curl +of his lip. "I was recommended to you as a preacher, and one who +would deal fairly with me. I asked you a plain question, and you +purposely misled me in your answer, to the end that you might get my +corn at less than the market value. You have cheated me out of +nearly two dollars. Much good may it do you!" + +And saying this, he turned on his heel and left the store. Mr. Adkin +was, of course, no little disturbed. The charge of dishonesty in +dealing at first aroused his indignation; but as he grew calmer and +thought over the affair, his conscience troubled him. As a Christian +man, and especially as a Christian minister, he could not reconcile +his dealing with strict gospel requirements. The more he reflected, +the more closely he brought his conduct to the standard of Christian +principles, the less was he satisfied with himself. The final result +was, a determination to go to the man on the next morning, and pay +him the balance due him on the market price of his corn. But, when +he sought for him, he was not to be found, having gone back to his +home, a few miles from the village. + +On the next day he sent for a bill, which had been standing a good +while. His clerk brought back some impertinent and altogether +unsatisfactory answer. + +"Did Mr. Giles say that?" he asked, his eyes flashing indignantly. + +"His exact words," replied the clerk. + +"Very well. I'll not send to him again," said Mr. Adkin. "He thinks, +because I am a preacher, that he can treat me as he pleases, but +I'll let him know that being a preacher doesn't make me any the less +a man, nor any the less inclined to protect myself." + +So Mr. Giles was served with a summons, to answer for debt, before +the week was out. + +On the day following, a certain lady, a member of the congregation +in Mayberry to which he preached, whenever, from sickness or other +causes, the regular minister was absent, came into Mr. Adkin's +store. Her manner was considerably excited. + +"There's a mistake in your bill, Mr. Adkin," said she, in rather a +sharp tone of voice. + +"If so, Mrs. Smith, the remedy is a very simple one," replied Mr. +Adkin. Her manner had disturbed him, yet he concealed the +disturbance under a forced suavity of manner. "Where does the +mistake lie?" + +"Why, see here. You've got me charged with six yards of muslin and +five pounds of butter that I never got!" + +"Are you certain of this, Mrs. Smith?" + +"Certain! Be sure I'm certain! D'ye think I'd say I hadn't the +things, if I had them? I'm not quite so bad as that, Mr. Adkin!" + +"Don't get excited about the matter, Mrs. Smith. We are all liable +to mistakes. There's an error here, either on your side or mine, if +it is my error, I will promptly correct it." + +"Of course it's your error. I never had either the muslin or the +butter," said Mrs. Smith, positively. + +Mr. Adkin turned to his ledger, where Mrs. Smith's account was +posted. + +"The muslin is charged on the 10th of June." + +Mrs. Smith looked at the bill and answered affirmatively. + +"You bought a pound of yarn and a straw hat on the same day." + +"Yes; I remember them. But I didn't get the muslin." + +"Think again, Mrs. Smith. Don't you remember the beautiful piece of +Merrimac that I showed you, and how cheap you thought it?" + +"I never had six yards of muslin, Mr. Adkin." + +"But, Mrs. Smith, I have distinct recollection of measuring it off, +and the charge is here in my own handwriting." + +"I never had it, Mr. Adkin!" said the lady much excited. + +"You certainly had, Mrs. Smith." + +"I'll never pay for it!" + +"Don't say that, Mrs. Smith. You certainly wouldn't want my goods +without paying for them!" + +"I never had the muslin, I tell you!" + +Argument in the case Mr. Adkin found to be useless. The sale of the +five pounds of butter was as distinctly remembered by him; and as he +was not the man to yield a right when he had no doubt as to its +existence, he would not erase the articles from Mrs Smith bill, +which was paid under protest. + +"It's the last cent you'll ever get of my money!" said Mrs. Smith, +as she handed over, the amount of the bill. "I never had those +articles; and I shall always say that I was wronged out of so much +money." + +"I'm sure, madam, I don't want your custom, if I'm expected to let +you have my goods for nothing," retorted Mr. Adkin, the natural man +in him growing strong under an allegation that implied dishonesty. + +So the two parted, neither feeling good-will toward the other, and +neither being in a very composed state of mind. + +Each day in that week brought something to disturb the mind of Mr. +Adkin; and each day brought him into unpleasant business contact +with someone in the town of Mayberry. To avoid, these things was +almost impossible, particularly for a man of Mr. Adkin's +temperament. + +Saturday night came, always a busy night for the storekeeper. It was +ten o'clock, and customers were still coming in, when a lad handed +Mr. Adkin a note, it was from the regularly stationed minister of +the church in Mayberry to which Mr. Adkin belonged. The note stated, +briefly, that the writer was so much indisposed, that he would not +be able to preach on the next day, and conveyed the request that +"Brother Adkin" would "fill the pulpit for him in the morning." + +Brother Adkin almost groaned in spirit at this unwelcome and +not-to-be-denied invitation to perform ministerial duties on the +Sabbath. Of theological subjects, scarcely a thought had entered his +mind since Monday morning; and, certainly, the states through which +he had passed were little calculated to elevate his affections, or +make clear his spiritual intuitions. + +It was twelve o'clock before Mr. Adkin was able to retire on that +night. As he rested his weary and now aching head on his pillow, he +endeavoured to turn his mind from worldly things, and fix it upon +things heavenly and eternal. But, the current of thought and +affection had too long been flowing in another channel. The very +effort to check its onward course, caused disturbance and obscurity. +There was a brief but fruitless struggle, when overtaxed nature +vindicated her claims, and as the lay preacher found relief from +perplexing thoughts and a troubled conscience, in refreshing +slumber. + +In the half-dreaming, half-waking state that comes with the dawning +of day, Mr. Adkin's thoughts flowed on again in the old channel, and +when full consciousness came, he found himself busy with questions +of profit and loss. Self-accusation and humiliation followed. He +"wrote bitter things against himself," for this involuntary +desecration of the Sabbath. + +Rising early, he took his Bible, and after turning over book after +book and scanning chapter after chapter, finally chose a verse as +the text from which he would preach. Hurriedly and imperfectly our +lay preacher conned his subject. Clearness of discrimination, grasp +of thought, orderly arrangement, were out of the question. That +would have been too much for a master mind, under similar +circumstances. + +Eleven o'clock came around quickly, and painfully conscious of an +obscure and confused state of mind, Mr. Adkin entered the house of +God and ascended the pulpit. A little while he sat, endeavouring to +collect his thoughts; then he arose and commenced giving out a hymn. +Lifting his eyes from the book, as he finished reading the first +verse, he saw, directly in front of him, the man from whom he had +purchased the forty bushels of corn. He was looking at him fixedly, +and there was on his countenance an expression of surprise and +contempt, that, bringing back, as the man's presence did, a vivid +recollection of the events of Monday, almost deprived Mr. Adkin, for +a moment or two, of utterance. He faltered, caught his breath, and +went on again with the reading. On raising his eyes at the +conclusion of the second verse, Mr. Adkin saw his corn customer +slowly moving down the aisle toward the door of entrance. How keenly +he felt the rebuke! How sadly conscious was he of being out of place +in the pulpit! + +After the singing of the hymn, the preacher made a prayer; but it +was cold and disjointed. He had no freedom of utterance. A chapter +was read, an anthem sung, and then Mr. Adkin arose in the pulpit, +took his text, and, ere giving utterance to the first words of his +discourse, let his eyes wander over the congregation. A little to +the right sat Mr. Giles, wearing a very sober aspect of countenance, +and looking at him with knit brows and compressed lips. The sight +caused the words "brother going to law with brother" to pass almost +electrically through his mind. As his glance rebounded from Mr. +Giles quickly, it next rested upon Mrs. Smith, who, with perked head +and a most malicious curling of the lip, said, as plain as manner +could say it--"You're a nice man for a preacher, a'n't you?" + +How Mr. Adkin beat about the bushes and wrought in obscurity, +darkening counsel by words without knowledge, during the half hour +that followed the enunciation of his text, need not here be told. +None was more fully conscious than himself of his utter failure to +give spiritual instruction to the waiting congregation. The climax, +so far as he was concerned, was yet to come. As he descended the +pulpit stairs, at the close of the service, some one slipped a piece +of paper into his hand. Glancing at the pencilled writing thereon, +he read the rebuking words: + +"The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed." + +How could he feed them? Are holy and divine things of such easy +comprehension, that a man may devote the whole energies of his mind +to worldly business during six days, and then become a lucid +expounder of heavenly, mysteries on the Sabbath? The influx of +intelligence into the mind of a speaker, is in exact ratio with the +knowledge he has acquired. He may have, without this previous +preparation, "free utterance," as it is called; but this utterance +brings no rational convictions; it sways only by the power of +contagious enthusiasm. Moreover, as in the case of Mr. Adkin, every +lay preacher takes with him into the pulpit a taint from worldly and +business contact, and his presence there must turn the thoughts of +many hearers from his clerical to his personal character--from the +truth he enunciates, to his practical observance thereof in daily +life. He may be judged falsely; but the fact of his blending the two +separate characters of clergyman and layman, forms an occasion for +false judgment, and detracts from the usefulness of the sacred +office. + +Whether Mr. Adkin "held forth" again, we cannot apprize the reader. +New light, and new perceptions of duty certainly came into his mind; +and we may hope that, as he was a well-meaning and conscientious +man, he was led to act wisely in the future. + +Having given a true picture of a week in the life of the lay +preacher, our business with him is done. It is for those whom it may +concern to study the sketch, and see if it does not contain some +points worthy their especial consideration. + + + + +HOW TO DESTROY A GOOD BUSINESS. + +CHAPTER I. + + +"WELL, Mr. Tompkins, what do you think about it? I wish you would +speak. I've been talking at you for full ten blessed minutes, and +you haven't as much as opened your lips in reply." + +"About what?" asked Mr. Tompkins, looking up with an air of +surprise. + +"About what, indeed!" rejoined the lady, in no very melodious tone. +"Why, about that house in Franklin Street, to be sure. What else did +you suppose it was?" + +"Oh! ah! yes." + +"Mr. Tompkins, why don't you answer me like a man? Oh! ah! yes! I +hate that." + +"Humph!" + +"Yes, and I hate that just as bad. But you needn't think to put me +off with a 'humph!' Have you made up your mind about buying that +house--say?" + +"I've got to make up my mind about something else first." + +"Indeed! And what is that, pray?" + +"About where the money is to come from." + +"Mr. Tompkins, I am out of all patience with you! Its precious +little that I ask for, dear knows! But even that little is never +granted." + +"If you'll get me the money, Ellen, I'll buy the house with +pleasure," returned Mr. Tompkins, in a quiet voice. + +"Me! I wonder where I'd get the money? It's an insult for you to +talk to me in this way, when you keep me as poor as a church mouse +all the time. Every dollar I get from you is like pulling a tooth." + +"And causes me as much pain, sometimes." + +"I won't put up with such treatment from you, Mr. Tompkins," said +the good lady, passionately, and walked from the room with a stately +step and an effort at dignity. The husband retreated precipitately, +and sought his place of business. He sighed as he took his seat upon +a counting-house stool at the desk, and commenced turning over the +pages of various large account-books. While thus engaged, a person +entered his store, and was shown back to that portion of it where he +had retired. Mr. Tompkins looked up on hearing his name pronounced, +and met the steady eye of one whose presence was not very agreeable +to him just at that time. + +"Ah, Mr. Wolford! How are you to-day? I am glad to see you," he +said, with an effort to seem pleased and indifferent. + +"Very well. How are you?" was the blunt response. + +"Take a chair, Mr. Wolford." + +The visitor sat down, with considerable emphasis in his manner, +threw one leg over the other, and leaned back in his chair. Tompkins +was nervous. His effort to seem at ease led him into overaction. + +He smiled, or rather smirked--for a smile is always natural, never +forced--and introduced various topics of conversation, one after the +other, with the manner of a man whose thoughts were far away from +his words, and who yet wished to be very agreeable to a personage +from whom he wished a favour. + +"What do you think of the news from Washington to-day, Mr. Wolford? +Strange doings there!" + +"Rather." + +"Our party were completely outgeneralled in that measure." + +"Yes." + +"Bad news from London." + +"Yes, bad enough." + +"It has played the mischief with stocks." + +"Thank fortune, I don't deal in stocks." + +And thus Tompkins run on, and Wolford replied cold and sententiously +for some ten minutes. Then there came a pause, and the two men +looked into each other's faces for a short time, without either of +them speaking. + +"The year for which I loaned you ten thousand dollars expires next +week," said Wolford, in a quiet tone, breaking the silence. + +"Does it?" returned Tompkins, affecting surprise. "I had no idea the +time was so near being up. Are you sure?" + +"I never make mistakes in such matters, Mr. Tompkins, and can't +understand how other people can." + +"Creditors are said to have better memories than debtors," replied +Tompkins, attempting something like pleasantry. + +"Yes--I know. You will, of course, be prepared to take up the +mortgage upon your property?" + +"I am afraid not, Mr. Wolford. Money is exceedingly tight. But as +your security is perfectly good, and you do not want the money, you +will let the matter remain as it is for a little while longer?" + +"I loaned you the money for a year, did I not?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well. The year will be up in a week." + +"I would like to borrow the same amount for another year." + +"I have no objection to your doing so, if you can find any one who +will lend it." + +"Will you not do so?" + +"No. I have other use for my money." + +"I will increase the interest, if that will be any inducement. Money +in a good business like mine can bear a heavy interest." + +"I am not satisfied with the security. Property is falling in +value." + +"Not satisfied!'" exclaimed Tompkins, in unfeigned surprise. "The +property is worth double the sum you have advanced for my use." + +"I differ with you--and I am not alone in differing." + +"Very well, Mr. Wolford," said Tompkins, in a changed tone, that +evinced roused and half-indignant feeling, "you shall be paid. I can +easily transfer the security to some other person, if I find it +necessary to do so, and raise the amount due you." + +Wolford, phlegmatic as he was, seemed slightly moved by this +unexpected change in the manner and position of Tompkins. He +narrowly observed the expression of his face, but did not reply. He +was afraid to trust himself to speak, lest he should betray his real +thoughts. + +"You will be prepared to pay me next week, then," he at length said, +rising. + +"Yes, sir. You shall have the money," replied Tompkins. + +"Good day." And Wolford retired; not altogether satisfied that he +had gained all he had hoped to gain by the visit. + +"Ah me!" sighed Tompkins, turning to his desk as soon as this man +had departed. "Here comes more trouble. That miserly wretch has no +more use for his money than the man in the moon. It seems to give +him delight to make every one feel his power. It is for no other +reason than this, that I am now to be harassed half out of my life +in order to raise ten thousand dollars in a week, besides meeting my +other payments. I must try and get some one to take the mortgage he +is about releasing." + +While thus musing, the individual who had just left him was walking +slowly down Market Street, with his eyes upon the pavement, in deep +thought. He was a short, stoutly built old man, dressed in a +well-worn suit of brown broadcloth. His hat was white, large in the +brim, low in the crown, and pulled down so heavily on the high +collar of his coat, that it turned up behind in a very decided way, +indicating the save-all propensities of its owner. His face was as +hard as iron: it was deeply seamed by years or the indulgence of the +baser cupidities of a perverted nature. His lower lip projected +slightly beyond the upper that was pressed closely upon it. His +small gray eyes were deeply sunk beneath a wrinkled forehead, and +twinkled like stars when any thing excited him; usually they were as +calm and passionless as any part of his face. + +This man had never engaged, during his whole life, in any useful +branch of business. Money was the god he worshipped, and to gain +this, he was ready to make almost any sacrifice. He started in life +with five thousand dollars--a legacy from a distant relative. To +risk this sum, or any portion of it, in trade, would have been, in +his view, the most egregious folly. His first investment was in six +per cent. ground-rents, from which he received three hundred dollars +per annum. It cost him two hundred to live; he had, therefore, at +the end of the year, a surplus of one hundred dollars. He was +casting about in his mind what he should do with this in, order to +make it profitable, when a hard-pressed tradesman asked him for the +loan of a hundred dollars for a short time. The idea of loaning his +money, when first presented, almost made his hair stand on end. He +shook his head, and uttered a decided "No." It so happened that the +man was so much in need of money, that he became importunate. + +"I know you have it, if you would only lend it, Wolford," said he. +"Let me have a hundred dollars for a month, and I will give you a +good interest for it, and security besides." + +"What kind of security?" eagerly asked the miser, his face +brightening. The idea had struck him, as being a good one. The man +was a tailor. + +"I will let you hold Mr. S---- P----'s note, at six months, for one +hundred and fifty dollars, as security." + +Wolford shook his head. + +"He might die or break, and then where would be my hundred dollars?" + +"I would pay it to you." + +Wolford continued to shake his head. + +"How would a piece of broadcloth answer your purpose?" + +"What is it worth?" + +"I have a piece of twenty yards, worth eight dollars a yard. It +would bring six and a half under the hammer. You can hold that, if +you please." + +"How much interest will you pay?" + +"I will give you two dollars for the use of one hundred for thirty +days." + +"If you will say three, you may have it." + +"Three per cent. a month!--thirty-six per cent. a year! Oh no! That +would ruin any man." + +"I don't think the operation worth making for less than three +dollars." + +"It is too much, Wolford. But I'll tell you what I'll do. Let it be +for sixty days, and make the interest five dollars." + +"I to hold the cloth as security until it is paid?" + +"Certainly." + +"Very well. You shall have the money." + +A note for one hundred and five dollars, at sixty days, was drawn +and handed to the young shaver, who paid down one hundred dollars, +and went off with his collateral under his arm. + +This transaction opened a new world to Wolford's imagination. Two +and a half per cent. a month, and six per cent. per annum, could +hardly be compared together. He sat down and began to figure up the +result of the one operation in comparison with the other, and found +that while his investment in ground-rents yielded only three hundred +dollars a year, five thousand dollars, at two and a half per cent. a +month, the rate at which he had made the operation just referred to, +would yield fifteen hundred dollars per annum! + +From that moment he became dissatisfied with ground-rents as an +investment. As quickly as it could be done, he sold, for one +thousand dollars, a piece of real estate, and, depositing the money +in bank, looked around him for good paper to shave. He did not have +to look very long. Borrowers quickly presented themselves, but no +one got money except on the most tangible kind of security, and at a +ruinous interest. Careful as he tried to be, Wolford was not always +successful in his operations. One or two failures on the part of his +borrowers, made him acquainted at a magistrate's office, where he +acquired another new idea upon which he improved. + +"If you wish to invest money safely and profitably, I will put you +in the way of doing it," said a petty dispenser of justice to poor +debtors, rogues and vagabonds, aside to the miser one day, after he +had given judgment against a delinquent borrower. + +"How?" eagerly asked Wolford. + +"A great many cases of debt are decided by me every week, on amounts +varying from one to fifty dollars," replied the magistrate. "As soon +as a judgment is given, the debtor has to pay the money, find +security, or go to jail, In most cases, the matter is settled by +security for six months, when the debt, with costs and interest, has +to be paid." + +"Legal interest?" asked Wolford. + +"Certainly," replied the magistrate, with a smile. "It is a legal +matter, and only legal interest can be charged." + +"Oh, of course! I didn't think of that." + +"Very well: after a judgment is obtained, in five cases out of six +the prosecutor is sick, of the business, and perfectly willing to +sell out the judgment and have no more to do with it. The best +business in the world is to buy these judgments. You can make at +least forty per cent. per annum." + +"What!" + +"Forty per cent." + +"Forty per cent!" and Wolford's eyes sparkled. "Are you sure?" + +"Oh, yes. If I were allowed to buy them, as I am not, I would wish +no better business." + +"You think it safe?" + +"Nothing can be safer. If the judgment is not paid at the end of six +months, you can go to work immediately, with an execution, on the +property of the original debtor, or his security, as you may think +best, and at once obtain your money." + +"Suppose neither of them have any property?" + +"I take very good care not to accept bad security. Besides, you will +find but few persons out of whom fifty dollars, or less, may not be +obtained, under the pressure of an execution." + +"I like the idea amazingly," said Wolford, thoughtfully. "Forty per +cent. per annum! Capital! I will buy judgments." + +"I have two hundred dollars' worth in my desk now, which I have +directions to sell. Do you want them? They have six months to run. +Twenty per cent. off will be just forty dollars--here they are." + +Wolford carefully examined the documents which the magistrate placed +in his hands, and, after considering the subject for some time, said +that he would buy them. His check for one hundred and sixty dollars +was received by the magistrate, and the judgments became his +property. + +"It's even better than forty per cent. per annum," remarked the +magistrate, as he folded up the check he had received. + +"How so?" + +"You make over fifty-five per cent." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes--look at it. You have just paid one hundred and sixty dollars +for what will yield you two hundred and six dollars in six +months,--for you must remember that you will get legal interest on +the claim you have bought. Now this is a fraction over fifty-five +per cent. per annum. What do you think of that for an investment?" + +"Capital! But have you much of this kind of business?" + +"Enough to, keep several thousand dollars constantly employed for +you." + +"Good!" + +With this brief ejaculation, that came from Wolford's heart, he +turned away and left the office. + +On this operation, the magistrate made six per cent. The regular +selling price of judgments was twenty-five per cent., with a +commission of one per cent. for effecting the sale. + +In a few months, Wolford had all his money invested in judgments. +This business he continued for several years, meeting with but few +losses. He could then write himself worth twenty-five thousand +dollars, and began to find it necessary to seek for some heavier +investments than buying judgments, even if they did not pay quite so +well. + +Loaning money on mortgages of real estate, at about ten per centum, +he found a very safe business; with this he united the shaving of +undoubted paper, at from one to two per cent. a month. Mr. Tompkins +he had frequently shaved so closely as almost to make the blood +come. This was previous to the loan before alluded to. Since that +had been made, Mr. Tompkins rarely found it necessary to put good +paper into Wolford's hands for discount. This the miser considered a +dead loss, and he therefore determined that the loan should be taken +up, and made in some quarter not likely to affect the shaving +operations. + +The declaration of Mr. Tompkins, that he could easily get some one +else to take the mortgage, was not too well relished by Wolford, If +he were sure this could be done, he would be content to accept an +increase of interest and continue the loan, for the security was of +the very safest kind, and ample. + +"I must think about this," said he to himself, as he walked +homeward, after parting with Tompkins. "I rarely make false moves, +and should not like to do so in this case." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +WHEN Mr. and Mrs. Tompkins met, at dinnertime, neither of them +appeared in the most happy frame of mind. The lady looked especially +disagreeable. The meal passed in silence, and was eaten with little +appetite. + +As soon as her husband had retired from the house, which he did very +soon after he had left the table, Mrs. Tompkins's manner changed. + +"Humph!" said she, tossing her head, "he needn't begin the sulky +game with me. Two can play at that, as he ought to know very well. +I've set my heart on having a handsomer establishment than the +purse-proud Mrs. Gileston, and, what is more, I will be gratified. +Mr. Tompkins is worth two dollars to her husband's one, and yet she +sweeps about the street with the air of a duchess, and never so much +as looks me in the face, though I have been twice introduced to her. +But, I'll be even with my lady! I've set my heart on this, and will +move heaven and earth to accomplish it." + +This half-spoken soliloquy will afford the reader some clue to the +character of Mrs. Tompkins. Her husband, to whom she had been +married about ten years, had gradually risen from the position of a +clerk to that of a merchant, in a small way, when the death of a +distant relative put him in possession of about, thirty thousand +dollars. Up to that time, his wife, who was a poor girl when he +married her, had been content to live in a style suited to their +means. But the moment a fortune so large in her eyes, fell to their +share, her ideas expanded, and she suddenly became aware of the fact +that she was a woman of no mean importance. + +To Mr. Tompkins, this money came just in time to save him from +failure. He had started, as too many do, without capital, and had +unwisely attempted to do more business than means so limited would +bear. He, consequently, knew the value of money far better than his +wife, and was disposed to invest what he did not require in his +business, in a safe way. She, on the contrary, proposed that they +should, at once, adopt a style of living in consonance with their +bettered fortunes. + +"We live very comfortably, as we now are," he said, in answer to a +repetition of her plea for a handsome house, on the evening +following the day of his interview with Wolford. "We live as well as +our means have, until within a few years, enabled us to live." + +Mrs. Tompkins rejoined-- + +"With improved fortunes, we should adopt a different style." + +"I don't think we should be in any particular hurry about it," said +the husband. "Let the change, if any be made, come gradually." + +"All eyes are upon us," was Mrs. Tompkins's answer to this. "And +everybody expects us to take a different and higher place in +society." + +"It is my opinion," said the husband, "that we are free to live in +any style that may suit us." + +"It is all very well to say that, Mr. Tompkins, but it will not do. +We must, while in the world, do as the world does. People in our +circumstances do not live in a rented house;--we should have a +dwelling of our own, and that a handsome one--handsomer than +Gileston's house, about which there, is so much talk." + +"Gileston's house!" said Mr. Tompkins, in surprise. "Why that house +didn't cost a cent less than twenty-five thousand dollars." + +"Well, suppose it did not. What then?" + +"Do you imagine that we can build a house at an expense of +twenty-five thousand dollars?" + +"Why not, Mr. Tompkins?" + +"Where is the money to come from?" + +"There it is again! But I can tell you." + +"I wish to my heart you would, for it's more than I can." + +"Take it out of bank, where it lies rusting." + +"Humph!" + +"What's the matter?" + +"How much do you suppose I have in bank tonight?" + +"Dear knows! Forty or fifty thousand dollars, I suppose." + +"Just seventy-nine dollars and ten cents! And what is more, I have +two thousand dollars to pay to-morrow, five hundred on the day +after, and ten or twelve thousand more to make up within the next +two weeks. If You will tell me where all this money is to come from, +I will build you a dozen houses: as it is, you must build your own +castles--in the air." + +A flood of tears answered this bitterly spoken reply. Her tears, the +lady had found, on more occasions than one, to have a powerful +effect upon her husband. It must be said for her, that she did not +believe a word of what Mr. Tompkins had alleged in regard to the +balance of his bank account. For a man who had been in a good +business for a number of years, and had received a legacy of thirty +thousand dollars, to be so near out of cash, was to her mind +preposterous. She knew he had invested nearly twenty thousand +dollars in property, but what of that? Her tears disturbed Mr. +Tompkins, as they always did. + +"What I tell you is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the +truth," said he, in a calm, but serious voice, after, the sobs of +his wife had begun to die away. "And now, what would you have me +do?" + +"You can do just as you please, Mr. Tompkins. It is nothing to me. +You know your own business best." This was said with an offended +air, in which was something of indifference. + +"You are unreasonable, Ellen." + +"Very likely I am; at least in your eyes. I believe you never had a +very exalted opinion of your wife's good sense: nor much regard for +her wishes!" + +"I believe, Ellen," returned the husband, "that few men regard the +happiness of their wives more than I have regarded the happiness of +mine. Perhaps if I had been less considerate, it might have been +better for all." + +"Considerate, indeed! Oh, yes! You're very considerate to buy old +warehouses to rent, in place of a decent dwelling for your family! +Very considerate that--wasn't it?" + +At this point of the contest, Mr. Tompkins retired from the field, +his forces reduced and in disorder. He saw but one hope of peace, +and that was by an early surrender, and on the best terms that could +be made. The property that he had purchased yielded him about +fourteen hundred a year. To sell this, and build, with the proceeds, +a splendid mansion, from which no income could possibly arise, +seemed to him an act of egregious folly. But any thing for peace. To +sell it, and put the money in his business, was a much more +desirable act, instead of borrowing money, at an exorbitant +interest, in order to make his payments. He had more than once +thought of doing this. At the time the investment was made, his +business operations were light, and he did not need the use of over +ten thousand dollars of the timely legacy he had received. Since +then his business had increased, and with this increase came the +need of more ready money than he could command. He did not like the +idea of selling his real estate, because he was very confident, from +the many improvements going on in the quarter of the city where it +was situated, that it would double in value in the course of ten +years. He was so confident of this, that he preferred paying a high +rate of interest for money for temporary purposes, rather than sell +his property. So hard did he become pressed at last, that he +resorted to the expedient of raising ten thousand dollars on +mortgage, at ten per centum per annum. Wolford held this mortgage, +as the reader is aware. + +It was with painful reluctance that Mr. Tompkins made up his mind to +part with his warehouse property, in order to gratify the love of +display which was the besetting sin of his better half. But, even +should he do that, he would have to let ten thousand dollars go to +clear off the mortgage; and if it brought him twenty-two or three +thousand, or even twenty-five thousand, he would not have enough to +build the elegant mansion his wife desired: and should he build one +in a style not consonant with her exalted ideas, his position, +instead of being better, would be much worse. + +The next week, to poor Mr. Tompkins, he was called a rich man, was +one of sad perplexity and anxious deliberation upon what it was best +for him to do. He had great difficulty in raising sufficient money +to meet his payments, independent of the ten thousand dollars +demanded by Wolford. Where that sum was to come from he could not +tell. He had made several applications for a loan to take the place +of the one now upon his property, and had even caused advertisements +to be inserted in the newspapers, addressed to "capitalists," but +without effect. + +During all this time, Mrs. Tompkins was as disagreeable as it was +possible for her to be. When her husband returned home, in the +evening, sick at heart with the toil and anxiety of the day, he was +met by no pleasant words or cheerful smiles. A sober face presided +at his table, where the words were few and coldly spoken. + +The period for which Wolford's loan had been made was within two +days of its expiration, when, half beside himself with perplexity, +Mr. Tompkins advertised his property for sale. There were enough who +understood its real value precisely, and were ready to come forward +and offer to purchase. As soon as the miser and usurer saw the +course events were taking, he very kindly informed Mr. Tompkins that +he had just received, unexpectedly, a large sum of money, and should +not want the ten thousand dollars due him. + +"You are too late," replied Mr. Tompkins, when he communicated this +intelligence. + +"Why so?" asked Wolford. + +"I have made up my mind to sell." + +"I don't want my money." + +"Oh, very well, I can keep it." + +"On what security." + +"My note of hand." + +The miser shrugged his shoulders. + +"Don't you like that security?" + +"I have no objection to your warehouse property." + +"But that I shall sell." + +Wolford retired in a dissatisfied mood. He had overreached himself. + +In the course of a week the sale was made, and for cash. The +property brought twenty-five thousand dollars. After the mortgage +was released, and his borrowed money account balanced, Mr. Tompkins +had just twelve thousand dollars to his credit in bank, with a +month's heavy payments before him. + +On this basis, and with this position of affairs to sustain him, Mr. +Tompkins, feeling in a desperate mood, determined that he would +build himself an elegant residence. The plan was furnished by an +architect, and the work commenced forthwith. Mrs. Tompkins was all +her husband could wish, from the day she was apprized of his +decision in regard to a matter that had so long been near her heart. +He said nothing of the sacrifice he had made, nor intimated any +thing about what might be the ultimate consequence, although every +sober thought of the future awoke a fear. The house, when finished, +cost twenty-three thousand dollars; and when furnished twenty-eight +thousand. It need not be said that Mr. Tompkins was hard run for +money. On the day he moved into his splendid mansion, he borrowed +from Mr Wolford, on a mortgage of his new property, fifteen thousand +dollars, at twelve per cent. per annum. He had but one or two +alternatives--to borrow at this ruinous rate of interest, or fail. +The operation was for one year, without any privilege of renewal; +this was the longest time at which the usurer ever loaned his money. + +For one year Mrs. John Tompkins was in her glory. She gave six large +parties during that time, at a heavy cost. Her husband, +notwithstanding the loan of fifteen thousand dollars, was in trouble +about money matters; Business had been unusually dull both in the +spring and fall, and money hard to collect. Nearly ten thousand +dollars, which he had fully expected to receive from distant +customers, failed to come in. As the period for which he had +borrowed from Wolford drew toward its close, he could not but feel +uneasy. From no other quarter had he any hope of raising so large a +sum as fifteen thousand dollars upon his house. He was poring over +his bill-book, one day, when the man he had thought of far more +frequently than was pleasant to him, came in. Mr. Tompkins felt +uneasy. + +"Ah--how do you do, Mr. Wolford?" said he, affecting a pleased air. +"Sit down." + +Wolford looked grave. He had come on business, and to him business +matters were of serious import. He returned the merchant's +salutation with formality, seated himself deliberately, and, resting +his hands upon the head of his cane, looked up with a sinister +expression on his face. + +"A fine day this, Mr. Wolford," said Tompkins. + +"Yes, very fine. How is business?" + +"Dull--terribly dull. I have never known such a business season. +There is absolutely nothing doing." + +Wolford made no reply. + +"I suppose you have plenty of money to lend," remarked the merchant, +hardly knowing why he said so. + +"No--not a dollar. It's tight with me as well as it is with you. And +this brings me to the subject-matter of my visit. You are no doubt +aware that, according to the terms of the loan, you are to return my +fifteen thousand dollars in a few days?" + +"Yes, I am aware of it. Must you have it all?" + +"Every dollar; and I want three times as much, if I can get it." + +"I was in hope you would renew the loan, Mr. Wolford." + +"That's impossible." + +"I really don't see how I am to raise fifteen thousand dollars in a +few days--these times." + +"You have had long enough to make it up, I am sure. You knew very +well that the loan would come due next week, and that it was only +for one year." + +"Yes, I knew all that, very well." + +"And yet you are not prepared to pay it?" + +"No, I certainly am not to-day. What I may be in a week is more than +I can tell." + +Wolford did not want the money he had loaned to Mr. Tompkins--that +is, he had no _use_ for it. But he could never rest contented for +any length of time under the reflection that another person was +enjoying his money. He took an insane delight, too, in making others +feel his power. If Mr. Tompkins had obtained the amount, and +tendered it to Wolford, two weeks before it was due, the miser would +have, in all probability, solicited him to keep it on even better +terms than at first obtained; but to appear anxious about the +matter, was to foreclose all chances of a renewal. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +AFTER Wolford had left the store of Mr. Tompkins, the merchant tried +to rally his thoughts, and review the whole matter calmly. Thinking, +however, did not make him feel much better. He could not see his way +clear. If the loan were not paid off, his property would, he had not +the least doubt, be sold forthwith, under the mortgage. + +"I was a fool ever to build such a house, and involve myself as I +have done," he murmured, fretfully. "I wish to my heart it was in +the bottom of the sea. Between my wife's extravagance and this +accursed usurer, I shall be ruined at last." + +This was uttered almost involuntarily, but it had the effect to give +his thoughts a new direction. After thinking intensely for some +time, he took a long inspiration, compressed his lips tightly as he +breathed out again, and then said, half aloud, and in a tone of +decision-- + +"I will not suffer myself to be made a fool of any longer, by wife +or usurer. Mrs. John Tompkins will have to lay aside a portion of +her dignity, or get some other means of supporting it. I am called a +man, and I will be a man." + +On the evening of that day, while seated at the tea-table, Mrs. +Tompkins said-- + +"Have you ever noticed, dear, the beautiful equipage of Mrs. Van +D----?" + +"The what?" + +"The beautiful establishment of Mrs. Van D----?" + +"What kind of an establishment?" + +The manner of her husband disturbed the self-satisfaction of Mrs. +Tompkins. Her reply was not in so bland a voice. + +"Her carriage and pair, I mean, of course." + +"No; I never notice such things." + +"You don't, indeed!" + +"No." + +"Don't you ever expect to keep a carriage?" + +"I do not." + +"I am sure you will." + +"You labour under a mistake, Ellen. I have no such intention." + +"If I wish for one, I am sure you will gratify me." Mrs. Tompkins +spoke softly and smiled. + +"No--not even to gratify you, Ellen." Mr. Tompkins spoke seriously, +and his brow contracted. + +"You built this beautiful house to gratify me." + +"True--and by doing so have set myself half crazy." + +"Mr. Tompkins, I don't understand you. You are in a strange mood +this evening." + +"And so would you be in a strange mood, if you had suffered as much +as I have during the day." + +"Suffered! What have you suffered about?" + +"Because I built this house." + +"You speak in riddles. Why do you not explain yourself?" Mrs. +Tompkins's voice trembled, and there were tears in her eyes. + +"I will explain myself, Ellen," said her husband, his manner +becoming serious and earnest: it had been fretful and captious +before. "I was weak enough to yield to your urgent desire to have an +elegant mansion, as you called it, and build this house, at a very +heavy cost. I knew that I was doing wrong at the time, and that both +you and I would live to regret the act of folly. But you held the +reins, and I suffered myself to be driven. The consequence is, that +I am involved in difficulties, and this house has to be sold within +ten days." + +Mr. Tompkins paused. He wished to see the effect of what he had +said. Had an earthquake shaken the house to its foundation, Mrs. +Tompkins could not have been more astonished than she was by this +speech. Her face became deadly pale; she trembled violently from +head to foot, and panted like a frightened hare. To utter a word in +reply was impossible. The husband was startled at the effect +produced, but did not waver an instant in his purpose. The +suddenness of the annunciation had one good effect: it opened the +eyes of Mrs. Tompkins completely. The manner of her husband left no +doubt upon her mind that all he had said was true--that the house +would have to go, spite of all he could do to save it. He might be +to blame for getting into difficulties--might have mismanaged his +business--but that could not alter the present position of things. +On recovering from the shock occasioned by so astounding a +declaration, she did not resort to any of her old tricks to manage +her husband. She felt that they would be useless. As soon as she +could speak, she said, firmly-- + +"Is all this true?" + +"As true as you live and breathe." + +"And it is _my_ fault?" + +"I am sorry that I cannot say otherwise." There was a good deal of +feeling in the husband's tone as he made this reply. "I need not +relate how I strove to convince you that I could not afford to build +such a house--that to sell my warehouse property, in order to do so, +would be to rob myself of at least seven or eight thousand +dollars--for that property would inevitably increase in value this +amount in the next five years. Already it has been sold at an +advance of three thousand dollars on what I received for it. I need +not relate how unhappy you made both yourself and me, until I +consented to do as you wished. It is all within your remembrance. A +man cannot stand every thing. I had trouble enough, even then, with +my business--but found no compensation at home. In a desperate mood, +I resolved to make home pleasant, if possible. I made the sacrifice, +and here is the result!" + +Mrs. Tompkins wept bitterly when her husband ceased speaking. Every +word went to her heart. She saw her folly, nay, her crime, in having +acted as she had done. She was a weak, vain woman, but not all +perverted. Notwithstanding rank weeds had long overgrown the garden +of her mind, some plants of goodly promise yet remained. + +On the next day, without hesitating a moment, Mr. Tompkins went to a +real-estate broker, and employed him to sell his house as quickly as +possible. He mentioned this to his wife, as a thing of course, and +suggested the necessity of disposing of their splendid furniture, +and retiring from their too prominent position in the social world. + +"There is but one way of safety and peace," he said, "and that way +we must take, whether the entrance to it be smooth or thorny." + +"Why need we sell our handsome furniture?" asked Mrs. Tompkins, in a +hoarse voice. + +"For the same reason that we have for selling our house," firmly +returned her husband--"because it is necessary." + +Mr. Tompkins spoke so decidedly, that his wife felt that +remonstrance would be unavailing. Having once admitted the truth of +all he had alleged, she had no ground for opposition. Completely +subdued, she became altogether passive, and left her husband to do +just as he pleased. The pressing nature of his affairs made him +prompt to carry out all the reforms he had proposed. In less than a +week he found a purchaser for his house, and was able to sell it on +tolerably fair terms. The real-estate agent who had made the sale +for him, had left his store but a short time after communicating all +the preliminaries of the transaction, when old Wolford entered with +a slow gait and a look of resolution. + +"Will you be ready with that money to-morrow?" said he, fixing his +small, keen eyes upon the merchant, and bending his brows. + +"No!" was the decisive answer. + +"Then I shall foreclose the mortgage." + +"You will not do that, certainly," returned Tompkins, in a quiet +tone, something like a smile playing about his lips. + +"Won't I? Don't trust to that, my friend. I always keep contracts to +the letter, and exact them from others, when made to me, as rigidly. +You borrowed my money for a year, on a mortgage of your property. +That year is up to-morrow. If the money does not come, I will +immediately have your property sold." + +"I have been ahead of you," coolly replied Tompkins. + +"What do you mean?" + +"I have already sold the property." + +The miser seemed stunned by the intelligence. + +"Sold it?" he asked, after a moment--"why have you sold it?" + +"In order to get out of your clutches, now and for ever. You have +had a good deal of my money in your time, and fool enough have I +been to let you get your fingers upon it! But you will never get +another dollar from me! You were not content with eighteen hundred +dollars a year as the interest on fifteen thousand--wasn't I a fool +to pay it?--but you must try to put your foot still more heavily on +my neck! But you have overreached yourself. Your mortgage on my +property is not worth that!--(snapping his fingers.) Didn't you know +this before?" + +"What do you mean?" Wolford showed considerable alarm. + +"You took twelve per cent. per annum?" + +"I know I did." + +"And that is usury?" + +"It is a fair interest. Money is always worth the market price." + +"The law says that all over six per cent. is usury; and the taking +of such excess vitiates the transaction." + +"Do you mean to put in that plea?" + +"Yes, if you take the first step toward foreclosing your mortgage, +or show yourself in my store until I send for you, which I will do +when it is perfectly convenient for me to pay your fifteen thousand +dollars, and not before." + +"Oh, take your time, Mr. Tompkins--take your time--I am in no +particular hurry for the money," said Wolford, with an altered tone +and manner--"Just when it is convenient will suit me." + +"Are you sure of that?" said the merchant, speaking with a slight +sneer upon his lip. + +"Oh, yes! I thought I would need the money now, but I believe I will +not. The mortgage can remain as long as you want it." + +"I don't want it long," muttered Tompkins, turning toward his desk, +and taking no further notice of the alarmed and discomfited usurer. + +In about two weeks he had the pleasure of handing him the whole +amount of the loan, and getting a release of the property. Wolford +tried to be very affable and apologetic; but he was treated +according to the merchant's estimation of his real character, and +not otherwise. + +"Free from your clutches, and for ever!" said Mr. Tompkins, speaking +to himself, as he stepped into the street from Wolford's dwelling, +feeling lighter in heart than he had felt for a long time. "What +madness, with the means I have had in my hands, ever to have fed +your avaricious maw!" + +Although Mr. Tompkins could see the sky by looking upward, he was +still in the forest, and had a hard journey before him, ere he +gained the pleasant champaign he was seeking so eagerly. The cash he +received on selling his house was barely sufficient to clear it of +all encumbrance. He was, therefore, still hard pressed for money in +his business. The sale of his handsome furniture would help him a +good deal, and he determined, resolutely, to have this done +forthwith. His wife ventured a demurrer, which he immediately +overruled. She had lost the ability to contend with him. A sale at +auction was proposed. + +"Just think of the exposure," urged his wife. + +"I don't care a fig for that. A protested note would be a worse +exposure. I must have the money. We can board for a couple or three +years, or keep house in a plain way, until I make up some of the +losses sustained by our folly." + +Mrs. Tompkins was passive. A vendue was called, and three thousand +dollars in cash realized. This succour came just in time, for it +saved the merchant's credit, and met his pressing demands, until he +could turn the paper given in part payment for his house, into +money. From that time he began to feel his business resting less +heavily upon his shoulders. Money came in about as fast as he needed +it. In a few months he began to have quite a respectable balance in +bank--a thing he had not known for years. + +It was a good while before Mrs. Tompkins could hold up her head in +society, where she had, for some time, held it remarkably high. She +never carried it as stately as before. As for Wolford, he but seldom +passed the store of the merchant: when he did so, it was not without +a pang--he had lost a good customer by grinding him too hard, and +could not forgive himself for the error. + + + + +THE TWO INVALIDS. + + +THE chamber in which the sick woman lay was furnished with every +thing that taste could desire or comfort demand. Yet, from none of +these elegant surroundings came there an opiate for the weary +spirit, or a balm to soothe the pain from which she suffered. With +heavy eyes, contracted brow, and face almost as white as the +lace-fringed pillow it pressed, canopied with rich curtains, she +reclined, sighing away the weary hours, or giving, voice to her +discontent in fruitless complainings. + +She was alone. A little while before, her attendant had left the +room, taking with her a child, whose glad spirits--glad because +admitted to his mother's presence--had disturbed her. + +"Take him out," she had said, fretfully. + +"You must go back to the nursery, dear." The attendant spoke kindly, +as she stooped to lift the child in her arms. + +"No--no--no. I want to stay here. Do let me stay here, won't you?" + +"Mamma is sick, and you disturb her," was answered. + +"Oh no. I won't disturb her. I'll be so good." + +"Why don't you take him out at once?" exclaimed the mother, in a +harsh, excited voice. "It's too much that I can't have a little +quiet! He's made my head ache already. What does nurse mean by +letting him come over here?" + +As the screaming child was borne from the room, the sick woman +clasped her hand to her temples, murmuring-- + +"My poor head! It was almost quiet; but now it throbs as if every +vein were ready to burst! Why don't they soothe that child?" + +But the child screamed on, and his voice came ringing upon her ears. +Nurse was cross, and took no pains to hush his cries; so the +mother's special attendant remained, for some time, away from the +sick-chamber. By slow degrees she succeeded in diverting the child's +mind from his disappointment; but it was many minutes after his +crying ceased before he would consent to her leaving him. + +In the mean time the sun's bright rays had found a small opening in +one of the curtains that draped the windows, and commenced pouring +in a few pencils of light, which fell, in a bright spot, on a +picture that hung against the wall; resting, in fact upon the fair +forehead of a beautiful maiden, and giving a hue of life to the +features. It was like a bit of fairy-work--a touch almost of +enchantment. The eyes of the invalid were resting on this picture as +the magic change began to take place. + +How the lovely vision, if it might so be called, won her from +thoughts of pain! Ah, if we could say so? Raising herself, she +grasped the pendent tassel of the bell-rope, and rang with a violent +hand; then sank down with a groan, exhausted by the effort, shut her +eyes, and buried her face in the pillow. Leaving the only +half-comforted child, her attendant hastily obeyed the summons. + +"The sun is blinding me!" said the unhappy invalid, as she entered +the chamber. "How could you be so careless in arranging the +curtains!" + +A touch, and the sweet vision which had smiled all so vainly for the +poor sufferer, was lost in shadows. There was a subdued light, and +almost pulseless silence in the chamber. + +"Do take those flowers away, their odour is dreadful to me!" + +A beautiful bouquet of sweet flowers, sent by a sympathizing friend, +was removed from the chamber. Half an hour afterward--the attendant +thought her sleeping--she exclaimed-- + +"Oh, how that does worry me!" + +"What worries you, ma'am?" was kindly asked. + +"That doll on the mantel. It is entirely out of place here. I wish +you would remove it. Oh, dear, dear! And that toilette-glass--straighten +it, if you please. I can't bear any thing crooked. And there's Mary's +rigolette on the bureau; the careless child! She never puts any thing +away." + +These little annoyances were removed, and the invalid was quiet +again--externally quiet, but within all was fretfulness and mental +pain. + +"There come the children from school," she said, as the ringing of +the door-bell and gay voices were heard below. "You must keep them +from my room. I feel unusually nervous to-day, and my head aches +badly." + +Yet, even while she spoke, two little girls came bounding into the +room, crying-- + +"Oh, mother! Dear mother! We've got something good to tell you. Miss +Martin says we've been two of the best"---- + +The attendant's imperative "H-u-s-h!" and the mother's hand waving +toward the door, the motion enforced by a frowning brow, were +successful in silencing the pleased and excited children, who, +without being permitted to tell the good news they had brought from +school, and which they had fondly believed would prove so pleasant +to their mother's ears, were almost pushed from the chamber. + +No matter of surprise is it that a quick revulsion took place in +their feelings. If the voice of wrangling reached, soon after, the +mother's ears, and pained her to the very soul, it lessened not the +pressure on her feelings to think that a little self-denial on her +part, a little forgetfulness of her own feelings, and a +thoughtfulness for them, would have prevented unhappy discord. + +And so the day passed; and when evening brought her husband to her +bedside, his kind inquiries were answered only by +complainings--complainings that made, from mental reactions, bodily +suffering the greater. For so long a time had this state of things +existed that her husband was fast losing his wonted cheerfulness of +temper. He was in no way indifferent to his wife's condition; few +men, in fact, could have sympathized more deeply, or sought with +more untiring assiduity to lighten the burden which ill-health had +laid upon her. But, in her case, thought was all turned to self. It +was like the blood flowing back in congestion upon the heart, +instead of diffusing itself healthfully over the system. + +Thus it went on--the invalid growing worse instead of better. Not a +want was expressed that money did not supply; not a caprice or fancy +or appetite, which met not a proffered gratification. But all +availed not. Her worst disease was mental, having its origin in +inordinate selfishness. It never came into her mind to deny herself +for the sake of others; to stifle her complaints lest they should +pain the ears of her husband, children, or friends; to bear the +weight of suffering laid upon her with at least an effort at +cheerfulness. And so she became a burden to those who loved her. In +her presence the sweet voices of children were hushed, and smiles +faded away. Nothing that was gay, or glad, or cheerful came near her +that it did not instantly change into sobriety or sadness. + +Not very far away from the beautiful home of this unhappy invalid, +is another sufferer from ill-health. We will look in upon her. The +chamber is poorly furnished, containing scarcely an article the +absence of which would not have abridged the comfort of its +occupant. We enter. + +What a light has come into those sunken eyes, and over that pale +face! We take the thin, white hand; a touch of sadness is in our +voice that will not be repressed, as we make inquiries about her +health; but she answers cheerfully and hopefully. + +"Do you suffer pain?" + +"Yes; but mostly at night. All day long I find so much to interest +me, and so many thoughts about my children fill my mind, that I +hardly find time to think of my own feelings. Care is a blessing." + +With what a patient, heavenly smile this is said! How much of life's +true philosophy is contained in that closing sentence! Yes, care is +a blessing. What countless thousands would, but for daily care, be +unutterably miserable. And yet we are ever trying to throw off care; +to rise into positions where we will be free from action or duty. + +The voice of a child is now heard. It is crying. + +"Dear little Aggy! What can ail her?" says the mother, tenderly. And +she inclines an ear, listening earnestly. The crying continues. + +"Poor child! Something is wrong with her. Won't you open the door a +moment?" + +The door is opened, and the sick mother calls the name of "Aggy" two +or three times. But her voice too feeble to reach the distant +apartment. + +We second the mother's wishes, and go for the grieving little one. + +"Mother wants Aggy." + +What magic words! The crying has ceased instantly, and rainbow +smiles are seen through falling tears. + +"Dear little dove! What has troubled it?" How tender and soothing +and full of love is the voice that utters these words! We lift Aggy +upon the bed. A moment, and her fresh warm cheek is close to the +pale face of her mother; while her hand is nestling in her bosom. + +The smile that plays so beautifully over the invalid's face has +already answered the question we were about to ask--"Will not the +child disturb you?" But our face has betrayed our thoughts, and she +says-- + +"I can't bear to have Aggy away from me. She rarely annoys me. A +dear, good child--yet only a child, for whom only a mother can think +wisely. She rarely leaves my room that she doesn't get into some +trouble; but my presence quickly restores the sunshine." + +The bell rings. There is a murmur of voices below; and now light +feet come tripping up the stairs. The door opens and two little +girls enter, just from school. Does the sick mother put up her hand +to enjoin silence? Does she repel them,--by look or word? Oh no. + +"Well, Mary--well, Anna?" she says, kindly. They bend over and kiss +her gently and lovingly; then speak modestly to the visitor. + +"How do you feel, mother?" asks the oldest of the two girls. "Does +your head ache?" + +"Not now, dear. It ached a little while ago; but it is better now." + +"What made it ache, mother?" + +"Something troubled Aggy, and her crying sent a pain through my +temples. But it went away with the clouds that passed from her +darling little face." + +"Why, she's asleep, mother!" exclaimed Anna. + +"So she is. Dear little lamb! Asleep with a tear on her cheek. Turn +her crib around, love, so that I can lay her in it." + +"No, you mustn't lift her," says Mary. "It will make your head +ache." And the elder of the children lifts her baby-sister in her +arms, and carefully lays her in the crib. + +"Did you say all your lessons correctly this morning?" now asks the +mother. + +"I didn't miss a word," answers Mary. + +"Nor I," says Anna. + +"I'm glad of it. It always does me good to know that you have said +your lessons well. Now go and take a run in the yard for exercise." + +The little girls leave the chamber, and soon their happy voices came +ringing up from the yard. The sound is loud, the children in their +merry mood unconscious of the noise they make. + +"This is too loud. It will make your head ache," we say, making a +motion to rise, as if going to check the exuberance of their +spirits. + +"Oh no," is answered with a smile. "The happy voices of my children +never disturb me. Were it the sound of wrangling, my weak head would +throb instantly with pain. But this comes to me like music. They +have been confined for hours in school, and health needs a reaction. +Every buoyant laugh or glad exclamation expands their lungs, +quickens the blood in their veins, and gives a measure of health to +mind as well as body. The knowledge of this brings to me a sense of +pleasure; and it is better for me, therefore, that they should be +gay and noisy for a time, after coming out of school, than it would +be if they sat down quietly in the house, or moved about stealthily, +speaking to each other in low tones lest I should be disturbed." + +We could not say nay to this. It was true, because unselfish, +philosophy. + +"Doesn't that hammering annoy you?" we ask. + +"What hammering?" + +"In the new building over the way." + +She listens a moment, and then answers-- + +"Oh no. I did not remark it until you spoke. Such things never +disturb me, for the reason that my mind is usually too much occupied +to think of them. Though an invalid, and so weak that my hands are +almost useless, I never let my thoughts lie idle. A mother, with +three children, has enough to occupy her mind usefully--and useful +thoughts, you know, are antidotes to brooding melancholy, and not +unfrequently to bodily pain. If I were to give way to +weaknesses--and I am not without temptations--I would soon be an +unhappy, nervous, helpless creature, a burden to myself and all +around me." + +"You need sympathy and strength from others," we remark. + +"And I receive it in full measure," is instantly replied. "Not +because I demand it. It comes, the heart-offering of true affection. +Poorly would I repay my husband, children, and friends, for the +thousand kindnesses I receive at their hands, by making home the +gloomiest place on all the earth. Would it be any the brighter for +me that I threw clouds over their spirits? Would they more truly +sympathize with me, because I was for ever pouring complaints into +their ears? Oh no. I try to make them forget that I suffer, and, in +their forgetfulness, I often find a sweet oblivion. I love them all +too well to wish them a moment's sadness." + +What a beautiful glow was on her pale countenance as she thus spoke! + +We turn from the home of this cheerful invalid with a lesson in our +hearts not soon to be forgotten. Ill-health need not always bring +gloom to our dwellings. Suffering need not always bend the thoughts +painfully to self. The body may waste, the hands fall nerveless to +the side, yet the heart retain its greenness, and the mind its power +to bless. + + + + +MARRYING WELL. + + +"AND so, dear," said Mrs. Waring to her beautiful niece, Fanny +Lovering, "you are about becoming a bride." The aunt spoke tenderly, +and with a manner that instantly broke down all barriers of reserve. + +"And a happy bride, I trust," returned the blushing girl, as she +laid her hand in that of her aunt, and leaned upon her confidingly. + +"Pray heaven it may be so, Fanny." Mrs. Waring's manner was slightly +serious. "Marriage is a very important step; and in taking it the +smallest error may become the fruitful source of unhappiness." + +"I shall make no error, Aunt Mary," cried the lovely girl. "Edward +Allen is one of the best of young men; and he loves me as purely and +tenderly as any maiden could wish to be loved. Oh, I want you to see +him so much!" + +"I will have that pleasure soon, no doubt." + +"Yes, very soon. He is here almost every evening." + +"Your father, I understand, thinks very highly of him." + +"Oh yes. He is quite a pet of father's," replied Fanny. + +"He's in business, then, I suppose?" + +"Yes. He keeps a fancy dry-goods' store, and is doing exceedingly +well--so he says." + +Mrs. Waring sat silent for some time, lost in a train of reflection +suddenly started in her mind. + +"You look serious, aunt. What are you thinking about?" said Fanny, a +slight shadow flitting over her countenance. + +Mrs. Waring smiled, as she answered-- + +"People at my age are easily led into serious thoughts. Indeed, I +can never contemplate the marriage of a young girl like yourself, +without the intrusion of such thoughts into my mind. I have seen +many bright skies bending smilingly over young hearts on the morning +of their married life, that long ere noon were draped in clouds." + +"Don't talk so, dear aunt!" said the fair young girl. "I know that +life, to all, comes in shadow as well as sunshine. But, while the +sky is bright, why dim its brightness by thoughts of the time when +it will be overcast. Is that true philosophy, Aunt Mary?" + +"If such forethought will prevent the cloud, or provide a shelter +ere the storm breaks, it may be called true philosophy. But, forgive +me, dear, for thus throwing a shadow where no shadow ought to rest. +I will believe your choice a wise one, and that a happy future +awaits you." + +"You cannot help believing this when you see Edward. He will be here +to-night; then you will be able to estimate him truly." + +As Fanny had said, the young man called in after tea, when Mrs. +Waring was introduced. Allen responded to the introduction somewhat +coldly. In fact he was too much interested in Fanny herself to think +much, or care much for the stranger, even though named as a +relative. But, though he noticed but casually, and passed only a few +words with Mrs. Waring, that lady was observing him closely, and +noting every phase of character that was presented for observation; +and, ere he left her presence, had read him far deeper than he +imagined. + +"And now, Aunt Mary, tell me what you think of Edward," said Fanny +Lovering, as soon as the young man had departed, and she was alone +with Mrs. Waring. + +"I must see him two or three times more ere I can make up my mind in +regard to him," said Mrs. Waring with something evasive in her +manner. "First impressions are not always to be relied on," she +added, smiling. + +"Ah! I understand you,"--Fanny spoke with a sudden gayety of +manner--"you only wish to tease me a little. Now, confess at once, +dear Aunt Mary, that you are charmed with Edward." + +"I am not much given to quick prepossessions," answered Mrs. Waring. +"It may be a defect in my character; but so it is. Mr. Allen, no +doubt, is a most excellent young man. You are sure that you love +him, Fanny?" + +"Oh, Aunt Mary! How can you ask such a question? Are we not soon to +be married?" + +"True. And this being so, you certainly should love him. Now, can +you tell me why you love him?" + +"Why, aunt!" + +"My question seems, no doubt, a strange one, Fanny. Yet, strange as +it may appear to you, it is far from being lightly made. Calm your +mind into reflection, and ask yourself, firmly and seriously, why +you love Edward Allen. True love ever has an appreciating regard for +moral excellence--and knowledge must precede appreciation. What do +you know of the moral wisdom of this young man, into whose hands you +are about placing the destinies of your being for time--it may be +for eternity? Again let me put the question--Why do you love Edward +Allen?" + +Fanny looked bewildered. No searching interrogations like these had +been addressed to her, even by her parents; and their effect was to +throw her whole mind into painful confusion. + +"I love him for his excellent qualities, and because he loves me," +she at length said, yet with a kind of uncertain manner, as if the +reply did not spring from a clear mental perception. + +"What do you mean by excellent qualities?" further inquired Mrs. +Waring. + +Tears came into Fanny's sweet blue eyes, as she answered-- + +"A young girl like me, dear Aunt Mary, cannot penetrate very deeply +into a man's character. We have neither the opportunity nor the +experience upon which, coldly, to base an accurate judgment. The +heart is our guide. In my own case its instincts, I am sure, have +not betrayed me into a false estimate of my lover. I know him to be +good and noble; and I am sure his tender regard for the maiden he +has asked to become his bride, will ever lead him to seek her +happiness, as she will seek his. Do not doubt him, aunt." + +Yet, Mrs. Waring could not help doubting him. The young man had not +impressed her favourably. No word had fallen from his lips during +the evening unmarked by her--nor had a single act escaped +observation. In vain had she looked, in his declarations of +sentiments, for high moral purposes--for something elevated and +manly in tone. In their place she found only exceeding worldliness, +or the flippant commonplace. + +"No basis there, I fear, on which to build," said Mrs. Waring, +thoughtfully, after parting with her niece for the night. "Dear, +loving, confiding child! The heart of a maiden is not always her +best guide. Like the conscience, it needs to be instructed; must be +furnished with tests of quality." + +On the day following, Mrs. Waring went out alone. Without, seeming +to have any purpose in her mind, she had asked the number of Mr. +Allen's store, whither she went with the design of making a few +purchases. As she had hoped it would be, the young man did not +recognise her as the aunt of his betrothed. Among the articles, she +wished to obtain was a silk dress. Several pieces of goods were +shown to her, one of which suited exactly, both in colour and +quality. + +"What is the price of this?" she asked. + +The answer was not prompt. First, the ticket-mark was consulted; +then came a thoughtful pause; and then the young storekeeper said-- + +"I cannot afford to sell you this piece of goods for less than a +dollar thirteen." + +"A dollar thirty, did you say?" asked Mrs. Waring, examining the +silk more closely. + +"Ye--yes, ma'am," quickly replied Allen. "A dollar thirty. And it's +a bargain at that, I do assure you." + +Mrs. Waring raised her eyes and looked steadily for a moment or two +into the young man's face. + +"A dollar and thirty cents," she repeated. + +"Yes, ma'am. A dollar thirty," was the now assured answer. "How many +yards shall I measure off for you?" + +"I want about twelve yards." + +"There isn't a cheaper piece of goods in market," said the young +man, as he put his scissors into the silk--"not a cheaper piece, I +do assure you. I had a large stock of these silks at the opening of +the season, and sold two-thirds of them at a dollar and a half. But, +as they are nearly closed out, I am selling the remainder at a +trifle above cost. Can I show you any thing else, ma'am?" + +"Not to-day, I believe," replied Mrs. Waring, as she took out her +purse. "How much does it come to?" + +"Twelve yards at one dollar and thirty cents--just fifteen dollars +and sixty cents," said Allen. + +Mrs. Waring counted out the money, and, as she handed it to the +young man, fixed her eyes again searchingly upon him. + +"Shall I send it home for you?" he asked. + +"No--I will take it myself," said Mrs. Waring, coldly. + +"What have you been buying, aunt?" inquired Fanny, when Mrs. Waring +had returned home with her purchase. + +"A silk dress. And I want to know what you think of my bargain?" + +The silk was opened, and Fanny and her mother examined and admired +it. + +"What did you pay for it, sister?" asked Mrs. Lovering, the mother +of Fanny. + +"A dollar and thirty cents," was answered. + +"Not a dollar thirty?" Marked surprise was indicated. + +"Yes. Don't you think it cheap?" + +"Cheap!" said Fanny. "It isn't worth over a dollar at the outside. +Mr. Allen has been selling the same goods at ninety and +ninety-five." + +"You must certainly be in error," replied Mrs. Waring. + +"Not at all," was the positive assertion. "Where did you get the +silk?" + +A somewhat indefinite answer was given; to which Fanny returned-- + +"I only wish we had known your intention. Mother would have gone +with you to Edward's store. It is too bad that you should have been +so cheated. The person who sold you the silk is no better than +downright swindler." + +"If it is as you say," replied Mrs. Waring, calmly, "he is not an +honest man. He saw that I was a stranger, ignorant of current +prices, and he took advantage of the fact to do me a wrong. I am +more grieved for his sake than my own. To me, he loss is only a few +dollars; to him--alas! by what rule can we make the estimate?" + +Much more was said, not needful here to repeat. In the evening, +Edward Allen called to see Fanny, who spoke of the purchase made by +Mrs. Waring. Her aunt was present. The silk was produced in evidence +of the fact that she had been most shamefully wronged by some +storekeeper. + +"For what can you sell goods of a similar quality?" was the direct +question of Fanny. + +The moment Allen saw the piece of silk, he recognised it as the same +he had sold in the morning. Turning quickly, and with a flushing +countenance, to that part of the room where Mrs. Waring sat, partly +in the shadow, he became at once conscious of the fact that she was +the purchaser. The eyes of Fanny followed those of the lover, and +then came back to his face. She saw the o'ermantling blush; the +sudden loss of self-possession, the quailing of his glance beneath +the fixed look of Mrs. Waring. At once the whole truth flashed upon +her mind, and starting up, she said, in a blended voice of grief and +indignation-- + +"Surely, surely, Edward, you are not the man!" + +Before Allen could reply, Mrs. Waring said firmly: "Yes, it is too +true. He is the man!" + +At this, Fanny grew deadly pale, staggered toward her mother, and +sunk, sobbing wildly, upon her bosom. + +Too much excited and confused for coherent explanation, and too +clearly conscious of his mean dishonesty toward a stranger, Allen +attempted no vindication nor excuse, lest matters should assume even +a worse aspect. A moment or two he stood irresolute, and then +retired from the house. As he did so, Mr. Lovering entered the room +where this little scene had just transpired, and was quite startled +at the aspect of affairs. + +"What's this? What has happened? Fanny, child, what in the name of +wonder is the matter? Where's Edward?" + +Mr. Lovering spoke hurriedly. As soon as practicable, the whole +affair was related. + +"And is that all?" exclaimed Mr. Lovering, in surprise. "Pooh! pooh! +I'm really astonished! I thought that some dreadful thing had +happened." + +"Don't you regard this as a very serious matter?" inquired Mrs. +Waring. + +"Serious? No! It's a thing of every day occurrence. If you are not a +judge of the goods you attempt to purchase, you must expect to pay +for your ignorance. Shopkeepers have to make up their ratio of +profits in the aggregate sales of the day. Sometimes they have to +sell a sharp customer at cost, rather than lose the sale; and this +must be made up on some one like you." + +"Not a serious matter," replied Fanny's aunt, "to discover that the +betrothed of your daughter is a dishonest man?" + +"Nonsense! nonsense! you don't know what you are talking about," +said Mr. Lovering, fretfully. "He's shrewd and sharp, as every +business-man who expects to succeed must be. As to his trade +operations, Fanny has nothing to do with them. He'll make her a kind +husband, and provide for her handsomely. What more can she ask?" + +"A great deal more," replied Mrs. Waring, firmly. + +"What more, pray?" + +"A husband, in whose high moral virtues, and unselfish regard for +the right, she can unerringly confide. One who will never, in his +eager desire to secure for himself some personal end or +gratification, forget what is due to the tender, confiding wife who +has placed all that is dear to her in his guardianship. Brother, +depend upon it, the man who deliberately wrongs another to gain an +advantage to himself, will never, in marriage, make a truly virtuous +woman happy. This I speak thoughtfully and solemnly; and I pray you +take it to heart, ere conviction of what I assert comes upon you too +late. But, I may have said too much. Forgive my plain speaking. From +the fulness of the heart is this utterance." + +And so saying, Mrs. Waring passed from the room, and left the +parents of Fanny alone with their weeping child. Few words were +spoken by either Mr. or Mrs. Lovering. Something in the last remarks +of Mrs. Waring had startled their minds into new convictions. As for +the daughter, she soon retired to her own apartment, and did not +join the family again until the next morning. Then, her sad eyes and +colorless face too plainly evidenced a night of sleeplessness and +suffering. + +By a kind of tacit consent on the part of each member of the family, +no allusion, whatever, was made to the occurrences of the day +previous. Evening came, but not as usual came Edward Allen. The next +day, and the next went by, without his accustomed appearance. For a +whole week his visits were omitted. + +Grievous was the change which, in that time, had become visible in +Fanny Lovering. The very light of her life seemed to go out +suddenly; and, for a while, she had groped about in thick darkness. +A few feeble rays were again becoming visible; but from a quarter of +the heavens where she had not expected light. Wisely, gently, and +unobtrusively had Mrs. Waring, during this period of gloom and +distress, cast high truths into the mind of her suffering niece--and +from these, as stars in the firmament of thought, came the rays by +which she was able to see a path opening before her. When, at the +end of the tenth day of uncertainty, came a note from Allen, in +these brief words: "If it is Miss Lovering's wish to be free from +her engagement, a word will annul the contract"--she replied, within +ten minutes, "Let the contract be annulled; you are free." + +Two weeks later, and Mr. Lovering brought home the intelligence that +Allen was to be married in a few days to a certain Miss Jerrold, +daughter of a man reputed wealthy. + +"To Miss Jerrold! It cannot be!" said Mrs. Lovering in surprise. + +"I will not believe it, father." Fanny spoke with quivering lips and +a choking voice. + +"Who is Miss Jerrold?" asked Mrs. Waring. + +"A coarse, vulgar-minded girl, of whom many light things have been +said," replied Mrs. Lovering, indignantly. "But her father is rich, +and she is an only child." + +"He never loved you, dear," said Mrs. Waring to Fanny about a week +later, as the yet suffering girl laid her tearful face on her bosom. +The news had just come that Miss Jerrold was the bride of Allen. The +frame of the girl thrilled for a moment or two; then all was calm, +and she replied-- + +"Not as I wished to be loved. O aunt! what an escape I have made! I +look down the fearful gulf on the very brink of which my feet were +arrested, and shudder to the heart's core. If he could take her, he +never could have appreciated me. Something more than maiden purity +and virtue attracted him. Ah! how could my instincts have been so at +fault!" + +"Dear child," said Mrs. Waring, earnestly, "there can be no true +love, as I have before said to you, without an appreciation of +quality. A fine person, agreeable manners, social position--in a +word, all external advantages and attractions are nothing, unless +virtue be in the heart. It is a man's virtues that a woman must +love, if she loves truly. If she assumes the possession of moral +wisdom, without undoubting evidence, she is false to herself. To +marry under such circumstances is to take a fearful risk. Alas! how +many have repented through a long life of wretchedness. Can a true +woman love a man who lacks principle--who will sacrifice honour for +a few paltry dollars--who will debase himself for gain--whose gross +sensuality suffocates all high, spiritual love? No! no! It is +impossible! And she who unites herself with such a man, must either +shrink, grovelling, down to his mean level, or be inconceivably +wretched." + +Two years later, and results amply justified the timely +interposition of Mrs. Waring, and demonstrated the truth of her +positions. Her beautiful, true-hearted niece has become the bride of +a man possessing all the external advantages sought to be obtained +by Mr. and Mrs. Lovering in the proposed marriage with Mr. Allen; +and what is more and better, of one whose love of truth and goodness +is genuine, and whose appreciation of his wife rests on a perception +of her womanly virtues. As years pass, and their knowledge of each +other becomes more intimate, their union will become closer and +closer, until affection and thought become so blended, that they +will act in all their mutual life-relations as one. + +Alas! how different it is already with Edward Allen and the woman he +led to the altar, where each made false vows the one to the other. +There were no qualities to be loved; and to each, person and +principles soon grew repellant. Through sharp practices in business, +Allen is rapidly adding to the fortune already acquired by trade and +marriage; but, apart from the love of accumulation, which keeps his +mind active and excited during business hours, he has no pleasure in +life. He does not love the woman who presides in his elegant home, +and she affects nothing in regard to him. They only tolerate each +other for appearance sake. Sometimes, Fanny Lovering, now Mrs. ----, +meets them in public; but never without an almost audibly breathed +"Thank God, that I am not in her place!" as her eyes rest upon the +countenance of Allen, in which evil and selfish purposes have +already stamped their unmistakable meanings. + + + + +BLESSING OF A GOOD DEED. + + +"I SHOULD like to do that, every day, for a year to come," said Mr. +William Everett, rubbing his hands together quickly, in +irrepressible pleasure. + +Mr. Everett was a stock and money broker, and had just made an +"operation," by which a clear gain of two thousand dollars was +secured. He was alone in his office: or, so much alone as not to +feel restrained by the presence of another. And yet, a pair of dark, +sad eyes were fixed intently upon his self-satisfied countenance, +with an expression, had he observed it, that would, at least, have +excited a moment's wonder. The owner of this pair of eyes was a +slender, rather poorly dressed lad, in his thirteenth year, whom Mr. +Everett had engaged, a short time previously, to attend in his +office and run upon errands. He was the son of a widowed mother, now +in greatly reduced circumstances. His father had been an early +friend of Mr. Everett. It was this fact which led to the boy's +introduction into the broker's office. + +"Two thousand dollars!" The broker had uttered aloud his +satisfaction; but now he communed with himself silently. "Two +thousand dollars! A nice little sum that for a single day's work. I +wonder what Mr. Jenkins will say tomorrow morning, when he hears of +such an advance in these securities?" + +From some cause, this mental reference to Mr. Jenkins did not +increase our friend's state of exhilaration. Most probably, there +was something in the transaction by which he had gained so handsome +a sum of money, that, in calmer moments, would not bear too close a +scrutiny--something that Mr. Everett would hardly like to have +blazoned forth to the world. Be this as it may, a more sober mood, +in time, succeeded, and although the broker was richer by two +thousand dollars than when he arose in the morning, he was certainly +no happier. + +An hour afterward, a business friend came into the office of Mr. +Everett and said-- + +"Have you heard about Cassen?" + +"No; what of him?" + +"He's said to be off to California with twenty thousand dollars in +his pockets more than justly belongs to him." + +"What!" + +"Too true, I believe. His name is in the list of passengers who left +New York in the steamer yesterday." + +"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett, who, by this time, was very +considerably excited. + +"He owes you, does he?" said the friend. + +"I lent him three hundred dollars only day before yesterday." + +"A clear swindle." + +"Yes, it is. Oh, if I could only get my hands on him!". + +Mr. Everett's countenance, as he said this, did not wear a very +amiable expression. + +"Don't get excited about it," said the other. "I think he has let +you off quite reasonably. Was that sum all he asked to borrow?" + +"Yes." + +"I know two at least, who are poorer by a couple of thousands by his +absence." + +But Mr. Everett was excited. For half an hour after the individual +left who had communicated this unpleasant piece of news, the broker +walked the floor of his office with compressed lips, a lowering +brow, and most unhappy feelings. The two thousand dollars gain in no +way balanced in his mind the three hundred lost. The pleasure +created by the one had not penetrated deep enough to escape +obliteration by the other. + +Of all this, the boy with the dark eyes had taken quick cognizance. +And he comprehended all. Scarcely a moment had his glance been +removed from the countenance or form of Mr. Everett, while the +latter walked with uneasy steps the floor of his office. + +As the afternoon waned, the broker's mind grew calmer. The first +excitement produced by the loss, passed away; but it left a sense of +depression and disappointment that completely shadowed his feelings. + +Intent as had been the lad's observation of his employer during all +this time, it is a little remarkable that Mr. Everett had not once +been conscious of the fact that the boy's eyes were steadily upon +him. In fact he had been, as was usually the case too much absorbed +in things concerning himself to notice what was peculiar to another, +unless the peculiarity were one readily used to his own advantage. + +"John," said Mr. Everett, turning suddenly to the boy, and +encountering his large, earnest eyes, "take this note around to Mr. +Legrand." + +John sprang to do his bidding; received the note and was off with +unusual fleetness. But the door which closed upon his form did not +shut out the expression of his sober face and humid glance from the +vision of Mr. Everett. In fact, from some cause, tears had sprung to +the eyes of the musing boy at the very moment he was called upon to +render a service; and, quicker than usual though his motions were, +he had failed to conceal them. + +A new train of thought now entered the broker's mind. This child of +his old friend had been taken into his office from a kind of +charitable feeling--though of very low vitality. He paid him a +couple of dollars a week, and thought little more, about him or his +widowed mother. He had too many important interests of his own at +stake, to have his mind turned aside for a trifling matter like +this. But now, as the image of that sad face--for it was unusually +sad at the moment when Mr. Everett looked suddenly toward the +boy--lingered in his mind, growing every moment more distinct, and +more touchingly beautiful, many considerations of duty and humanity +were excited. He remembered his old friend, and the pleasant hours +they had spent together in years long since passed, ere generous +feelings had hardened into ice, or given place to all-pervading +selfishness. He remembered, too, the beautiful girl his friend had +married, and how proudly that friend presented her to their little +world as his bride. The lad had her large, dark, spiritual +eyes--only the light of joy had faded therefrom, giving place to a +strange sadness. + +All this was now present to the mind of Mr. Everett, and though he +tried once or twice during the boy's absence to obliterate these +recollections, he was unable to do so. + +"How is your mother, John?" kindly asked the broker, when the lad +returned from his errand. + +The question was so unexpected, that it confused him. + +"She's well--thank you, sir. No--not very well, either--thank you, +sir." + +And the boy's face flushed, and his eyes suffused. + +"Not very well, you say?" Mr. Everett spoke with kindness, and in a +tone of interest. "Not sick, I hope?" + +"No, sir; not very sick. But"---- + +"But what, John," said Mr., Everett, encouragingly. + +"She's in trouble," half stammered the boy, while the colour +deepened on his face. + +"Ah, indeed? I'm sorry for that. What is the trouble, John?" + +The tears which John had been vainly striving to repress now gushed +over his face, and, with a boyish shame for the weakness, he turned +away and struggled for a time with his overmastering feelings. Mr. +Everett was no little moved by so unexpected an exhibition. He +waited with a new-born consideration for the boy, not unmingled with +respect, until a measure of calmness was restored. + +"John," he then said, "if your mother is in trouble, it may be in my +power to relieve her." + +"O sir!" exclaimed the lad eagerly, coming up to Mr. Everett, and, +in the forgetfulness of the moment, laying his small hand upon that +of his employer, "if you will, you can." + +Hard indeed would have been the heart that could have withstood the +appealing, eyes lifted by John Levering to the face of Mr. Everett. +But Mr. Everett had not a hard heart. Love of self and the world had +encrusted it with indifference toward others, but the crust was now +broken through. + +"Speak freely, my good lad," said he, kindly. "Tell me of your +mother. What is her trouble?" + +"We are very poor, sir." Tremulous and mournful was the boy's voice. +"And mother isn't well. She does all she can; and my wages help a +little. But there are three of us children; and I am the oldest. +None of the rest can earn any thing. Mother couldn't help getting +behind with the rent, sir, because she hadn't the money to pay it +with. This morning, the man who owns the house where we live came +for some money, and when mother told him that she had none, he got, +oh, so angry! and frightened us all. He said, if the rent wasn't +paid by to-morrow, he'd turn us all into the street. Poor mother! +She went to bed sick." + +"How much does your mother owe the man?" asked Mr. Everett. + +"Oh, it's a great deal, sir. I'm afraid she'll never be able to pay +it; and I don't know what we'll do." + +"How much?" + +"Fourteen dollars, sir," answered the lad. + +"Is that all?" And Mr. Everett thrust his hand into his pocket. +"Here are twenty dollars. Run home to your mother, and give them to +her with my compliments." + +The boy grasped the money eagerly, and, as he did so, in an +irrepressible burst of gratitude, kissed the hand from which he +received it. He did not speak, for strong emotion choked all +utterance; but Mr. Everett saw his heart in his large, wet eyes, and +it was overflowing with thankfulness. + +"Stay a moment," said the broker, as John Levering was about passing +through the door. "Perhaps I had better write a note to your +mother." + +"I wish you would, sir," answered the boy, as he came slowly back. + +A brief note was written, in which Mr. Everett not only offered +present aid, but promised, for the sake of old recollections that +now were crowding fast upon his mind, to be the widow's future +friend. + +For half an hour after the lad departed, the broker sat musing, with +his eyes upon the floor. His thoughts were clear, and his feelings +tranquil. He had made, on that day, the sum of two thousand dollars +by a single transaction, but the thought of this large accession to +his worldly goods did not give him a tithe of the pleasure he +derived from the bestowal of twenty dollars. He thought, too, of the +three hundred dollars he had lost by a misplaced confidence; yet, +even as the shadow cast from that event began to fall upon his +heart, the bright face of John Levering was conjured up by fancy, +and all was sunny again. + +Mr. Everett went home to his family on that evening, a +cheerful-minded man. Why? Not because he was richer by nearly two +thousand dollars. That circumstance would have possessed no power to +lift him above the shadowed, fretful state which he loss of three +hundred dollars had produced. Why? He had bestowed of his abundance, +and thus made suffering hearts glad; and the consciousness of this +pervaded his bosom with a warming sense of delight. + +Thus it is, that true benevolence carries with it, ever a double +blessing. Thus it is, that in giving, more is often gained than in +eager accumulation or selfish withholding. + + + + +PAYING THE DOCTOR. + + +AFTER a day of unusual anxiety and fatigue, Dr. Elton found himself +snugly wrapped up in a liberal quantity of blankets and bed-quilts, +just as the clock struck twelve one stormy night in February. For +over half an hour he had lain awake, racking his brain in reference +to two or three critical cases which were on his hands; but tired +nature could keep up no longer, and the sweet oblivion of sleep was +stealing over his senses. But just as he had lost himself, the bell +over his head began to ring furiously, and brought him into the +middle of the floor in an instant. Pushing his head out of the +window, he interrogated the messenger below, just too late to save +that individual the trouble of giving the bell-rope another violent +demonstration of his skill. + +"Mr. Marvel wants you to come and see Charley immediately," replied +the messenger. + +"What's the matter with Charley?" + +"He's got the croup, I believe." + +"Tell him I'll be there in a moment," said Dr. Elton, drawing in his +head. Hurrying on his clothes, he descended to his office, and, +possessing himself of some necessary medicines, it being too late +for the family to send out a prescription, wrapped his cloak around +him, and turned out into the storm. + +It was at least half a mile to the residence of Mr. Marvel, and by, +the time the doctor arrived there, he was cold, wet, and +uncomfortable both in mind and body. Ascending to the chamber, he +was not a little surprised to find Charley, a bright little fellow +of some two years old, sitting up in his crib as lively as a +cricket. + +"O doctor! we've been _so_ frightened!" said Mrs. Marvel, as Dr. +Elton entered. "We thought Charley had the croup, he breathed so +loud. But he don't seem to get any worse. What do you think of him, +doctor?" + +Dr. Elton felt his pulse, listened to his respiration, examined the +appearance of his skin, and then said, emphatically-- + +"I think you'd better all be in bed!" + +"It's better to be scared than hurt, doctor," responded Mr. Marvel. + +"Humph!" ejaculated Dr. Elton. + +"Don't you think you'd better give him something, doctor?" said Mrs. +Marvel. + +"What for, ma'am?" + +"To keep him from having the croup. Don't you think he's threatened +with it?" + +"Not half as much as I am," replied the doctor, who made a quick +retreat, fearing that he would give way too much to his irritated +feelings, and offend a family who were able to pay. + +Next morning, on the debtor side of his ledger, under the name of +Mr. Marvel, Dr. Elton made this entry; _To one night-visit to son,_ +$5. "And it's well for me that he's able to pay," added the doctor, +mentally, as he replaced the book in the drawer from which he had +taken it. Scarcely had this necessary part of the business been +performed, when the same messenger who had summoned him the night +before, came post-haste into the office, with the announcement that +Mrs. Marvel wanted him to come there immediately, as Charley had got +a high fever. + +Obedient to the summons, Dr. Elton soon made his appearance, and +found both Mr. and Mrs. Marvel greatly concerned about their little +boy. + +"I'm _so_ 'fraid of the scarlet fever, doctor!" said Mrs. Marvel. +"Do you think it's any thing like that?" she continued with much +anxiety, turning upon Charley a look of deep maternal affection. + +Dr. Elton felt of Charley's pulse, and looked at his tongue, and +then wrote a prescription in silence. + +"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked the father, much +concerned. + +"He's not dangerous, sir. Give him this, and if he should grow +worse, send for me." + +The doctor bowed and departed, and the fond parents sent off for the +medicine. It was in the form of a very small dose of rhubarb, and +poor Charley had to have his nose held tight, and the nauseous stuff +poured down his throat. In the afternoon, when the doctor called, on +being sent for, there were some slight febrile symptoms, consequent +upon excitement and loss of rest. The medicine, contrary to his +expectation, heightened, instead of allaying these; and long before +nightfall he was summoned again to attend his little patient. Much +to his surprise, he found him with a hot skin, flushed face, and +quickened pulse. Mrs. Marvel was in a state of terrible alarm. + +"I knew there was more the matter with him than you thought for, +doctor!" said the mother, while Dr. Elton examined his patient. "You +thought it was nothing, but I knew better. If you'd only prescribed +last night, as I wanted you to, all this might have been saved." + +"Don't be alarmed, madam," said the doctor, "there is nothing +serious in this fever. It will soon subside." + +Mrs. Marvel shook her head. + +"It's the scarlet fever, doctor, I know it is!" said she, +passionately, bursting into tears. + +"Let me beg of you, madam, not to distress yourself. I assure you +there is no danger!" + +"So you said last night, doctor; and just see how much worse he is +getting!" + +As Dr. Elton was generally a man of few words, he said no more, but +wrote a prescription, and went away, promising, however, at the +earnest request of Mrs. Marvel, to call again that night. + +About nine o'clock he called in, and found Charley's fever in no +degree abated. Mrs. Marvel was in tears, and her husband pacing the +floor in a state of great uneasiness. + +"O doctor, he'll die, I'm sure he'll die!" said Mrs. Marvel, weeping +bitterly. + +"Don't be alarmed, my dear madam," replied the doctor. "I assure you +it is nothing serious." + +"Oh, I'm 'sure it's the scarlet fever! It's all about now." + +"No, madam, I am in earnest when I tell you it is nothing of the +kind. His throat is not in the least sore." + +"Yes, doctor, it is sore!" + +"How do you know?" responded the doctor, examining Charley's mouth +and throat, which showed not the least symptom of any irritation of +the mucous membrane. "It can't be sore from any serious cause. Some +trifling swelling of the glands is all that can occasion it, if any +exist." + +Thus assured, and in a positive manner, Mrs. Marvel's alarm in some +degree abated, and after ordering a warm bath, the doctor retired. + +About three o'clock the doctor was again sent for in great haste. On +entering the chamber of his little patient, he found his fever all +gone, and he in a pleasant sleep. + +"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked Mrs. Marvel, in a low, +anxious whisper. + +"I think he's doing as well as he can." + +"But a'n't it strange, doctor, that he should breathe so low? He +looks so pale, and lays so quiet! Are you sure he's not dying?" + +"Dying!" exclaimed Dr. Elton,--"he's no more dying than you are! +Really, Mrs. Marvel, yon torment yourself with unnecessary fears! +Nature is only a little exhausted from struggling with the fever, he +will be like a new person by morning." + +"Do not mistake the case, doctor, for we are very much concerned," +said Mr. Marvel. + +"I do assure you, sir, that I understand the case precisely; and you +must believe me, when I tell you that no patient was ever in a +better way than your little boy." + +Next morning, among other charges made by Dr. Elton, were two +against Mr. Marvel, as follows: _To four visits to son,_ $4. _To one +night-visit to son,_ $5. + +"Not a bad customer!" said the doctor, with a smile, as he ran up +the whole account, and then closed the book. + +In the constant habit of sending for the doctor on every trifling +occasion, whether it occurred at noonday or midnight, it is not to +be wondered at that a pretty large bill should find its way to Mr. +Marvel at the end of the year. And this was not the worst of it; the +health of his whole family suffered in no slight degree from the +fact of each individual being so frequently under the influence of +medicine. Poor Charley was victimized almost every week; and, +instead of being a fresh, hearty boy, began to show a pale, thin +face, and every indication of a weakened vital action. This +appearance only increased the evil, for both parents, growing more +anxious in consequence, were more urgent to have him placed under +treatment. Dr. Elton sometimes remonstrated with them, but to no +purpose; and yielding to their ignorance and their anxiety, became a +party in the destruction of the boy's health. + +"What is that, my dear?" asked Mrs. Marvel of her husband, some ten +months after their introduction to the reader, as the latter +regarded, with no pleasant countenance, a small piece of paper which +he held in his hand. + +"Why, it's Dr. Elton's bill." + +"Indeed! How much is it?" + +"One hundred and fifty dollars!" + +"Oh, husband!" + +"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" + +"One hundred and fifty dollars, did you say?" + +"Yes, one hundred and fifty dollars. A'n't it outrageous?" + +"It's scandalous! It's downright swindling! I'd never pay it in the +world! Who ever heard of such a thing! One hundred and fifty dollars +for one year's attendance! Good gracious!"--and Mrs. Marvel held up +her hands, and lifted her eyes in profound astonishment. + +"I can't understand it!" said Mr. Marvel. "Why, nobody's had a spell +of sickness in the family for the whole year. Charley's been a +little sick once or twice; but nothing of much consequence. There +must be something wrong about it. I'll go right off and see him, and +have an understanding about it at once." + +Carrying out his resolution on the instant, Mr. Marvel left the +house and proceeded with rapid steps toward the office of Dr. Elton. +He found that individual in. + +"Good morning Mr. Marvel! How do you do to-day?" said the doctor, +who understood from his countenance that something was wrong, and +had an instinctive perception of its nature. + +"Good morning, doctor! I got your bill to-day." + +"Yes, sir; I sent it out." + +"But a'n't there something wrong about it, doctor?" + +"No, I presume not. I make my charges carefully, and draw off my +bills in exact accordance with them." + +"But there must be, doctor. How in the world could you make a bill +of one hundred and fifty dollars against me? I've had no serious +sickness in my family." + +"And yet, Mr. Marvel, I have been called in almost every week, and +sometimes three or four times in as many days." + +"Impossible!" + +"I'll show you my ledger, if that will satisfy you, where every +visit is entered." + +"No, it's no use to do that. I know that you have been called in +pretty often, but not frequently enough to make a bill like this." + +"How many night-visits do you suppose I have made to your family, +during the year?" + +"I'm sure I don't know. Not more than three or four." + +"I've made ten!" + +"You must be mistaken, doctor." + +"Do you remember that I was called in last February, when you +thought Charley had the croup?" + +"Yes." + +"And the night after?" + +"Yes. That's but two." + +"And the night you thought he had the measles?" + +"Yes." + +"And the night after?" + +"Yes. But that's only four." + +"And the three times he fell out of bed?" + +"Not three times, doctor!" + +"Yes, it was three times. Don't you recollect the knob on his head?" + +"Yes, indeed!" + +"And the sprained finger?" + +"Yes." + +"And the bruised cheek?" + +"Well, I believe you are right about that, doctor. But that don't +make ten times." + +"You have not forgotten, of course, the night he told you he had +swallowed a pin?" + +"No, indeed," said the father, turning pale. "Do you think there is +any danger to be apprehended from its working its way into the +heart, doctor?" + +"None at, all, I should think. And you remember"-- + +"Never mind, doctor, I suppose you are right about that. But how can +ten visits make one hundred and fifty dollars?" + +"They will make fifty, though, and that is one-third of the bill." + +"You don't pretend to charge five dollars a visit, though, doctor?" + +"For all visits after ten o'clock at night, we are allowed by law to +charge five dollars." + +"Outrageous!" + +"Would you get up out of your warm bed after midnight, turn out in a +December storm, and walk half a mile for five dollars?" + +"I can't say that I would. But then it's your business." + +"Of course it is, and I must be paid for it." + +"Any how, doctor, that don't account for the whole of this +exorbitant bill." + +"But one hundred day and evening visits here on my ledger will, +though." + +"You don't pretend to say you have paid my family a hundred visits, +certainly?" + +"I will give you day and date for them, if necessary." + +"No, it's no use to do that," said Mr. Marvel, whose memory began to +be a little more active. "I'll give you a hundred dollars, and say +no more about it; that is enough, in all conscience." + +"I can't do any such thing, Mr. Marvel. I have charged you what was +right, and can take nothing off. What would you think of a man who +had made a bill at your store of one hundred and fifty dollars, if +he were to offer you one hundred when he came to pay, and ask for a +receipt in full?" + +"But that a'n't to the point." + +"A'n't it, though? I should like to hear of a case more applicable. +But it's no use to multiply words about the matter. My bill is +correct, and I cannot take a dollar off of it." + +"It's the last bill you ever make out of me, remember that, doctor!" +said Mr. Marvel, rising, and leaving the office in a state of angry +excitement. + +"Well, what does he say?" asked Mrs. Marvel, who had waited for her +husband's return with some interest. + +"He tried to beat me down that the bill was all right; but I'm too +old a child for that. Why, would you believe it?--he has charged +five dollars for every night-visit." + +"That's no better than highway robbery." + +"Not a bit. But it's the last money he ever gets out of me." + +"I'd never call him in, I know. He must think we're made of money." + +"Oh, I suppose we're the first family he's had who wasn't poor, and +he wanted to dig as deep as possible. I hate such swindling, and if +it wasn't for having a fuss I'd never pay him a dollar." + +"He's charged us for every poor family in the neighbourhood, I +suppose." + +"No doubt of it. I've heard of these tricks before; but it's the +last time I'll submit to have them played off upon me." + +The visit of Mr. Marvel somewhat discomposed the feelings of Dr. +Elton, and he had begun to moralize upon the unthankful position he +held in the community, when he was aroused from his reverie by the +entrance of a servant from one of the principal hotels, with a +summons to attend immediately a young lady who was thought to be +exceedingly ill. + +"Who is she?" asked the doctor. + +"She is the daughter of Mr. Smith, a merchant from the East." + +"Is any one with her?" + +"Yes, her father." + +"Tell him I will be there immediately." + +In the course of fifteen minutes Dr. Elton's carriage drove up to +the door of the hotel. He found his patient to be a young lady of +about seventeen, accompanied by her father, a middle-aged man, whose +feelings were much, and anxiously excited. + +At a glance, his practised eye detected symptoms of a serious +nature, and a closer examination of the case convinced him that all +his skill would be called into requisition. With a hot, dry skin, +slightly flushed face, parched lips, and slimy, furred tongue, there +was a dejection, languor, and slight indication of delirium--and +much apparent confusion of mind. Prescribing as he thought the case +required, he left the room, accompanied with the father. + +"Well, doctor, what do you think of her?" said Mr. Smith, with a +heavy, oppressed expiration. + +"She is ill, sir, and will require attention." + +"But, doctor, you don't think my child dangerous, do you?" said the +father with an alarmed manner. + +"It is right that you should know, sir, that your daughter is, to +all appearance, threatened with the typhus fever. But I don't think +there is any cause for alarm, only for great care in her physician +and attendants." + +"O doctor, can I trust her in your hands? But I am foolish; I know +that there is no one in this city of more acknowledged skill than +yourself. You must pardon a father's fears. Spare no attentions, +doctor--visit her at least twice every day, and you shall be well +paid for your attentions. Save my child for me, and I will owe you +eternal gratitude." + +"All that I can do for her, shall be done, sir," said Dr. Elton. + +Just relieved from the care of a dangerous case, in its healthy +change, Dr. Elton's mind had relaxed from the anxiety which too +frequently burdened it; for a physician's mind is always oppressed +while the issue, of life or death hangs upon his power to subdue a +disease, which may be too deeply seated to yield to the influence of +medicine. Now, all the oppressive sense of responsibility, the care, +the anxiety, were to be renewed, and felt with even a keener +concern. + +In the evening he called in, but there was no perceptible change, +except a slight aggravation of all the symptoms. The medicine had +produced no visible salutary effect. During the second day, there +was exhibited little alteration, but on the morning of the third +day, symptoms of a more decided character had supervened--such as +suffused and injected eyes, painful deglutition, an oppression in +the chest, accompanied with a short, dry cough, pains in the back, +loins, and extremities; and a soreness throughout the whole body. +These had not escaped the father's observation, and with the most +painful anxiety did he watch the countenance of the physician while +he examined the case in its new presentation. Much as he tried to +control the expression of his face, he found it impossible. He felt +too deeply concerned, and was too conscious of the frequent +impotence of medicine, when administered with the most experienced +skill. + +In the afternoon he called again, and found the father, as usual, by +the bedside. His patient seemed to be in a narcotic sleep, and when +roused from it, complained of much giddiness, and soon sunk down +again into a state of torpor. + +"What do you think of her now, doctor?" asked the father, in a +hoarse whisper, on the physician's leaving the chamber of his +patient. + +"It is impossible to form any correct idea respecting a case like +this. I have seen many much worse recover, and have no doubt, as far +as human calculation will go, that your daughter will get well. But +the fever is a tedious one, usually defying all attempts at breaking +it. It must run its course, which is usually some ten or fifteen +days. All we can do is to palliate, and then assist nature, when the +disease has abated its violence." + +It is not necessary to trace the progress of the disease from day to +day, until it reached its climax. When the fever did break, and a +soft, gentle moisture penetrated the skin, the patient had but a +spark of life remaining. + +At the close of the fifteenth day, when every symptom indicated that +convalescence or death would soon ensue, no one but a physician can +imagine the painful, restless anxiety, which was felt by Dr. Elton. +He took but little food, and slept hardly any during the whole +night, frequently starting from his brief periods of troubled +slumber, in consequence of great nervous excitement. + +Early in the morning he called at the room of his patient, +trembling, lest a first glance should dash every hope to the ground. +He entered softly, and perceived the father bending over her with a +pale anxious face. She was asleep. He took her hand, but let it drop +instantly. + +"What is the matter?" asked the father in an alarmed whisper, his +face growing paler. + +"She is safe?" responded the doctor, in a low whisper, every pulse +thrilling with pleasant excitement. + +The father clasped his hands, looked upward a moment, and then burst +into tears. + +"How can I ever repay you for your skill in saving my child!" he +said, after his feelings had grown calmer. + +It was nearly a month before the daughter was well enough to return +home, during most of which time Dr. Elton was in attendance. For +fifteen days he had attended twice a day regularly, and for nearly +as long a period once a day. + +While sitting in his office one day about three o'clock, waiting for +his carriage to come up to the door, Mr. Smith entered, and asked +for his bill, as he was about to leave. On examining his +account-book, Dr. Elton found that he had made about fifty visits, +and accordingly he made out his bill fifty dollars. + +"How much is this, doctor?" said Mr. Smith, eyeing the bill with +something of doubt in the expression of his countenance. + +"Fifty dollars, sir." + +"Fifty dollars! Why, surely, doctor, you are not going to take +advantage of me in that way?" + +"I don't understand you, sir." + +"Why, I never heard of such an extravagant bill in my life. I have +my whole family attended at home for fifty dollars a year, and you +have not been visiting one of them much over a month." + +"Such as the bill is, you will have to pay it, sir. It is just, and +I shall not abate one dollar," responded Dr. Elton, considerably +irritated. + +Mr. Smith drew out his pocket-book slowly, selected a fifty-dollar +bill from a large package, handed it to the doctor, took his +receipt, and rising to his feet, said emphatically-- + +"I am a stranger, and you have taken advantage of me. But remember, +the gains of dishonesty will never prosper!" and turning upon his +heel, left the office. + +"Who would be a doctor?" murmured Dr. Elton, forcing the unpleasant +thoughts occasioned by the incident from his mind, and endeavouring +to fix it upon a case of more than usual interest which he had been +called to that day. + +A word to the wise is sufficient; it is therefore needless to +multiply scenes illustrative of the manner in which too many people +pay the doctor. + +When any one is sick, the doctor is sent for, and the family are all +impatient until he arrives. If the case is a bad one, he is looked +upon as a ministering angel; the patient's eye brightens when he +comes, and all in the house feel more cheerful for hours after. Amid +all kinds of weather, at all hours in the day or night, he obeys the +summons, and brings all his skill, acquired by long study, and by +much laborious practice, to bear upon the disease. But when the sick +person gets well, the doctor is forgotten; and when the bill +appears, complaint at its amount is almost always made; and too +frequently, unless he proceed to legal measures, it is entirely +withheld from him. These things ought not so to be. Of course, there +are many honourable exceptions; but every physician can +exclaim--"Would that their number was greater!" + + + + +THE LITTLE BOUND-BOY. + + +IN a miserable old house, in Commerce street, north of Pratt street +Baltimore,--there are fine stores there now--lived a shoemaker, +whose wife took a particular fancy to me as a doctor, (I never felt +much flattered by the preference,) and would send for me whenever +she was sick. I could do no less than attend her ladyship. For a +time I tried, by pretty heavy bills, to get rid of the honour; but +it wouldn't do. Old Maxwell, the husband, grumbled terribly, but +managed to keep out of my debt. He was the reputed master of his +house; but I saw enough to satisfy me that if he were master, his +wife was mistress of the master. + +Maxwell had three or four apprentices, out of whom he managed to get +a good deal of work at a small cost. Among these was a little +fellow, whose peculiarly delicate appearance often attracted my +attention. He seemed out of place among the stout, vulgar-looking +boys, who stitched and hammered away from morning until night in +their master's dirty shop. + +"Where did you get that child?" I asked of the shoemaker one day. + +"Whom do you mean? Bill?" + +"Yes, the little fellow you call Bill." + +"I took him out of pure charity. His mother died about a year and a +half ago, and if I hadn't taken him in, he would have gone to the +poor house as like as not." + +"Who was his mother?" + +"She was a poor woman, who sewed for the slopshops for a living--but +their pay won't keep soul and body together." + +"And so she died?" + +"Yes, she died, and I took her child out of pure charity, as I have +said." + +"Is he bound to you?" + +"Oh yes. I never take a boy without having him bound." + +"What was his mother's name?" + +"I believe they called her Mrs. Miller." + +"Did you ever meet with her?" + +"No: but my wife knew her very well. She was a strange kind of +woman--feeling something above her condition, I should think. She +was always low-spirited, my wife says, but never complained about +any thing. Bill was her only child, and he used to go for her work, +and carry it home when it was finished. She sent him out, too, to +buy every thing. I don't believe she would have stirred beyond her +own door if she had starved to death." + +"Why not?" + +"Pride, I reckon." + +"Pride? Why should she be proud?" + +"Dear knows! Maybe she once belonged to the bettermost class of +people, and was afraid of meeting some of them in the street." + +This brief conversation awoke an interest in my mind for the lad. As +I left the shop, I met him at the door with a large bucket of water +in his hand--too heavy for his strength. I looked at him more +narrowly than I had ever done before. There was a feminine delicacy +about every feature of his face, unusual in boys who ordinarily +belong to the station he was filling. His eyes, too, had a softer +expression, and his brow was broader and fairer. The intentness with +which I looked at him, caused him to look at me as intently. What +thoughts were awakened in his mind I could not tell. I put my hand +upon his head, involuntarily; but did not speak to him; and then +passed on. I could not help turning to take another glance at the +boy. He had turned also. I saw that there were tears in his eyes. + +"Poor fellow!" I murmured, "he is out of his place." I did, not go +back to speak to him, as I wished afterward that I had done, but +kept on my way. + +Not having occasion to visit the shoemaker's wife again for some +months, this boy did not, during the time, fall under my notice. It +was midwinter when I next saw him. + +I was preparing to go out one stormy morning in February, when a lad +came into my office. He was drenched to the skin by the rain, that +was driving fiercely along under the pressure of a strong +northeaster, and shivering with cold. His teeth chattered so that it +was some time before he could make known his errand. I noticed that +he was clad in a much worn suit of common corduroy, the cracks in +which, here and there, showed the red skin beneath, and proved +clearly enough that this was all that protected him from the bitter +cold. One of his shoes gaped widely at the toe; and the other was +run down at the heel so badly, that part of his foot and old ragged +stocking touched the floor. A common sealskin cap, with the front +part nearly torn off, was in his hand. He had removed this from his +head on entering, and stood, with his eyes now resting on mine, and +now dropping beneath my gaze, waiting for me to ask his errand. I +did not recognise him. + +"Well, my little man," I said, "is any one sick?" + +"Please sir, Mr. Maxwell wants you to come down and see Johnny." + +"Mr. Maxwell! Do you live with Mr. Maxwell?" + +"Yes, sir." + +I now recognized the lad. He was a good deal changed since I last +saw him, and changed for the worse. + +"What is the matter with Johnny?" I asked. + +"I believe he's got the croup." + +"Indeed! Is he very sick?" + +"Yes, sir. He can't hardly breathe at all, and goes all the time +just so--" Imitating the wheezing sound attendant upon constricted +respiration. + +"Very well, my boy, I will be there in a little while, But, bless +me! you will get the croup as well as Johnny, if you go out in such +weather as this and have on no warmer clothing than covers you now. +Come up to the stove and warm yourself--you are shivering all over. +Why did not you bring an umbrella?" + +"Mr. Maxwell never lets me take the umbreller," said the boy +innocently. + +"He doesn't? But he sends you out in the rain?" + +"Oh yes--always. Sometimes I am wet all day." + +"Doesn't it make you sick?" + +"I feel bad, and ache all over sometimes after I have been wet; and +sometimes my face swells up and pains me so I can't sleep." + +"Do not your feet get very cold? Have you no better shoes than +these?" + +"I've got a better pair of shoes: but they hurt my feet so I can't +wear them. Thomas, one of the boys, gave me these old ones." + +"Why do they hurt your feet? Are they too small?" + +"No, sir, I don't think they are. But my feet are sore." + +I feared as much as this. "What is the matter with your feet?" I +asked. + +"I don't know, sir. The boys say that nothing's the matter with +them, only they're a little snow-burnt." + +"How do they feel?" + +"They burn and itch, and are so tender I can hardly touch them. I +can't sleep at nights sometimes for the burning and itching." + +I examined the boy's feet, and found them red, shining and tumefied, +with other indications of a severe attack of chilblains. + +"What have you done for your feet?" I asked. "Does Mr. Maxwell know +they are so bad?" + +"I showed them to him, and he said it was only a snow-burn, and that +I must put my feet in snow and let it draw the cold out." + +"Did you do so?" + +"Yes, sir, as long as I could bear it; but it hurt dreadful bad. Mr. +Maxwell said I didn't keep them in half long enough." + +"Were they better afterward?" + +"Yes, sir, I think they were; but I go out so much in the snow, and +get them wet so often, that they can't get well." + +"What is your name?" I asked. + +"William." + +"What else?" + +"William Miller." + +"Is your mother alive?" + +The tone and manner of the boy, when he gave a half inarticulate +negative, made me regret having asked the question. It was a +needless one, for already knew that his mother was dead. It was +meant, however, as a preliminary inquiry, and, having been made, I +proceeded to question him, in order to learn something, briefly, of +his history. + +"Were you born in Baltimore?" I continued. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Have you any relatives here?" + +"Mr. P---- W---- is my uncle." + +"Mr. W----?" I said, in surprise. + +"Yes, sir--mother said he was my uncle." + +"Is he your mother's brother?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Did he ever come to see your mother?" + +"No, sir, he never came near us, and mother never went to see him." + +"What was the reason?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +The child continued to look intently in my face, but I questioned +him no further. I knew Mr. W---- very well, and settled it at once in +my mind that I would call and see him about the lad. I stood musing +for some moments after the boy's last reply, and then said-- + +"Tell Mr. Maxwell, that I will call down in about half an hour: Run +home as quickly as you can, and try and keep out of the rain." + +The sad, rebuking earnestness with which the boy looked at me, when +I said this, touched my feelings. He had, evidently, expected more +than a mere expression of sympathy; but I did not think it right to +create any false hopes in his mind. I meant to do all I could to +relieve his wretched condition; but did not know how far I would be +successful. + +I found, on visiting the child of Maxwell, that I had quite a severe +case of croup on my hands. His respiration was very difficult, and +sounded as if the air were forced through a metallic tube. There was +a good deal of fever, and other unfavourable symptoms. The +albuminous secretion was large, and the formation of the false +membrane so rapid as to threaten suffocation. I resorted to the +usual treatment in such cases, and, happily, succeeded in producing +a healthy change in the course of a few hours. So urgent had been +the case, that, in attending to it, my mind had lost sight of the +little boy on my first and second visits. As I was leaving the house +on the morning succeeding the day on which I had been called in, I +met him coming along the passage with an armful of wood. The look he +gave me, as he passed, rebuked my forgetfulness, and forced me to +turn back and speak to his master. + +"Look here, Maxwell," I said, speaking decidedly, but in a voice so +low that my words could not be heard distinctly by others in the +room--"you must take better care of that boy Bill, or you will get +into trouble." + +"How so, doctor? I am not aware that I ill-treat him," returned the +shoemaker, looking up with surprise. + +"He is not clothed warmly enough for such weather as this." + +"You must be mistaken. He has never complained of not feeling warm." + +I took hold of Maxwell's pantaloons. They were made of coarse, thick +cloth, and I perceived that there were thick woollen drawers under +them. + +"Take off these heavy trowsers and drawers," said I, and in place of +them put on a pair of half-worn corduroy pantaloons, "and go out of +doors and stand in the rain until you are drenched to the skin. The +experiment will enable you to decide for yourself whether Bill is +warmly enough clad." + +I spoke with earnestness. Either my manner, or what I said, produced +a strong effect upon the shoemaker. I could see that I had offended +him, and that he was struggling to keep down a feeling of anger that +was ready to pour itself forth upon me for having presumed to remark +upon and interfere with his business. + +"Understand me," said I, wishing to prevent the threatened outbreak +of passion, "I speak as a physician, and my duty as a physician +requires me to do so. The knowledge of, and the experience in +diseases, which I possess, enable me to understand better than other +men the causes that produce them, and to give, as I should give, to +the unthinking, a warning of danger. And this I give to you now." + +"All very well, doctor," returned Maxwell, "if you don't raise false +alarms." + +"Do you think I have done so in the present case?" + +"I don't think any thing about it. I know you have." + +"Then you think the lad warmly enough clothed?" + +"If I did not think so, I would dress him more warmly." + +"You have on three times the thickness of clothing that he has." I +fixed my eyes intently on the man as I spoke. + +"And his blood is three times as warm as mine. I need not tell you +that, doctor." + +"How do you know?" + +"How do I know?" speaking contemptuously--"does not everybody know +that?" + +"How hot do you suppose your blood is?" + +"I don't know." + +"Let us suppose it to be eighty degrees. Three times eighty would be +two hundred and forty. Water boils at two hundred and twelve. If it +be indeed true that the lad's blood is above the boiling-point, I +must agree with you that his clothes are quite sufficient to keep +out the cold at any season." + +"You understand me well enough, doctor," replied Maxwell, exhibiting +a good deal of confusion. "I mean that a boy's blood is much warmer +than a man's, which, with his greater activity, causes him to be +less affected by cold. I have seen a good deal of boys, and have +been a boy myself, and know all about it." + +"Generally speaking, what you affirm about the greater warmth of +young persons is true," I said to this. "But there are many +exceptions. It is true, where there is good health, good spirits, +plenty of good food, and activity. But it is not true where these +are lacking. Nor is it true in any case to the extent you seem to +imagine. Particularly is it not true in the case of the boy about +whom we are conversing." + +"Why not in his case, doctor? I can see no reason." + +"He has not the vital activity of most boys of his age, and +consequently not the warmth of body. His face is pale and thin, and +his limbs have not the fulness of youth. He has no activity in his +movements." + +"Because he is a lazy fellow," replied the shoemaker, knitting his +brows. "He wants the strap two or three times a day; that would make +his blood circulate freely enough." + +"Brutal wretch!" I could hardly keep from exclaiming. But for the +boy's sake I put a curb upon my feelings. + +"In doing so," I quietly replied, "you would be guilty of sad +cruelty and injustice. The lad can no more help what you call +laziness, than you could help being born with gray eyes. It his +natural bodily temperament. He has not the robust constitution we +see in most boys; and this is his misfortune, not his fault." + +Maxwell replied to this by pushing out his lips, drawing up his +chin, half closing his eyes, and nodding his head in a very +contemptuous manner; saying almost as plainly as words could express +it--"All gammon, doctor! You needn't try to come over me with that +kind of nonsense." + +Satisfied that it would be useless to say any thing more upon the +subject at that time, I turned away, remarking as I did so-- + +"If you are not influenced by my advice in this matter, you may +chance to feel more potent reasons. A word to the wise is +sufficient." + +The shoemaker made no reply, and we parted. My first impression was +to go immediately to Mr. W---- and apprize him of the condition of +his nephew. But a little reflection convinced me that it would be +much better to make some previous inquiries in regard to his family, +and endeavour to ascertain the reason of his estrangement from his +sister. I would then be able to act with more certainty of success. +I soon obtained all the information I desired. The history was an +impressive one. I will give it as briefly as possible. + +Anna W----, at the age of twenty, was esteemed and beloved by all +who knew her. Her family was one of wealth and standing, and she +moved in our first circles. She had but one brother, to whom she was +tenderly attached. Philip was her elder by some years. Among the +many who sought the regard of Anna, was a young man named Miller, +who had been for years the intimate friend of her brother. Extremely +fond of his sister, and highly valuing his friend for his many +estimable qualities, Philip was more than gratified when he saw +evidences of attachment springing up between them. + +Besides Miller, Anna had another suitor, a young man named +Westfield, who had become quite intimate with her, but who had made +no open declaration of love before Miller came forward and offered +for her hand. Westfield loved Anna passionately, but hesitated to +declare his feelings, long after he had come to the conclusion that +without her for his companion through life, existence would be +undesirable. This arose from the fact of his not being certain in +regard to the maiden's sentiments, Anna was always kind, but +reserved. She was, he could see, ever pleased to meet him; but how +far this pleasure was the same that she experienced in meeting other +friends, he could not tell. While thus hesitating, business required +him to go to New Orleans, and spend some months there. Before +leaving he called three several times upon Miss W----, with the +intention of making known his sentiments, but each time shrank from +the avowal, and finally resolved that he would make the declaration +in writing immediately on his arrival at New Orleans. With this +object in view, he asked her if she were willing to correspond with +him. Anna hesitated a moment or two before replying, and then +assented with a blushing cheek. + +For some months before this, Miller had shown more than his usual +attentions to the sister of his friend; and these had been +sufficiently marked to attract Anna's notice. He was a man of +intelligence, fine attainments, honourable sentiments, and of good +personal appearance. To his attractions the maiden was by no means +insensible. But Westfield had a prior claim upon her heart--she +admired the former, but loved the latter unacknowledged to herself. + +Immediately on his arrival at New Orleans, Westfield wrote to Anna, +but did not speak of the true nature of his feelings. The letter +touched upon all subjects but the one nearest to his heart. Anna +replied to it briefly, and with evident reserve. This threw such a +damper upon the young man, that he did not write again for nearly +two months, and then not with the warmth and freedom that had +distinguished his first letter. + +Meantime, Miller grew more and more constant in his attentions to +Anna: To second these attentions, Philip W---- frequently alluded to +his friend in terms of admiration. Gradually Anna became interested +in the young man, and pleased whenever he made her a visit. When +Westfield asked the privilege of opening a correspondence with her, +she believed, from many corroborating circumstances, that he +designed formally addressing her, and that the correspondence would +lead to that result. But as his letters, with the lapse of time, +grew less and less frequent, and more constrained and formal, she +was led to form a different opinion. During all this time Miller's +attentions increased, and Anna's feelings became more and more +interested. Finally, an offer of marriage was made, and, after due +reflection accepted. Three days afterward Miss W---- received the +following letter:-- + + +"NEW ORLEANS, June 8th, 18--. + +"MY DEAR ANNA, + +"A letter from an intimate and mutual friend prompts me at once to +open to you my whole heart. For many months--nay, for more than a +year--I have loved you with an ardour that has made your image ever +present with me, sleeping or waking. Often and often have I resolved +to declare this sentiment, but a foolish weakness has hitherto kept +me silent; and now the danger of losing you constrains me to speak +out as abruptly as freely. When I asked the privilege of opening a +correspondence with you, it was that I might, in my very first +epistle, say what I am now saying; but the same weakness and +hesitation remained. Many times I wrote all I wished to say, folded +and sealed the letter, and--cast it into the flames. I had not the +courage to send it. Foolish weakness! I tremble to think of the +consequences that may follow. Dear Anna!--I will thus address you +until you forbid the tender familiarity, and bid my yearning heart +despair--Dear Anna! write me at once and let me know my fate. Do not +wait for a second post. Until I hear from you I shall be the most +unhappy of mortals. If your heart is still free--if no promise to +another has passed your lips, let me urge my suit by all the +tenderest, holiest, and purest, considerations. No one can love you +with a fervour and devotion surpassing mine; no heart can beat +responsive to your own more surely than mine; no one can cherish you +in his heart of hearts, until life shall cease, more tenderly than I +will cherish you. But I will write no more. Why need I? I shall +count the days and hours until your answer come. + +"Yours, in life and death, + +"H. WESTFIELD." + + +Tears gushed from the eyes of Anna W----, as she read the last line +of this unlooked for epistle, her whole frame trembled, and her +heart beat heavily in her bosom. It was a long time before she was +sufficiently composed to answer the letter. When she did answer, it +was, briefly, thus-- + + +"BALTIMORE, June 28, 18--. + +"MR. H. WESTFIELD. + +"Dear Sir:--Had your letter of the 18th, come a week earlier, my +answer might have been different. Now I can only bid you forget me. + +"Yours, &c. + +ANNA." + + +"Forget you?" was the answer received to this. "Forget you? Bid me +forget myself! No, I can never forget you. A week!--a week earlier? +Why should a single week fix our fates for ever. You are not +married. That I learn from my friend. It need not, then, be too +late. If you love me, as I infer from your letter, throw yourself +upon the magnanimity of the man to whom you are betrothed, and he +will release you from your engagement. I know him. He is +generous-minded, and proud. Tell him he has not and cannot have your +whole heart. That will be enough. He will bid you be free." + +The reply of Anna was in these few words. "Henry Westfield; it is +too late. Do not write to me again. I cannot listen to such language +as you use to me without dishonour." + +This half-maddened the young man. He wrote several times urging Anna +by every consideration he could name to break her engagement with +Miller. But she laid his letters aside unanswered. + +An early day for the marriage was named. The stay of Westfield at +the South was prolonged several months beyond the time at first +determined upon. He returned to Baltimore a month after the proposed +union of Anna with Miller had been consummated. + +Although induced, from the blinding ardency of his feelings, to urge +Anna to break the engagement she had formed, this did not arise from +any want of regard in his mind to the sacredness of the marriage +relation. So suddenly had the intelligence of her contract with +Miller come upon him, coupled with the admission that if his +proposal had come a week earlier it might have been accepted, that +for a time his mind did not act with its usual clearness. But, when +the marriage of her he so idolized took place, Westfield, as a man +of high moral sense, gave up all hope, and endeavoured to banish +from his heart the image of one who had been so dearly beloved. On +his return to Baltimore, he did not attempt to renew his +acquaintance with Anna. This he deemed imprudent, as well as wrong. +But, as their circle of acquaintance was the same, and as the +husband and brother of Anna were his friends, it was impossible for +him long to be in the city without meeting, her. They met a few +weeks after his return, at the house of a friend who had a large +company. Westfield saw Anna at the opposite side of one of the +parlours soon after he came in. The question of leaving the house +came up and was some time debated. This he finally determined not to +do, for several reasons. He could not always avoid her; and the +attempt to do so would only make matters worse, for it would attract +attention and occasion remarks. But, although he remained with the +company, he preferred keeping as distant as possible from Anna. His +feelings were yet too strong. To meet her calmly was impossible, and +to meet her in any other way, would, he felt, be wrong. While he +thus thought and felt, the husband of Anna touched him on the arm +and said-- + +"Come! I must introduce you to my wife. You were one of her old +friends, but have not once called upon her since your return from +the South. She complains of your neglect, and, I think, justly. +Come!" + +Westfield could not hesitate. There was no retreat. In a space of +time shorter than it takes to write this sentence, he was standing +before the young bride, struggling manfully for the mastery over +himself. This was only partial--not complete. Anna, on the contrary, +exhibited very few, if any signs of disturbance. She received him +with a warm, frank, cordial manner, that soon made him feel at +ease--it caused a pleasant glow in his bosom. As soon as they had +fairly entered into conversation, the young husband left them. His +presence had caused Westfield to experience some restraint; this +gave way as soon as he withdrew to another part of the room, and he +felt that no eye but an indifferent one was upon him. An hour passed +like a minute. When supper was announced, Westfield offered his arm +to conduct Anna to the refreshment room. She looked around for her +husband, and, not seeing him, accepted the attention. Just as they +were about leaving the parlour, Miller came up, and Westfield +offered to resign his wife to his care, but he politely declined +taking her from his arm. At supper, the husband and the former lover +seemed to vie with each other in their attention to Anna, who never +felt happier in her life. Why she experienced more pleasurable +feelings than usual, she did not pause to inquire. She was conscious +of being happy, and that was all. + +From that time, Westfield became a regular visitor at the house of +Mr. Miller, with whom he was now more intimate than before. He came +and went without ceremony, and frequently spent hours with Anna +while her husband was away. This intimacy continued for two or three +years without attracting any attention from the social gossips who +infest every circle. + +"It is high time you were married." + +Or-- + +"Westfield, why don't you go more into company?" + +Or-- + +"I really believe you are in love with Mrs. Miller." + +Were laughing remarks often made by his friends, to which he always +made some laughing answer; but no one dreamed of thinking his +intimacy with Anna an improper one. He was looked upon as a warm +friend of both her husband and herself, and inclined to be something +of an "old bachelor." If she were seen at the theatre, or on the +street, with Westfield, it was looked upon almost as much a matter +of course as if she were with her husband. It is but fair to state, +that the fact of his ever having been an avowed lover was not known, +except to a very few. He had kept his own secret, and so had the +object of his misplaced affection. + +No suspicion had ever crossed the generous mind of Miller, although +there were times when he felt that his friend was in the way, and +wished that his visits might be less frequent and shorter. But such +feelings were of rare occurrence. One day, about three years after +his marriage, a friend said to him, half in jest, and half in +earnest-- + +"Miller, a'n't you jealous of Westfield?" + +"Oh yes--very jealous," he returned, in mock seriousness. + +"I don't think I would like my wife's old flame to be quite as +intimate with her as Westfield is with your wife." + +"Perhaps I would be a little jealous if I believed him to be an old +flame." + +"Don't you know it?" + +The tone and look that accompanied this question, more than the +question itself, produced an instant revulsion in Miller's feelings. + +"No, I do not know it!" he replied, emphatically--"Do _you_ know +it?" + +Conscious that he had gone too far, the friend hesitated, and +appeared confused. + +"Why have you spoken to me in the way that you have done? Are you +jesting or in earnest?" + +Miller's face was pale, and his lip quivered as he said this. + +"Seriously, my friend," replied the other, "if you do not know that +Westfield was a suitor to your wife, and only made known his love to +her after you had offered her your hand, it is time that you did +know it. I thought you were aware of this." + +"No, I never dreamed of such a thing. Surely it cannot be true." + +"I know it to be true, for I was in correspondence with Westfield, +and was fully aware of his sentiments. Your marriage almost set him +beside himself." + +As soon as Miller could get away from the individual who gave him +this startling information, he turned his steps homeward. He did not +ask himself why he did so. In fact, there was no purpose in his +mind. He felt wretched beyond description. The information just +conveyed, awakened the most dreadful suspicions, that would not +yield to any effort his generous feelings made to banish them. + +On arriving at home, (it was five o'clock in the afternoon,) he +found that his wife had gone out; and further learned that Westfield +had called for her in a carriage, and that they had ridden out +together. This information did not, in the least, tend to quiet the +uneasiness he felt. + +Going up into the chambers, he noticed many evidences of Anna's +having dressed, herself to go out, in haste. The door of the +wardrobe stood open, and also one of her drawers, with her bunch of +keys lying upon the bureau. The dress she had on when he left her at +dinner-time, had been changed for another, and, instead of being +hung up, was thrown across a chair. + +The drawer that stood open was her private drawer, in which she kept +all her trinkets, and little matters particularly her own. Its +contents her husband had never seen, and had never desired to see. +Now, however, something more than mere curiosity prompted him to +look somewhat narrowly into its contents. In one corner of this +drawer he found a small casket, beautifully inlaid, that had never +before come under his notice. Its workmanship was costly and +exquisite. He lifted it and examined it carefully, and then taking +the bunch of keys that lay before him, tried the smallest in the +lock. The lid flew open. A few letters, and a small braid of hair, +were its only contents. These letters were addressed to her under +her maiden name. The husband was about unfolding one of them, when +he let it fall suddenly into the casket, saying, as he did so-- + +"No, no! I have no right to read these letters. They were not +addressed to my wife." With an effort he closed the drawer and +forced himself from the room. But the fact that Westfield had been a +suitor for the hand of Anna, and was now on terms of the closest +intimacy with her, coming up vividly in his mind, he came, after +some reflection, to the firm conclusion that he ought to know the +contents of letters treasured so carefully--letters that he had +every reason now to believe were from Westfield. Their post-mark he +had noticed. They were from New Orleans. + +After again hesitating and debating the question for some time, he +finally determined to know their contents. He read them over and +over again, each sentence almost maddening him. They were from +Westfield. The reader already knows their contents. From their +appearance, it was evident that they had been read over very many +times; one of them bore traces of tears. For some time the feelings +of Miller were in a state of wild excitement. While this continued, +had his wife or Westfield appeared, he would have been tempted to +commit some desperate act. But this state gradually gave way to a +more sober one. The letters were replaced carefully, the casket +locked, and every thing restored to its former appearance. The +husband then sat down to reflect, as calmly as was in his power, +upon the aspect of affairs. The more he thought, the more closely he +compared the sentiments of the letters so carefully treasured with +the subsequent familiarity of his wife with Westfield, the more +satisfied was he that he had been deeply and irreparably +wronged--wronged in a way for which there was no atonement. + +As this conviction fully formed itself in his mind, the question of +what he should do came up for immediate decision. He had one child, +about eighteen months old, around whom his tenderest affections had +entwined themselves; but when he remembered that his friend's +intimacy with his wife had run almost parallel with their marriage, +a harrowing suspicion crossed his mind, and made his heart turn from +the form of beauty and innocence it had loved so purely. + +The final conclusion of the agonized husband was to abandon his wife +at once, taking with him the corroborating evidence of her +unfaithfulness. He returned to her private drawer, and taking from +it the letters of Westfield and the braid of hair, placed them in +his pocket. He then packed his clothes and private papers in a +trunk, which he ordered to be sent to Gadsby's Hotel. Half an hour, +before his wife's return, he had abandoned her for ever. + +When Mrs. Miller came home, it was as late as tea-time. She was +accompanied by Westfield, who came into the house with his usual +familiarity, intending to share with the family in their evening +meal, and enjoy a social hour afterward. + +Finding that her husband was not in the parlour--it was past the +usual hour of his return--nor anywhere in the house, Mrs. Miller +inquired if he had not been home. + +"Oh yes, ma'am," said the servant to whom she spoke, "he came home +more than two hours ago." + +"Did he go out again?" she asked, without suspicion of any thing +being wrong. + +"Yes, ma'am. He went up-stairs and stayed a good while, and then +came down and told Ben to take his trunk to Gadsby's." + +The face of Mrs. Miller blanched in an instant. She turned quickly +away and ran up to her chamber. Her drawer, which she had not +noticed before, stood open. She eagerly seized her precious casket; +this, too, was open, and the contents gone! Strength and +consciousness remained long enough for her to reach the bed, upon +which she fell, fainting. + +When the life-blood once more flowed through her veins, and she was +sufficiently restored to see what was passing around her, she found +the servants and Westfield standing by her bedside. The latter +looked anxiously into her face. She motioned him to come near. As he +bent his ear low toward her face, she whispered-- + +"Leave me. You must never again visit this house, nor appear to be +on terms of intimacy with me." + +"Why?" + +"Go, Mr. Westfield. Let what I have said suffice. Neither of us have +acted with the prudence that should have governed our conduct, all +things considered. Go at once! In time you will know enough, and +more than enough." + +Westfield still hesitated, but Mrs. Miller motioned him away with an +imperative manner; he then withdrew, looking earnestly back at every +step. + +A glass of wine and water was ordered by Anna, after drinking which, +she arose from the bed, and desired all her domestics to leave the +room. + +Meantime, her husband was suffering the most poignant anguish of +mind. On retiring to a hotel, he sent for the brother of his wife, +and to him submitted the letters he had taken from Anna's casket. +After they had been hurriedly perused, he said-- + +"You know the intimacy of Westfield with Anna. Put that fact +alongside of these letters and their careful preservation, and what +is your conclusion?" + +"Accursed villain!" exclaimed W----, grinding his teeth and stamping +upon the floor, his anger completely overmastering him. "His life +shall pay the price of my sister's dishonour. Madness!" + +"You think, then, as I do," said the husband, with forced calmness, +"that confidence, nay, every thing sacred and holy, has been +violated?" + +"Can I doubt? If these were his sentiments," (holding up the letters +of Westfield,) "before my sister's marriage, can they have changed +immediately afterward. No, no; our confidence has been basely +betrayed. But the wretch shall pay for this dearly." + +On the next day W---- called upon Westfield in company with a friend +who had possession of the letters, and who read them as a +preliminary explanation of the cause of the visit. + +"Did you write those letters?" W---- asked, with a stern aspect. + +"I certainly did," was the firm reply. "Do you question my right to +do so?" + +"No: not your right to make known to my sister your sentiments +before marriage, but your right to abuse her husband's confidence +after marriage." + +"Who dares say that I did?" + +"I dare say it," returned the brother, passionately. + +"You! Bring your proof." + +"I want no better proof than the fact that, entertaining sentiments +such as are here avowed, you have visited her at all times, and +under nearly all circumstances. You have abused a husband's and a +brother's confidence. You have lain like a stinging viper in the +bosom of friendship." + +"It is false!" replied Westfield, emphatically. + +W----'s feelings were chafed to the utmost already. This remark +destroyed entirely the little self-control that remained. He sprang +toward Westfield, and would have grappled his throat, had not his +friend, who had feared some such result, been perfectly on his +guard, and stepped between the two men in time to prevent a +collision. + +Nothing was now left W---- but to withdraw, with his friend. A +challenge to mortal combat followed immediately. A meeting was the +result, in which Westfield was severely wounded. This made public +property of the whole matter; and as public feeling is generally on +the side of whoever is sufferer, quite a favourable impression of +the case began to prevail, grounded upon the denial of Westfield to +the charge of improper intimacy with Mrs. Miller. But this feeling +soon changed. The moment Mrs. Miller heard that Westfield had been +seriously wounded by her brother, she flew to his bedside, and +nursed him with unwearying devotion for three weeks; when he died of +inflammation arising from his wound. + +This act sealed her fate: it destroyed all sympathy for her; it was, +in the mind of every one, proof positive of her guilt. When she +returned home, the house was closed against her. An application for +a divorce had already been laid before the legislature; then in +session at Annapolis, and, as the inferential proofs of defection +were strongly corroborated by Mrs. Miller's conduct after the +hostile meeting between Westfield and her brother, the application +was promptly granted, with the provision of five hundred dollars a +year for her support. The decision of the legislature, with +information of the annual amount settled upon her, were communicated +through the attorney of her husband. Her only answer was a prompt +and indignant refusal to accept the support the law had awarded her. +From that moment she sank into obscurity with her child, and with +her own hands earned the bread that sustained both their lives. From +that moment until the day of her death, all intercourse with her +family and friends was cut off. How great were her sufferings, no +one can know. They must have been nearly up to the level of human +endurance. + +I learned this much from one who had been intimate with all the +circumstances. He remembered the duel very well, but had never +before understood the true cause. My informant had no knowledge +whatever of Mrs. Miller from the time of her divorce up to the +period of my inquiries. Miller himself still lived. I had some +slight acquaintance with him. + +Under this aspect of things, I hardly knew what course to pursue in +order to raise the lad at Maxwell's above his present unhappy +condition. I entertained, for some time, the idea of communicating +with his father and uncle on the subject; but I could not make up my +mind to do this. The indignation with which they had thrown off his +erring mother, and the total oblivion that had been permitted to +fall upon her memory, made me fearful that to approach them on the +subject would accomplish no good for the boy, and might place me in +a very unpleasant position toward them. Thus far I had kept my own +counsel, although the nature of my inquiries about Mrs. Miller had +created some curiosity in the minds of one or two, who asked me a +good many questions that I did not see proper to answer directly. + +"The child is innocent, even if the mother were guilty." This I said +to myself very frequently, as a reason why I should make every +effort in my power to create an interest in favour of little Bill, +and get him out of the hands of his master, who, in my view, treated +him With great cruelty. In thinking about the matter, it occurred to +me that in case Mrs. Miller were innocent of the derelictions +charged upon her, she would leave some evidence of the fact, for the +sake of her child at least. So strongly did this idea take hold of +my mind, that I determined to question Bill closely about his mother +as early as I could get an opportunity. This did not occur for +several weeks. I then met the boy in the street, hobbling along with +difficulty. I stopped him and asked him what ailed his feet. He said +they were sore, and all cracked open, and hurt him so that he could +hardly walk. + +"Come round to my office and let me see them," said I. + +"I am going to take these shoes to the binder's,"--he had a package +of "uppers" in his hand--"and must be back in twenty minutes, or Mr. +Maxwell says he will give me the strap." The boy made this reply, +and then hobbled on as fast as he could. + +"Stop, stop, my lad," I called after him. "I want you for a little +while, and will see that Mr. Maxwell does not give you the strap. +You must come to my office and get something done for your feet." + +"They are very bad," he said, turning round, and looking down at +them with a pitiable expression on his young face. + +"I know they are, and you must have something done for them +immediately." + +"Let me go to the binder's first." + +"Very well. Go to the binder's. But be sure to come to my office as +you return; I want to see you particularly." + +My words made the blood rush to the child's pale face. Hope again +was springing up in his bosom. + +In about ten minutes he entered my office. His step was lighter, but +I could see that each footfall gave him pain. The first thing I did +was to examine his feet. They were in a shocking condition. One of +them had cracked open in several places, and the wounds had become +running sores; other parts were red and shining, and much swollen, I +dressed them carefully. When I came to replace his shoes, I found +them so dilapidated and out of shape, as to be no protection to his +feet whatever, but rather tending to fret them, and liable to rub +off the bandages I had put on. To remedy this, I sent my man out for +a new pair, of soft leather. When these were put on, and he stood +upon, his feet, he said that they did not hurt him at all. I needed +not his declaration of the fact to convince me of this, for the +whole expression of his face had changed. His eyes were no longer +fixed and sad; nor were his brows drawn down, nor his lips +compressed. + +"I think you told me that your name was Miller?" I said to him, as +he stood looking earnestly in my face after the dressing of his feet +was completed. + +"Yes, sir," he replied. + +"And that your mother was dead?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I think you said that W---- was your uncle?" + +"Yes, sir. Mother told me that he was my uncle." + +"Is your father living?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Did your mother ever speak to you about him?" + +"No, sir." + +"Then you can't tell whether he is living or not?" + +"No, sir; but I suppose he is dead." + +"Why do you think so?" + +"Because I never saw him, nor heard mother speak of him." + +"You are sure your name is Miller?" + +"Oh yes, sir." + +"And that Mr. W---- is your uncle?" + +"My mother said he was." + +"Did you ever see him?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why don't you go, to see him, and tell him who you are?" + +"I asked mother, one day, to let me do so, but she said I must never +think of such a thing." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't know." + +"And so you never went to see him?" + +"No, indeed; mother said I must not." This was said with great +artlessness. + +"What became of your mother's things after she died?" + +"The woman we rented from took them all. Mother owed her, she said." + +"Indeed! Where did you live?" + +"In Commerce street, three or four doors from Mr. Maxwell's. Mother +rented a room up-stairs." + +"Does the woman live there still?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do you ever go to see her?" + +"No, sir; she won't let me come into the house." + +"Why not?" + +"I cannot tell. She was going to send me to the poorhouse, when Mr. +Maxwell took me in. I have often and often wanted to see the room +where we lived in, and where mother died, but she wouldn't let me go +up. One day I begged and cried for her to let me go up--I wanted to, +so bad; but she called me a dirty little brat, and told me to go +about my business, or she would get Mr. Maxwell to give me a +beating. I never have tried to go there since." + +"What is the woman's name?" + +"Her name is Mrs. Claxon." + +"And she lives three or four doors from Mr. Maxwell's?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I am going home with you in a little while, and will get you to +show me the house. Your mother had some furniture in her room?" + +"Yes, sir. We had a bureau, and a bedstead, and a good many things." + +"Do you know what was in the bureau?" + +"Our clothes." + +"Nothing else?" + +"Mother had a beautiful little box that was always locked. It had +letters in it, I think." + +"Did you ever see her reading them?" + +"Oh yes, often, when she thought I was asleep; and she would cry, +sometimes, dreadful hard." + +"This box Mrs. Claxon kept?" + +"Yes, sir; she kept every thing." + +"Very well. We will see if we can't make her give up some of the +things." + +"If she will give me that little box, she may have every thing +else," said the lad. + +"Why are you so desirous to have that box?" + +"I sometimes think if I could get that box, and all the letters and +papers it had in it, that I would be able to know better who I am, +and why I mustn't go and see my uncle, who is rich, and could take +me away from where I am now." + +"You don't like to live with Mr. Maxwell, then?" + +"Oh no, sir." + +I did not question him as to the reason; that was unnecessary. + +After putting up one or two prescriptions, (we had not then fallen +into the modern more comfortable mode of _writing_ them,) I told the +boy that I would walk home with him, and excuse him to his master +for having stayed away so long. I had no great difficulty in doing +this, although the shoemaker seemed at first a little fretted at my +having taken up the lad's cause again. In passing to his shop, the +house where Mrs. Claxon lived was pointed out to me. Before leaving, +I made Maxwell promise to let the boy come up on the next evening to +get his feet dressed, telling him, what was true, that this was +necessary to be done, or very serious consequences might follow. + +I then called upon Mrs. Claxon. She was a virago. But the grave and +important face that I put on when I asked if a Mrs. Miller did not +once live in her house, subdued her. After some little hesitation, +she replied in the affirmative. + +"I knew as much," I said, thinking it well to let her understand +from the beginning that it would not do to attempt deception. + +"She died here, I believe?" I continued. + +"Yes, sir; she died in my house." + +"She left some property in your hands, did she not?" + +"Property? Humph! If you call an old bed and bedstead, with other +trumpery that didn't sell for enough to pay her back rent, +_property_, why, then, she did leave property." + +"Of course," I said, calmly. "Whatever she left was property; and, +of course, in taking possession of it, you did so under a regular +legal process. You took out letters of administration, I presume, +and brought in your bill against the effects of the deceased, which +was regularly passed by the Orphans' Court, and paid out of the +amount for which the things sold." + +The effect of this was just what I desired. The woman looked +frightened. She had done no such thing, as I knew very well. + +"If you have proceeded in this way," I resumed, "all is well enough; +but if you have not done so, I am sorry to say that you will most +likely get yourself into trouble." + +"How so, sir?" she asked, with increasing alarm. + +"The law is very rigid in all these matters. When a person dies, +there must be a regular administration upon his property. The law +permits no one to seize upon his effects. In the case of Mrs. +Miller, if you were legally authorized to settle her estate, you +can, of course, account for all that came into your hands. Now, I am +about instituting a rigid examination into the matter, and if I do +not get satisfaction, shall have you summoned to appear before the +Orphans' Court, and answer for your conduct. Mrs. Miller was highly +connected, and it is believed had papers in her possession of vital +importance to the living. These were contained in a small casket of +costly and curious workmanship. This casket, with its contents, must +be produced. Can you produce them?" + +"Y-y-yes!" the alarmed creature stammered out. + +"Very well. Produce them at once, if you wish to save yourself a +world of trouble." + +The woman hurried off up-stairs, and presently appeared with the +casket. + +"It is locked," she said. "I never could find the key, and did not +like to force it open. She handed me the box as she spoke. + +"Yes, this is it," I remarked, as if I was perfectly familiar with +the casket. "You are sure the contents have not been disturbed?" + +"Oh yes: very sure." + +"I trust it will be found so. I will take possession of the casket. +In a few days you will hear from me." + +Saying this, I arose and left the house. I directed my steps to the +shop of a locksmith, whose skill quickly gave me access to the +contents. They consisted mainly of papers, written in a delicate +female hand; but there were no letters. Their contents were, to me, +of a most gratifying kind. I read on every page the injured wife's +innocence. The contents of the first paper I read, I will here +transcribe. Like the others, it was a simple record of feelings, +coupled with declarations of innocence. The object in view, in +writing these, was not fully apparent; although the mother had +evidently in mind her child, and cherished the hope that, after her +death, these touching evidences of the wrong she had endured, would +cause justice to be done to him. + +The paper I mentioned was as follows, and appeared to have been +written a short time after her divorce:-- + +"That I still live, is to me a wonder. But a few short months ago I +was a happy wife, and my husband loved me with a tenderness that +left my heart nothing to ask for. I am now cast off from his +affections, driven from his home, repudiated, and the most horrible +suspicions fastened upon me; And worse, the life of one who never +wronged me by a look, or word, or act--in whose eyes my honour was +as dear as his own--has been murdered. Oh! I shall yet go mad with +anguish of spirit! There are heavy burdens to bear in this life; but +none can be heavier than that which an innocent wife has to endure, +when all accuse her as I am accused, and no hope of justice is left. + +"Let me think calmly. Are not the proofs of my guilt strong? Those +letters--those fatal letters--why did I keep them? I had no right to +do so. They should have been destroyed. But I never looked at them +from the day I gave my hand with my heart at the altar to one who +now throws me off as a polluted wretch. But I knew they were there, +and often thought of them; but to have read over one line of their +contents, would have been false to my husband; and that I could not +be, under any temptation. I think Westfield was wrong, under the +circumstances, to visit me as constantly as he did; but my husband +appeared to like his company, and even encouraged him to come. Many +times he has asked him to drive me out, or to attend me to a concert +or the theatre, as he knew that I wished to go, and he had business +that required his attention, or felt a disinclination to leave home. +In not a single instance, when I thus went out, would not my +pleasure have been increased, had my husband been my companion; and +yet I liked the company of Westfield--perhaps too well. The remains +of former feelings may still have lingered, unknown to me, in my +heart. But I was never false to my husband, even in thought; nor did +Westfield ever presume to take the smallest liberty. Indeed, whether +in my husband's presence, or when with me, his manner was polite, +and inclined to be deferential rather than familiar. I believe that +the sentiments he held toward me before my marriage, remained; and +these, while they drew him to my side, made him cherish my honour +and integrity as a wife, as he would cherish the apple of his eye. +And yet he has been murdered, and I have been cast off, while both +were innocent! Fatal haste! Fatal misjudgment! How suddenly have I +fallen from the pinnacle of happiness into the dark pit of despair! +Alas! alas! Who can tell what a day may bring forth?" + +Another, and very important paper, which the casket contained, was a +written declaration of Mrs. Miller's innocence, made by Westfield +before his death. It was evidently one of his last acts, and was +penned with a feeble and trembling hand. It was in these impressive +words:-- + +"Solemnly, in the presence of God, and without the hope of living +but a few hours, do I declare that Mrs. Anna Miller is innocent of +the foul charges made against her by her husband and brother, and +that I never, even in thought, did wrong to her honour. I was on +terms of close intimacy with her, and this her husband knew and +freely assented to. I confess that I had a higher regard for her +than for any living woman. She imbodied all my highest conceptions +of female excellence. I was never happier than when in her company. +Was this a crime? It would have been had I attempted to win from her +any thing beyond a sentiment of friendship. But this I never did +after her marriage, and do not believe that she regarded me in any +other light than as her own and her husband's friend. This is all +that, as a dying man, I can do or say. May heaven right the +innocent! HENRY WESTFIELD." + +Besides the paper in the handwriting of Mrs. Miller, which I have +given, there were many more, evidently written at various times, but +all shortly after her separation from her husband. They imbodied +many touching allusions to her condition, united with firm +expressions of her entire innocence of the imputation under which +she lay. One sentiment particularly arrested my attention, and +answered the question that constantly arose in my mind, as to why +she did not attempt, by means of Westfield's dying asseveration, to +establish her innocence. It was this:-- + +"He has prejudged me guilty and cast me off without seeing me or +giving me a hearing, and then insulted me by a legislative tender of +five hundred dollars a year. Does he think that I would save myself, +even from starvation, by means of his bounty? No--no--he does not +know the woman he has wronged." + +After going over the entire contents of the casket, I replaced them, +and sent the whole to Mr. Miller, with a brief note, stating that +they had come into my possession in rather a singular manner, and +that I deemed it but right to transmit them to him. Scarcely half an +hour had elapsed from the time my messenger departed, before Miller +himself entered my office, pale and agitated. I had met him a few +times before, and had a slight acquaintance with him. + +"This is from you, I believe, doctor?" he said, holding up the note +I had written him. + +I bowed. + +"How did you come in possession of the casket you sent me?" he +continued as he took the chair I handed him. + +I was about replying, when he leaned over toward me, and laying his +hand upon my arm, said, eagerly-- + +"First tell me, is the writer of its contents living?" + +"No," I replied; "she has been dead over two years." + +His countenance fell, and he seemed, for some moments, as if his +heart had ceased to beat. "Dead!" he muttered to himself--"dead! and +I have in my hands undoubted proofs of her innocence." + +The expression of his face became agonizing. + +"Oh, what would I not give if she were yet alive," he continued, +speaking to himself. "Dead--dead--I would rather be dead with her +than living with my present consciousness." + +"Doctor," said he, after a pause, speaking in a firmer voice, "let +me know how those papers came into your hands?" I related, as +rapidly as I could, what the reader already knows about little Bill +and his mother dwelling as strongly as I could upon the suffering +condition of the poor boy. + +"Good heavens!" ejaculated Miller, as I closed my narrative--"can +all this indeed be true? So much for hasty judgment from +appearances! You have heard the melancholy history of my wife?" + +I bowed an assent. + +"From these evidences, that bear the force of truth, it is plain +that she was innocent, though adjudged guilty of one of the most +heinous offences against society. Innocent, and yet made to suffer +all the penalties of guilt. Ah, sir--I thought life had already +brought me its bitterest cup: but all before were sweet to the taste +compared with the one I am now compelled to drink. Nothing is now +left me, but to take home my child. But, as he grows up toward +manhood, how can I look him in the face, and think of his mother +whom I so deeply wronged." + +"The events of the past, my dear sir," I urged, "cannot be altered. +In a case like this, it is better to look, forward with hope, than +backward with self-reproaches." + +"There is little in the future to hope for," was the mournful reply +to this. + +"But you have a duty to perform, and, in the path of duty, always +lie pleasures." + +"You mean to my much wronged and suffering child. Yes, I have a +duty, and it shall be performed as faithfully as lies in my power. +But I hope for little from that source." + +"I think you may hope for much. Your child I have questioned +closely. He knows nothing of his history; does not even know that +his father is alive. The only information he has received from his +mother is, that W---- is his uncle." + +"Are you sure of this?" + +"Oh yes. I have, as I said, questioned him very closely on this +point." + +This seemed to relieve the mind of Mr. Miller. He mused for some +minutes, and then said-- + +"I wish to see my son, and at once remove him from his present +position. May I ask you to accompany me to the place where he now +is." + +"I will go with pleasure," I returned, rising. + +We left my office immediately, and went direct to Maxwell's shop. As +we entered, we heard most agonizing cries, mingled with hoarse angry +imprecations from the shoemaker and the sound of his strap. He was +whipping some one most severely. My heart misgave me that it was +poor little Bill. We hurried into the shop. It was true. Maxwell had +the child across his knees, and was beating him most cruelly. + +"That is your son," I said, in an excited voice to Miller, pointing +to the writhing subject of the shoemaker's ire. In an instant +Maxwell was lying four or five feet from his bench in a corner of +his shop, among the lasts and scraps of leather. A powerful blow on +the side of his head, with a heavy cane, had done his. The father's +hand had dealt it. Maxwell rose to his feet in a terrible fury, but +the upraised cane of Miller, his dark and angry countenance, and his +declaration that if he advanced a step toward him, or attempted to +lay his hand again upon the boy, he would knock his brains out, +cooled his ire considerably. + +"Come, my boy," Miller then said, catching hold of the hand of the +sobbing child--"let me take you away from this accursed den for +ever." + +"Stop!" cried Maxwell, coming forward at this; "you cannot take that +boy away. He is bound to me by law, until he is twenty-one. Bill! +don't you dare to go." + +"Villain!" said Miller, in a paroxysm of anger, turning toward +him--"I will have you before the the court in less than twenty-four +hours for inhuman treatment of this child--of _my child_." + +As Miller said this, the trembling boy at his side started and +looked eagerly in his face. + +"Oh, sir! Are you indeed my father?" said he, in a voice that +thrilled me to the finger ends. + +"Yes, William; I am your father, and I have come to take you home." + +Tears gushed like rain over the cheeks of the poor boy. He shrank +close to his father's side, and clung to him with a strong grasp, +still looking up into a face that he had never hoped to see, with a +most tender, confiding, hopeful, expressive countenance. + +The announcement of the fact subdued the angry shoemaker. He made a +feeble effort at apology, but was cut short by our turning abruptly +from him and carrying of the child he had so shamefully abused. + +I parted from the father and son at the first carriage-stand that +came in our way. When I next saw Bill, his appearance was very +different indeed from what it was when I first encountered him. His +father lived some ten years from this time during the most of which +period William was at school or college. At his death he left him a +large property, which remained with him until his own death, which +took place a few years ago. He never I believe, had the most distant +idea of the cause which had separated his mother from his father. +That there had been a separation he knew too well but, he always +shrank from inquiring the reason, and had always remained in +ignorance of the main facts here recorded. + + + + +EUTHANASY. + + +"YOU remember Anna May, who sewed for you about a year ago?" said +one fashionably-dressed lady to another. + +"That pale, quiet girl, who made up dresses for the children?" + +"The one I sent you." + +"Oh yes; very well. I had forgotten her name. What has become of +her? If I remember rightly, I engaged her for a week or two in the +fall; but she did not keep her engagement." + +"Poor thing!" said the first lady, whose name was Mrs. Bell, "she'll +keep no more engagements of that kind." + +"Why so? Is she dead?" The tone in which these brief questions were +asked, evinced no lively interest in the fate of the poor +sewing-girl. + +"Not dead; but very near the end of life's weary pilgrimage." + +"Ah, well! we must all die, I suppose--though it's no pleasant thing +to think about. But I am glad you called in this morning"--the +lady's voice rose into a more cheerful tone--"I was just about +putting on my things to go down to Mrs. Bobinet's opening. You +intend going, of course. I shall be so delighted to have you along, +for I want to consult your taste about a bonnet." + +"I came out for a different purpose altogether, Mrs. Ellis," said +Mrs. Bell, "and have called to ask you to go with me." + +"Where?" + +"To see Anna May." + +"What!--that poor seamstress of whom you just spoke?" There was a +look of unfeigned surprise in the lady's countenance. + +"Yes; the poor seamstress, Anna May. Her days in this world are +nearly numbered. I was to see her yesterday, and found her very low. +She cannot long remain on this side the river of death. I am now on +my way to her mother's house. Will you not go with me?" + +"No, no," replied Mrs. Ellis, quickly, while a shadow fell over her +face; "why should I go? I never took any particular interest in the +girl. And as for dying, every thing in relation thereto is +unpleasant to me. I can't bear to think of death: it makes me +shudder all over." + +"You have never looked in the face of death," said Mrs. Lee. + +"And never wish to," replied Mrs. Ellis, feelingly. "Oh, if it +wasn't for this terrible consummation, what a joyful thing life +might be!" + +"Anna May has looked death in the face; but does not find his aspect +so appalling. She calls him a beautiful angel, who is about to take +her by the hand, and lead her up gently and lovingly to her Father's +house." + +There came into the face of Mrs. Ellis a sudden look of wonder. + +"Are you in earnest, Mrs. Bell?" + +"Altogether in earnest." + +"The mind of the girl is unbalanced." + +"No, Mrs. Ellis; never was it more evenly poised. Come with me: it +will do you good." + +"Don't urge me, Mrs. Bell. If I go, it will make me sad for a week. +Is the sick girl in want any comfort?--I will freely minister +thereto. But I do not wish to look upon death." + +"In this aspect it is beautiful to look upon. Go with me, then. The +experience will be something accompany you through life. The image +of frightful monster is in your mind; you may now have it displaced +by the form of an angel." + +"How strangely you talk, Mrs. Bell! How can death be an angel? Is +any thing more terrible than death?" + +"The phantom called death, which a diseased imagination conjures up, +may be terrible to look upon; but death itself is a kind messenger, +whose it is to summon us from this world of shadows and changes, to +a world of eternal light and unfading beauty. But come, Mrs. Ellis; +I must urge you to go with me. Do not fear a shock to your feelings, +for none will be experienced." + +So earnest were Mrs. Bell's persuasions, that her friend at last +consented to go with her. At no great distance from the elegant +residence of Mrs. Ellis, in an obscure neighbourhood, was a small +house, humble in exterior, and modestly, yet neatly attired within. +At the door of this house the ladies paused, and were admitted by a +woman somewhat advanced in years, on whose mild face sorrow and holy +resignation were beautifully blended. + +"How is your daughter?" inquired Mrs. Bell, as soon as they were +seated in the small, neat parlour. + +"Not so strong as when you were here yesterday," was answered, with +a faint smile. "She is sinking hourly." + +"But continues in the same tranquil, heavenly state?" + +"Oh yes." There was a sweet, yet touching earnestness in the +mother's voice. "Dear child! Her life has been pure and unselfish; +and now, when her change is about to come, all is peace, and hope, +and patient waiting for the time when she will be clothed upon with +immortality." + +"Is she strong enough to see any one?" asked Mrs. Bell. + +"The presence of others in no way disturbs her. Will you walk up +into her chamber, friends?" + +The two ladies ascended the narrow stairs, and Mrs. Ellis found +herself, for the first time in many years, in the presence of one +about to die. A slender girl, with large, mild eyes, and face almost +as white as the pillow it pressed, was before her. The unmistakable +signs of speedy dissolution were on the pale, shrunken features; not +beautiful, in the ordinary acceptation of beauty, but from the pure +spirit within. Radiant with heavenly light was the smile that +instantly played upon her lips. + +"How are you to-day, Anna?" kindly inquired Mrs. Bell, as she took +the shadowy hand of the dying girl. + +"Weaker in body than when you were here yesterday," was answered; +"but stronger in spirit." + +"I have brought Mrs. Ellis to see you. You remember Mrs. Ellis?" + +Anna lifted her bright eyes to the face of Mrs. Ellis, and said-- + +"Oh yes, very well;" and she feebly extended her hand. The lady +touched her hand with an emotion akin to awe. As yet, the scene +oppressed and bewildered her. There was something about it that was +dreamlike and unreal. "Death! death!" she questioned with herself; +"can this be dying?" + +"Your day will soon close, Anna," said Mrs. Bell, in a cheerful +tone. + +"Or, as we say," quickly replied Anna, smiling, "my morning will +soon break. It is only a kind of twilight here. I am waiting for the +day-dawn." + +"My dear young lady," said Mrs. Ellis, with much earnestness, +bending over the dying girl as she spoke--the newness and +strangeness of the scene had so wrought upon her feelings, that she +could not repress their utterance--"Is all indeed as you say? Are +you inwardly so calm, so hopeful, so confident of the morning? +Forgive me such a question, at such a moment. But the thought of +death has ever been terrible to me; and now, to see a fellow-mortal +standing, as you are, so near the grave, and yet speaking in +cheerful tones of the last agony, fills me with wonder. Is it all +real? Are you so full of heavenly tranquillity?" + +Was the light dimmed in Anna's eyes by such pressing questions? Did +they turn her thoughts too realizingly upon the "last agony?" Oh no! +Even in the waning hours of life, her quickest impulse was to render +service to another. Earnest, therefore, was her desire to remove +from the lady's mind this fear of death, even though she felt the +waters of Jordan already touching her own descending feet. + +"God is love," she said, and with an emphasis that gave to the mind +of Mrs. Ellis a new appreciation of the words. "In his love he made +us, that he might bless us with infinite and eternal blessings, and +these await us in heaven. And now that he sends an angel to take me +by the hand and lead me up to my heavenly home, shall I tremble and +fear to accompany the celestial messenger? Does the child, long +separated from a loving parent, shrink at the thought of going home, +or ask the hours to linger? Oh no!" + +"But all is so uncertain," said Mrs. Ellis, eager to penetrate +further into the mystery. + +"Uncertain!" There was something of surprise in the voice of Anna +May. "God is truth as well as love; and both in his love and truth +he is unchangeable. When, as Divine Truth, he came to our earth, and +spake as never man spake, he said, 'In my Father's house are many +mansions. I go to prepare a place for you.' The heavens and the +earth may pass away, Mrs. Ellis, but not a jot or tittle of the +divine word can fail." + +"Ah! but the preparation for those heavenly mansions!" said Mrs. +Ellis. "The preparation, Anna! Who may be certain of this?" + +The eyes of the sick girl closed, the long lashes resting like a +dark fringe on her snowy cheek. For more than a moment she lay +silent and motionless; then looking up, she answered-- + +"God is love. If we would be with him, we must be like him." + +"How are we to be like him, Anna?" asked Mrs. Ellis. + +"He is love; but not a love of himself. He loves and seeks to bless +others. We must do the same." + +"And have you, Anna"-- + +But the words died on the lips of the speaker. Again had the +drooping lashes fallen, and the pale lids closed over the beautiful +eyes. And now a sudden light shone through the transparent tissue of +that wan face--a light, the rays of which none who saw them needed +to be told were but gleams of the heavenly morning just breaking for +the mortal sleeper. + +How hushed the room--how motionless the group that bent forward +toward the one just passing away! Was it the rustle of angels +garments that penetrated the inward sense of hearing? + +It is over! The pure spirit of that humble girl, who, in her sphere, +was loving, and true, and faithful, hath ascended to the God in +whose infinite love she reposed a childlike and unwavering +confidence. Calmly and sweetly she went to sleep, like an infant on +its mother's bosom, knowing that the everlasting arms were beneath +and around her. + +And thus, in the by-ways and obscure places of life, are daily +passing away the humble, loving, true-hearted ones. The world +esteems them lightly; but they are precious in the sight of God. +When the time of their departure comes, they shrink not back in +fear, but lift their hands trustingly to the angel messenger, whom +their Father sends to lead them up to their home in heaven. With +them is the true "Euthanasy." + +"Is not that a new experience in life?" said Mrs. Bell, as the two +ladies walked slowly homeward. With a deep sigh, the other +answered-- + +"New and wonderful. I scarcely comprehend what I have seen. Such a +lesson from such a source! How lightly I thought of that poor +sewing-girl, who came and went so unobtrusively! How little dreamed +I that so rich a jewel was in so plain a casket! Ah! I shall be +wiser for this--wiser, and I may hope, better. Oh, to be able to die +as she has died!--what of mere earthly good would I not cheerfully +sacrifice!" + +"It is for us all," calmly answered Mrs. Bell. "The secret we have +just heard--we must be like God." + +"How--how?" + +"He loves others out of himself, and seeks their good. If we would +be like him, we must do the same." + +Yes; this is the secret of an easy death, and the only true secret. + + + + +THREE SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A WORLDLING. + +SCENE FIRST. + + +"IT is in vain to urge me, brother Robert. Out into the world I must +go. The impulse is on me. I should die of inaction here." + +"You need not be inactive. There is work to do. I shall never be +idle." + +"And such work! Delving in and grovelling close to the very ground. +And for what? Oh no, Robert. My ambition soars beyond your 'quiet +cottage in a sheltered vale.' My appetite craves something more than +simple herbs and water from the brook. I have set my heart on +attaining wealth; and, where there is a will there is always a way." + +"Contentment is better than wealth." + +"A proverb for drones." + +"No, William; it is a proverb for the wise." + +"Be it for the wise or simple, as commonly understood, it is no +proverb for me. As a poor plodder along the way of life, it were +impossible for me to know content. So urge me no further, Robert. I +am going out into the world a wealth-seeker, and not until wealth is +gained do I purpose to return." + +"What of Ellen, Robert?" + +The young man turned quickly toward his brother, visibly disturbed, +and fixed his eyes upon him with an earnest expression. + +"I love her as my life," he said, with a strong emphasis on his +words. + +"Do you love wealth more than life, William?" + +"Robert!" + +"If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her for the sake of +getting riches, then you must love money more than life." + +"Don't talk to me after this fashion. I cannot bear it. I love Ellen +tenderly and truly. I am going forth as well for her sake as my own. +In all the good fortune that comes as the meed of effort, she will +be a sharer." + +"You will see her before you leave us?" + +"No. I will neither pain her nor myself by a parting interview. Send +her this letter and this ring." + +A few hours later, and the brothers stood with tightly grasped +hands, gazing into each other's faces. + +"Farewell, Robert." + +"Farewell, William. Think of the old homestead as still your home. +Though it is mine, in the division of our patrimony, let your heart +come back to it as yours. Think of it as home; and, should fortune +cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors +will ever be open, and its hearth-fire bright for you as of old. +Farewell." + +And they turned from each other, one going out into the restless +world, an eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to +linger among the pleasant places dear to him by every association of +childhood, there to fill up the measure of his days--not idly, for +he was no drone in the social hive. + +On the evening of that day, two maidens sat alone, each in the +sanctuary of her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of +one, and a glad light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and +wet her drooping lashes. And she that sorrowed held an open letter +in her hand. It was full of tender words; but the writer loved +wealth more than the maiden, and had gone forth to seek the mistress +of his soul. He would "come back;" but when? Ah, what a vail of +uncertainty was upon the future! Poor stricken heart! The other +maiden--she of the glowing cheeks and dancing eyes--held also a +letter in her hand. It was from the brother of the wealth-seeker; +and it was also full of loving words; and it said that, on the +morrow, he would come to bear her as a bride to his pleasant home. +Happy maiden! + + + + +SCENE SECOND. + + +TEN years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the +glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears? +Has he returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour? +Not since the day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a +word of intelligence from the wanderer been received; and, to those +he left behind him, he is now as one who has passed the final +bourne. Yet he still dwells among the living. + +In a far-away, sunny clime, stands a stately mansion. We will not +linger to describe the elegant exterior, to hold up before the +reader's imagination a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely +heightened by art, but enter its spacious hall, and pass up to one +of its most luxurious chambers. How hushed and solemn the pervading +atmosphere! The inmates, few in number, are grouped around one on +whose white forehead Time's trembling finger has written the word +"Death." Over her bends a manly form. There--his face is toward you. +Ah! You recognise the wanderer--the wealth-seeker. What does he +here? What to him is the dying one? His wife! And has he, then, +forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes lay wet on her pale cheeks +for many hours after she read his parting words? He has not +forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he the prize, to +contend for which he went forth. Years came and departed; yet still +hope mocked him with ever-attractive and ever-fading illusions. +To-day he stood with his hand just ready to seize the object of his +wishes--to-morrow, a shadow mocked him. At last, in an evil hour, he +bowed down his manhood prostrate even to the dust in mammon-worship, +and took to himself a bride, rich in golden attractions, but poorer, +as a woman, than even the beggar at his father's gate. What a thorn +in his side she proved!--a thorn ever sharp and ever piercing. The +closer he attempted to draw her to his bosom, the deeper went the +points into his own, until, in the anguish of his soul, again and +again he flung her passionately from him. + +Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there of earthly good to +compensate therefor? But, in this last desperate throw, did the +worldling gain the wealth, station, and honour he coveted? He had +wedded the only child of a man whose treasure might be counted by +hundreds of thousands; but, in doing so, he had failed to secure the +father's approval or confidence. The stern old man regarded him as a +mercenary interloper, and ever treated him as such. For five years, +therefore, he fretted and chafed in the narrow prison whose gilded +bars his own hands had forged. How often, during that time, had his +heart wandered back to the dear old home, and the beloved ones with +whom he had passed his early years And ah! how many, many times came +between him and the almost hated countenance of his wife, the +gentle, loving face of that one to whom he had been false! How often +her soft blue eyes rested on his own! How often he started and +looked up suddenly, as if her sweet voice came floating on the air! + +And so the years moved on, the chain galling more deeply, and a +bitter sense of humiliation as well as bondage robbing him of all +pleasure in life. + +Thus it is with him when, after ten years, we find him waiting, in +the chamber of death, for the stroke that is to break the fetters +that so long have bound him. It has fallen. He is free again. In +dying, the sufferer made no sign. Sullenly she plunged into the dark +profound, so impenetrable to mortal eyes, and as the turbid waves +closed, sighing, over her, he who had called her wife turned from +the couch on which her frail body remained, with an inward "Thank +God! I am a man again!" + +One more bitter drug yet remained for his cup. Not a week had gone +by, ere the father of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting +words-- + +"You were nothing to me while my daughter lived--you are less than +nothing now. It was my wealth, not my child, that you loved. She has +passed away. What affection would have given to her, dislike will +never bestow on you. Henceforth we are strangers." + +When next the sun went down on that stately mansion which the +wealth-seeker had coveted, he was a wanderer again--poor, +humiliated, broken in spirit. + +How bitter had been the mockery of all his early hopes! How terrible +the punishment he had suffered! + + + + +SCENE THIRD. + + +ONE more eager, almost fierce struggle with alluring fortune, in +which the worldling came near steeping his soul in crime, and then +fruitless ambition died in his bosom. + +"My brother said well," he murmured, as a ray of light fell suddenly +on the darkness of his spirit: "Contentment _is_ better than wealth. +Dear brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen! Ah, why did I leave you? +Too late! too late! A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips; +but I turned my head away, asking for a more fiery and exciting +draught. How vividly comes before me now that parting scene! I am +looking into my brother's face. I feel the tight grasp of his hand. +His voice is in my ears. Dear brother! And his parting words, I hear +them now, even more earnestly than when they were first +spoken:--'Should fortune cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return +to your home again. Its doors will ever be open, and its +hearth-fires bright for you as of old.' Ah! do the fires still burn? +How many years have passed since I went forth! And Ellen? But I dare +not think of her. It is too late--too late! Even if she be living +and unchanged in her affections, I can never lay this false heart at +her feet. Her look of love would smite me as with a whip of +scorpions." + +The step of time had fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those +to whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, that few +footmarks were visible. Yet there had been changes in the old +homestead. As the smiling years went by, each, as it looked in at +the cottage-window, saw the home circle widening, or new beauty +crowning the angel brows of happy children. No thorn in his side had +Robert's gentle wife proved. As time passed on, closer and closer +was she drawn to his bosom; yet never a point had pierced him. Their +home was a type of paradise. + +It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread, +and they are about gathering around the table, when a stranger +enters. His words are vague and brief, his manner singular, his air +slightly mysterious. Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to +face. + +"Are these all your children?" he asks, surprise and admiration +mingling in his tones. + +"All ours. And, thank God! the little flock is yet unbroken." + +The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is +impossible to conceal. + +"Contentment is better than wealth," he murmurs. "Oh that I had +earlier comprehended this truth!" + +The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too +distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly +recognises in the stranger his long wandering, long mourned brother. + +"William!" + +The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand +gazing at each other, then tenderly embrace. + +"William!" + +How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet +maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so +unobtrusively, the one he had parted from years before--the one to +whom he had been so false. But her voice has startled his ears with +the familiar tones of yesterday. + +"Ellen!" Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years. +He has leaped back over the gloomy gulf, and stands now as he stood +ere ambition and lust for gold lured him away from the side of his +first and only love. It is well both for him and the faithful maiden +that he can so forget the past as to take her in his arms and clasp +her almost wildly to his heart. But for this, conscious shame would +have betrayed his deeply repented perfidy. + +And here we leave them, reader. "Contentment is better than wealth." +So the wordling proved, after a bitter experience--which may you +be spared! It is far better to realize a truth perceptively, and +thence make it a rule of action, than to prove its verity in a +life of sharp agony. But how few are able to rise into such a +realization! + + + + +MATCH-MAKING. + + +"YOU are a sly girl, Mary." + +"Not by general reputation, I believe, Mrs. Martindale." + +"Oh no. Every one thinks you a little paragon of propriety. But I +can see as deep as most people." + +"You might as well talk in High Dutch to me, Mrs. Martindale. You +would be equally intelligible." + +"You are a very innocent girl, Mary." + +"I hope I am. Certainly I am not conscious of wishing harm to any +one. But pray, Mrs. Martindale, oblige me by coming a little nearer +to the point." + +"You don't remember any thing about Mrs. Allenson's party--of +course?" + +"It would be strange if I did not." + +"Oh yes. Now you begin to comprehend a little." + +"Do speak out plainly, Mrs. Martindale!" + +"So innocent! Ah me, Mary! you are a sly girl. You didn't see any +thing of a young man there with dark eyes and hair, and a beautiful +white, high forehead?" + +"If there was an individual there, answering to your description, it +is highly probable that I did see him. But what then?" + +"Oh, nothing, of course!" + +"You are trifling with me, Mrs. Martindale." + +"Seriously, then, Mary, I was very much pleased to notice the +attentions shown you by Mr. Fenwick, and more pleased at seeing how +much those attentions appeared to gratify you. He is a young man in +a thousand." + +"I am sure I saw nothing very particular in his attentions to me; +and I am very certain that I was also more gratified at the +attentions shown by him, than I was by those of other young men +present." + +"Of course not." + +"You seem to doubt my word?" + +"Oh no--I don't doubt your word. But on these subjects young ladies +feel themselves privileged to--to"---- + +"To what, Mrs. Martindale?" + +"Nothing--only. But don't you think Mr. Fenwick a charming young +man?" + +"I didn't perceive any thing very remarkable about him." + +"He did about you. I saw that, clearly." + +"How can you talk so to me, Mrs. Martindale?" + +"Oh la! Do hear the girl! Did you never have a beau, Mary?" + +"Yes, many a one. What of it?" + +"And a lover too?" + +"I know nothing about lovers." + +As Mary Lester said this, her heart made a fluttering bound, and an +emotion, new and strange, but sweet, swelled and trembled in her +bosom. + +"But you soon will, Mary, or I'm mistaken." + +Mrs. Martindale saw the cheek of the fair girl kindle, and her eye +brighten, and she said to herself, with an inward smile of +satisfaction-- + +"I'll make a match of it yet--see if I don't! What a beautiful +couple they will be!" + +Mrs. Martindale was one of that singular class of elderly ladies +whose chief delight consists in match-making. Many and many a couple +had she brought together in her time, and she lived in the pleasing +hope of seeing many more united. It was a remarkable fact, however, +that in nearly every instance where her kind offices had been +interposed, the result had not been the very happiest in the world. +This fact, however, never seemed to strike her. The one great end of +her life was to get people together--to pair them off. Whether they +jogged on harmoniously together, or pulled separate ways, was no +concern of hers. Her business was to make the matches. As to living +in harmony, or the opposite, that concerned the couples themselves, +and to that they must look themselves. It was enough for her to make +the matches, without being obliged to accord the dispositions. + +As in every thing else, practice makes perfect, so in this +occupation, practice gave to Mrs. Martindale great skill in +discerning character--at least, of such character as she could +operate on. And she could, moreover, tell the progressive states of +mind of those upon whom she exercised her kind offices, almost as +truly as if she heard them expressed in words. It was, therefore, +clear to her, after her first essay, that Mary Lester's affections +might very easily be brought out and made to linger about the young +man whom she had, in her wisdom, chosen as her husband. As Mary was +a very sweet girl, and, moreover, had a father well to do in the +world, she had no fears about interesting Mr. Fenwick in her favour. + +Only a few days passed before Mrs. Martindale managed to throw +herself into the company of the young man. + +"How were you pleased with the party, Mr. Fenwick?" she began. + +"At Mrs. Allenson's?" + +"Yes." + +"Very much." + +"So I thought." + +"Did I seem, then, particularly pleased?" + +"I thought so." + +"Indeed! Well, I can't say that I was interested a great deal more +than I usually am on such occasions." + +"Not a _great deal_ more?" + +"No, I certainly was not." + +"But a _little_ more?" + +"Perhaps I was; but I cannot be positive." + +"Oh yes. I know it. And I'm of the opinion that you were not the +only person there who was interested a _little more_ than usual." + +"Ah, indeed! And who was the other, pray?" + +"A dear little girl, whom I could mention." + +"Who was she?" + +"The sweetest young lady in the room." + +"Well, what was her name?" + +"Can't you guess?" + +"I am not good at guessing." + +"Try." + +"Mary Lester?" + +"Of course! Ha! ha! ha! I knew it." + +"Knew what?" + +"Oh yes, Mr. Innocence! Knew what!" + +"You are disposed to be quite merry, Mrs. Martindale." + +"I always feel merry when I see a young couple like you and Mary +Lester mutually pleased with each other." + +"Mutually pleased?" + +"Of course, mutually pleased." + +"How do you know that, Mrs. Martindale?" + +"Haven't I got a good pair of eyes in my head?" + +"Very good, I should certainly think, to make such a wonderful +discovery." + +"Seriously, though, Mr. Fenwick, do you not think Mary Lester a very +sweet girl?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"And just such a one as you could love?" + +"Any one, it seems to me, might love Mary Lester; but then, it is +just as apparent that she could not love any one who might chance to +offer." + +"Of course not. And I should be very sorry to think that she could. +But of one thing I am certain, she cannot look upon you with +unfavourable eyes." + +"Mrs. Martindale!" + +"I am in earnest, Mr. Fenwick." + +"What reason have you for thinking so?" + +"Very good reason. I had my eyes on you both at Mrs. Allenson's +party, and I saw as plain as could be that Mary was deeply +interested. Since then, I have met her, and observed her eye +brighten and her cheek kindle at the mention of your name. Mr. +Fenwick, she is a prize well worth winning, and may be yours." + +"Are you, then, really serious?" the young man now said, his tone +and manner changing. + +"Assuredly I am, Mr. Fenwick." + +"Mary Lester, you know, moves in a circle above my own; that is, her +father is accounted rich, and I am known to have nothing but my own +energies to depend upon." + +"All that is nothing. Win her affections, and she must be yours." + +"But I am not so certain that I can do that." + +"Nonsense! It is half done already." + +"You seem very positive about the matter." + +"Because I am never mistaken on these subjects. I can tell, the +moment I see a young couple together, whether they will suit each +other or not." + +"And you think, then, that we will just suit?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"I only wish that I could think so." + +"Do you, indeed? I am glad to hear you say that. I thought you could +not be insensible to the charms of so sweet a girl." + +"Do you, then, really believe that if I offered myself to Mary +Lester, she would accept me?" + +"If you went the right way about it, I am sure she would." + +"What do you mean by the right way?" + +"The right way for you, of course, is to endeavour to win her +affections. She is already, I can see, strongly prepossessed in your +favour, but is not herself aware to what extent her feelings are +interested. Throw yourself into her company as much as you can, and +when in her company pay her the kindest attentions. But do not visit +her at her own house at present, or her father may crush the whole +affair. When I see her again, I will drop a word in your favour." + +"I am certainly very much indebted to you, Mrs. Martindale, for your +kind hints and promised interference. I have often felt drawn toward +Mary, but always checked the feeling, because I had no idea that I, +could make an impression on her mind." + +"Faint heart never won fair lady," was Mrs. Martindale's encouraging +response. + +"Well, Mary," said the lady to Miss Lester, a few days afterward, +"have you seen Mr. Fenwick since?" + +"Mr. Fenwick!" said she, in tones of affected surprise. + +"Yes, Mr. Fenwick." + +"No--of course not. Why do you ask so strange a question? He does +not visit me." + +"Don't he? Well, I have seen him." + +"Have you? Then I hope you were very much delighted with his +company, for he seems to be a favourite of yours." + +"He certainly is a favourite of mine, Mary. I have known him for a +good many years, and have always esteemed him highly. There are few +young men who can claim to be his equal." + +"I doubt not but there are hundreds to be met with every day as good +as he." + +"Perhaps so, Mary. I have not, however, been so fortunate as to come +across them." + +"No doubt he is a paragon!" + +"Whether he be one or not, he at least thinks there is no one like +you." + +"Like me!" ejaculated Mary, taken thus suddenly by surprise, while +the colour mounted to her face, and deepened about her eyes and +forehead. + +"Yes, like you. The fact is, Mary, he thinks and speaks of you in +the kindest terms. You have evidently interested him very much." + +"I certainly never intended to do so, Mrs. Martindale." + +"Of course not, Mary. I never supposed for a moment that you had. +Still he is interested, and deeply so." + +Having ventured thus far, Mrs. Martindale deemed it prudent to say +no more for the present, but to leave her insinuations to work upon +Mary's heart what they were designed to effect. She was satisfied +that all was as she could wish--that both Fenwick and Mary were +interested in each other; and she knew enough of the human heart, +and of her own power over it, when exercised in a certain way, to +know that it would not be long before they were much more deeply +interested. + +Like all the rest of Mrs. Martindale's selections of parties for +matrimony, the present was a very injudicious one. Mary was only +seventeen--too young, by three or four years, to be able properly to +judge of character; and Fenwick was by no means a suitable man for +her husband. He was himself only about twenty-one, with a character +not yet fully decided, though the different constituents of his mind +were just ready to take their various positions, and fixed and +distinctive forms. Unfortunately, these mental and moral relations +were not truly balanced; there was an evident bias of selfishness +and evil over generous and true principles. As Mrs. Martindale was +no profound judge of character, she could not, of course, make a +true discrimination of Fenwick's moral fitness for the husband of +Mary Lester. Indeed, she never attempted to analyze character, nor +had she an idea of any thing beneath the surface. Personal +appearance, an affable exterior, and a little flattery of herself, +were the three things which, in her estimation, went to make up a +perfect character--were enough to constitute the beau ideal of a +husband for any one. + +Mary's father was a merchant of considerable wealth and standing in +society, and possessing high-toned feelings and principles. Mary was +his oldest child. He loved her tenderly, and, moreover, felt all a +parent's pride in one so young, so lovely, and so innocent. + +Fenwick had, until within a few months, been a clerk in a retail +dry-goods store, at a very small salary. A calculating, but not too +honest a wholesale dealer in the same line, desirous of getting rid +of a large stock of unsaleable goods, proposed to the young man to +set him up in business--a proposition which was instantly accepted. +The credit thus furnished to Fenwick was an inducement for others to +sell to him; and so, without a single dollar of capital, he obtained +a store full of goods. The scheme of the individual who had thus +induced him to venture upon a troubled and uncertain sea, was to get +paid fair prices for his own depreciated goods out of Fenwick's +first sales, and then gradually to withdraw his support, compelling +him to buy of other jobbing houses, until his indebtedness to him +would be but nominal. He was very well assured that the young +merchant could not stand it over a year or two, and for that length +of time only by a system of borrowing and accommodations; but as to +the result he cared nothing, so that he effected a good sale of a +bad stock. + +Notwithstanding such an unpromising condition of his affairs, even +if fully known to Mr. Lester, that gentleman would not have strongly +opposed a union of his daughter with Mr. Fenwick, had he been a man +of strong mind, intelligence, energy, and high-toned principles--for +he was philosopher enough to know that these will elevate a man +under any circumstances. But Fenwick had no decided points in his +character. He had limited intelligence, and no energy arising from +clear perceptions and strong resolutions. He was a man fit to +captivate a young and innocent girl, but not to hold the affection +of a generous-minded woman. + +In the natural order of events, such a circumstance as a marriage +union between the daughter of Mr. Lester, and an individual like +Fenwick, was not at all likely to occur. But a meddlesome woman, +who, by the accident of circumstances, had found free access to the +family of Mr. Lester, set herself seriously at work to interfere +with the orderly course of things, and effect a conjunction between +two in no way fitted for each other, either in external +circumstances or similarity of character. But let us trace the +progress of this artificial passion, fanned into a blaze by the +officious Mrs. Martindale. After having agitated the heart of Mary +with the idea of being beloved, while she coolly calculated its +effects upon her, the match-monger sought an early opportunity for +another interview with Fenwick. + +"I have seen Mary since we last met," she said. + +"Well, do you think I have any thing to hope?" + +"Certainly I do. I mentioned your name to her on purpose, and I +could see that the heart of the dear little thing began to flutter +at the very sound; and when I bantered her, she blushed, and was all +confusion." + +"When shall I be able to meet her again?" + +"Next week, I think. There is to be a party at Mrs. Cameron's and as +I am a particular friend of the family, I will endeavour to get you +an invitation." + +"Mary is to be there, of course?" + +"Certainly." + +"Are you sure that you can get me invited?" + +"Yes, I think so. Mrs. Cameron, it is true, has some exclusive +notions of her own; but I have no doubt of being able to remove +them." + +"Try, by all means." + +"You may depend on me for that," was Mrs. Martindale's encouraging +reply. + +The evening of Mrs. Cameron's party soon came around. Mrs. +Martindale had been as good as her word, and managed to get Fenwick +invited, although he had never in his life met either Mr. or Mrs. +Cameron. But he had no delicate and manly scruples on the subject. +All he desired was to get invited; the way in which it was done was +of no consequence to him. + +Mary Lester was seated by the side of her interested friend when the +young man entered. Her heart gave a quick bound as she saw him come +in, while a pleasant thrill pervaded her bosom. He at once advanced +toward them, while Mrs. Martindale rose, and after receiving him +with her blandest manner, presented him to Mary, so as to give him +an opportunity for being in her society at once. Both were, as might +very naturally be supposed, a good deal embarrassed, for each was +conscious that now a new relation existed between them. This their +very kind friend observed, and with much tact introduced subjects of +conversation, until she had paved the way, for a freer intercourse, +and then she left them alone for a brief period, not, however, +without carefully observing them, to see how they "got along +together," as she mentally expressed it. + +She had little cause for further concern on this account, for +Fenwick had a smooth and ready tongue in his head, and five years +behind the counter of a retail dealer had taught him how to use it. +Instead of finding it necessary to prompt them, the wily Mrs. +Martindale soon discovered that her kind offices were needed to +restrain them a little, lest the evidence of their being too well +pleased with each other should be discovered by the company. + +Two or three interviews more were all that were needed to bring +about a declaration from the young man. Previous to his taking this +step, however, Mrs. Martindale had fully prepared Mary's mind for +it. + +"You own to me, Mary," said she, during one of the many +conversations now held with her on the subject of Fenwick's +attentions, "that you love him?" + +"I do, Mrs. Martindale," the young lady replied, in a tone half sad, +leaning at the same time upon the shoulder of her friend. "But I am +conscious that I have been wrong in permitting my affections to +become so much interested without having consulted my mother." + +"It will never do for you to consult her now, Mary, for she does not +know Mr. Fenwick as you and I know him. She will judge of him, as +will your father, from appearances, and forbid you to keep his +company." + +"I am sure that such will be the case, and you cannot tell how it +troubles me. From childhood up I have been taught to confide in +them, and, except in this thing, have never once deceived them. The +idea of doing so now, is one that gives me constant pain. I feel +that I have not acted wisely in this matter." + +"Nonsense, Mary! Parents never think with their children in these +matters. It would make no odds whom you happened to love, they would +most certainly oppose you. I never yet knew a young lady whose +parents fully approved her choice of a husband." + +"I feel very certain that mine will not approve my choice; and I +cannot bear the idea of their displeasure. Sometimes I feel half +determined to tell them all, let the consequences be what they may." + +"Oh no, no, Mary! not for the world. They would no doubt take steps +to prevent your again meeting each other." + +"What, then, shall I do, Mrs. Martindale?" + +"See Mr. Fenwick whenever an opportunity offers, and leave the rest +to me. I will advise you when and how to act." + +The almost involuntary admissions made by Mary in this conversation, +were at once conveyed to the ears of Fenwick, who soon sought an +opportunity openly to declare his love. Of course, his suit was not +rejected. Thus, under the advice and direction of a most injudicious +woman, who had betrayed the confidence placed in her, was a young +girl, unacquainted with life, innocent and unsuspicious, wooed and +won, and her parents wholly ignorant of the circumstance. + +Thoughts of marriage follow quickly a declaration of love. Once with +the prize in view, Fenwick was eager to have it wholly in his +possession. Mrs. Martindale was, of course, the mutual friend and +adviser, and she urged an immediate clandestine marriage. For many +weeks Mary resisted the persuasions of both. Fenwick and Mrs. +Martindale; but at last, in a state of half distraction of mind, she +consented to secretly leave her father's house, and throw herself +upon the protection of one she had not known for six months, and of +whose true character she had no certain knowledge. + +"Mary is out a great deal of late, it seems to me," Mr. Lester +remarked, as he sat alone with his wife one evening about ten +o'clock. + +"So I was just thinking. There is, scarcely an evening now in the +week that she has not an engagement somewhere." + +"I cannot say that I much approve of such a course myself. There is +always danger of a girl, just at Mary's age, forming injudicious +preferences for young men, if she be thrown much into their company, +unattended by a proper adviser." + +"Mrs. Martindale is very fond of Mary, and I believe is with her a +good deal." + +"Mrs. Martindale? Humph! Do you know that I have no great confidence +in that woman?" + +"Why?" + +"Have you forgotten the hand she had in bringing about that most +unfortunate marriage of Caroline Howell?" + +"I had almost forgotten it. Or, rather, I never paid much attention +to the rumour in regard to her interference in the matter; because, +you know, people will talk." + +"And to some purpose, often; at least, I am persuaded that there is +truth in all that is alleged in this instance. And now that my +thoughts begin to run in this way, I do really feel concerned lest +the reason of Mary's frequent absence of late, in company with Mrs. +Martindale, has some reference to a matter of this kind. Have you +not observed some change in her of late?" + +"She has not been very cheerful for the last two or three months." + +"So I have once or twice thought, but supposed it was only my +imagination. If this, then, be true, it is our duty to be on our +guard--to watch over Mary with a careful eye, and to know +particularly into what company she goes." + +"I certainly agree with you that we ought to do so. Heaven grant +that our watchfulness do not come too late!" Mrs. Lester said, a +sudden feeling of alarm springing up in her bosom. + +"It is a late hour for her to be from home, and we not apprized of +where she is," the father remarked anxiously. + +"It is, indeed. She has rarely stayed out later than nine o'clock." + +"Who has been in the habit of coming home with her?" + +"Usually Mrs. Martindale has accompanied her home, and this fact has +thrown me off my guard." + +"It should have put you on your guard; for a woman like Mrs. +Martindale, gossiping about as she does, night after night, with +young folks, cannot, it seems to me, have the best ends in view." + +"She seems to be a very well-disposed woman." + +"That is true. And yet I have been several times persuaded that she +was one of the detestable tribe of match-makers." + +"Surely not." + +"I am afraid that it is too true. And if it be so, Mary is in +dangerous company." + +"Indeed she is. From this time forth we must guard her more +carefully. Of all things in the world, I dread an improper marriage +for Mary. If she should throw away her affections upon an unworthy +object, how sad would be her condition! Her gentle spirit, wounded +in the tenderest part, would fail, and droop, and pine away in +hopeless sorrow. Some women have a strength of character that +enables them to rise superior, in a degree, to even such an +affliction; but Mary could not bear it." + +"I feel deeply the truth of what you say," replied Mr. Lester. "Her +affections are ardent, and easily called out. We have been to blame +in not thinking more seriously of this matter before." + +"I wish she would come home! It is growing far too late for her to +be absent," the mother said, in a voice of anxious concern. + +Then succeeded a long and troubled silence, which continued until +the clock struck eleven. + +"Bless me! where can she be?" ejaculated Mr. Lester, rising and +beginning to pace the floor with hurried steps. + +This he continued to do for nearly a quarter of an hour, when he +paused, and said-- + +"Do you know where Mrs. Martindale lives?" + +"At No.--Pearl street." + +"No doubt she can tell where Mary is." + +"I think it more than probable." + +"Then I will see her at once." + +"Had you not better wait a little longer? I should be sorry to +attract attention, or cause remark about the matter, which would be +the result, if it got out that you went in search of her after +eleven o'clock at night." + +This had the effect to cause Mr. Lester to wait little longer. But +when the clock struck twelve, he could restrain himself no further. +Taking up his hat, he hurried off in the direction of Mrs. +Martindale's. + +"Is Mrs. Martindale at home?" he asked of the servant, who, after he +had rung three or four times, found her way to the door. + +"No, sir," was the reply. + +"Where is she?" + +"I do not know, sir." + +"Will she be here to-night?" + +"No, sir." + +"Is she in the habit of staying away at night?" + +"No, sir." + +"Where did she go early in the evening?" + +"I do not know, sir." + +Disappointed, and doubly alarmed, Mr. Lester turned away, and +retraced his steps homeward. + +"Did you see her?" eagerly inquired his wife, as he entered. + +"She is not at home." + +"Where is she?" + +"The stupid servant could not or would not tell." + +"Indeed, indeed, I do not like the appearance of all this," said +Mrs. Lester, with a troubled countenance. + +"Nor do I. I am sadly afraid all is not right in regard to Mary." + +"But she certainly could not be induced to go away with any one--in +a word, to marry clandestinely." + +"I should hope not. But one so innocent and unsuspecting as +Mary--one with so much natural goodness of character--is most easily +led away by the specious and designing, who can easily obscure their +minds, and take from them their own freedom of action. For this +reason, we should have guarded her much more carefully than we have +done." + +For two hours longer did the anxious parents wait and watch for +Mary's return, but in vain. They then retired to take a brief but +troubled repose. + +Early on the next morning, in going into Mary's room, her mother +found a letter for her, partly concealed among the leaves of a +favourite volume that lay upon her table. It contained the +information that she was about to marry Mr. Fenwick, and gave Mrs. +Martindale as authority for the excellence of his character: The +letter was written on the previous day, and the marriage was to take +place that night. + +With a stifled cry of anguish, Mrs. Lester sprang down the stairs, +on comprehending the tenor of the letter, and, placing it in the +hands of her husband, burst into tears. He read it through without +visible emotion; but the intelligence fell like a dead, oppressive +weight upon his heart--almost checking respiration. Slowly he seated +himself upon a chair, while his head sank upon his bosom, and thus +he remained almost motionless for nearly half an hour, while his +wife wept and sobbed by his side. + +"Mary," he at last said, in a mournful tone--"she is our child yet." + +"Wretched--wretched girl!" responded Mrs. Lester; "how could she so +fatally deceive herself and us?" + +"Fatally, indeed, has she done so! But upon her own head will the +deepest sorrow rest. I only wish that we were altogether guiltless +of this sacrifice." + +"But may it not turn out that this Mr. Fenwick will not prove so +unworthy of her as we fear?--that he will do all in his power to +make her happy?" + +"Altogether a vain hope, Mary. He is evidently not a man of +principle, for no man of principle would have thus clandestinely +stolen away our child--which he could only have done by first +perverting or blinding her natural perceptions of right. Can such an +one make any pure-minded, unselfish woman happy? No!--the hope is +altogether vain. He must have been conscious of his unworthiness, or +he would have come forward like a man and asked for her." + +Mr. and Mrs. Lester loved their daughter too well to cast her off. +They at once brought her, with her husband, back to her home again, +and endeavoured to make that home as pleasant to her as ever. But, +alas! few months had passed away, before the scales fell from her +eyes--before she perceived that the man upon whom she had lavished +the wealth of her young heart's affections, could not make her +happy. A weak and vain young man, Fenwick could not stand the honour +of being Mr. Lester's son-in-law, without having his brain turned. +He became at once an individual of great consequence--assumed airs, +and played the fool so thoroughly, as not only to disgust her +friends and family, but even Mary herself. His business was far too +limited for a man of his importance. He desired to relinquish the +retail line, and get into the jobbing trade. He stated his plans to +Mr. Lester, and boldly asked for a capital of twenty thousand +dollars to begin with. This was of course refused. That gentleman +thought it wisdom to support him in idleness, if it came to that, +rather than risk the loss of a single dollar in a business in which +there was a moral certainty of failure. + +Disgusted with his father-in-law's narrow-mindedness, as he called +it, Fenwick attempted to make the desired change on the strength of +his own credit. This scheme likewise proved a failure. And that was +not all, as in the course of a twelve-month his creditors wound him +up, and he came out a bankrupt. + +Mr. Lester then offered him a situation as clerk in his own store; +but Fenwick was a young man of too much consequence to be clerk to +any man. If he could not be in business himself, he, would do no +business at all, he said. That he was determined on. He could do +business as well as any one, and had as much right to be in business +as any one. + +The consequence was, that idle habits took him into idle company, +and idle company led him on to dissipation. Three years after his +marriage with Mary Lester, he was a drunkard and a gambler, and she +a drooping, almost heart-broken young wife and mother. + +One night, nearly four years from the date of her unhappy marriage, +Mary sat alone in her chamber, by the side of the bed upon which +slept sweetly and peacefully a little girl nearly three years of +age, the miniature image of herself. Her face was very thin and +pale, and there was a wildness in her restless eyes, that betokened +a troubled spirit. The time had worn on until nearly one o'clock, +and still she made no movement to retire; but seemed waiting for +some one, and yet not in anxious expectation. At last the door below +was opened, and footsteps came shuffling along the hall, and noisily +up the stairs. In a moment or two, her room-door was swung widely +open, and her husband staggered in, so drunk that he could scarcely +keep his feet. + +"And pray what are you doing up at this time of night, ha?" said he, +in drunken anger. + +"You did not like it, you know, because I was in bed last night, and +so I have sat up for you this time," his wife replied, soothingly. + +"Well, you've no business to be up this late, let me tell you, +madam. And I'm not agoing to have it. So bundle off to bed with you, +in less than no time!" + +"O Henry! how can you talk so to me?" poor Mary said, bursting into +tears. + +"You needn't go to blubbering in that way, I can tell you, madam; so +just shut up! I won't have it! And see here: I must have three +hundred dollars out of that stingy old father of yours to-morrow, +and you must get it for me. If you don't, why, just look out for +squalls." + +As he said this, he threw himself heavily upon the bed, and came +with his whole weight upon the body of his child. Mrs. Fenwick +screamed out, sprang to the bedside, and endeavoured to drag him off +the little girl. Not understanding what she meant, he rose up +quickly, and threw her from him with such force, as to dash her +against the wall opposite, when she fell senseless upon the floor. +Just at this moment, her father, who had overheard his first angry +words, burst into the room, and with the energy of suddenly aroused +indignation, seized Fenwick by the collar, dragged him down-stairs, +and thence threw him into the street from his hall-door, which he +closed and locked after him--vowing, as he did so, that the wretch +should never again cross his threshold. + +All night long did poor Mrs. Fenwick lie, her senses locked in +insensibility; and all through the next day she remained in the same +state, in spite of every effort to restore her. Her husband several +times attempted to gain admittance, but was resolutely refused. + +"He never crosses my door-stone again!" the old man said; and to +that resolution he determined to adhere. + +Another night and another day passed, and still another night, and +yet the heart-stricken young wife showed no signs of returning +consciousness. It was toward evening on the fourth day, that the +family, with Mrs. Martindale, who had called in, were gathered round +her bed, in a state of painful and gloomy anxiety, waiting for, yet +almost despairing again to see her restored to consciousness. All at +once she opened her eyes, and looked up calmly into the faces of +those who surrounded her bed. + +"Where is little Mary?" she at length asked. + +The child was instantly brought to her. + +"Does Mary love mother?" she asked of the child, in a tone of +peculiar tenderness. + +The child drew its little arms about her neck, and kissed her pale +lips and cheeks fondly. + +"Yes, Mary loves mother. But mother is going away to leave Mary. +Will she be a good girl?" + +The little thing murmured assent, as it clung closer to its mother's +bosom. + +Mrs. Fenwick then looked up into the faces of her father and mother +with a sad but tender smile, and said-- + +"You will be good to little Mary when I am gone? + +"Don't talk so, Mary!--don't, my child! You are not going to leave +us," her mother sobbed, while the tears fell from her eyes like +rain. + +"Oh no, dear! you will not leave us," said her father, in a +trembling voice. + +"Yes, dear mother! dear father! I must go. But you will not let any +one take little Mary from you?" + +"Oh no--ever! She is ours, and no one shall ever take her away." + +Mrs. Fenwick then closed her eyes, while a placid expression settled +upon her sweet but careworn face. Again she looked up, but with a +more serious countenance. As she did so, her eyes rested upon Mrs. +Martindale. + +"I am about to die, Mrs. Martindale," she said, hit a calm but +feeble voice--"and with my dying breath I charge upon you the ruin +of my hopes and happiness. If my little girl should live to woman's +estate," she added, turning to her parents, "guard her from the +influence of this woman, as you would from the fangs of a serpent." + +Then closing her eyes again, she sank away into a sleep that proved +the sleep of death. Alas! how many like her have gone down to an +early grave, or still pine on in hopeless sorrow, the victims of +that miserable interference in society, which is constantly bringing +young people together, and endeavouring to induce them to love and +marry each other, without there being between them any true +congeniality or fitness for such a relation! Of all assumed social +offices, that of the match-maker is one of the most pernicious, and +her character one of the most detestable. She should be shunned with +the same shrinking aversion with which we shun a serpent which +crosses our path. + + + + +THE RETURN; OR, WHO IS IT? + + +"IT'S nearly a year now since I was home," said Lucy Gray to her +husband; "and so you must let me go for a few weeks." + +They had been married some four or five years, and never during that +time had been separated for a single night. + +"I thought you called this your home," said Gray, looking up with a +mock-serious air. + +"I mean my old home," replied Lucy, in a half-affected tone of +anger. "Or, to make it plain, I want to go, and see father and +mother." + +"Can't you wait three or four months, until I can go with you?" +asked the young husband. + +"I want to go now. You said all along that I should go in May." + +"I know I did. But then I supposed that I would be able to go with +you." + +"Well, why can't you? I am sure you might, if you would." + +"No, Lucy, I cannot possibly leave home now. But if you are very +anxious to see the old folks, I can put you in the stage, and you +will go safely enough. Ellen and I can take care of little Lucy, no +doubt. How long a time do you wish to spend with them?" + +"About three weeks or so?" + +"Very well, Lucy, if you are not afraid to go lone, I have not a +word to say." + +"I'm not afraid, dear," replied the wife in a voice hanged and +softened in its expression. "But are you perfectly willing to let me +go, Henry?" + +"Oh, certainly," was answered, although the tone in which the words +were uttered had in it something of reluctance. "It would be selfish +in me to say no. Your father and mother will be delighted receive a +visit just now." + +"And you think that you and Ellen can get along with little Lucy?" + +"Oh yes, very well." + +"I should like to go so much." + +"Go, then, by all means." + +"But won't you be very lonesome without me?" suggested Lucy, in +whose own bosom a feeling of loneliness was already beginning to be +felt at the bare idea of a separation from her husband. + +"I can stand it as long as you," was Gray's laughing reply to this. +"And then I shall have our dear little Lucy." + +Mrs. Gray laughed in return, but did not feel as happy at the idea +of "going home" as she thought she would be before her husband's +consent was gained. The desire to go, however, remaining strong, it +was finally settled that the visit should take place. So all the +preparations were made, and in the course of a week Henry Gray saw +his wife take her seat in the stage, with a feeling of regret at +parting which it required all his efforts to conceal. As for Lucy, +when the time came, she regretted ever having thought of going +without her husband and child; but she was ashamed to let her real +feelings be known. So she kept on a show of indifference, all the +while that her heart was fluttering. The "good-bye" finally said, +the driver cracked his whip, and off rolled the stage. Gray turned +homeward with a dull, lonely feeling, and Lucy drew her vail over +her face to conceal the unbidden tears from her fellow-passengers. + +That night, poor Mr. Gray slept but little. How could he? His Lucy +was absent, and for the first time, from his side. On the next +morning, as he could think of nothing but his wife, he sat down and +wrote to her, telling her how lost and lonely he felt, and how much +little Lucy missed her, but still to try and enjoy herself, and by +all means to write him a letter by return mail. + +As for Mrs. Gray, during her journey of two whole days, she cried +fully half the time, and when she got "home" at last, that is, at +her father's, she looked the picture of distress, rather than the +daughter full of joy at meeting her parents. + +Right glad were the old people to see their dear child, but grieved +at the same time, and a little hurt too, at her weakness and evident +regret at having left her husband, to make them a brief visit. The +real pleasure that Lucy felt at once more seeing the faces of her +parents, whom she tenderly loved, was not strong enough to subdue +and keep in concealment, except for a very short period at a time, +her yearning desire again to be with her husband, for whom she never +before experienced a feeling of such deep and earnest affection. +Several times during the first day of her visit, did her mother +find, her in tears, which she would quickly dash aside, and then +endeavour to smile and seem cheerful. + +The day after her arrival brought her a letter--the first she had +ever received from her husband. How precious was every word! How +often and often did she read it over, until every line was engraven +on her memory! Then she sat down, and spent some two or three hours +in replying to it. As she sealed this first epistle to her husband, +full of tender expressions, she sighed as the wish arose in her +mind, involuntarily, to go with it on its journey to the village +of ----. + +Long were the hours, and wearily passed, to Henry Gray. It was the +sixth day of trial, before Lucy's answer came. How dear to his heart +was every word of her affectionate epistle! Like her, he went over +it so often, that every sentiment was fixed in his mind. + +"Two weeks longer! How can I bear it?" said he, rising up, and +pacing the floor backward and forward, after reading her letter for +the tenth time. + +On the next day, the seventh of his lonely state, Mr. Gray sat down +to write again to Lucy. Several times he wrote the words, as he +proceeded in the letter--"Come home soon,"--but often obliterated +them. He did not wish to appear over anxious for her return, on her +father and mother's account, who were much attached to her. But +forgetting this reason for not urging her early return, he had +commenced again writing the words, "Come home soon," when a pair of +soft hands were suddenly placed over his eyes, by some one who had +stolen softly up behind him. + +"Guess my name," said a voice, in feigned tones. + +But he had no need to guess, for a sudden cry of joy from a little +toddling thing, told that "Mamma" had come. + +How "Mamma" was hugged and kissed all round, need not here be told. +That scene was well enough in its place, but would lose its interest +in telling. It may be imagined, however, without suffering any +particular detriment, by all who have a fancy for such things. + +"And father, too!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Gray, after he had almost +smothered his wife with kisses, looking up with an expression of +pleasure and surprise, at an old man, who stood looking on with his +good-humoured face covered with smiles. + +"Yes. I had to bring the good-for-nothing jade home," replied the +old man advancing, and grasping his son-in-law's hand, with a hearty +grip. "She did nothing but mope and cry all the while; and I don't +care if she never comes to see us again, unless she brings you along +to keep her in good humour." + +"And I never intend going alone again," said Mrs. Gray, holding a +little chubby girl to her bosom, while she kissed it over and over +again, at the same time that he pressed close up to her husband's +side. + +The old man understood it all. He was not jealous of Lucy's +affection, for he knew that she loved him as tenderly as ever. He +was too glad to know that she was happy with a husband to whom she +was as the apple of his eye. In about three months Lucy made another +visit "home." But husband and child were along this time, and the +visit proved a happy one all around. Of course "father and mother" +had their jest, and their laugh, and their affectation of jealousy +and anger at Lucy for her "childishness," as they termed it, when +home in May; but Lucy, though half vexed at herself for what she +called her weakness, nevertheless persevered in saying that she +never meant to go any where again without Henry. "That was settled." + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Finger Posts on the Way of Life, by T. S. Arthur + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINGER POSTS ON THE WAY OF LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 4587.txt or 4587.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/8/4587/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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Arthur + +Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext #4587] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on February 12, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Finger Posts on the Way of Life +by T. S. Arthur +******This file should be named fngrp10.txt or fngrp10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, fngrp11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, fngrp10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +The "legal small print" and other information about this book +may now be found at the end of this file. Please read this +important information, as it gives you specific rights and +tells you about restrictions in how the file may be used. + +*** +This etext was created by Charles Aldarondo (Aldarondo@yahoo.com) + +FINGER POSTS ON THE WAY OF LIFE. + +BY T. S. ARTHUR. + +BOSTON: +PHILADELPHIA: + +1853 + + + + + + +PREFACE. + + + + + +OUR title, though savouring of quaintness, is yet in keeping with +the object of this volume. As we press onward in the journey of +life, to each of us the path is new and strange. Often it is rough +and thorny; often it winds through places beset with difficulties +and danger; often the sky is so dark that we can scarcely see the +narrow line upon which our advancing footsteps may rest in safety. +As "Finger-Posts on the Way of Life," pointing the wary traveller in +the right direction, has this little book been written. It does not, +professedly, take the high mission of the preacher; yet, while its +end is to guide in natural life, the author is never unmindful of +the fact that all natural life is for the sake of spiritual life, +and that no one can live well in the true sense, who does not live +for Heaven. He trusts, therefore, that while these "finger-posts" +indicate the path in which to walk safely through the world, they +will point, as well, to the narrow way that leadeth to Life Eternal. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +SHADOWS FROM A CLOUDED BROW +GENTLE HAND +WILL IT PAY? +THE LAY PREACHER +HOW TO DESTROY A GOOD BUSINESS +THE TWO INVALIDS +MARRYING WELL +BLESSING OF A GOOD DEED +PAYING THE DOCTOR +THE LITTLE BOUND-BOY. +EUTHANASY +THREE SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A WORLDLING +MATCH-MAKING +THE RETURN; OR, WHO IS IT? + + + + + + +SHADOWS FROM A CLOUDED BROW. + + + + + +A LITTLE thing clouded the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie--a very little +thing. But if she had known how wide the shadows were often +diffused, and how darkly they fell, at times, on some hearts, she +would have striven more earnestly, we may believe, to keep the sky +of her spirit undimmed. + +It will not be uninstructive to note the incidents, in a single day, +of Mrs. Abercrombie's life--to mark the early cloud upon her brow, +and then to glance at the darkly falling shadows. + +Mr. Abercrombie was a man of sensitive feelings, and though he had +striven for many years to overcome his sensitiveness, he had been no +more able to change this hereditary weakness than the leopard his +spots or the Ethiopian his skin. At home, the lightest jar of +discord disturbed him painfully, and the low vibration ceased not, +often, for many hours. The clouded brow of his wife ever threw his +heart into shadow; and the dusky vail was never removed, until +sunlight radiated again from her countenance. It was all in vain +that he tried to be indifferent to these changeful moods--to keep +his spirits above their influence: in the very effort at +disenthralment he was more firmly bound. + +From some cause, unknown to her husband, there was a cloud on the +brow of Mrs. Abercrombie one morning, as she took her place at the +breakfast-table. Mr. Abercrombie was reading, with his usual +interest, the newspaper, and the children were sporting in the +nursery, when the bell summoned them to the dining-room. All +gathered, with pleasant thoughts of good cheer, around the table, +and Mr. Abercrombie, after helping the little ones, was about +mentioning to his wife some pleasant piece of news which he had just +been reading, when, on lifting his eyes to her countenance, he saw +that it was clouded. The words died on his lips; a shadow darkened +over his feelings, and the meal passed in almost total silence--at +least so far as he was concerned. Once or twice he ventured a remark +to Mrs. Abercrombie; but the half-fretful tone in which she replied, +only disturbed him the more. + +Soon the pleasant aspect of the children's countenances changed, and +they became captious and irritable. Both parents were fretted at +this reaction upon their own states of mind, and manifested, at some +slight misconduct on the part of one or two of the children, a +degree of ill-nature that instantly transferred itself to those +against whom it was directed, and became apparent in their +intercourse one with another. + +Before summoned from the nursery, these children were playing +together in the utmost harmony and good feeling; on returning +thereto, the activity of another and far less amiable spirit was +manifest; and instead of merry shouts and joyous laughter, angry +words and complaining cries sounded through the apartment. + +As Mr. Abercrombie left the house, Mrs. Abercrombie entered the +nursery, attracted by the notes of discord. Had there been sunshine +on her countenance, and firm but gentle remonstrance on her tongue, +a quick change would have become apparent. But, ere this, the +shadows she had thrown around her had darkened the atmosphere of her +dwelling, and were now reflected back upon her heart, enshrouding it +in deeper gloom. The want of harmony among her children increased +her mental disturbance, obscured her perceptions, and added to her +state of irritability. She could not speak calmly to them, nor +wisely endeavour to restore the harmony which had been lost. Her +words, therefore, while, by their authoritative force, they subdued +the storm, left the sky black with clouds that poured down another +and fiercer tempest the moment her presence was removed. + +But this state of things could not be permitted. The mother +reappeared, and, after some hurried inquiries into the cause of +disturbance among her children, took for granted the statement of +those who were most forward in excusing themselves and accusing +others, and unwisely resorted to punishment--unwisely, in the first +place, because she decided hastily and from first appearances; and +in the second place, because she was in no state of mind to +administer punishment. The consequence was, that she punished those +least to blame, and thereby did a great wrong. Of this she was made +fully aware after it was too late. Then, indignant at the, false +accusation by which she had been led into the commission of an +unjust act, she visited her wrath with undue severity, and in +unseemly passion, upon the heads of the real offenders. + +By this time the children were in a state of intimidation. It was +plain that their mother was fairly aroused, and each deemed it best +to be as quiet and inoffensive as possible. The reappearance of +harmony being thus restored, Mrs. Abercrombie, whose head and heart +were now both throbbing with pain, retired in a most unhappy state +of mind to her chamber, where she threw herself into a large chair, +feeling unutterably wretched. + +And what was the origin of all this discord and misery? Why came +that cloud, in the beginning, to the brow of Mrs. Abercrombie--that +cloud, whose shadow had already exercised so baleful an influence? +The cause was slight, very slight. But do not, fair reader, blame +Mrs. Abercrombie too severely, nor say this cause was censurably +inadequate. The touch of a feather will hurt an inflamed part. Ah! +does not your own experience in life affirm this. Think of the last +time the cloud was on your brow, and ask yourself as to the adequacy +of the cause. + +"But what was the cause?" you inquire. Well, don't smile: a pair of +gaiters had been sent home for Mrs. Abercrombie, late on the evening +previous, and one of her first acts in the morning was to try them +on. They did not fit! Now, Mrs. Abercrombie intended to go out on +that very morning, and she wished to wear these gaiters. "Enough to +fret her, I should say!" exclaims one fair reader. "A slight cause, +indeed!" says another, tossing her curls; "men are great +philosophers!" + +We crave pardon, gentle ladies all, if, in our estimate of causes, +we have spoken too lightly of this. But we have, at least, stated +the case fairly. Mrs. Abercrombie's brow was clouded because the new +gaiters did not fit her handsome foot--a member, by the way, of +which she was more than a little vain. + +For an hour Mrs. Abercrombie remained alone in her chamber, feeling +very sad; for, in that time, reflection had come, and she was by no +means satisfied with the part she had been playing, nor altogether +unconscious of the fact that from her clouded brow had fallen the +shadows now darkening over her household. As soon as she had gained +sufficient control of herself to act toward her children more wisely +and affectionately, the mother took her place in the nursery, and +with a tenderness of manner that acted like a charm, attracted her +little ones to her side, and inspired them with a new and better +spirit. To them sunshine was restored again; and the few rays that +penetrated to the mother's heart, lighted its dim chambers, and +touched it with a generous warmth. + +But the shadows from Mrs. Abercrombie's clouded brow fell not alone +upon her household. The spirit that pervades the home-circle is +often carried forth by those who go out into the world. It was so in +this case. Mr. Abercrombie's feelings were overcast with shadows +when he entered the store. There was a pressure, in consequence, +upon his bosom, and a state of irritability which he essayed, though +feebly and ineffectually, to overcome. + +"Where is Edward?" he inquired, soon after his arrival. + +Edward was a lad, the son of a poor widow, who had recently been +employed in Mr. Abercrombie's store. + +"He hasn't come yet," was answered. + +"Not come yet?" said Mr. Abercrombie, in a fretful tone. + +"No, sir." + +"This is the third time he has been late within the past week, is it +not?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very well: it shall be the last time." + +At this moment the boy came in. Mr. Abercrombie looked at him +sternly for a moment, and then said-- + +"You won't suit me, sir. I took you on trial, and am satisfied. You +can go home." + +The poor lad's face crimsoned instantly, and he tried to say +something about his mother's being sick, but Mr. Abercrombie waved +his hand impatiently, and told him that he didn't wish to hear any +excuse. + +Scarcely had the boy left the presence of Mr. Abercrombie, ere this +hasty action was repented of. But the merchant's pride of +consistency was strong: he was not the man to acknowledge an error. +His word had passed, and could not be recalled. Deeper were the +shadows that now fell upon his heart--more fretted the state of mind +that supervened. + +Ah! the shadows would have been deeper still, could he have seen +that unhappy boy a little while afterward, as, with his face buried +in the pillow that supported the head of his sick mother, he sobbed +until his whole frame quivered. Had Mr. Abercrombie only asked the +reason why his appearance at the store was so late on this morning, +he would have learned that the delay had been solely occasioned by +needful attendance on his sick and almost helpless mother; and on a +little further ininquiry, humanity would have dictated approval rather +than censure and punishment. But, touching all this painful consequence +of his ill-nature, the merchant knew nothing. How rarely do we +become cognizant of the evil wrought upon others by our hasty and +ill-judged actions! + +The shadow was still on Mr. Abercrombie's feelings, when, half an +hour afterward, a man came to him and said-- + +"It will be impossible for me to lift the whole of that note +to-day." + +"You'll have to do it," was the quiet answer. Mr. Abercrombie +frowned darkly as he thus replied. + +"Don't say that, Mr. Abercrombie. I only want help to the amount of +two hundred dollars." + +"I do say it. You must raise the money somewhere else. I don't like +this way of doing business. When a man gives his note, he should +make it a point of honour to pay it." + +"Oh, very well," said the man. "I'm sorry if I've troubled you. I'll +get the money from a friend. Good morning." + +And he turned off abruptly, and left the store. Mr. Abercrombie felt +rebuked. He had a large balance in the bank, and could have +accommodated him without the smallest inconvenience. In another +state of mind he would have done so cheerfully. + +"O dear!" sighed the unhappy merchant, speaking mentally; "what has +come over me? I'm losing all control of myself. This will never, +never do. I must set a guard upon my lips." + +And he did so. Conscious of his state of irritability, he subdued +his tones of voice, and restrained utterance when tempted to angry +or inconsiderate speech. Not again during the day was he guilty of +such inexcusable conduct as in the instances mentioned; yet the +shadow remained upon his feelings, strive as he would to throw off +the gloomy impression. + +It was late in the day when Mr. Abercrombie turned his steps +homeward. How little was he satisfied with himself! And now, when he +remembered, with painful distinctness, the clouded brow of his wife, +how little promise was there of home-sunlight, to dispel the gloom +of his own feelings! + +As the hand of the merchant rested upon his own door, he almost +dreaded to enter. He shrank from meeting that clouded visage. The +shadows were dark when he left in the morning, and experience told +him that he need scarcely hope to find them dispelled. Happily, +though still in the sky, the clouds were broken, and gleams of +sunshine came breaking through. Ah! if they had only possessed +sufficient power to disperse the shadows that all day long had been +gathering around the heart of Mr. Abercrombie! But that was +impossible. Self-respect had been forfeited; and a consciousness of +having, in his impatient haste, acted unjustly, haunted his +thoughts. And so, the shadows that were not to be dispersed by the +feeble sun-rays from the countenance of his wife, gradually diffused +themselves, until the light that struggled with them grew pale. + +"Did you know," said Mrs. Abercrombie, breaking in upon the +oppressive silence that succeeded, after all had retired for the +night but herself and husband, "that the mother of Edward Wilson is +very poor and in a decline?" + +"I was not aware of it," was the brief response. + +"It is so. Mrs. Archer was here this afternoon, and was telling me +about them. Mrs. Wilson, who, until within a few weeks past, has +been able to earn something, is now so weak that she cannot leave +her bed, and is solely dependent on the earnings of her son. How +much do you pay him?" + +"Only three dollars a week," answered Mr. Abercrombie, shading his +face with his hand. + +"Only three dollars! How can they live on that? Mrs. Archer says +that Edward is one of the best of lads--that he nurses his mother, +and cares for her with unfailing tenderness; indeed, he is her only +attendant. They are too poor to pay for the services of a domestic. +Could you not afford to increase his wages?" + +"I might, perhaps," said Mr. Abercrombie, abstractedly, still +shading his face. + +"I wish you could," was the earnest reply. "It will be a real +charity." + +Mr. Abercrombie made no response; and his wife pursued the subject +no further. But the former lay awake for hours after retiring to +bed, pondering the events of the day which had just closed. + +The sun had gone down amid clouds and shadows; but the morrow dawned +brightly. The brow of Mrs. Abercrombie was undimmed as she met her +family at the breakfast-table on the next morning, and every +countenance reflected its cheerful light. Even Mr. Abercrombie, who +had something on his conscience that troubled him, gave back his +portion of the general good feeling. Lighter far was his step as he +went forth and took his way to his store. His first act on his +arriving there, was, to ease his conscience of the pressure thereon, +by sending for Edward Wilson, and restoring him to his place under +new and better auspices. + +And thus the shadows passed; yet, not wholly were they expelled. The +remembrance of pain abides long after the smarting wound has healed, +and the heart which has once been enveloped in shadows, never loses +entirely its sense of gloomy oppression. How guarded all should be +lest clouds gather upon the brow, for we know not on whose hearts +may fall their shadows. + + + + + + +GENTLE HAND. + + + + + +I DID not hear the maiden's name; but in my thought I have ever +since called her "Gentle Hand." What a magic lay in her touch! It +was wonderful. + +When and where, it matters not now to relate--but once upon a time +as I was passing through a thinly peopled district of country, night +came down upon me, almost unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope +to gain the village toward which my steps were directed, until a +late hour; and I therefore preferred seeking shelter and a night's +lodging at the first humble dwelling that presented itself. + +Dusky twilight was giving place to deeper shadows, when I found +myself in the vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncurtained +windows of which the light shone with a pleasant promise of good +cheer and comfort. The house stood within an enclosure, and a short +distance from the road along which I was moving with wearied feet. +Turning aside, and passing through an ill-hung gate, I approached +the dwelling. Slowly the gate swung on its wooden hinges, and the +rattle of its latch, in closing, did not disturb the air until I had +nearly reached the little porch in front of the house, in which a +slender girl, who had noticed my entrance, stood awaiting my +arrival. + +A deep, quick bark answered, almost like an echo, the sound of the +shutting gate, and, sudden as an apparition, the form of an immense +dog loomed in the doorway. I was now near enough to see the savage +aspect of the animal, and the gathering motion of his body, as he +prepared to bound forward upon me. His wolfish growl was really +fearful. At the instant when he was about to spring, a light hand +was laid upon his shaggy neck, and a low word spoken. + +"Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you," said a voice, that to me +sounded very sweet and musical. + +I now came forward, but in some doubt as to the young girl's power +over the beast, on whose rough neck her almost childish hand still +lay. The dog did not seem by any means reconciled to my approach, +and growled wickedly his dissatisfaction. + +"Go in, Tiger," said the girl, not in a voice of authority yet in +her gentle tones was the consciousness that she would be obeyed; +and, as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the animal with her hand, +and he turned away, and disappeared within the dwelling. + +"Who's that?" A rough voice asked the question; and now a +heavy-looking man took the dog's place in the door. + +"Who are you? What's wanted?" There was something very harsh and +forbidding in the way the man spoke. The girl now laid her hand upon +his arm, and leaned, with a gentle pressure, against him. + +"How far is it to G----?" I asked, not deeming it best to say, in +the beginning, that I sought a resting-place for the night. + +"To G----!" growled the man, but not so harshly as at first. "It's +good six miles from here." + +"A long distance; and I'm a stranger, and on foot," said I. "If you +can make room for me until morning, I will be very thankful." + +I saw the girl's hand move quickly up his arm, until it rested on +his shoulder, and now she leaned to him still closer. + +"Come in. We'll try what can be done for you." + +There was a change in the man's voice that made me wonder. + +I entered a large room, in which blazed a brisk fire. Before the +fire sat two stout lads, who turned upon me their heavy eyes, with +no very welcome greeting. A middle-aged woman was standing at a +table, and two children were amusing themselves with a kitten on the +floor. + +"A stranger, mother," said the man who had given me so rude a +greeting at the door; "and he wants us to let him stay all night." + +The woman looked at me doubtingly for a few moments, and then +replied coldly-- + +"We don't keep a public-house." + +"I'm aware of that, ma'am," said I; "but night has overtaken me, and +it's a long way yet to G----." + +"Too far for a tired man to go on foot," said the master of the +house, kindly, "so it's no use talking about it, mother; we must +give him a bed." + +So unobtrusively, that I scarcely noticed the movement, the girl had +drawn to the woman's side. What she said to her, I did not hear, for +the brief words were uttered in a low voice; but I noticed, as she +spoke, one small, fair hand rested on the woman's hand. Was there +magic in that gentle touch? The woman's repulsive aspect changed +into one of kindly welcome, and she said: + +"Yes, it's a long way to G----. I guess we can find a place for him. +Have you had any supper?" + +I answered in the negative. + +The woman, without further remark, drew a pine table from the wall, +placed upon it some cold meat, fresh bread and butter, and a pitcher +of new milk. While these preparations were going on, I had more +leisure for minute observation. There was a singular contrast +between the young girl I have mentioned and the other inmates of the +room; and yet, I could trace a strong likeness between the maiden +and the woman, whom I supposed to be her mother--browned and hard as +were the features of the latter. + +Soon after I had commenced eating my supper, the two children who +were playing on the floor, began quarrelling with each other. + +"John! go off to bed!" said the father, in a loud, peremptory voice, +speaking to one of the children. + +But John, though he could not help hearing, did not choose to obey. + +"Do you hear me, sir? Off with you!" repeated the angry father. + +"I don't want to go," whined the child. + +"Go, I tell you, this minute!" + +Still, there was not the slightest movement to obey; and the little +fellow looked the very image of rebellion. At this crisis in the +affair, when a storm seemed inevitable, the sister, as I supposed +her to be, glided across the room, and stooping down, took the +child's hands in hers. Not a word was said; but the young rebel was +instantly subdued. Rising, he passed out by her side, and I saw no +more of him during the evening. + +Soon after I had finished my supper, a neighbour came in, and it was +not long before he and the man of the house were involved in a warm +political discussion, in which were many more assertions than +reasons. My host was not a very clear-headed man; while his +antagonist was wordy and specious. The former, as might be supposed, +very naturally became excited, and, now and then, indulged himself +in rather strong expressions toward his neighbour, who, in turn, +dealt back wordy blows that were quite as heavy as he had received, +and a good deal more irritating. + +And now I marked again the power of that maiden's gentle hand. I did +not notice her movement to her father's side. She was there when I +first observed her, with one hand laid upon his temple, and lightly +smoothing the hair with a caressing motion. Gradually the high tone +of then disputant subsided, and his words had in them less of +personal rancour. Still, the discussion went on; and I noticed that +the maiden's hand, which rested on the temple when unimpassioned +words were spoken, resumed its caressing motion the instant there +was the smallest perceptible tone of anger in the father's voice. It +was a beautiful sight; and I could but look on and wonder at the +power of that touch, so light and unobtrusive, yet possessing a +spell over the hearts of all around her. As she stood there, she +looked like an angel of peace, sent to still the turbulent waters of +human passion. Sadly out of place, I could not but think her, amid +the rough and rude; and yet, who more than they need the softening +and humanizing influences of one like the Gentle Hand. + +Many times more, during that evening, did I observe the magic power +of her hand and voice--the one gentle yet potent as the other. + +On the next morning, breakfast being over, I was preparing to take +my departure, when my host informed me that if I would wait for half +an hour he would give me a ride in his wagon to G----, as business +required him to go there. I was very well pleased to accept of the +invitation. In due time, the farmer's wagon was driven into the road +before the house, and I was invited to get in. I noticed the horse +as a rough-looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of stubborn +endurance. As the farmer took his seat by my side, the family came +to the door to see us off. + +"Dick!" said the farmer, in a peremptory voice, giving the rein a +quick jerk as he spoke. + +But Dick moved not a step. + +"Dick! you vagabond! get up." And the farmer's whip cracked sharply +by the pony's ear. + +It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmly +disobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him, with an +impatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and sharp +the strokes were next dealt to the number of a half-dozen. The man +might as well have beaten his wagon, for all his end was gained. + +A stout lad now came out into the road, and catching Dick by the +bridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary +language on such occasions, but Dick met this new ally with +increased stubbornness, planting his forefeet more firmly, and at a +sharper angle with the ground. The impatient boy now struck the pony +on the side of his head with his clenched hand, and jerked cruelly +at his bridle. It availed nothing, however; Dick was not to be +wrought upon by any such arguments. + +"Don't do so, John!" I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voice +reached my ear. She was passing through the gate into the road, and, +in the next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn him away +from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of +his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought +beyond her gratification. + +And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a +single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles +relaxed--how quickly the stubborn air vanished. + +"Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or +softly patted it with a child-like hand. + +"Now, go along, you provoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding, +yet affectionate voice, as she drew upon the bridle. The pony turned +toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or +two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful +trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever +entered his stubborn brain. + +"What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking to my +companion, as we rode away. + +He looked at me for a moment as if my remark had occasioned +surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said, +briefly-- + +"She's good! Everybody and every thing loves her." + +Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of her +soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts! +The father's explanation was, doubtless, the true one. Yet have I +ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay +in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something of the same +power, showing itself in the loving and the good, but never to the +extent as instanced in her, whom, for a better name, I must still +call "Gentle Hand." + +A gentle touch, a soft word. Ah! how few of us, when the will is +strong with its purpose, can believe in the power of agencies so +apparently insignificant! And yet all great influences effect their +ends silently, unobtrusively, and with a force that seems at first +glance to be altogether inadequate. Is there not a lesson for us all +in this? + + + + + + +WILL IT PAY? + + + + + +"I WANT an hour of your time this morning," said Mr. Smith, as he +entered the counting-room of his neighbour, Mr. Jones. + +"Will it pay?" inquired Mr. Jones, smiling. + +"Not much profit in money," was answered. + +Mr. Jones shrugged his shoulders, and arched his eye-brows. + +"Time is money," said he. + +"But money isn't the all-in-all of life. There's something else in +the world besides dollars." + +"Oh yes; and the man that has the dollars can command as much of +this 'something else' that you speak of as he pleases." + +"I'm not so sure of that," replied Mr. Smith. "I can tell you +something that money will not procure." + +"Say on." + +"A contented mind." + +"I'll take that risk at a very low percentage, so far as I am +concerned," answered Mr. Jones. + +"But, as to this hour of my time that you ask? What is the object?" + +"You remember Lloyd who used to do business on the wharf?" + +"Yes; what of him? I thought he died in New Orleans a year ago." + +"So he did." + +"Not worth a dollar!" + +"Not worth many dollars, I believe. He was never a very shrewd man, +so far as business was concerned, though honourable and +kind-hearted. He did not prosper after leaving our city." + +"Honourable and kind-hearted!" returned Mr. Jones, with a slight air +of contempt. "Such men are as plenty as blackberries. I can point +them out to you by the dozen in every square; but it does not pay to +be on too intimate terms with them." + +"Why?" + +"You are very apt to suffer through their amiable weaknesses." + +"Is this your experience?" inquired Mr. Smith. + +"My experience is not very extensive in that line, I flatter +myself," said Mr. Jones; "but I know of some who have suffered." + +"I was speaking of Mr. Lloyd." + +"Yes--what of him?" + +"I learned this morning that his widow arrived in our city +yesterday, and that she needs friendly aid and counsel. It seems to +me that those who knew and esteemed her husband ought not to regard +her with indifference. I propose to call upon her and inquire as to +her needs and purposes, and I want you to accompany me." + +"Can't do it," answered Mr. Jones, very promptly. + +"Why not?" + +"It won't pay," returned Mr. Jones. + +"I don't expect it to pay in a business sense," said Mr. Smith; +"but, surely, humanity has some claim to consideration." + +"Humanity! humph. Humanity don't pay, Mr. Smith; that's my +experience. I've helped two or three in my time, and what return do +you suppose I received?" + +"The pleasing consciousness of having done good to your neighbour." + +"Not a bit of it. I lost my money for my pains, and made enemies +into the bargain. When I demanded my own, I received only +insult--that's my experience, Mr. Smith, and the experience of +ninety-nine in a hundred who listen to the so-called claims of +humanity. As I said before--it doesn't pay." + +"Then you will not go with me to see Mrs. Lloyd?" + +"No, sir. You don't catch me hunting up the widows of broken +merchants. Let them go to their own friends. I'd soon have plenty of +rather unprofitable business on my hands, if I were to engage in +affairs of this kind." + +"I hardly think it will pay to talk with you on this subject any +longer," said Mr. Smith. + +"I'm just of your opinion," was the laughing answer, "unless I can +induce you to let Mrs. Lloyd remain in ignorance of your benevolent +intentions, and mind your own concerns, like a sensible man." + +"Good morning," said Mr. Smith. + +"Good morning," replied Jones; "in a week or two I shall expect to +hear your report on this widow-hunting expedition." + +"It will pay, I reckon," said Mr. Smith, as he passed from the +store. + +"Pay," muttered Jones, a sneer now curling his lip, "_he'll_ have to +pay, and roundly, too, unless more fortunate than he deserves to +be." + +A little while after the departure of Mr. Smith, a sallow, +sharp-featured man, with a restless eye, entered the store of Mr. +Jones. + +"Ah, Perkins!" said the latter, familiarly, "any thing afloat +to-day?" + +"Well, yes, there is; I know of one operation that is worth looking +at." + +"Will it pay, friend Perkins? That's the touchstone with me. Show me +any thing that will pay, and I'm your man for a trade." + +"I can get you fifty shares of Riverland Railroad stock, at +eighty-two!" + +"Can you?" The face of Jones brightened. + +"I can." + +"All right. I'll take it." + +"Give me your note at sixty days, and I'll have the shares +transferred at once." + +In five minutes from the time Perkins entered the store of Mr. +Jones, he left with the merchant's note for over four thousand +dollars in his hand. The shares in the Riverland Railroad had been +steadily advancing for some months, and Mr. Jones entertained not +the shadow of a doubt that in a very short period they would be up +to par. He had already purchased freely, and at prices beyond +eighty-two dollars. The speculation he regarded as entirely safe, +and one that would "pay" handsomely. + +"I think that will pay a good deal better than hunting up the poor +widows of insolvent merchants," said Mr. Jones to himself, as he +walked the length of his store once or twice, rubbing his hands +every now and then with irrepressible glee. "If I'd been led off by +Smith on that fool's errand, just see what I would have lost. +Operations like that don't go a begging long. But this gentleman +knows in what quarter his interest lies." + +Not long after the departure of Perkins, a small wholesale dealer, +named Armor, came into the store of Mr. Jones. + +"I have several lots that I am anxious to close out this morning," +said he. "Can I do any thing here?" + +"What have you?" asked Mr. Jones. + +"Ten boxes of tobacco, fifty prime hams, ten boxes Havana cigars, +some rice, &c." + +Now, these were the very articles Mr. Jones wanted, and which he +would have to purchase in a day or two. But he affected indifference +as he inquired the price. The current market rates were mentioned. + +"No temptation," said Mr. Jones, coldly. + +"They are prime articles, all; none better to be had," said the +dealer. + +"If I was in immediate want of them, I could give you an order; +but"---- + +"Will you make me an offer?" inquired Armor, somewhat earnestly. "I +have a good deal of money to raise to-day, and for cash will sell at +a bargain." + +Mr. Jones mused for some time. He was not certain whether, in making +or requiring an offer, he would get the best bargain out of his +needy customer. At last he said-- + +"Put down your prices to the very lowest figure, and I can tell you +at a word whether I will close out these lots for you. As I said +before, I have a good stock of each on hand." + +For what a small gain will some men sacrifice truth and honour! + +The dealer had notes in bank that must be lifted, and he saw no way +of obtaining all the funds he needed, except through forced sales, +at a depression on the market prices. So, to make certain of an +operation, he named, accordingly, low rates--considerably below +cost. + +Mr. Jones, who was very cunning, and very shrewd, accepted the +prices on two or three articles, but demurred to the rest, and these +the most important of the whole. Finally, an operation was made, in +which he was a gainer, in the purchase of goods for which he had +almost immediate sale, of over two hundred dollars, while the needy +merchant was a loser by just that sum. + +"That paid!" was the self-congratulatory ejaculation of Mr. Jones, +"and handsomely, too. I should like to do it over again, about a +dozen times before night. Rather better than widow speculations--ha! +ha!" + +We shall see. On leaving the store of his neighbour, Mr. Smith went +to the hotel at which he understood Mrs. Lloyd had taken lodgings, +and made inquiry for her. A lady in deep mourning, accompanied by +two daughters, one a lovely girl, not over twenty years of age, and +the other about twelve, soon entered the parlour. + +"Mrs. Lloyd, I believe," said Mr. Smith. + +The lady bowed. As soon as all parties were seated, the gentleman +said-- + +"My name is Smith. During your former residence in this city, I was +well acquainted with your husband. Permit me to offer my heartfelt +sympathy in the painful bereavement you have suffered." + +There was a slight pause, and then Mr. Smith resumed-- + +"Hearing of your return to this city, I have called to ask if there +are any good offices that I can render you. If you have any plans +for the future--if you want advice--if a friend in need will be of +service--do not hesitate to speak freely, My high regard for your +husband's memory will not suffer me to be indifferent to the welfare +of his widow and children." + +Mr. Smith had not purposed making, when he called, so general a +tender of service. But there was something in the lady's fine +countenance which told him that she had both independence and +decision of character, and that he need not fear an abuse of his +generous kindness. + +Touched by such an unexpected declaration, it was some moments +before she could reply. She then said-- + +"I thank you, in the name of my departed husband, for this +unlooked-for and generous offer. Though back in the city, which was +formerly my home, I find myself comparatively a stranger. Yesterday +I made inquiry for Mr. Edward Hunter, an old and fast friend of Mr. +Lloyd's, and to my pain and regret learned that he was deceased." + +"Yes, madam; he died about two months ago." + +"With him I purposed consulting as to my future course of action; +but his death has left me without a single friend in the city to +whose judgment I can confide my plans and purposes." + +"Mr. Hunter was one of nature's noblemen," said Mr. Smith, warmly; +"and you are not the only one who has cause to mourn his loss. But +there are others in our city who are not insensible to the claims of +humanity--others who, like him, sometimes let their thoughts range +beyond the narrow sphere of self." + +"My object in returning to this place," resumed Mrs. Lloyd, "was to +get started in some safe and moderately profitable business. A short +time before my husband's removal, by the death of a distant relative +I fell heir to a small piece of landed property, which I recently +sold in New Orleans. By the advice of my agent there, I have +invested the money in fifty shares of Riverland Railroad stock, +which he said I could sell here at a good advance. These shares are +now in the hands of a broker, named Perkins, who is authorized to +sell them at eighty-two dollars a share." + +"He'll find no difficulty in doing that, ma'am. I would have taken +them at eighty-three." + +At this stage of the conversation, Perkins himself entered the +parlour. + +"Ah, Mr. Smith!" said he, "I called at your place of business this +morning, but was not so fortunate as to find you in. I had fifty +shares of Riverland stock, the property of Mrs. Lloyd here, which I +presumed you would like to buy." + +"You were not out of the way in your presumption. Have you made the +sale?" + +"Oh yes. Not finding you in, I saw Mr. Jones, who took the shares at +a word." + +"At what price?" + +"Eighty-two. I have his note at sixty days for the amount, which you +know is perfectly good." + +"Mrs. Lloyd need not have the slightest hesitation in accepting it; +and if she wishes the money, I can get it cashed for her." Then +rising, he added, "I will leave you now, Mrs. Lloyd, as business +requires both your attention and mine. To-morrow I will do myself +the pleasure to call on you again." + +As Mr. Smith bowed himself out, he noticed, more particularly, the +beautiful smile of the elder daughter, whose eyes, humid from +grateful emotion, were fixed on his countenance with an expression +that haunted him for hours afterward. + +"I hardly think that paid," was the remark of Mr. Jones, on meeting +Mr. Smith some hours afterward. + +"What?" asked the latter. + +"Your visit to Lloyd's widow." + +"Why do you say so?" + +"You lost a bargain which came into my hands, and on which I could +get an advance of a hundred dollars to-morrow." + +"Ah, what was it?" + +"Perkins had fifty shares of Riverland stock, which he was +authorized to sell at eighty-two. He called on you first; but +instead of being on hand, in business hours, you were off on a +charity expedition. So the ripe cherry dropped into my open mouth. I +told you it wouldn't pay, neighbour Smith." + +"And yet it has paid, notwithstanding your prophecy," said Smith. + +"It has!" + +"Yes." + +"In what way?" + +But Mr. Smith was not disposed to cast his pearls before swine, and +so evaded the direct question. He knew that his mercenary neighbour +would trample under foot, with sneering contempt, any expression of +the pure satisfaction he derived from what he had done--would +breathe upon and obscure the picture of a grateful mother and her +daughter, if he attempted to elevate it before his eyes. It had +paid, but beyond this he did not seek to enlighten his +fellow-merchant. + +Three days later, Mr. Jones is at his desk, buried in calculations +of profit and loss, and so much absorbed is he, that he has not +noticed the entrance of Perkins the broker, through whom he obtained +the stock from Mrs. Lloyd. + +"How much of the Riverland Railroad stock have you?" inquired the +broker, and in a voice that sent a sudden fear to the heart of the +merchant. + +"A hundred shares. Why do you ask?" was the quick response. + +"I'm sorry for you, then. The interest due this day is not +forthcoming." + +"What!" Mr. Jones starts from his desk, his lips pale and quivering. + +"There's something wrong in the affairs of the company, it is +whispered. At any rate, the interest won't be paid, and the stock +has tumbled down to thirty-five dollars. If you'll take my advice +you'll sell. The first loss is usually the best in these cases--that +is my experience." + +It is very plain that one operation hasn't paid, for all its golden +promise--an operation that would hardly have been effected by Mr. +Jones, had he accompanied Mr. Smith on the proposed visit to Mrs. +Lloyd. The fifty shares of stock, which came, as he thought, so +luckily into his hand, would, in all probability, have become the +property of another. + +And not a week glided by ere Mr. Jones became aware of the fact that +another operation had failed to pay. A cargo of coffee and sugar +arrived one morning; the vessel containing it had been looked for +daily, and Mr. Jones fully expected to receive the consignment; he +was not aware of the arrival until he met the captain in the street. + +"Captain Jackson! How are you? This is really an unexpected +pleasure!" exclaimed the merchant, as he grasped the hand of the +individual he addressed, and shook it warmly. + +Captain Jackson did not seem equally gratified at meeting the +merchant. He took his hand coldly, and scarcely smiled in return. + +"When did you arrive?" asked Mr. Jones. + +"This morning." + +"Indeed! I was not aware of it. For over a week I have been +expecting you." + +The captain merely bowed. + +"Will you be around to my store this afternoon?" asked Mr. Jones. + +"I presume not." + +There was now, on the part of Mr. Jones, an embarrassed pause. Then +he said-- + +"Shall I have the sale of your cargo?" + +"No, sir," was promptly and firmly answered. + +"I have made the consignment to Armor." + +"To Armor!" exclaimed Mr. Jones, in ill-concealed surprise. + +"He's a perfectly fair man, is he not?" said the captain. + +"Oh yes. Perfectly fair. He'll do you justice, without doubt. Still +I must own to being a little disappointed, you were satisfied with +the way your business was done last time." + +"Not altogether, Mr. Jones," said Captain Jackson. "You were a +little too sharp for, me--rather too eager, in securing your own +advantage, to look narrowly enough to mine. Such was my impression, +and it has, been confirmed since my arrival this morning." + +"That's a grave charge, Captain Jackson," said Mt. Jones; "You must +explain yourself." + +"I'm a plain spoken, and a straightforward sort of a man, sir." The +captain drew himself up, and looked particularly dignified. "The +truth is, as I have said, I thought you were rather too sharp for me +the last time. But I determined to try you once more, and to watch +you as closely as a cat watches a mouse. I was on my way to your +store, when I met an old friend, in business here, and, put to him +the direct question as to what he thought of your fairness in trade. +'He's sharp,' was the answer. 'He will not take an undue advantage?' +said I. 'Your idea as to what constitutes an undue advantage would +hardly agree with that of Mr. Jones,' replied my friend. And then he +related the circumstance of your finding Armor in a tight place last +week, and getting from him a lot of goods for two hundred dollars +less than they were worth. I went to Armor, and, on his confirming +the statement, at once placed my cargo in his hands. The commissions +will repair his loss, and give him a few hundred dollars over. I'm +afraid of men who are too sharp in dealing. Are you satisfied with +my explanation?" + +"Good morning, sir," said Mr. Jones. + +"Good morning," returned, Captain Jackson. And bowing formally, the +two men separated. + +That didn't pay," muttered Jones between his teeth, as he moved on +with his eyes cast to the ground, even in his chagrin and +mortification using his favourite word-- + +"No, it, didn't pay," And, in truth, no operations of this kind do +really pay. They may seem to secure advantage, but always result in +loss--if not in lose of money, in loss of that which should be +dearer to a man than all the wealth of the Indies--his self-respect +and virtuous integrity of character. + +On the evening of that day, a pleasant little company was assembled +at the house of Mr. Smith, made up of the merchant's own family and +three guests--Mrs. Lloyd and her daughters. Through the advice of +Mr. Smith, and by timely action on his part, a house of moderate +capacity had been secured, at a great bargain, for the sum of three +thousand dollars, to which it was proposed to remove, as soon as +furniture, on the way from New Orleans, should arrive. The first +story of this house was already fitted up as a store; and, as the +object of Mrs. Lloyd was to get into business in a small way, the +purchase of the property was made, in order as well to obtain a good +location as to make a safe investment. With the thousand dollars +that remained, it was proposed to lay in a small stock of fancy +dry-goods. + +In the few interviews held with Mrs. Lloyd by the merchant, he was +struck with the beautiful harmony of her character, and especially +with her womanly dignity. As for the eldest daughter, something +about her had charmed him from the very beginning. And now when, for +the first time, this interesting family were his guests for a social +evening--when he saw their characters in a new aspect--and when he +felt, through the quick sympathy of a generous nature, how grateful +and happy they were--he experienced a degree of satisfaction such as +never pervaded the breast of any man whose love of mere gain was the +measure of his good-will toward others. + +How different was the social sphere in the house of Mr. Jones on +that evening! The brow of the husband and father was clouded, and +his lips sealed in silence; or if words were spoken, they were in +moody tones, or uttered in fretfulness and ill-nature. The wife and +children caught from him the same repulsive spirit, and, in their +intercourse one with the other, found little sympathy or affection. +There was a chilling shadow on the household of the merchant; it +fell from the monster form of his expanding selfishness, that was +uplifted between the sunlight of genuine humanity and the neighbour +he would not regard. Alas! on how many thousands and thousands of +households in our own land rests the gigantic shadow of this +monster! + +"Will it pay?" is the eager question we hear on all sides, as we +mingle in the business world. + +"_Has_ it paid?" Ah, that is the after-question! Reader, is the +monster's shadow in your household? If so, it has _not_ paid. + + + + + + +THE LAY PREACHER. + + + + + +WHETHER the Rev. Andrew Adkin had or had not a call to preach, is +more than we can say. Enough, that he considered it his duty to +"hold forth" occasionally on the Sabbath; and when "Brother Adkin" +saw, in any possible line of action, his duty, he never took counsel +of Jonah. + +Brother Adkin kept a store in the town of Mayberry, and being a man +of some force of character, and not, by any means, indifferent to +this world's goods, devoted himself to business during the six days +of the week with commendable assiduity. It is not the easiest thing +in the world to banish, on the Sabbath, all concern in regard to +business. Most persons engaged in trade, no matter how religiously +inclined, have experienced this difficulty. Brother Adkin's case +did, not prove an exception; and so intrusive, often, were these +worldly thoughts and cares, that they desecrated, at times, the +pulpit, making the good man's voice falter and his hands tremble, as +he endeavoured, "in his feeble way," to break the bread of life. + +He had his own trials and temptations--his own stern "exercises of +mind," going to the extent, not unfrequently, of startling doubts as +to the reality of his call to preach. + +"I don't see much fruit of my labour," he would sometimes say to +himself, "and I often think I do more harm than good." + +Such thoughts, however, were usually disposed of, as suggestions of +the "adversary." + +A week in the life of Brother Adkin will show the peculiar +influences that acted upon him, and how far his secular pursuits +interfered with and marred his usefulness as a preacher. + +Monday morning had come round again. He had preached twice on the +Sabbath--once to a strange congregation, and with apparent good +effect, and once to a congregation in Mayberry. In the latter case, +he was favoured with little freedom of utterance. The beginning of +the secular week brought back to the mind of Mr. Adkin the old +current of thought, and the old earnest desire to get gain in +business. On the Sabbath he had taught the people that love was the +fulfilment of the law,--now, he had regard only to his own +interests; and, although he did not adopt the broad, unscrupulous +maxim, that all is fair in trade, yet, in every act of buying and +selling, the thought uppermost in his mind was, the amount of gain +to be received in the transaction. + +"What are you paying for corn to-day?" asked a man, a stranger to +Mr. Adkin. + +"Forty-eight cents," was answered. + +"Is this the highest market rate?" said the man. + +"I bought fifty bushels at that price on Saturday," replied Mr. +Adkin. + +Now, since Saturday, the price of corn had advanced four cents, and +Mr. Adkin knew it. But he thought he would just try his new customer +with the old price, and if he chose to sell at that, why there would +be so much gained. + +"I have forty bushels," said the man. + +"Very well, I'll take it at forty-eight cents. Where is it?" + +"My wagon is at the tavern." + +"You may bring it over at once. My man is now at leisure to attend +to the delivery." + +The corn was delivered and paid for, and both parties, for the time +being, were well satisfied with the transaction. + +The day had nearly run to a close, and Mr. Adkin was in the act of +estimating his gains, when the man from whom he had purchased the +corn entered his store. + +"Look here, my friend," said the latter speaking rather sharply, +"you paid me too little for that corn." + +"How so?" returned Mr. Adkin, in well-affected surprise. + +"You was to pay the highest market price," said the man. + +"I offered you forty-eight cents." + +"And I asked you if that was the highest rate, didn't I?" + +"I told you that I had bought fifty bushels at that price on +Saturday." + +"Oh, ho! Now I comprehend you," said the man, with a sarcastic curl +of his lip. "I was recommended to you as a preacher, and one who +would deal fairly with me. I asked you a plain question, and you +purposely misled me in your answer, to the end that you might get my +corn at less than the market value. You have cheated me out of +nearly two dollars. Much good may it do you!" + +And saying this, he turned on his heel and left the store. Mr. Adkin +was, of course, no little disturbed. The charge of dishonesty in +dealing at first aroused his indignation; but as he grew calmer and +thought over the affair, his conscience troubled him. As a Christian +man, and especially as a Christian minister, he could not reconcile +his dealing with strict gospel requirements. The more he reflected, +the more closely he brought his conduct to the standard of Christian +principles, the less was he satisfied with himself. The final result +was, a determination to go to the man on the next morning, and pay +him the balance due him on the market price of his corn. But, when +he sought for him, he was not to be found, having gone back to his +home, a few miles from the village. + +On the next day he sent for a bill, which had been standing a good +while. His clerk brought back some impertinent and altogether +unsatisfactory answer. + +"Did Mr. Giles say that?" he asked, his eyes flashing indignantly. + +"His exact words," replied the clerk. + +"Very well. I'll not send to him again," said Mr. Adkin. "He thinks, +because I am a preacher, that he can treat me as he pleases, but +I'll let him know that being a preacher doesn't make me any the less +a man, nor any the less inclined to protect myself." + +So Mr. Giles was served with a summons, to answer for debt, before +the week was out. + +On the day following, a certain lady, a member of the congregation +in Mayberry to which he preached, whenever, from sickness or other +causes, the regular minister was absent, came into Mr. Adkin's +store. Her manner was considerably excited. + +"There's a mistake in your bill, Mr. Adkin," said she, in rather a +sharp tone of voice. + +"If so, Mrs. Smith, the remedy is a very simple one," replied Mr. +Adkin. Her manner had disturbed him, yet he concealed the +disturbance under a forced suavity of manner. "Where does the +mistake lie?" + +"Why, see here. You've got me charged with six yards of muslin and +five pounds of butter that I never got!" + +"Are you certain of this, Mrs. Smith?" + +"Certain! Be sure I'm certain! D'ye think I'd say I hadn't the +things, if I had them? I'm not quite so bad as that, Mr. Adkin!" + +"Don't get excited about the matter, Mrs. Smith. We are all liable +to mistakes. There's an error here, either on your side or mine, if +it is my error, I will promptly correct it." + +"Of course it's your error. I never had either the muslin or the +butter," said Mrs. Smith, positively. + +Mr. Adkin turned to his ledger, where Mrs. Smith's account was +posted. + +"The muslin is charged on the 10th of June." + +Mrs. Smith looked at the bill and answered affirmatively. + +"You bought a pound of yarn and a straw hat on the same day." + +"Yes; I remember them. But I didn't get the muslin." + +"Think again, Mrs. Smith. Don't you remember the beautiful piece of +Merrimac that I showed you, and how cheap you thought it?" + +"I never had six yards of muslin, Mr. Adkin." + +"But, Mrs. Smith, I have distinct recollection of measuring it off, +and the charge is here in my own handwriting." + +"I never had it, Mr. Adkin!" said the lady much excited. + +"You certainly had, Mrs. Smith." + +"I'll never pay for it!" + +"Don't say that, Mrs. Smith. You certainly wouldn't want my goods +without paying for them!" + +"I never had the muslin, I tell you!" + +Argument in the case Mr. Adkin found to be useless. The sale of the +five pounds of butter was as distinctly remembered by him; and as he +was not the man to yield a right when he had no doubt as to its +existence, he would not erase the articles from Mrs Smith bill, +which was paid under protest. + +"It's the last cent you'll ever get of my money!" said Mrs. Smith, +as she handed over, the amount of the bill. "I never had those +articles; and I shall always say that I was wronged out of so much +money." + +"I'm sure, madam, I don't want your custom, if I'm expected to let +you have my goods for nothing," retorted Mr. Adkin, the natural man +in him growing strong under an allegation that implied dishonesty. + +So the two parted, neither feeling good-will toward the other, and +neither being in a very composed state of mind. + +Each day in that week brought something to disturb the mind of Mr. +Adkin; and each day brought him into unpleasant business contact +with someone in the town of Mayberry. To avoid, these things was +almost impossible, particularly for a man of Mr. Adkin's +temperament. + +Saturday night came, always a busy night for the storekeeper. It was +ten o'clock, and customers were still coming in, when a lad handed +Mr. Adkin a note, it was from the regularly stationed minister of +the church in Mayberry to which Mr. Adkin belonged. The note stated, +briefly, that the writer was so much indisposed, that he would not +be able to preach on the next day, and conveyed the request that +"Brother Adkin" would "fill the pulpit for him in the morning." + +Brother Adkin almost groaned in spirit at this unwelcome and +not-to-be-denied invitation to perform ministerial duties on the +Sabbath. Of theological subjects, scarcely a thought had entered his +mind since Monday morning; and, certainly, the states through which +he had passed were little calculated to elevate his affections, or +make clear his spiritual intuitions. + +It was twelve o'clock before Mr. Adkin was able to retire on that +night. As he rested his weary and now aching head on his pillow, he +endeavoured to turn his mind from worldly things, and fix it upon +things heavenly and eternal. But, the current of thought and +affection had too long been flowing in another channel. The very +effort to check its onward course, caused disturbance and obscurity. +There was a brief but fruitless struggle, when overtaxed nature +vindicated her claims, and as the lay preacher found relief from +perplexing thoughts and a troubled conscience, in refreshing +slumber. + +In the half-dreaming, half-waking state that comes with the dawning +of day, Mr. Adkin's thoughts flowed on again in the old channel, and +when full consciousness came, he found himself busy with questions +of profit and loss. Self-accusation and humiliation followed. He +"wrote bitter things against himself," for this involuntary +desecration of the Sabbath. + +Rising early, he took his Bible, and after turning over book after +book and scanning chapter after chapter, finally chose a verse as +the text from which he would preach. Hurriedly and imperfectly our +lay preacher conned his subject. Clearness of discrimination, grasp +of thought, orderly arrangement, were out of the question. That +would have been too much for a master mind, under similar +circumstances. + +Eleven o'clock came around quickly, and painfully conscious of an +obscure and confused state of mind, Mr. Adkin entered the house of +God and ascended the pulpit. A little while he sat, endeavouring to +collect his thoughts; then he arose and commenced giving out a hymn. +Lifting his eyes from the book, as he finished reading the first +verse, he saw, directly in front of him, the man from whom he had +purchased the forty bushels of corn. He was looking at him fixedly, +and there was on his countenance an expression of surprise and +contempt, that, bringing back, as the man's presence did, a vivid +recollection of the events of Monday, almost deprived Mr. Adkin, for +a moment or two, of utterance. He faltered, caught his breath, and +went on again with the reading. On raising his eyes at the +conclusion of the second verse, Mr. Adkin saw his corn customer +slowly moving down the aisle toward the door of entrance. How keenly +he felt the rebuke! How sadly conscious was he of being out of place +in the pulpit! + +After the singing of the hymn, the preacher made a prayer; but it +was cold and disjointed. He had no freedom of utterance. A chapter +was read, an anthem sung, and then Mr. Adkin arose in the pulpit, +took his text, and, ere giving utterance to the first words of his +discourse, let his eyes wander over the congregation. A little to +the right sat Mr. Giles, wearing a very sober aspect of countenance, +and looking at him with knit brows and compressed lips. The sight +caused the words "brother going to law with brother" to pass almost +electrically through his mind. As his glance rebounded from Mr. +Giles quickly, it next rested upon Mrs. Smith, who, with perked head +and a most malicious curling of the lip, said, as plain as manner +could say it--"You're a nice man for a preacher, a'n't you?" + +How Mr. Adkin beat about the bushes and wrought in obscurity, +darkening counsel by words without knowledge, during the half hour +that followed the enunciation of his text, need not here be told. +None was more fully conscious than himself of his utter failure to +give spiritual instruction to the waiting congregation. The climax, +so far as he was concerned, was yet to come. As he descended the +pulpit stairs, at the close of the service, some one slipped a piece +of paper into his hand. Glancing at the pencilled writing thereon, +he read the rebuking words: + +"The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed." + +How could he feed them? Are holy and divine things of such easy +comprehension, that a man may devote the whole energies of his mind +to worldly business during six days, and then become a lucid +expounder of heavenly, mysteries on the Sabbath? The influx of +intelligence into the mind of a speaker, is in exact ratio with the +knowledge he has acquired. He may have, without this previous +preparation, "free utterance," as it is called; but this utterance +brings no rational convictions; it sways only by the power of +contagious enthusiasm. Moreover, as in the case of Mr. Adkin, every +lay preacher takes with him into the pulpit a taint from worldly and +business contact, and his presence there must turn the thoughts of +many hearers from his clerical to his personal character--from the +truth he enunciates, to his practical observance thereof in daily +life. He may be judged falsely; but the fact of his blending the two +separate characters of clergyman and layman, forms an occasion for +false judgment, and detracts from the usefulness of the sacred +office. + +Whether Mr. Adkin "held forth" again, we cannot apprize the reader. +New light, and new perceptions of duty certainly came into his mind; +and we may hope that, as he was a well-meaning and conscientious +man, he was led to act wisely in the future. + +Having given a true picture of a week in the life of the lay +preacher, our business with him is done. It is for those whom it may +concern to study the sketch, and see if it does not contain some +points worthy their especial consideration. + + + + + + +HOW TO DESTROY A GOOD BUSINESS. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +"WELL, Mr. Tompkins, what do you think about it? I wish you would +speak. I've been talking at you for full ten blessed minutes, and +you haven't as much as opened your lips in reply." + +"About what?" asked Mr. Tompkins, looking up with an air of +surprise. + +"About what, indeed!" rejoined the lady, in no very melodious tone. +"Why, about that house in Franklin Street, to be sure. What else did +you suppose it was?" + +"Oh! ah! yes." + +"Mr. Tompkins, why don't you answer me like a man? Oh! ah! yes! I +hate that." + +"Humph!" + +"Yes, and I hate that just as bad. But you needn't think to put me +off with a 'humph!' Have you made up your mind about buying that +house--say?" + +"I've got to make up my mind about something else first." + +"Indeed! And what is that, pray?" + +"About where the money is to come from." + +"Mr. Tompkins, I am out of all patience with you! Its precious +little that I ask for, dear knows! But even that little is never +granted." + +"If you'll get me the money, Ellen, I'll buy the house with +pleasure," returned Mr. Tompkins, in a quiet voice. + +"Me! I wonder where I'd get the money? It's an insult for you to +talk to me in this way, when you keep me as poor as a church mouse +all the time. Every dollar I get from you is like pulling a tooth." + +"And causes me as much pain, sometimes." + +"I won't put up with such treatment from you, Mr. Tompkins," said +the good lady, passionately, and walked from the room with a stately +step and an effort at dignity. The husband retreated precipitately, +and sought his place of business. He sighed as he took his seat upon +a counting-house stool at the desk, and commenced turning over the +pages of various large account-books. While thus engaged, a person +entered his store, and was shown back to that portion of it where he +had retired. Mr. Tompkins looked up on hearing his name pronounced, +and met the steady eye of one whose presence was not very agreeable +to him just at that time. + +"Ah, Mr. Wolford! How are you to-day? I am glad to see you," he +said, with an effort to seem pleased and indifferent. + +"Very well. How are you?" was the blunt response. + +"Take a chair, Mr. Wolford." + +The visitor sat down, with considerable emphasis in his manner, +threw one leg over the other, and leaned back in his chair. Tompkins +was nervous. His effort to seem at ease led him into overaction. + +He smiled, or rather smirked--for a smile is always natural, never +forced--and introduced various topics of conversation, one after the +other, with the manner of a man whose thoughts were far away from +his words, and who yet wished to be very agreeable to a personage +from whom he wished a favour. + +"What do you think of the news from Washington to-day, Mr. Wolford? +Strange doings there!" + +"Rather." + +"Our party were completely outgeneralled in that measure." + +"Yes." + +"Bad news from London." + +"Yes, bad enough." + +"It has played the mischief with stocks." + +"Thank fortune, I don't deal in stocks." + +And thus Tompkins run on, and Wolford replied cold and sententiously +for some ten minutes. Then there came a pause, and the two men +looked into each other's faces for a short time, without either of +them speaking. + +"The year for which I loaned you ten thousand dollars expires next +week," said Wolford, in a quiet tone, breaking the silence. + +"Does it?" returned Tompkins, affecting surprise. "I had no idea the +time was so near being up. Are you sure?" + +"I never make mistakes in such matters, Mr. Tompkins, and can't +understand how other people can." + +"Creditors are said to have better memories than debtors," replied +Tompkins, attempting something like pleasantry. + +"Yes--I know. You will, of course, be prepared to take up the +mortgage upon your property?" + +"I am afraid not, Mr. Wolford. Money is exceedingly tight. But as +your security is perfectly good, and you do not want the money, you +will let the matter remain as it is for a little while longer?" + +"I loaned you the money for a year, did I not?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well. The year will be up in a week." + +"I would like to borrow the same amount for another year." + +"I have no objection to your doing so, if you can find any one who +will lend it." + +"Will you not do so?" + +"No. I have other use for my money." + +"I will increase the interest, if that will be any inducement. Money +in a good business like mine can bear a heavy interest." + +"I am not satisfied with the security. Property is falling in +value." + +"Not satisfied!'" exclaimed Tompkins, in unfeigned surprise. "The +property is worth double the sum you have advanced for my use." + +"I differ with you--and I am not alone in differing." + +"Very well, Mr. Wolford," said Tompkins, in a changed tone, that +evinced roused and half-indignant feeling, "you shall be paid. I can +easily transfer the security to some other person, if I find it +necessary to do so, and raise the amount due you." + +Wolford, phlegmatic as he was, seemed slightly moved by this +unexpected change in the manner and position of Tompkins. He +narrowly observed the expression of his face, but did not reply. He +was afraid to trust himself to speak, lest he should betray his real +thoughts. + +"You will be prepared to pay me next week, then," he at length said, +rising. + +"Yes, sir. You shall have the money," replied Tompkins. + +"Good day." And Wolford retired; not altogether satisfied that he +had gained all he had hoped to gain by the visit. + +"Ah me!" sighed Tompkins, turning to his desk as soon as this man +had departed. "Here comes more trouble. That miserly wretch has no +more use for his money than the man in the moon. It seems to give +him delight to make every one feel his power. It is for no other +reason than this, that I am now to be harassed half out of my life +in order to raise ten thousand dollars in a week, besides meeting my +other payments. I must try and get some one to take the mortgage he +is about releasing." + +While thus musing, the individual who had just left him was walking +slowly down Market Street, with his eyes upon the pavement, in deep +thought. He was a short, stoutly built old man, dressed in a +well-worn suit of brown broadcloth. His hat was white, large in the +brim, low in the crown, and pulled down so heavily on the high +collar of his coat, that it turned up behind in a very decided way, +indicating the save-all propensities of its owner. His face was as +hard as iron: it was deeply seamed by years or the indulgence of the +baser cupidities of a perverted nature. His lower lip projected +slightly beyond the upper that was pressed closely upon it. His +small gray eyes were deeply sunk beneath a wrinkled forehead, and +twinkled like stars when any thing excited him; usually they were as +calm and passionless as any part of his face. + +This man had never engaged, during his whole life, in any useful +branch of business. Money was the god he worshipped, and to gain +this, he was ready to make almost any sacrifice. He started in life +with five thousand dollars--a legacy from a distant relative. To +risk this sum, or any portion of it, in trade, would have been, in +his view, the most egregious folly. His first investment was in six +per cent. ground-rents, from which he received three hundred dollars +per annum. It cost him two hundred to live; he had, therefore, at +the end of the year, a surplus of one hundred dollars. He was +casting about in his mind what he should do with this in, order to +make it profitable, when a hard-pressed tradesman asked him for the +loan of a hundred dollars for a short time. The idea of loaning his +money, when first presented, almost made his hair stand on end. He +shook his head, and uttered a decided "No." It so happened that the +man was so much in need of money, that he became importunate. + +"I know you have it, if you would only lend it, Wolford," said he. +"Let me have a hundred dollars for a month, and I will give you a +good interest for it, and security besides." + +"What kind of security?" eagerly asked the miser, his face +brightening. The idea had struck him, as being a good one. The man +was a tailor. + +"I will let you hold Mr. S----P----'s note, at six months, for one +hundred and fifty dollars, as security." + +Wolford shook his head. + +"He might die or break, and then where would be my hundred dollars?" + +"I would pay it to you." + +Wolford continued to shake his head. + +"How would a piece of broadcloth answer your purpose?" + +"What is it worth?" + +"I have a piece of twenty yards, worth eight dollars a yard. It +would bring six and a half under the hammer. You can hold that, if +you please." + +"How much interest will you pay?" + +"I will give you two dollars for the use of one hundred for thirty +days." + +"If you will say three, you may have it." + +"Three per cent. a month!--thirty-six per cent. a year! Oh no! That +would ruin any man." + +"I don't think the operation worth making for less than three +dollars." + +"It is too much, Wolford. But I'll tell you what I'll do. Let it be +for sixty days, and make the interest five dollars." + +"I to hold the cloth as security until it is paid?" + +"Certainly." + +"Very well. You shall have the money." + +A note for one hundred and five dollars, at sixty days, was drawn +and handed to the young shaver, who paid down one hundred dollars, +and went off with his collateral under his arm. + +This transaction opened a new world to Wolford's imagination. Two +and a half per cent. a month, and six per cent. per annum, could +hardly be compared together. He sat down and began to figure up the +result of the one operation in comparison with the other, and found +that while his investment in ground-rents yielded only three hundred +dollars a year, five thousand dollars, at two and a half per cent. a +month, the rate at which he had made the operation just referred to, +would yield fifteen hundred dollars per annum! + +From that moment he became dissatisfied with ground-rents as an +investment. As quickly as it could be done, he sold, for one +thousand dollars, a piece of real estate, and, depositing the money +in bank, looked around him for good paper to shave. He did not have +to look very long. Borrowers quickly presented themselves, but no +one got money except on the most tangible kind of security, and at a +ruinous interest. Careful as he tried to be, Wolford was not always +successful in his operations. One or two failures on the part of his +borrowers, made him acquainted at a magistrate's office, where he +acquired another new idea upon which he improved. + +"If you wish to invest money safely and profitably, I will put you +in the way of doing it," said a petty dispenser of justice to poor +debtors, rogues and vagabonds, aside to the miser one day, after he +had given judgment against a delinquent borrower. + +"How?" eagerly asked Wolford. + +"A great many cases of debt are decided by me every week, on amounts +varying from one to fifty dollars," replied the magistrate. "As soon +as a judgment is given, the debtor has to pay the money, find +security, or go to jail, In most cases, the matter is settled by +security for six months, when the debt, with costs and interest, has +to be paid." + +"Legal interest?" asked Wolford. + +"Certainly," replied the magistrate, with a smile. "It is a legal +matter, and only legal interest can be charged." + +"Oh, of course! I didn't think of that." + +"Very well: after a judgment is obtained, in five cases out of six +the prosecutor is sick, of the business, and perfectly willing to +sell out the judgment and have no more to do with it. The best +business in the world is to buy these judgments. You can make at +least forty per cent. per annum." + +"What!" + +"Forty per cent." + +"Forty per cent!" and Wolford's eyes sparkled. "Are you sure?" + +"Oh, yes. If I were allowed to buy them, as I am not, I would wish +no better business." + +"You think it safe?" + +"Nothing can be safer. If the judgment is not paid at the end of six +months, you can go to work immediately, with an execution, on the +property of the original debtor, or his security, as you may think +best, and at once obtain your money." + +"Suppose neither of them have any property?" + +"I take very good care not to accept bad security. Besides, you will +find but few persons out of whom fifty dollars, or less, may not be +obtained, under the pressure of an execution." + +"I like the idea amazingly," said Wolford, thoughtfully. "Forty per +cent. per annum! Capital! I will buy judgments." + +"I have two hundred dollars' worth in my desk now, which I have +directions to sell. Do you want them? They have six months to run. +Twenty per cent. off will be just forty dollars--here they are." + +Wolford carefully examined the documents which the magistrate placed +in his hands, and, after considering the subject for some time, said +that he would buy them. His check for one hundred and sixty dollars +was received by the magistrate, and the judgments became his +property. + +"It's even better than forty per cent. per annum," remarked the +magistrate, as he folded up the check be had received. + +"How so?" + +"You make over fifty-five per cent." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes--look at it. You have just paid one hundred and sixty dollars +for what will yield you two hundred and six dollars in six +months,--for you must remember that you will get legal interest on +the claim you have bought. Now this is a fraction over fifty-five +per cent. per annum. What do you think of that for an investment?" + +"Capital! But have you much of this kind of business?" + +"Enough to, keep several thousand dollars constantly employed for +you." + +"Good!" + +With this brief ejaculation, that came from Wolford's heart, he +turned away and left the office. + +On this operation, the magistrate made six per cent. The regular +selling price of judgments was twenty-five per cent., with a +commission of one per cent. for effecting the sale. + +In a few months, Wolford had all his money invested in judgments. +This business he continued for several years, meeting with but few +losses. He could then write himself worth twenty-five thousand +dollars, and began to find it necessary to seek for some heavier +investments than buying judgments, even if they did not pay quite so +well. + +Loaning money on mortgages of real estate, at about ten per centum, +he found a very safe business; with this he united the shaving of +undoubted paper, at from one to two per cent. a month. Mr. Tompkins +he had frequently shaved so closely as almost to make the blood +come. This was previous to the loan before alluded to. Since that +had been made, Mr. Tompkins rarely found it necessary to put good +paper into Wolford's hands for discount. This the miser considered a +dead loss, and he therefore determined that the loan should be taken +up, and made in some quarter not likely to affect the shaving +operations. + +The declaration of Mr. Tompkins, that he could easily get some one +else to take the mortgage, was not too well relished by Wolford, If +he were sure this could be done, he would be content to accept an +increase of interest and continue the loan, for the security was of +the very safest kind, and ample. + +"I must think about this," said he to himself, as he walked +homeward, after parting with Tompkins. "I rarely make false moves, +and should not like to do so in this case." + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + +WHEN Mr. and Mrs. Tompkins met, at dinnertime, neither of them +appeared in the most happy frame of mind. The lady looked especially +disagreeable. The meal passed in silence, and was eaten with little +appetite. + +As soon as her husband had retired from the house, which he did very +soon after he had left the table, Mrs. Tompkins's manner changed. + +"Humph!" said she, tossing her head, "he needn't begin the sulky +game with me. Two can play at that, as he ought to know very well. +I've set my heart on having a handsomer establishment than the +purse-proud Mrs. Gileston, and, what is more, I will be gratified. +Mr. Tompkins is worth two dollars to her husband's one, and yet she +sweeps about the street with the air of a duchess, and never so much +as looks me in the face, though I have been twice introduced to her. +But, I'll be even with my lady! I've set my heart on this, and will +move heaven and earth to accomplish it." + +This half-spoken soliloquy will afford the reader some clue to the +character of Mrs. Tompkins. Her husband, to whom she had been +married about ten years, had gradually risen from the position of a +clerk to that of a merchant, in a small way, when the death of a +distant relative put him in possession of about, thirty thousand +dollars. Up to that time, his wife, who was a poor girl when he +married her, had been content to live in a style suited to their +means. But the moment a fortune so large in her eyes, fell to their +share, her ideas expanded, and she suddenly became aware of the fact +that she was a woman of no mean importance. + +To Mr. Tompkins, this money came just in time to save him from +failure. He had started, as too many do, without capital, and had +unwisely attempted to do more business than means so limited would +bear. He, consequently, knew the value of money far better than his +wife, and was disposed to invest what he did not require in his +business, in a safe way. She, on the contrary, proposed that they +should, at once, adopt a style of living in consonance with their +bettered fortunes. + +"We live very comfortably, as we now are," he said, in answer to a +repetition of her plea for a handsome house, on the evening +following the day of his interview with Wolford. "We live as well as +our means have, until within a few years, enabled us to live." + +Mrs. Tompkins rejoined-- + +"With improved fortunes, we should adopt a different style." + +"I don't think we should be in any particular hurry about it," said +the husband. "Let the change, if any be made, come gradually." + +"All eyes are upon us," was Mrs. Tompkins's answer to this. "And +everybody expects us to take a different and higher place in +society." + +"It is my opinion," said the husband, "that we are free to live in +any style that may suit us." + +"It is all very well to say that, Mr. Tompkins, but it will not do. +We must, while in the world, do as the world does. People in our +circumstances do not live in a rented house;--we should have a +dwelling of our own, and that a handsome one--handsomer than +Gileston's house, about which there, is so much talk." + +"Gileston's house!" said Mr. Tompkins, in surprise. "Why that house +didn't cost a cent less than twenty-five thousand dollars." + +"Well, suppose it did not. What then?" + +"Do you imagine that we can build a house at an expense of +twenty-five thousand dollars?" + +"Why not, Mr. Tompkins?" + +"Where is the money to come from?" + +"There it is again! But I can tell you." + +"I wish to my heart you would, for it's more than I can." + +"Take it out of bank, where it lies rusting." + +"Humph!" + +"What's the matter?" + +"How much do you suppose I have in bank tonight?" + +"Dear knows! Forty or fifty thousand dollars, I suppose." + +"Just seventy-nine dollars and ten cents! And what is more, I have +two thousand dollars to pay to-morrow, five hundred on the day +after, and ten or twelve thousand more to make up within the next +two weeks. If You will tell me where all this money is to come from, +I will build you a dozen houses: as it is, you must build your own +castles--in the air." + +A flood of tears answered this bitterly spoken reply. Her tears, the +lady had found, on more occasions than one, to have a powerful +effect upon her husband. It must be said for her, that she did not +believe a word of what Mr. Tompkins had alleged in regard to the +balance of his bank account. For a man who had been in a good +business for a number of years, and had received a legacy of thirty +thousand dollars, to be so near out of cash, was to her mind +preposterous. She knew he had invested nearly twenty thousand +dollars in property, but what of that? Her tears disturbed Mr. +Tompkins, as they always did. + +"What I tell you is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the +truth," said he, in a calm, but serious voice, after, the sobs of +his wife had begun to die away. "And now, what would you have me +do?" + +"You can do just as you please, Mr. Tompkins. It is nothing to me. +You know your own business best." This was said with an offended +air, in which was something of indifference. + +"You are unreasonable, Ellen." + +"Very likely I am; at least in your eyes. I believe you never had a +very exalted opinion of your wife's good sense: nor much regard for +her wishes!" + +"I believe, Ellen," returned the husband, "that few men regard the +happiness of their wives more than I have regarded the happiness of +mine. Perhaps if I had been less considerate, it might have been +better for all." + +"Considerate, indeed! Oh, yes! You're very considerate to buy old +warehouses to rent, in place of a decent dwelling for your family! +Very considerate that--wasn't it?" + +At this point of the contest, Mr. Tompkins retired from the field, +his forces reduced and in disorder. He saw but one hope of peace, +and that was by an early surrender, and on the best terms that could +be made. The property that he had purchased yielded him about +fourteen hundred a year. To sell this, and build, with the proceeds, +a splendid mansion, from which no income could possibly arise, +seemed to him an act of egregious folly. But any thing for peace. To +sell it, and put the money in his business, was a much more +desirable act, instead of borrowing money, at an exorbitant +interest, in order to make his payments. He had more than once +thought of doing this. At the time the investment was made, his +business operations were light, and he did not need the use of over +ten thousand dollars of the timely legacy he had received. Since +then his business had increased, and with this increase came the +need of more ready money than he could command. He did not like the +idea of selling his real estate, because he was very confident, from +the many improvements going on in the quarter of the city where it +was situated, that it would double in value in the course of ten +years. He was so confident of this, that he preferred paying a high +rate of interest for money for temporary purposes, rather than sell +his property. So hard did he become pressed at last, that he +resorted to the expedient of raising ten thousand dollars on +mortgage, at ten per centum per annum. Wolford held this mortgage, +as the reader is aware. + +It was with painful reluctance that Mr. Tompkins made up his mind to +part with his warehouse property, in order to gratify the love of +display which was the besetting sin of his better half. But, even +should he do that, he would have to let ten thousand dollars go to +clear off the mortgage; and if it brought him twenty-two or three +thousand, or even twenty-five thousand, he would not have enough to +build the elegant mansion his wife desired: and should he build one +in a style not consonant with her exalted ideas, his position, +instead of being better, would be much worse. + +The next week, to poor Mr. Tompkins, he was called a rich man, was +one of sad perplexity and anxious deliberation upon what it was best +for him to do. He had great difficulty in raising sufficient money +to meet his payments, independent of the ten thousand dollars +demanded by Wolford. Where that sum was to come from he could not +tell. He had made several applications for a loan to take the place +of the one now upon his property, and had even caused advertisements +to be inserted in the newspapers, addressed to "capitalists," but +without effect. + +During all this time, Mrs. Tompkins was as disagreeable as it was +possible for her to be. When her husband returned home, in the +evening, sick at heart with the toil and anxiety of the day, he was +met by no pleasant words or cheerful smiles. A sober face presided +at his table, where the words were few and coldly spoken. + +The period for which Wolford's loan had been made was within two +days of its expiration, when, half beside himself with perplexity, +Mr. Tompkins advertised his property for sale. There were enough who +understood its real value precisely, and were ready to come forward +and offer to purchase. As soon as the miser and usurer saw the +course events were taking, he very kindly informed Mr. Tompkins that +he had just received, unexpectedly, a large sum of money, and should +not want the ten thousand dollars due him. + +"You are too late," replied Mr. Tompkins, when he communicated this +intelligence. + +"Why so?" asked Wolford. + +"I have made up my mind to sell." + +"I don't want my money." + +"Oh, very well, I can keep it." + +"On what security." + +"My note of hand." + +The miser shrugged his shoulders. + +"Don't you like that security?" + +"I have no objection to your warehouse property." + +"But that I shall sell." + +Wolford retired in a dissatisfied mood. He had overreached himself. + +In the course of a week the sale was made, and for cash. The +property brought twenty-five thousand dollars. After the mortgage +was released, and his borrowed money account balanced, Mr. Tompkins +had just twelve thousand dollars to his credit in bank, with a +month's heavy payments before him. + +On this basis, and with this position of affairs to sustain him, Mr. +Tompkins, feeling in a desperate mood, determined that he would +build himself an elegant residence. The plan was furnished by an +architect, and the work commenced forthwith. Mrs. Tompkins was all +her husband could wish, from the day she was apprized of his +decision in regard to a matter that had so long been near her heart. +He said nothing of the sacrifice he had made, nor intimated any +thing about what might be the ultimate consequence, although every +sober thought of the future awoke a fear. The house, when finished, +cost twenty-three thousand dollars; and when furnished twenty-eight +thousand. It need not be said that Mr. Tompkins was hard run for +money. On the day he moved into his splendid mansion, he borrowed +from Mr Wolford, on a mortgage of his new property, fifteen thousand +dollars, at twelve per cent. per annum. He had but one or two +alternatives--to borrow at this ruinous rate of interest, or fail. +The operation was for one year, without any privilege of renewal; +this was the longest time at which the usurer ever loaned his money. + +For one year Mrs. John Tompkins was in her glory. She gave six large +parties during that time, at a heavy cost. Her husband, +notwithstanding the loan of fifteen thousand dollars, was in trouble +about money matters; Business had been unusually dull both in the +spring and fall, and money hard to collect. Nearly ten thousand +dollars, which he had fully expected to receive from distant +customers, failed to come in. As the period for which he had +borrowed from Wolford drew toward its close, he could not but feel +uneasy. From no other quarter had he any hope of raising so large a +sum as fifteen thousand dollars upon his house. He was poring over +his bill-book, one day, when the man he had thought of far more +frequently than was pleasant to him, came in. Mr. Tompkins felt +uneasy. + +"Ah--how do you do, Mr. Wolford?" said he, affecting a pleased air. +"Sit down." + +Wolford looked grave. He had come on business, and to him business +matters were of serious import. He returned the merchant's +salutation with formality, seated himself deliberately, and, resting +his hands upon the head of his cane, looked up with a sinister +expression on his face. + +"A fine day this, Mr. Wolford," said Tompkins. + +"Yes, very fine. How is business?" + +"Dull--terribly dull. I have never known such a business season. +There is absolutely nothing doing." + +Wolford made no reply. + +"I suppose you have plenty of money to lend," remarked the merchant, +hardly knowing why he said so. + +"No--not a dollar. It's tight with me as well as it is with you. And +this brings me to the subject-matter of my visit. You are no doubt +aware that, according to the terms of the loan, you are to return my +fifteen thousand dollars in a few days?" + +"Yes, I am aware of it. Must you have it all?" + +"Every dollar; and I want three times as much, if I can get it." + +"I was in hope you would renew the loan, Mr. Wolford." + +"That's impossible." + +"I really don't see how I am to raise fifteen thousand dollars in a +few days--these times." + +"You have had long enough to make it up, I am sure. You knew very +well that the loan would come due next week, and that it was only +for one year." + +"Yes, I knew all that, very well." + +"And yet you are not prepared to pay it?" + +"No, I certainly am not to-day. What I may be in a week is more than +I can tell." + +Wolford did not want the money he had loaned to Mr. Tompkins--that +is, he had no _use_ for it. But he could never rest contented for +any length of time under the reflection that another person was +enjoying his money. He took an insane delight, too, in making others +feel his power. If Mr. Tompkins had obtained the amount, and +tendered it to Wolford, two weeks before it was due, the miser would +have, in all probability, solicited him to keep it on even better +terms than at first obtained; but to appear anxious about the +matter, was to foreclose all chances of a renewal. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + +AFTER Wolford had left the store of Mr. Tompkins, the merchant tried +to rally his thoughts, and review the whole matter calmly. Thinking, +however, did not make him feel much better. He could not see his way +clear. If the loan were not paid off, his property would, he had not +the least doubt, be sold forthwith, under the mortgage. + +"I was a fool ever to build such a house, and involve myself as I +have done," he murmured, fretfully. "I wish to my heart it was in +the bottom of the sea. Between my wife's extravagance and this +accursed usurer, I shall be ruined at last." + +This was uttered almost involuntarily, but it had the effect to give +his thoughts a new direction. After thinking intensely for some +time, he took a long inspiration, compressed his lips tightly as he +breathed out again, and then said, half aloud, and in a tone of +decision-- + +"I will not suffer myself to be made a fool of any longer, by wife +or usurer. Mrs. John Tompkins will have to lay aside a portion of +her dignity, or get some other means of supporting it. I am called a +man, and I will be a man." + +On the evening of that day, while seated at the tea-table, Mrs. +Tompkins said-- + +"Have you ever noticed, dear, the beautiful equipage of Mrs. Van +D----?" + +"The what?" + +"The beautiful establishment of Mrs. Van D----?" + +"What kind of an establishment?" + +The manner of her husband disturbed the self-satisfaction of Mrs. +Tompkins. Her reply was not in so bland a voice. + +"Her carriage and pair, I mean, of course." + +"No; I never notice such things." + +"You don't, indeed!" + +"No." + +"Don't you ever expect to keep a carriage?" + +"I do not." + +"I am sure you will." + +"You labour under a mistake, Ellen. I have no such intention." + +"If I wish for one, I am sure you will gratify me." Mrs. Tompkins +spoke softly and smiled. + +"No--not even to gratify you, Ellen." Mr. Tompkins spoke seriously, +and his brow contracted. + +"You built this beautiful house to gratify me." + +"True--and by doing so have set myself half crazy." + +"Mr. Tompkins, I don't understand you. You are in a strange mood +this evening." + +"And so would you be in a strange mood, if you had suffered as much +as I have during the day." + +"Suffered! What have you suffered about?" + +"Because I built this house." + +"You speak in riddles. Why do you not explain yourself?" Mrs. +Tompkins's voice trembled, and there were tears in her eyes. + +"I will explain myself, Ellen," said her husband, his manner +becoming serious and earnest: it had been fretful and captious +before. "I was weak enough to yield to your urgent desire to have an +elegant mansion, as you called it, and build this house, at a very +heavy cost. I knew that I was doing wrong at the time, and that both +you and I would live to regret the act of folly. But you held the +reins, and I suffered myself to be driven. The consequence is, that +I am involved in difficulties, and this house has to be sold within +ten days." + +Mr. Tompkins paused. He wished to see the effect of what he had +said. Had an earthquake shaken the house to its foundation, Mrs. +Tompkins could not have been more astonished than she was by this +speech. Her face became deadly pale; she trembled violently from +head to foot, and panted like a frightened hare. To utter a word in +reply was impossible. The husband was startled at the effect +produced, but did not waver an instant in his purpose. The +suddenness of the annunciation had one good effect: it opened the +eyes of Mrs. Tompkins completely. The manner of her husband left no +doubt upon her mind that all he had said was true--that the house +would have to go, spite of all he could do to save it. He might be +to blame for getting into difficulties--might have mismanaged his +business--but that could not alter the present position of things. +On recovering from the shock occasioned by so astounding a +declaration, she did not resort to any of her old tricks to manage +her husband. She felt that they would be useless. As soon as she +could speak, she said, firmly-- + +"Is all this true?" + +"As true as you live and breathe." + +"And it is _my_ fault?" + +"I am sorry that I cannot say otherwise." There was a good deal of +feeling in the husband's tone as he made this reply. "I need not +relate how I strove to convince you that I could not afford to build +such a house--that to sell my warehouse property, in order to do so, +would be to rob myself of at least seven or eight thousand +dollars--for that property would inevitably increase in value this +amount in the next five years. Already it has been sold at an +advance of three thousand dollars on what I received for it. I need +not relate how unhappy you made both yourself and me, until I +consented to do as you wished. It is all within your remembrance. A +man cannot stand every thing. I had trouble enough, even then, with +my business--but found no compensation at home. In a desperate mood, +I resolved to make home pleasant, if possible. I made the sacrifice, +and here is the result!" + +Mrs. Tompkins wept bitterly when her husband ceased speaking. Every +word went to her heart. She saw her folly, nay, her crime, in having +acted as she had done. She was a weak, vain woman, but not all +perverted. Notwithstanding rank weeds had long overgrown the garden +of her mind, some plants of goodly promise yet remained. + +On the next day, without hesitating a moment, Mr. Tompkins went to a +real-estate broker, and employed him to sell his house as quickly as +possible. He mentioned this to his wife, as a thing of course, and +suggested the necessity of disposing of their splendid furniture, +and retiring from their too prominent position in the social world. + +"There is but one way of safety and peace," he said, "and that way +we must take, whether the entrance to it be smooth or thorny." + +"Why need we sell our handsome furniture?" asked Mrs. Tompkins, in a +hoarse voice. + +"For the same reason that we have for selling our house," firmly +returned her husband--"because it is necessary." + +Mr. Tompkins spoke so decidedly, that his wife felt that +remonstrance would be unavailing. Having once admitted the truth of +all he had alleged, she had no ground for opposition. Completely +subdued, she became altogether passive, and left her husband to do +just as he pleased. The pressing nature of his affairs made him +prompt to carry out all the reforms he had proposed. In less than a +week he found a purchaser for his house, and was able to sell it on +tolerably fair terms. The real-estate agent who had made the sale +for him, had left his store but a short time after communicating all +the preliminaries of the transaction, when old Wolford entered with +a slow gait and a look of resolution. + +"Will you be ready with that money to-morrow?" said he, fixing his +small, keen eyes upon the merchant, and bending his brows. + +"No!" was the decisive answer. + +"Then I shall foreclose the mortgage." + +"You will not do that, certainly," returned Tompkins, in a quiet +tone, something like a smile playing about his lips. + +"Won't I? Don't trust to that, my friend. I always keep contracts to +the letter, and exact them from others, when made to me, as rigidly. +You borrowed my money for a year, on a mortgage of your property. +That year is up to-morrow. If the money does not come, I will +immediately have your property sold." + +"I have been ahead of you," coolly replied Tompkins. + +"What do you mean?" + +"I have already sold the property." + +The miser seemed stunned by the intelligence. + +"Sold it?," he asked, after a moment--"why have you sold it?" + +"In order to get out of your clutches, now and for ever. You have +had a good deal of my money in your time, and fool enough have I +been to let you get your fingers upon it! But you will never get +another dollar from me! You were not content with eighteen hundred +dollars a year as the interest on fifteen thousand--wasn't I a fool +to pay it?--but you must try to put your foot still more heavily on +my neck! But you have overreached yourself. Your mortgage on my +property is not worth that!--(snapping his fingers.) Didn't you know +this before?" + +"What do you mean?" Wolford showed considerable alarm. + +"You took twelve per cent. per annum?" + +"I know I did." + +"And that is usury?" + +"It is a fair interest. Money is always worth the market price." + +"The law says that all over six per cent. is usury; and the taking +of such excess vitiates the transaction." + +"Do you mean to put in that plea?" + +"Yes, if you take the first step toward foreclosing your mortgage, +or show yourself in my store until I send for you, which I will do +when it is perfectly convenient for me to pay your fifteen thousand +dollars, and not before." + +"Oh, take your time, Mr. Tompkins--take your time--I am in no +particular hurry for the money," said Wolford, with an altered tone +and manner--"Just when it is convenient will suit me." + +"Are you sure of that?" said the merchant, speaking with a slight +sneer upon his lip. + +"Oh, yes! I thought I would need the money now, but I believe I will +not. The mortgage can remain as long as you want it." + +"I don't want it long," muttered Tompkins, turning toward his desk, +and taking no further notice of the alarmed and discomfited usurer. + +In about two weeks he had the pleasure of handing him the whole +amount of the loan, and getting a release of the property. Wolford +tried to be very affable and apologetic; but he was treated +according to the merchant's estimation of his real character, and +not otherwise. + +"Free from your clutches, and for ever!" said Mr. Tompkins, speaking +to himself, as he stepped into the street from Wolford's dwelling, +feeling lighter in heart than he had felt for a long time. "What +madness, with the means I have had in my hands, ever to have fed +your avaricious maw!" + +Although Mr. Tompkins could see the sky by looking upward, he was +still in the forest, and had a hard journey before him, ere he +gained the pleasant champaign he was seeking so eagerly. The cash he +received on selling his house was barely sufficient to clear it of +all encumbrance. He was, therefore, still hard pressed for money in +his business. The sale of his handsome furniture would help him a +good deal, and he determined, resolutely, to have this done +forthwith. His wife ventured a demurrer, which he immediately +overruled. She had lost the ability to contend with him. A sale at +auction was proposed. + +"Just think of the exposure," urged his wife. + +"I don't care a fig for that. A protested note would be a worse +exposure. I must have the money. We can board for a couple or three +years, or keep house in a plain way, until I make up some of the +losses sustained by our folly." + +Mrs. Tompkins was passive. A vendue was called, and three thousand +dollars in cash realized. This succour came just in time, for it +saved the merchant's credit, and met his pressing demands, until he +could turn the paper given in part payment for his house, into +money. From that time he began to feel his business resting less +heavily upon his shoulders. Money came in about as fast as he needed +it. In a few months he began to have quite a respectable balance in +bank--a thing he had not known for years. + +It was a good while before Mrs. Tompkins could hold up her head in +society, where she had, for some time, held it remarkably high. She +never carried it as stately as before. As for Wolford, he but seldom +passed the store of the merchant: when he did so, it was not without +a pang--he had lost a good customer by grinding him too hard, and +could not forgive himself for the error. + + + + + + +THE TWO INVALIDS. + + + + + +THE chamber in which the sick woman lay was furnished with every +thing that taste could desire or comfort demand. Yet, from none of +these elegant surroundings came there an opiate for the weary +spirit, or a balm to soothe the pain from which she suffered. With +heavy eyes, contracted brow, and face almost as white as the +lace-fringed pillow it pressed, canopied with rich curtains, she +reclined, sighing away the weary hours, or giving, voice to her +discontent in fruitless complainings. + +She was alone. A little while before, her attendant had left the +room, taking with her a child, whose glad spirits--glad because +admitted to his mother's presence--had disturbed her. + +"Take him out," she had said, fretfully. + +"You must go back to the nursery, dear." The attendant spoke kindly, +as she stooped to lift the child in her arms. + +"No--no--no. I want to stay here. Do let me stay here, won't you?" + +"Mamma is sick, and you disturb her," was answered. + +"Oh no. I won't disturb her. I'll be so good." + +"Why don't you take him out at once?" exclaimed the mother, in a +harsh, excited voice. "It's too much that I can't have a little +quiet! He's made my head ache already. What does nurse mean by +letting him come over here?" + +As the screaming child was borne from the room, the sick woman +clasped her hand to her temples, murmuring-- + +"My poor head! It was almost quiet; but now it throbs as if every +vein were ready to burst! Why don't they soothe that child?" + +But the child screamed on, and his voice came ringing upon her ears. +Nurse was cross, and took no pains to hush his cries; so the +mother's special attendant remained, for some time, away from the +sick-chamber. By slow degrees she succeeded in diverting the child's +mind from his disappointment; but it was many minutes after his +crying ceased before he would consent to her leaving him. + +In the mean time the sun's bright rays had found a small opening in +one of the curtains that draped the windows, and commenced pouring +in a few pencils of light, which fell, in a bright spot, on a +picture that hung against the wall; resting, in fact upon the fair +forehead of a beautiful maiden, and giving a hue of life to the +features. It was like a bit of fairy-work--a touch almost of +enchantment. The eyes of the invalid were resting on this picture as +the magic change began to take place. + +How the lovely vision, if it might so be called, won her from +thoughts of pain! Ah, if we could say so? Raising herself, she +grasped the pendent tassel of the bell-rope, and rang with a violent +hand; then sank down with a groan, exhausted by the effort, shut her +eyes, and buried her face in the pillow. Leaving the only +half-comforted child, her attendant hastily obeyed the summons. + +"The sun is blinding me!" said the unhappy invalid, as she entered +the chamber. "How could you be so careless in arranging the +curtains!" + +A touch, and the sweet vision which had smiled all so vainly for the +poor sufferer, was lost in shadows. There was a subdued light, and +almost pulseless silence in the chamber. + +"Do take those flowers away, their odour is dreadful to me!" + +A beautiful bouquet of sweet flowers, sent by a sympathizing friend, +was removed from the chamber. Half an hour afterward--the attendant +thought her sleeping--she exclaimed-- + +"Oh, how that does worry me!" + +"What worries you, ma'am?" was kindly asked. + +"That doll on the mantel. It is entirely out of place here. I wish +you would remove it. Oh, dear, dear! And that +toilette-glass--straighten it, if you please. I can't bear any thing +crooked. And there's Mary's rigolette on the bureau; the careless +child! She never puts any thing away." + +These little annoyances were removed, and the invalid was quiet +again--externally quiet, but within all was fretfulness and mental +pain. + +"There come the children from school," she said, as the ringing of +the door-bell and gay voices were heard below. "You must keep them +from my room. I feel unusually nervous to-day, and my head aches +badly." + +Yet, even while she spoke, two little girls came bounding into the +room, crying-- + +"Oh, mother! Dear mother! We've got something good to tell you. Miss +Martin says we've been two of the best"---- + +The attendant's imperative "H-u-s-h!" and the mother's hand waving +toward the door, the motion enforced by a frowning brow, were +successful in silencing the pleased and excited children, who, +without being permitted to tell the good news they had brought from +school, and which they had fondly believed would prove so pleasant +to their mother's ears, were almost pushed from the chamber. + +No matter of surprise is it that a quick revulsion took place in +their feelings. If the voice of wrangling reached, soon after, the +mother's ears, and pained her to the very soul, it lessened not the +pressure on her feelings to think that a little self-denial on her +part, a little forgetfulness of her own feelings, and a +thoughtfulness for them, would have prevented unhappy discord. + +And so the day passed; and when evening brought her husband to her +bedside, his kind inquiries were answered only by +complainings--complainings that made, from mental reactions, bodily +suffering the greater. For so long a time had this state of things +existed that her husband was fast losing his wonted cheerfulness of +temper. He was in no way indifferent to his wife's condition; few +men, in fact, could have sympathized more deeply, or sought with +more untiring assiduity to lighten the burden which ill-health had +laid upon her. But, in her case, thought was all turned to self. It +was like the blood flowing back in congestion upon the heart, +instead of diffusing itself healthfully over the system. + +Thus it went on--the invalid growing worse instead of better. Not a +want was expressed that money did not supply; not a caprice or fancy +or appetite, which met not a proffered gratification. But all +availed not. Her worst disease was mental, having its origin in +inordinate selfishness. It never came into her. mind to deny herself +for the sake of others; to stifle her complaints lest they should +pain the ears of her husband, children, or friends; to bear the +weight of suffering laid upon her with at least an effort at +cheerfulness. And so she became a burden to those who loved her. In +her presence the sweet voices of children were hushed, and smiles +faded away. Nothing that was gay, or glad, or cheerful came near her +that it did not instantly change into sobriety or sadness. + +Not very far away from the beautiful home of this unhappy invalid, +is another sufferer from ill-health. We will look in upon her. The +chamber is poorly furnished, containing scarcely an article the +absence of which would not have abridged the comfort of its +occupant. We enter. + +What a light has come into those sunken eyes, and over that pale +face! We take the thin, white hand; a touch of sadness is in our +voice that will not be repressed, as we make inquiries about her +health; but she answers cheerfully and hopefully. + +"Do you suffer pain?" + +"Yes; but mostly at night. All day long I find so much to interest +me, and so many thoughts about my children fill my mind, that I +hardly find time to think of my own feelings. Care is a blessing." + +With what a patient, heavenly smile this is said! How much of life's +true philosophy is contained in that closing sentence! Yes, care is +a blessing. What countless thousands would, but for daily care, be +unutterably miserable. And yet we are ever trying to throw off care; +to rise into positions where we will be free from action or duty. + +The voice of a child is now heard. It is crying. + +"Dear little Aggy! What can ail her?" says the mother, tenderly. And +she inclines an ear, listening earnestly. The crying continues. + +"Poor child! Something is wrong with her. Won't you open the door a +moment?" + +The door is opened, and the sick mother calls the name of "Aggy" two +or three times. But her voice too feeble to reach the distant +apartment. + +We second the mother's wishes, and go for the grieving little one. + +"Mother wants Aggy." + +What magic words! The crying has ceased instantly, and rainbow +smiles are seen through falling tears. + +"Dear little dove! What has troubled it?" How tender and soothing +and full of love is the voice that utters these words! We lift Aggy +upon the bed. A moment, and her fresh warm cheek is close to the +pale face of her mother; while her hand is nestling in her bosom. + +The smile that plays so beautifully over the invalid's face has +already answered the question we were about to ask--"Will not the +child disturb you?" But our face has betrayed our thoughts, and she +says-- + +"I can't bear to have Aggy away from me. She rarely annoys me. A +dear, good child--yet only a child, for whom only a mother can think +wisely. She rarely leaves my room that she doesn't get into some +trouble; but my presence quickly restores the sunshine." + +The bell rings. There is a murmur of voices below; and now light +feet come tripping up the stairs. The door opens and two little +girls enter, just from school. Does the sick mother put up her hand +to enjoin silence? Does she repel them,--by look or word? Oh no. + +"Well, Mary--well, Anna?" she says, kindly. They bend over and kiss +her gently and lovingly; then speak modestly to the visitor. + +"How do you feel, mother?" asks the oldest of the two girls. "Does +your head ache?" + +"Not now, dear. It ached a little while ago; but it is better now." + +"What made it ache, mother?" + +"Something troubled Aggy, and her crying sent a pain through my +temples. But it went away with the clouds that passed from her +darling little face." + +"Why, she's asleep, mother!" exclaimed Anna. + +"So she is. Dear little lamb! Asleep with a tear on her cheek. Turn +her crib around, love, so that I can lay her in it." + +"No, you mustn't lift her," says Mary. "It will make your head +ache." And the elder of the children lifts her baby-sister in her +arms, and carefully lays her in the crib. + +"Did you say all your lessons correctly this morning?" now asks the +mother. + +"I didn't miss a word," answers Mary. + +"Nor I," says Anna. + +"I'm glad of it. It always does me good to know that you have said +your lessons well. Now go and take a run in the yard for exercise." + +The little girls leave the chamber, and soon their happy voices came +ringing up from the yard. The sound is loud, the children in their +merry mood unconscious of the noise they make. + +"This is too loud. It will make your head ache," we say, making a +motion to rise, as if going to check the exuberance of their +spirits. + +"Oh no," is answered with a smile. "The happy voices of my children +never disturb me. Were it the sound of wrangling, my weak head would +throb instantly with pain. But this comes to me like music. They +have been confined for hours in school, and health needs a reaction. +Every buoyant laugh or glad exclamation expands their lungs, +quickens the blood in their veins, and gives a measure of health to +mind as well as body. The knowledge of this brings to me a sense of +pleasure; and it is better for me, therefore, that they should be +gay and noisy for a time, after coming out of school, than it would +be if they sat down quietly in the house, or moved about stealthily, +speaking to each other in low tones lest I should be disturbed." + +We could not say nay to this. It was true, because unselfish, +philosophy. + +"Doesn't that hammering annoy you?" we ask. + +"What hammering?" + +"In the new building over the way." + +She listens a moment, and then answers-- + +"Oh no. I did not remark it until you spoke. Such things never +disturb me, for the reason that my mind is usually too much occupied +to think of them. Though an invalid, and so weak that my hands are +almost useless, I never let my thoughts lie idle. A mother, with +three children, has enough to occupy her mind usefully--and useful +thoughts, you know, are antidotes to brooding melancholy, and not +unfrequently to bodily pain. If I were to give way to +weaknesses--and I am not without temptations--I would soon be an +unhappy, nervous, helpless creature, a burden to myself and all +around me." + +"You need sympathy and strength from others," we remark. + +"And I receive it in full measure," is instantly replied. "Not +because I demand it. It comes, the heart-offering of true affection. +Poorly would I repay my husband, children, and friends, for the +thousand kindnesses I receive at their hands, by making home the +gloomiest place on all the earth. Would it be any the brighter for +me that I threw clouds over their spirits? Would they more truly +sympathize with me, because I was for ever pouring complaints into +their ears? Oh no. I try to make them forget that I suffer, and, in +their forgetfulness, I often find a sweet oblivion. I love them all +too well to wish them a moment's sadness." + +What a beautiful glow was on her pale countenance as she thus spoke! + +We turn from the home of this cheerful invalid with a lesson in our +hearts not soon to be forgotten. Ill-health need not always bring +gloom to our dwellings. Suffering need not always bend the thoughts +painfully to self. The body may waste, the hands fall nerveless to +the side, yet the heart retain its greenness, and the mind its power +to bless. + + + + + + +MARRYING WELL. + + + + + +"AND so, dear," said Mrs. Waring to her beautiful niece, Fanny +Lovering, "you are about becoming a bride." The aunt spoke tenderly, +and with a manner that instantly broke down all barriers of reserve. + +"And a happy bride, I trust," returned the blushing girl, as she +laid her hand in that of her aunt, and leaned upon her confidingly. + +"Pray heaven it may be so, Fanny." Mrs. Waring's manner was slightly +serious. "Marriage is a very important step; and in taking it the +smallest error may become the fruitful source of unhappiness." + +"I shall make no error, Aunt Mary," cried the lovely girl. "Edward +Allen is one of the best of young men; and he loves me as purely and +tenderly as any maiden could wish to be loved. Oh, I want you to see +him so much!" + +"I will have that pleasure soon, no doubt." + +"Yes, very soon. He is here almost every evening." + +"Your father, I understand, thinks very highly of him." + +"Oh yes. He is quite a pet of father's," replied Fanny. + +"He's in business, then, I suppose?" + +"Yes. He keeps a fancy dry-goods' store, and is doing exceedingly +well--so he says." + +Mrs. Waring sat silent for some time, lost in a train of reflection +suddenly started in her mind. + +"You look serious, aunt. What are you thinking about?" said Fanny, a +slight shadow flitting over her countenance. + +Mrs. Waring smiled, as she answered-- + +"People at my age are easily led into serious thoughts. Indeed, I +can never contemplate the marriage of a young girl like yourself, +without the intrusion of such thoughts into my mind. I have seen +many bright skies bending smilingly over young hearts on the morning +of their married life, that long ere noon were draped in clouds." + +"Don't talk so, dear aunt!" said the fair young girl. "I know that +life, to all, comes in shadow as well as sunshine. But, while the +sky is bright, why dim its brightness by thoughts of the time when +it will be overcast. Is that true philosophy, Aunt Mary?" + +"If such forethought will prevent the cloud, or provide a shelter +ere the storm breaks, it may be called true philosophy. But, forgive +me, dear, for thus throwing a shadow where no shadow ought to rest. +I will believe your choice a wise one, and that a happy future +awaits you." + +"You cannot help believing this when you see Edward. He will be here +to-night; then you will be able to estimate him truly." + +As Fanny had said, the young man called in after tea, when Mrs. +Waring was introduced. Allen responded to the introduction somewhat +coldly. In fact he was too much interested in Fanny herself to think +much, or care much for the stranger, even though named as a +relative. But, though he noticed but casually, and passed only a few +words with Mrs. Waring, that lady was observing him closely, and +noting every phase of character that was presented for observation; +and, ere he left her presence, had read him far deeper than he +imagined. + +"And now, Aunt Mary, tell me what you think of Edward," said Fanny +Lovering, as soon as the young man had departed, and she was alone +with Mrs. Waring. + +"I must see him two or three times more ere I can make up my mind in +regard to him," said Mrs. Waring with something evasive in her +manner. "First impressions are not always to be relied on," she +added, smiling. + +"Ah! I understand you,"--Fanny spoke with a sudden gayety of +manner--"you only wish to tease me a little. Now, confess at once, +dear Aunt Mary, that you are charmed with Edward." + +"I am not much given to quick prepossesions," answered Mrs. Waring. +"It may be a defect in my character; but so it is. Mr. Allen, no +doubt, is a most excellent young man. You are sure that you love +him, Fanny?" + +"Oh, Aunt Mary! How can you ask such a question? Are we not soon to +be married?" + +"True. And this being so, you certainly should love him. Now, can +you tell me why you love him?" + +"Why, aunt!" + +"My question seems, no doubt, a strange one, Fanny. Yet, strange as +it may appear to you, it is far from being lightly made. Calm your +mind into reflection, and ask yourself, firmly and seriously, why +you love Edward Allen. True love ever has an appreciating regard for +moral excellence--and knowledge must precede appreciation. What do +you know of the moral wisdom of this young man, into whose hands you +are about placing the destinies of your being for time--it may be +for eternity? Again let me put the question--Why do you love Edward +Allen?" + +Fanny looked bewildered. No searching interrogations like these had +been addressed to her, even by her parents; and their effect was to +throw her whole mind into painful confusion. + +"I love him for his excellent qualities, and because he loves me," +she at length said, yet with a kind of uncertain manner, as if the +reply did not spring from a clear mental perception. + +"What do you mean by excellent qualities?" further inquired Mrs. +Waring. + +Tears came into Fanny's sweet blue eyes, as she answered-- + +"A young girl like me, dear Aunt Mary, cannot penetrate very deeply +into a man's character. We have neither the opportunity nor the +experience upon which, coldly, to base an accurate judgment. The +heart is our guide. In my own case its instincts, I am sure, have +not betrayed me into a false estimate of my lover. I know him to be +good and noble; and I am sure his tender regard for the maiden he +has asked to become his bride, will ever lead him to seek her +happiness, as she will seek his. Do not doubt him, aunt." + +Yet, Mrs. Waring could not help doubting him. The young man had not +impressed her favourably. No word had fallen from his lips during +the evening unmarked by her--nor had a single act escaped +observation. In vain had she looked, in his declarations of +sentiments, for high moral purposes--for something elevated and +manly in tone. In their place she found only exceeding worldliness, +or the flippant commonplace. + +"No basis there, I fear, on which to build," said Mrs. Waring, +thoughtfully, after parting with her niece for the night. "Dear, +loving, confiding child! The heart of a maiden is not always her +best guide. Like the conscience, it needs to be instructed; must be +furnished with tests of quality." + +On the day following, Mrs. Waring went out alone. Without, seeming +to have any purpose in her mind, she had asked the number of Mr. +Allen's store, whither she went with the design of making a few +purchases. As she had hoped it would be, the young man did not +recognise her as the aunt of his betrothed. Among the articles, she +wished to obtain was a silk dress. Several pieces of goods were +shown to her, one of which suited exactly, both in colour and +quality. + +"What is the price of this?" she asked. + +The answer was not prompt. First, the ticket-mark was consulted; +then came a thoughtful pause; and then the young storekeeper said-- + +"I cannot afford to sell you this piece of goods for less than a +dollar thirteen." + +"A dollar thirty, did you say?" asked Mrs. Waring, examining the +silk more closely. + +"Ye--yes, ma'am," quickly replied Allen. "A dollar thirty. And it's +a bargain at that, I do assure you." + +Mrs. Waring raised her eyes and looked steadily for a moment or two +into the young man's face. + +"A dollar and thirty cents," she repeated. + +"Yes, ma'am. A dollar thirty," was the now assured answer. "How many +yards shall I measure off for you?" + +"I want about twelve yards." + +"There isn't a cheaper piece of goods in market," said the young +man, as he put his scissors into the silk--"not a cheaper piece, I +do assure you. I had a large stock of these silks at the opening of +the season, and sold two-thirds of them at a dollar and a half. But, +as they are nearly closed out, I am selling the remainder at a +trifle above cost. Can I show you any thing else, ma'am?" + +"Not to-day, I believe," replied Mrs. Waring, as she took out her +purse. "How much does it come to?" + +"Twelve yards at one dollar and thirty cents--just fifteen dollars +and sixty cents," said Allen. + +Mrs. Waring counted out the money, and, as she handed it to the +young man, fixed her eyes again searchingly upon him. + +"Shall I send it home for you?" he asked. + +"No--I will take it myself," said Mrs. Waring, coldly. + +"What have you been buying, aunt?" inquired Fanny, when Mrs. Waring +had returned home with her purchase. + +"A silk dress. And I want to know what you think of my bargain?" + +The silk was opened, and Fanny and her mother examined and admired +it. + +"What did you pay for it, sister?" asked Mrs, Lovering, the mother +of Fanny. + +"A dollar and thirty cents," was answered. + +"Not a dollar thirty?" Marked surprise was indicated. + +"Yes. Don't you think it cheap?" + +"Cheap!" said Fanny. "It isn't worth over a dollar at the outside. +Mr. Allen has been selling the same goods at ninety and +ninety-five." + +"You must certainly be in error," replied Mrs. Waring. + +"Not at all," was the positive assertion. "Where did you get the +silk?" + +A somewhat indefinite answer was given; to which Fanny returned-- + +"I only wish we had known your intention. Mother would have gone +with you to Edward's store. It is too bad that you should have been +so cheated. The person who sold you the silk is no better than +downright swindler." + +"If it is as you say," replied Mrs. Waring, calmly, "he is not an +honest man. He saw that I was a stranger, ignorant of current +prices, and he took advantage of the fact to do me a wrong. I am +more grieved for his sake than my own. To me, he loss is only a few +dollars; to him--alas! by what rule can we make the estimate?" + +Much more was said, not needful here to repeat. In the evening, +Edward Allen called to see Fanny, who spoke of the purchase made by +Mrs. Waring. Her aunt was present. The silk was produced in evidence +of the fact that she had been most shamefully wronged by some +storekeeper. + +"For what can you sell goods of a similar quality?" was the direct +question of Fanny. + +The moment Allen saw the piece of silk, he recognised it as the same +he had sold in the morning. Turning quickly, and with a flushing +countenance, to that part of the room where Mrs. Waring sat, partly +in the shadow, he became at once conscious of the fact that she was +the purchaser. The eyes of Fanny followed those of the lover, and +then came back to his face. She saw the o'ermantling blush; the +sudden loss of self-possession, the quailing of his glance beneath +the fixed look of Mrs. Waring. At once the whole truth flashed upon +her mind, and starting up, she said, in a blended voice of grief and +indignation-- + +"Surely, surely, Edward, you are not the man!" + +Before Allen could reply, Mrs. Waring said firmly: "Yes, it is too +true. He is the man!" + +At this, Fanny grew deadly pale, staggered toward her mother, and +sunk, sobbing wildly, upon her bosom. + +Too much excited and confused for coherent explanation, and too +clearly conscious of his mean dishonesty toward a stranger, Allen +attempted no vindication nor excuse, lest matters should assume even +a worse aspect. A moment or two he stood irresolute, and then +retired from the house. As he did so, Mr. Lovering entered the room +where this little scene had just transpired, and was quite startled +at the aspect of affairs. + +"What's this? What has happened? Fanny, child, what in the name of +wonder is the matter? Where's Edward?" + +Mr. Lovering spoke hurriedly. As soon as practicable, the whole +affair was related. + +"And is that all?" exclaimed Mr. Lovering, in surprise. "Pooh! pooh! +I'm really astonished! I thought that some dreadful thing had +happened." + +"Don't you regard this as a very serious matter?" inquired Mrs. +Waring. + +"Serious? No! It's a thing of every day occurrence. If you are not a +judge of the goods you attempt to purchase, you must expect to pay +for your ignorance. Shopkeepers have to make up their ratio of +profits in the aggregate sales of the day. Sometimes they have to +sell a sharp customer at cost, rather than lose the sale; and this +must be made up on some one like you." + +"Not a serious matter," replied Fanny's aunt, "to discover that the +betrothed of your daughter is a dishonest man?" + +"Nonsense! nonsense! you don't know what you are talking about," +said Mr. Lovering, fretfully. "He's shrewd and sharp, as every +business-man who expects to succeed must be. As to his trade +operations, Fanny has nothing to do with them. He'll make her a kind +husband, and provide for her handsomely. What more can she ask?" + +"A great deal more," replied Mrs. Waring, firmly. + +"What more, pray?" + +"A husband, in whose high moral virtues, and unselfish regard for +the right, she can unerringly confide. One who will never, in his +eager desire to secure for himself some personal end or +gratification, forget what is due to the tender, confiding wife who +has placed all that is dear to her in his guardianship. Brother, +depend upon it, the man who deliberately wrongs another to gain an +advantage to himself, will never, in marriage, make a truly virtuous +woman happy. This I speak thoughtfully and solemnly; and I pray you +take it to heart, ere conviction of what I assert comes upon you too +late. But, I may have said too much. Forgive my plain speaking. From +the fulness of the heart is this utterance." + +And so saying, Mrs. Waring passed from the room, and left the +parents of Fanny alone with their weeping child. Few words were +spoken by either Mr. or Mrs. Lovering. Something in the last remarks +of Mrs. Waring had startled their minds into new convictions. As for +the daughter, she soon retired to her own apartment, and did not +join the family again until the next morning. Then, her sad eyes and +colorless face too plainly evidenced a night of sleeplessness and +suffering. + +By a kind of tacit consent on the part of each member of the family, +no allusion, whatever, was made to the occurrences of the day +previous. Evening came, but not as usual came Edward Allen. The next +day, and the next went by, without his accustomed appearance. For a +whole week his visits were omitted. + +Grievous was the change which, in that time, had become visible in +Fanny Lovering. The very light of her life seemed to go out +suddenly; and, for a while, she had groped about in thick darkness. +A few feeble rays were again becoming visible; but from a quarter of +the heavens where she had not expected light. Wisely, gently, and +unobtrusively had Mrs. Waring, during this period of gloom and +distress, cast high truths into the mind of her suffering niece--and +from these, as stars in the firmament of thought, came the rays by +which she was able to see a path opening before her. When, at the +end of the tenth day of uncertainty, came a note from Allen, in +these brief words: "If it is Miss Lovering's wish to be free from +her engagement, a word will annul the contract"--she replied, within +ten minutes, "Let the contract be annulled; you are free." + +Two weeks later, and Mr. Lovering brought home the intelligence that +Allen was to be married in a few days to a certain Miss Jerrold, +daughter of a man reputed wealthy. + +"To Miss Jerrold! It cannot be!" said Mrs. Lovering in surprise. + +"I will not believe it, father." Fanny spoke with quivering lips and +a choking voice. + +"Who is Miss Jerrold?" asked Mrs. Waring. + +"A coarse, vulgar-minded girl, of whom many light things have been +said," replied Mrs. Lovering, indignantly. "But her father is rich, +and she is an only child." + +"He never loved you, dear," said Mrs. Waring to Fanny about a week +later, as the yet suffering girl laid her tearful face on her bosom. +The news had just come that Miss Jerrold was the bride of Allen. The +frame of the girl thrilled for a moment or two; then all was calm, +and she replied-- + +"Not as I wished to be loved. O aunt! what an escape I have made! I +look down the fearful gulf on the very brink of which my feet were +arrested, and shudder to the heart's core. If he could take her, he +never could have appreciated me. Something more than maiden purity +and virtue attracted him. Ah! how could my instincts have been so at +fault!" + +"Dear child," said Mrs. Waring, earnestly, "there can be no true +love, as I have before said to you, without an appreciation of +quality. A fine person, agreeable manners, social position--in a +word, all external advantages and attractions are nothing, unless +virtue be in the heart. It is a man's virtues that a woman must +love, if she loves truly. If she assumes the possession of moral +wisdom, without undoubting evidence, she is false to herself. To +marry under such circumstances is to take a fearful risk. Alas! how +many have repented through a long life of wretchedness. Can a true +woman love a man who lacks principle--who will sacrifice honour for +a few paltry dollars--who will debase himself for gain--whose gross +sensuality suffocates all high, spiritual love? No! no! It is +impossible! And she who unites herself with such a man, must either +shrink, grovelling, down to his mean level, or be inconceivably +wretched." + +Two years later, and results amply justified the timely +interposition of Mrs. Waring, and demonstrated the truth of her +positions. Her beautiful, true-hearted niece has become the bride of +a man possessing all the external advantages sought to be obtained +by Mr. and Mrs. Lovering in the proposed marriage with Mr. Allen; +and what is more and better, of one whose love of truth and goodness +is genuine, and whose appreciation of his wife rests on a perception +of her womanly virtues. As years pass, and their knowledge of each +other becomes more intimate, their union will become closer and +closer, until affection and thought become so blended, that they +will act in all their mutual life-relations as one. + +Alas! how different it is already with Edward Allen and the woman he +led to the altar, where each made false vows the one to the other. +There were no qualities to be loved; and to each, person and +principles soon grew repellant. Through sharp practices in business, +Allen is rapidly adding to the fortune already acquired by trade and +marriage; but, apart from the love of accumulation, which keeps his +mind active and excited during business hours, he has no pleasure in +life. He does not love the woman who presides in his elegant home, +and she affects nothing in regard to him. They only tolerate each +other for appearance sake. Sometimes, Fanny Lovering, now Mrs.----, +meets them in public; but never without an almost audibly breathed +"Thank God, that I am not in her place!" as her eyes rest upon the +countenance of Allen, in which evil and selfish purposes have +already stamped their unmistakable meanings. + +BLESSING OF A GOOD DEED. + +"I SHOULD like to do that, every day, for a year to come," said Mr. +William Everett, rubbing his hands together quickly, in +irrepressible pleasure. + +Mr. Everett was a stock and money broker, and had just made an +"operation," by which a clear gain of two thousand dollars was +secured. He was alone in his office: or, so much alone as not to +feel restrained by the presence of another. And yet, a pair of dark, +sad eyes were fixed intently upon his self-satisfied countenance, +with an expression, had he observed it, that would, at least, have +excited a moment's wonder. The owner of this pair of eyes was a +slender, rather poorly dressed lad, in his thirteenth year, whom Mr. +Everett had engaged, a short time previously, to attend in his +office and run upon errands. He was the son of a widowed mother, now +in greatly reduced circumstances. His father had been an early +friend of Mr. Everett. It was this fact which led to the boy's +introduction into the broker's office. + +"Two thousand dollars!" The broker had uttered aloud his +satisfaction; but now he communed with himself silently. "Two +thousand dollars! A nice little sum that for a single day's work. I +wonder what Mr. Jenkins will say tomorrow morning, when he hears of +such an advance in these securities?" + +From some cause, this mental reference to Mr. Jenkins did not +increase our friend's state of exhilaration. Most probably, there +was something in the transaction by which he had gained so handsome +a sum of money, that, in calmer moments, would not bear too close a +scrutiny--something that Mr. Everett would hardly like to have +blazoned forth to the world. Be this as it may, a more sober mood, +in time, succeeded, and although the broker was richer by two +thousand dollars than when he arose in the morning, he was certainly +no happier. + +An hour afterward, a business friend came into the office of Mr. +Everett and said-- + +"Have you heard about Cassen?" + +"No; what of him?" + +"He's said to be off to California with twenty thousand dollars in +his pockets more than justly belongs to him." + +"What!" + +"Too true, I believe. His name is in the list of passengers who left +New York in the steamer yesterday." + +"The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett, who, by this time, was very +considerably excited. + +"He owes you, does he?" said the friend. + +"I lent him three hundred dollars only day before yesterday." + +"A clear swindle." + +"Yes, it is. Oh, if I could only get my hands on him!". + +Mr. Everett's countenance, as he said this, did not wear a very +amiable expression. + +"Don't get excited about it," said the other. "I think he has let +you off quite reasonably. Was that sum all he asked to borrow?" + +"Yes." + +"I know two at least, who are poorer by a couple of thousands by his +absence." + +But Mr. Everett was excited. For half an hour after the individual +left who had communicated this unpleasant piece of news, the broker +walked the floor of his office with compressed lips, a lowering +brow, and most unhappy feelings. The two thousand dollars gain in no +way balanced in his mind the three hundred lost. The pleasure +created by the one had not penetrated deep enough to escape +obliteration by the other. + +Of all this, the boy with the dark eyes had taken quick cognizance. +And he comprehended all. Scarcely a moment had his glance been +removed from the countenance or form of Mr. Everett, while the +latter walked with uneasy steps the floor of his office. + +As the afternoon waned, the broker's mind grew calmer. The first +excitement produced by the loss, passed away; but it left a sense of +depression and disappointment that completely shadowed his feelings. + +Intent as had been the lad's observation of his employer during all +this time, it is a little remarkable that Mr. Everett had not once +been conscious of the fact that the boy's eyes were steadily upon +him. In fact he had been, as was usually the case too much absorbed +in things concerning himself to notice what was peculiar to another, +unless the peculiarity were one readily used to his own advantage. + +"John," said Mr. Everett, turning suddenly to the boy, and +encountering his large, earnest eyes, "take this note around to Mr. +Legrand." + +John sprang to do his bidding; received the note and was off with +unusual fleetness. But the door which closed upon his form did not +shut out the expression of his sober face and humid glance from the +vision of Mr. Everett. In fact, from some cause, tears had sprung to +the eyes of the musing boy at the very moment he was called upon to +render a service; and, quicker than usual though his motions were, +he had failed to conceal them. + +A new train of thought now entered the broker's mind. This child of +his old friend had been taken into his office from a kind of +charitable feeling--though of very low vitality. He paid him a +couple of dollars a week, and thought little more, about him or his +widowed mother. He had too many important interests of his own at +stake, to have his mind turned aside for a trifling matter like +this. But now, as the image of that sad face--for it was unusually +sad at the moment when Mr. Everett looked suddenly toward the +boy--lingered in his mind, growing every moment more distinct, and +more touchingly beautiful, many considerations of duty and humanity +were excited. He remembered his old friend, and the pleasant hours +they had spent together in years long since passed, ere generous +feelings had hardened into ice, or given place to all-pervading +selfishness. He remembered, too, the beautiful girl his friend had +married, and how proudly that friend presented her to their little +world as his bride. The lad had her large, dark, spiritual +eyes--only the light of joy had faded therefrom, giving place to a +strange sadness. + +All this was now present to the mind of Mr. Everett, and though he +tried once or twice during the boy's absence to obliterate these +recollections, he was unable to do so. + +"How is your mother, John?" kindly asked the broker, when the lad +returned from his errand. + +The question was so unexpected, that it confused him. + +"She's well--thank you, sir. No--not very well, either--thank you, +sir." + +And the boy's face flushed, and his eyes suffused. + +"Not very well, you say?" Mr. Everett spoke with kindness, and in a +tone of interest. "Not sick, I hope?" + +"No, sir; not very sick. But"---- + +"But what, John," said Mr., Everett, encouragingly. + +"She's in trouble," half stammered the boy, while the colour +deepened on his face. + +"Ah, indeed? I'm sorry for that. What is the trouble, John?" + +The tears which John had been vainly striving to repress now gushed +over his face, and, with a boyish shame for the weakness, he turned +away and struggled for a time with his overmastering feelings. Mr. +Everett was no little moved by so unexpected an exhibition. He +waited with a new-born consideration for the boy, not unmingled with +respect, until a measure of calmness was restored. + +"John," he then said, "if your mother is in trouble, it may be in my +power to relieve her." + +"O sir!" exclaimed the lad eagerly, coming up to Mr. Everett, and, +in the forgetfulness of the moment, laying his small hand upon that +of his employer, "if you will, you can." + +Hard indeed would have been the heart that could have withstood the +appealing, eyes lifted by John Levering to the face of Mr. Everett. +But Mr. Everett had not a hard heart. Love of self and the world had +encrusted it with indifference toward others, but the crust was now +broken through. + +"Speak freely, my good lad," said he, kindly. "Tell me of your +mother. What is her trouble?" + +"We are very poor, sir." Tremulous and mournful was the boy's voice. +"And mother isn't well. She does all she can; and my wages help a +little. But there are three of us children; and I am the oldest. +None of the rest can earn any thing. Mother couldn't help getting +behind with the rent, sir, because she hadn't the money to pay it +with. This morning, the man who owns the house where we live came +for some money, and when mother told him that she had none, he got, +oh, so angry! and frightened us all. He said, if the rent wasn't +paid by to-morrow, he'd turn us all into the street. Poor mother! +She went to bed sick." + +"How much does your mother owe the man?" asked Mr. Everett. + +"Oh, it's a great deal, sir. I'm afraid she'll never be able to pay +it; and I don't know what we'll do." + +"How much?" + +"Fourteen dollars, sir," answered the lad. + +"Is that all?" And Mr. Everett thrust his hand into his pocket. +"Here are twenty dollars. Run home to your mother, and give them to +her with my compliments." + +The boy grasped the money eagerly, and, as he did so, in an +irrepressible burst of gratitude, kissed the hand from which he +received it. He did not speak, for strong emotion choked all +utterance; but Mr. Everett saw his heart in his large, wet eyes, and +it was overflowing with thankfulness. + +"Stay a moment," said the broker, as John Levering was about passing +through the door. "Perhaps I had better write a note to your +mother." + +"I wish you would, sir," answered the boy, as he came slowly back. + +A brief note was written, in which Mr. Everett not only offered +present aid, but promised, for the sake of old recollections that +now were crowding fast upon his mind, to be the widow's future +friend. + +For half an hour after the lad departed, the broker sat musing, with +his eyes upon the floor. His thoughts were clear, and his feelings +tranquil. He had made, on that day, the sum of two thousand dollars +by a single transaction, but the thought of this large accession to +his worldly goods did not give him a tithe of the pleasure he +derived from the bestowal of twenty dollars. He thought, too, of the +three hundred dollars he had lost by a misplaced confidence; yet, +even as the shadow cast from that event began to fall upon his +heart, the bright face of John Levering was conjured up by fancy, +and all was sunny again. + +Mr. Everett went home to his family on that evening, a +cheerful-minded man. Why? Not because he was richer by nearly two +thousand dollars. That circumstance would have possessed no power to +lift him above the shadowed, fretful state which he loss of three +hundred dollars had produced. Why? He had bestowed of his abundance, +and thus made suffering hearts glad; and the consciousness of this +pervaded his bosom with a warming sense of delight. + +Thus it is, that true benevolence carries with it, ever a double +blessing. Thus it is, that in giving, more is often gained than in +eager accumulation or selfish withholding. + +PAYING THE DOCTOR. + +AFTER a day of unusual anxiety and fatigue, Dr. Elton found himself +snugly wrapped up in a liberal quantity of blankets and bed-quilts, +just as the clock struck twelve one stormy night in February. For +over half an hour he had lain awake, racking his brain in reference +to two or three critical cases which were on his hands; but tired +nature could keep up no longer, and the sweet oblivion of sleep was +stealing over his senses. But just as he had lost himself, the bell +over his head began to ring furiously, and brought him into the +middle of the floor in an instant. Pushing his head out of the +window, he interrogated the messenger below, just too late to save +that individual the trouble of giving the bell-rope another violent +demonstration of his skill. + +"Mr. Marvel wants you to come and see Charley immediately," replied +the messenger. + +"What's the matter with Charley?" + +"He's got the croup, I believe." + +"Tell him I'll be there in a moment," said Dr. Elton, drawing in his +head. Hurrying on his clothes, he descended to his office, and, +possessing himself of some necessary medicines, it being too late +for the family to send out a prescription, wrapped his cloak around +him, and turned out into the storm. + +It was at least half a mile to the residence of Mr. Marvel, and by, +the time the doctor arrived there, he was cold, wet, and +uncomfortable both in mind and body. Ascending to the chamber, he +was not a little surprised to find Charley, a bright little fellow +of some two years old, sitting up in his crib as lively as a +cricket. + +"O doctor! we've been _so_ frightened!" said Mrs. Marvel, as Dr. +Elton entered. "We thought Charley had the croup, he breathed so +loud. But he don't seem to get any worse. What do you think of him, +doctor?" + +Dr. Elton felt his pulse, listened to his respiration, examined the +appearance of his skin, and then said, emphatically-- + +"I think you'd better all be in bed!" + +"It's better to be scared than hurt, doctor," responded Mr. Marvel. + +"Humph!" ejaculated Dr. Elton. + +"Don't you think you'd better give him something, doctor?" said Mrs. +Marvel. + +"What for, ma'am?" + +"To keep him from having the croup. Don't you think he's threatened +with it?" + +"Not half as much as I am," replied the doctor, who made a quick +retreat, fearing that he would give way too much to his irritated +feelings, and offend a family who were able to pay. + +Next morning, on the debtor side of his ledger, under the name of +Mr. Marvel, Dr. Elton made this entry; _To one night-visit to son,_ +$5. "And it's well for me that he's able to pay," added the doctor, +mentally, as he replaced the book in the drawer from which he had +taken it. Scarcely had this necessary part of the business been +performed, when the same messenger who had summoned him the night +before, came post-haste into the office, with the announcement that +Mrs. Marvel wanted him to come there immediately, as Charley had got +a high fever. + +Obedient to the summons, Dr. Elton soon made his appearance, and +found both Mr. and Mrs. Marvel greatly concerned about their little +boy. + +"I'm _so_ 'fraid of the scarlet fever, doctor!" said Mrs. Marvel. +"Do you think it's any thing like that?" she continued with much +anxiety, turning upon Charley a look of deep maternal affection. + +Dr. Elton felt of Charley's pulse, and looked at his tongue, and +then wrote a prescription in silence. + +"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked the father, much +concerned. + +"He's not dangerous, sir. Give him this, and if he should grow +worse, send for me." + +The doctor bowed and departed, and the fond parents sent off for the +medicine. It was in the form of a very small dose of rhubarb, and +poor Charley had to have his nose held tight, and the nauseous stuff +poured down his throat. In the afternoon, when the doctor called, on +being sent for, there were some slight febrile symptoms, consequent +upon excitement and loss of rest. The medicine, contrary to his +expectation, heightened, instead of allaying these; and long before +nightfall he was summoned again to attend his little patient. Much +to his surprise, he found him with a hot skin, flushed face, and +quickened pulse. Mrs. Marvel was in a state of terrible alarm. + +"I knew there was more the matter with him than you thought for, +doctor!" said the mother, while Dr. Elton examined his patient. "You +thought it was nothing, but I knew better. If you'd only prescribed +last night, as I wanted you to, all this might have been saved." + +"Don't be alarmed, madam," said the doctor, "there is nothing +serious in this fever. It will soon subside." + +Mrs. Marvel shook her head. + +"It's the scarlet fever, doctor, I know it is!" said she, +passionately, bursting into tears. + +"Let me beg of you, madam, not to distress yourself. I assure you +there is no danger!" + +"So you said last night, doctor; and just see how much worse he is +getting!" + +As Dr. Elton was generally a man of few words, he said no more, but +wrote a prescription, and went away, promising, however, at the +earnest request of Mrs. Marvel, to call again that night. + +About nine o'clock he called in, and found Charley's fever in no +degree abated. Mrs. Marvel was in tears, and her husband pacing the +floor in a state of great uneasiness. + +"O doctor, he'll die, I'm sure he'll die!" said Mrs. Marvel, weeping +bitterly. + +"Don't be alarmed, my dear madam," replied the doctor. "I assure you +it is nothing serious." + +"Oh, I'm 'sure it's the scarlet fever! It's all about now." + +"No, madam, I am in earnest when I tell you it is nothing of the +kind. His throat is not in the least sore." + +"Yes, doctor, it is sore!" + +"How do you know?" responded the doctor, examining Charley's mouth +and throat, which showed not the least symptom of any irritation of +the mucous membrane. "It can't be sore from any serious cause. Some +trifling swelling of the glands is all that can occasion it, if any +exist." + +Thus assured, and in a positive manner, Mrs. Marvel's alarm in some +degree abated, and after ordering a warm bath, the doctor retired. + +About three o'clock the doctor was again sent for in great haste. On +entering the chamber of his little patient, he found his fever all +gone, and he in a pleasant sleep. + +"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked Mrs. Marvel, in a low, +anxious whisper. + +"I think he's doing as well as he can." + +"But a'n't it strange, doctor, that he should breathe so low? He +looks so pale, and lays so quiet! Are you sure he's not dying?" + +"Dying!" exclaimed Dr. Elton,--"he's no more dying than you are! +Really, Mrs. Marvel, yon torment yourself with unnecessary fears! +Nature is only a little exhausted from struggling with the fever, he +will be like a new person by morning." + +"Do not mistake the case, doctor, for we are very much concerned," +said Mr. Marvel. + +"I do assure you, sir, that I understand the case precisely; and you +must believe me, when I tell you that no patient was ever in a +better way than your little boy." + +Next morning, among other charges made by Dr. Elton, were two +against Mr. Marvel, as follows: _To four visits to son,_ $4. _To one +night-visit to son,_ $5. + +"Not a bad customer!" said the doctor, with a smile, as he ran up +the whole account, and then closed the book. + +In the constant habit of sending for the doctor on every trifling +occasion, whether it occurred at noonday or midnight, it is not to +be wondered at that a pretty large bill should find its way to Mr. +Marvel at the end of the year. And this was not the worst of it; the +health of his whole family suffered in no slight degree from the +fact of each individual being so frequently under the influence of +medicine. Poor Charley was victimized almost every week; and, +instead of being a fresh, hearty boy, began to show a pale, thin +face, and every indication of a weakened vital action. This +appearance only increased the evil, for both parents, growing more +anxious in consequence, were more urgent to have him placed under +treatment. Dr. Elton sometimes remonstrated with them, but to no +purpose; and yielding to their ignorance and their anxiety, became a +party in the destruction of the boy's health. + +"What is that, my dear?" asked Mrs. Marvel of her husband, some ten +months after their introduction to the reader, as the latter +regarded, with no pleasant countenance, a small piece of paper which +he held in his hand. + +"Why, it's Dr. Elton's bill." + +"Indeed! How much is it?" + +"One hundred and fifty dollars!" + +"Oh, husband!" + +"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" + +"One hundred and fifty dollars, did you say?" + +"Yes, one hundred and fifty dollars. A'n't it outrageous?" + +"It's scandalous! It's downright swindling! I'd never pay it in the +world! Who ever heard of such a thing! One hundred and fifty dollars +for one year's attendance! Good gracious!"--and Mrs. Marvel held up +her hands, and lifted her eyes in profound astonishment. + +"I can't understand it!" said Mr. Marvel. "Why, nobody's had a spell +of sickness in the family for the whole year. Charley's been a +little sick once or twice; but nothing of much consequence. There +must be something wrong about it. I'll go right off and see him, and +have an understanding about it at once." + +Carrying out his resolution on the instant, Mr. Marvel left the +house and proceeded with rapid steps toward the office of Dr. Elton. +He found that individual in. + +"Good morning Mr. Marvel! How do you do to-day?" said the doctor, +who understood from his countenance that something was wrong, and +had an instinctive perception of its nature. + +"Good morning, doctor! I got your bill to-day." + +"Yes, sir; I sent it out." + +"But a'n't there something wrong about it, doctor?" + +"No, I presume not. I make my charges carefully, and draw off my +bills in exact accordance with them." + +"But there must be, doctor. How in the world could you make a bill +of one hundred and fifty dollars against me? I've had no serious +sickness in my family." + +"And yet, Mr. Marvel, I have been called in almost every week, and +sometimes three or four times in as many days." + +"Impossible!" + +"I'll show you my ledger, if that will satisfy you, where every +visit is entered." + +"No, it's no use to do that. I know that you have been called in +pretty often, but not frequently enough to make a bill like this." + +"How many night-visits do you suppose I have made to your family, +during the year?" + +"I'm sure I don't know. Not more than three or four." + +"I've made ten!" + +"You must be mistaken, doctor." + +"Do you remember that I was called in last February, when you +thought Charley had the croup?" + +"Yes." + +"And the night after?" + +"Yes. That's but two." + +"And the night you thought he had the measles?" + +"Yes." + +"And the night after?" + +"Yes. But that's only four." + +"And the three times he fell out of bed?" + +"Not three times, doctor!" + +"Yes, it was three times. Don't you recollect the knob on his head?" + +"Yes, indeed!" + +"And the sprained finger?" + +"Yes." + +"And the bruised cheek?" + +"Well, I believe you are right about that, doctor. But that don't +make ten times." + +"You have not forgotten, of course, the night he told you he had +swallowed a pin?" + +"No, indeed," said the father, turning pale. "Do you think there is +any danger to be apprehended from its working its way into the +heart, doctor?" + +"None at, all, I should think. And you remember"-- + +"Never mind, doctor, I suppose you are right about that. But how can +ten visits make one hundred and fifty dollars?" + +"They will make fifty, though, and that is one-third of the bill." + +"You don't pretend to charge five dollars a visit, though, doctor?" + +"For all visits after ten o'clock at night, we are allowed by law to +charge five dollars." + +"Outrageous!" + +"Would you get up out of your warm bed after midnight, turn out in a +December storm, and walk half a mile for five dollars?" + +"I can't say that I would. But then it's your business." + +"Of course it is, and I must be paid for it." + +"Any how, doctor, that don't account for the whole of this +exorbitant bill." + +"But one hundred day and evening visits here on my ledger will, +though." + +"You don't pretend to say you have paid my family a hundred visits, +certainly?" + +"I will give you day and date for them, if necessary." + +"No, it's no use to do that," said Mr. Marvel, whose memory began to +be a little more active. "I'll give you a hundred dollars, and say +no more about it; that is enough, in all conscience." + +"I can't do any such thing, Mr. Marvel. I have charged you what was +right, and can take nothing off. What would you think of a man who +had made a bill at your store of one hundred and fifty dollars, if +he were to offer you one hundred when he came to pay, and ask for a +receipt in full?" + +"But that a'n't to the point." + +"A'n't it, though? I should like to hear of a case more applicable. +But it's no use to multiply words about the matter. My bill is +correct, and I cannot take a dollar off of it." + +"It's the last bill you ever make out of me, remember that, doctor!" +said Mr. Marvel, rising, and leaving the office in a state of angry +excitement. + +"Well, what does he say?" asked Mrs. Marvel, who had waited for her +husband's return with some interest. + +"He tried to beat me down that the bill was all right; but I'm too +old a child for that. Why, would you believe it?--he has charged +five dollars for every night-visit." + +"That's no better than highway robbery." + +"Not a bit. But it's the last money he ever gets out of me." + +"I'd never call him in, I know. He must think we're made of money." + +"Oh, I suppose we're the first family he's had who wasn't poor, and +he wanted to dig as deep as possible. I hate such swindling, and if +it wasn't for having a fuss I'd never pay him a dollar." + +"He's charged us for every poor family in the neighbourhood, I +suppose." + +"No doubt of it. I've heard of these tricks before; but it's the +last time I'll submit to have them played off upon me." + +The visit of Mr. Marvel somewhat discomposed the feelings of Dr. +Elton, and he had begun to moralize upon the unthankful position he +held in the community, when he was aroused from his reverie by the +entrance of a servant from one of the principal hotels, with a +summons to attend immediately a young lady who was thought to be +exceedingly ill. + +"Who is she?" asked the doctor. + +"She is the daughter of Mr. Smith, a merchant from the East." + +"Is any one with her?" + +"Yes, her father." + +"Tell him I will be there immediately." + +In the course of fifteen minutes Dr. Elton's carriage drove up to +the door of the hotel. He found his patient to be a young lady of +about seventeen, accompanied by her father, a middle-aged man, whose +feelings were much, and anxiously excited. + +At a glance, his practised eye detected symptoms of a serious +nature, and a closer examination of the case convinced him that all +his skill would be called into requisition. With a hot, dry skin, +slightly flushed face, parched lips, and slimy, furred tongue, there +was a dejection, languor, and slight indication of delirium--and +much apparent confusion of mind. Prescribing as he thought the case +required, he left the room, accompanied with the father. + +"Well, doctor, what do you think of her?" said Mr. Smith, with a +heavy, oppressed expiration. + +"She is ill, sir, and will require attention." + +"But, doctor, you don't think my child dangerous, do you?" said the +father with an alarmed manner. + +"It is right that you should know, sir, that your daughter is, to +all appearance, threatened with the typhus fever. But I don't think +there is any cause for alarm, only for great care in her physician +and attendants." + +"O doctor, can I trust her in your hands? But I am foolish; I know +that there is no one in this city of more acknowledged skill than +yourself. You must pardon a father's fears. Spare no attentions, +doctor--visit her at least twice every day, and you shall be well +paid for your attentions. Save my child for me, and I will owe you +eternal gratitude." + +"All that I can do for her, shall be done, sir," said Dr. Elton. + +Just relieved from the care of a dangerous case, in its healthy +change, Dr. Elton's mind had relaxed from the anxiety which too +frequently burdened it; for a physician's mind is always oppressed +while the issue, of life or death hangs upon his power to subdue a +disease, which may be too deeply seated to yield to the influence of +medicine. Now, all the oppressive sense of responsibility, the care, +the anxiety, were to be renewed, and felt with even a keener +concern. + +In the evening he called in, but there was no perceptible change, +except a slight aggravation of all the symptoms. The medicine had +produced no visible salutary effect. During the second day, there +was exhibited little alteration, but on the morning of the third +day, symptoms of a more decided character had supervened--such as +suffused and injected eyes, painful deglutition, an oppression in +the chest, accompanied with a short, dry cough, pains in the back, +loins, and extremities; and a soreness throughout the whole body. +These had not escaped the father's observation, and with the most +painful anxiety did he watch the countenance of the physician while +he examined the case in its new presentation. Much as he tried to +control the expression of his face, he found it impossible. He felt +too deeply concerned, and was too conscious of the frequent +impotence of medicine, when administered with the most experienced +skill. + +In the afternoon he called again, and found the father, as usual, by +the bedside. His patient seemed to be in a narcotic sleep, and when +roused from it, complained of much giddiness, and soon sunk down +again into a state of torpor. + +"What do you think of her now, doctor?" asked the father, in a +hoarse whisper, on the physician's leaving the chamber of his +patient. + +"It is impossible to form any correct idea respecting a case like +this. I have seen many much worse recover, and have no doubt, as far +as human calculation will go, that your daughter will get well. But +the fever is a tedious one, usually defying all attempts at breaking +it. It must run its course, which is usually some ten or fifteen +days. All we can do is to palliate, and then assist nature, when the +disease has abated its violence." + +It is not necessary to trace the progress of the disease from day to +day, until it reached its climax. When the fever did break, and a +soft, gentle moisture penetrated the skin, the patient had but a +spark of life remaining. + +At the close of the fifteenth day, when every symptom indicated that +convalescence or death would soon ensue, no one but a physician can +imagine the painful, restless anxiety, which was felt by Dr. Elton. +He took but little food, and slept hardly any during the whole +night, frequently starting from his brief periods of troubled +slumber, in consequence of great nervous excitement. + +Early in the morning he called at the room of his patient, +trembling, lest a first glance should dash every hope to the ground. +He entered softly, and perceived the father bending over her with a +pale anxious face. She was asleep. He took her hand, but let it drop +instantly. + +"What is the matter?" asked the father in an alarmed whisper, his +face growing paler. + +"She is safe?" responded the doctor, in a low whisper, every pulse +thrilling with pleasant excitement. + +The father clasped his hands, looked upward a moment, and then burst +into tears. + +"How can I ever repay you for your skill in saving my child!" he +said, after his feelings had grown calmer. + +It was nearly a month before the daughter was well enough to return +home, during most of which time Dr. Elton was in attendance. For +fifteen days he had attended twice a day regularly, and for nearly +as long a period once a day. + +While sitting in his office one day about three o'clock, waiting for +his carriage to come up to the door, Mr. Smith entered, and asked +for his bill, as he was about to leave. On examining his +account-book, Dr. Elton found that he had made about fifty visits, +and accordingly he made out his bill fifty dollars. + +"How much is this, doctor?" said Mr. Smith, eyeing the bill with +something of doubt in the expression of his countenance. + +"Fifty dollars, sir." + +"Fifty dollars! Why, surely, doctor, you are not going to take +advantage of me in that way?" + +"I don't understand you, sir." + +"Why, I never heard of such an extravagant bill in my life. I have +my whole family attended at home for fifty dollars a year, and you +have not been visiting one of them much over a month." + +"Such as the bill is, you will have to pay it, sir. It is just, and +I shall not abate one dollar," responded Dr. Elton, considerably +irritated. + +Mr. Smith drew out his pocket-book slowly, selected a fifty-dollar +bill from a large package, handed it to the doctor, took his +receipt, and rising to his feet, said emphatically-- + +"I am a stranger, and you have taken advantage of me. But remember, +the gains of dishonesty will never prosper!" and turning upon his +heel, left the office. + +"Who would be a doctor?" murmured Dr. Elton, forcing the unpleasant +thoughts occasioned by the incident from his mind, and endeavouring +to fix it upon a case of more than usual interest which he had been +called to that day. + +A word to the wise is sufficient; it is therefore needless to +multiply scenes illustrative of the manner in which too many people +pay the doctor. + +When any one is sick, the doctor is sent for, and the family are all +impatient until he arrives. If the case is a bad one, he is looked +upon as a ministering angel; the patient's eye brightens when he +comes, and all in the house feel more cheerful for hours after. Amid +all kinds of weather, at all hours in the day or night, he obeys the +summons, and brings all his skill, acquired by long study, and by +much laborious practice, to bear upon the disease. But when the sick +person gets well, the doctor is forgotten; and when the bill +appears, complaint at its amount is almost always made; and too +frequently, unless he proceed to legal measures, it is entirely +withheld from him. These things ought not so to be. Of course, there +are many honourable exceptions; but every physician can +exclaim--"Would that their number was greater!" + + + + + + +THE LITTLE BOUND-BOY. + + + + + +IN a miserable old house, in Commerce street, north of Pratt street +Baltimore,--there are fine stores there now--lived a shoemaker, +whose wife took a particular fancy to me as a doctor, (I never felt +much flattered by the preference,) and would send for me whenever +she was sick. I could do no less than attend her ladyship. For a +time I tried, by pretty heavy bills, to get rid of the honour; but +it wouldn't do. Old Maxwell, the husband, grumbled terribly, but +managed to keep out of my debt. He was the reputed master of his +house; but I saw enough to satisfy me that if he were master, his +wife was mistress of the master. + +Maxwell had three or four apprentices, out of whom he managed to get +a good deal of work at a small cost. Among these was a little +fellow, whose peculiarly delicate appearance often attracted my +attention. He seemed out of place among the stout, vulgar-looking +boys, who stitched and hammered away from morning until night in +their master's dirty shop. + +"Where did you get that child?" I asked of the shoemaker one day. + +"Whom do you mean? Bill?" + +"Yes, the little fellow you call Bill." + +"I took him out of pure charity. His mother died about a year and a +half ago, and if I hadn't taken him in, he would have gone to the +poor house as like as not." + +"Who was his mother?" + +"She was a poor woman, who sewed for the slopshops for a living--but +their pay won't keep soul and body together." + +"And so she died?" + +"Yes, she died, and I took her child out of pure charity, as I have +said." + +"Is he bound to you?" + +"Oh yes. I never take a boy without having him bound." + +"What was his mother's name?" + +"I believe they called her Mrs. Miller." + +"Did you ever meet with her?" + +"No: but my wife knew her very well. She was a strange kind of +woman--feeling something above her condition, I should think. She +was always low-spirited, my wife says, but never complained about +any thing. Bill was her only child, and he used to go for her work, +and carry it home when it was finished. She sent him out, too, to +buy every thing. I don't believe she would have stirred beyond her +own door if she had starved to death." + +"Why not?" + +"Pride, I reckon." + +"Pride? Why should she be proud?" + +"Dear knows! Maybe she once belonged to the bettermost class of +people, and was afraid of meeting some of them in the street." + +This brief conversation awoke an interest in my mind for the lad. As +I left the shop, I met him at the door with a large bucket of water +in his hand--too heavy for his strength. I looked at him more +narrowly than I had ever done before. There was a feminine delicacy +about every feature of his face, unusual in boys who ordinarily +belong to the station he was filling. His eyes, too, had a softer +expression, and his brow was broader and fairer. The intentness with +which I looked at him, caused him to look at me as intently. What +thoughts were awakened in his mind I could not tell. I put my hand +upon his head, involuntarily; but did not speak to him; and then +passed on. I could not help turning to take another glance at the +boy. He had turned also. I saw that there were tears in his eyes. + +"Poor fellow!" I murmured, "he is out of his place." I did, not go +back to speak to him, as I wished afterward that I had done, but +kept on my way. + +Not having occasion to visit the shoemaker's wife again for some +months, this boy did not, during the time, fall under my notice. It +was midwinter when I next saw him. + +I was preparing to go out one stormy morning in February, when a lad +came into my office. He was drenched to the skin by the rain, that +was driving fiercely along under the pressure of a strong +northeaster, and shivering with cold. His teeth chattered so that it +was some time before he could make known his errand. I noticed that +he was clad in a much worn suit of common corduroy, the cracks in +which, here and there, showed the red skin beneath, and proved +clearly enough that this was all that protected him from the bitter +cold. One of his shoes gaped widely at the toe; and the other was +run down at the heel so badly, that part of his foot and old ragged +stocking touched the floor. A common sealskin cap, with the front +part nearly torn off, was in his hand. He had removed this from his +head on entering, and stood, with his eyes now resting on mine, and +now dropping beneath my gaze, waiting for me to ask his errand. I +did not recognise him. + +"Well, my little man," I said, "is any one sick?" + +"Please sir, Mr. Maxwell wants you to come down and see Johnny." + +"Mr. Maxwell! Do you live with Mr. Maxwell?" + +"Yes, sir." + +I now recognized the lad. He was a good deal changed since I last +saw him, and changed for the worse. + +"What is the matter with Johnny?" I asked. + +"I believe he's got the croup." + +"Indeed! Is he very sick?" + +"Yes, sir. He can't hardly breathe at all, and goes all the time +just so--" Imitating the wheezing sound attendant upon constricted +respiration. + +"Very well, my boy, I will be there in a little while, But, bless +me! you will get the croup as well as Johnny, if you go out in such +weather as this and have on no warmer clothing than covers you now. +Come up to the stove and warm yourself--you are shivering all over. +Why did not you bring an umbrella?" + +"Mr. Maxwell never lets me take the umbreller," said the boy +innocently. + +"He doesn't? But he sends you out in the rain?" + +"Oh yes--always. Sometimes I am wet all day." + +"Doesn't it make you sick?" + +"I feel bad, and ache all over sometimes after I have been wet; and +sometimes my face swells up and pains me so I can't sleep." + +"Do not your feet get very cold? Have you no better shoes than +these?" + +"I've got a better pair of shoes: but they hurt my feet so I can't +wear them. Thomas, one of the boys, gave me these old ones." + +"Why do they hurt your feet? Are they too small?" + +"No, sir, I don't think they are. But my feet are sore." + +I feared as much as this. "What is the matter with your feet?" I +asked. + +"I don't know, sir. The boys say that nothing's the matter with +them, only they're a little snow-burnt." + +"How do they feel?" + +"They burn and itch, and are so tender I can hardly touch them. I +can't sleep at nights sometimes for the burning and itching." + +I examined the boy's feet, and found them red, shining and tumefied, +with other indications of a severe attack of chilblains. + +"What have you done for your feet?" I asked. "Does Mr. Maxwell know +they are so bad?" + +"I showed them to him, and he said it was only a snow-burn, and that +I must put my feet in snow and let it draw the cold out." + +"Did you do so?" + +"Yes, sir, as long as I could bear it; but it hurt dreadful bad. Mr. +Maxwell said I didn't keep them in half long enough." + +"Were they better afterward?" + +"Yes, sir, I think they were; but I go out so much in the snow, and +get them wet so often, that they can't get well." + +"What is your name?" I asked. + +"William." + +"What else?" + +"William Miller." + +"Is your mother alive?" + +The tone and manner of the boy, when he gave a half inarticulate +negative, made me regret having asked the question. It was a +needless one, for already knew that his mother was dead. It was +meant, however, as a preliminary inquiry, and, having been made, I +proceeded to question him, in order to learn something, briefly, of +his history. + +"Were you born in Baltimore?" I continued. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Have you any relatives here?" + +"Mr. P----W----is my uncle." + +"Mr. W----?" I said, in surprise. + +"Yes, sir--mother said he was my uncle." + +"Is he your mother's brother?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Did he ever come to see your mother?" + +"No, sir, he never came near us, and mother never went to see him." + +"What was the reason?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +The child continued to look intently in my face, but I questioned +him no further. I knew Mr. W----very well, and settled it at once in +my mind that I would call and see him about the lad. I stood musing +for some moments after the boy's last reply, and then said-- + +"Tell Mr. Maxwell, that I will call down in about half an hour: Run +home as quickly as you can, and try and keep out of the rain." + +The sad, rebuking earnestness with which the boy looked at me, when +I said this, touched my feelings. He had, evidently, expected more +than a mere expression of sympathy; but I did not think it right to +create any false hopes in his mind. I meant to do all I could to +relieve his wretched condition; but did not know how far I would be +successful. + +I found, on visiting the child of Maxwell, that I had quite a severe +case of croup on my hands. His respiration was very difficult, and +sounded as if the air were forced through a metallic tube. There was +a good deal of fever, and other unfavourable symptoms. The +albuminous secretion was large, and the formation of the false +membrane so rapid as to threaten suffocation. I resorted to the +usual treatment in such cases, and, happily, succeeded in producing +a healthy change in the course of a few hours. So urgent had been +the case, that, in attending to it, my mind had lost sight of the +little boy on my first and second visits. As I was leaving the house +on the morning succeeding the day on which I had been called in, I +met him coming along the passage with an armful of wood. The look he +gave me, as he passed, rebuked my forgetfulness, and forced me to +turn back and speak to his master. + +"Look here, Maxwell," I said, speaking decidedly, but in a voice so +low that my words could not be heard distinctly by others in the +room--"you must take better care of that boy Bill, or you will get +into trouble." + +"How so, doctor? I am not aware that I ill-treat him," returned the +shoemaker, looking up with surprise. + +"He is not clothed warmly enough for such weather as this." + +"You must be mistaken. He has never complained of not feeling warm." + +I took hold of Maxwell's pantaloons. They were made of coarse, thick +cloth, and I perceived that there were thick woollen drawers under +them. + +"Take off these heavy trowsers and drawers," said I, and in place of +them put on a pair of half-worn corduroy pantaloons, "and go out of +doors and stand in the rain until you are drenched to the skin. The +experiment will enable you to decide for yourself whether Bill is +warmly enough clad." + +I spoke with earnestness. Either my manner, or what I said, produced +a strong effect upon the shoemaker. I could see that I had offended +him, and that he was struggling to keep down a feeling of anger that +was ready to pour itself forth upon me for having presumed to remark +upon and interfere with his business. + +"Understand me," said I, wishing to prevent the threatened outbreak +of passion, "I speak as a physician, and my duty as a physician +requires me to do so. The knowledge of, and the experience in +diseases, which I possess, enable me to understand better than other +men the causes that produce them, and to give, as I should give, to +the unthinking, a warning of danger. And this I give to you now." + +"All very well, doctor," returned Maxwell, "if you don't raise false +alarms." + +"Do you think I have done so in the present case?" + +"I don't think any thing about it. I know you have." + +"Then you think the lad warmly enough clothed?" + +"If I did not think so, I would dress him more warmly." + +"You have on three times the thickness of clothing that he has." I +fixed my eyes intently on the man as I spoke. + +"And his blood is three times as warm as mine. I need not tell you +that, doctor." + +"How do you know?" + +"How do I know?" speaking contemptuously--"does not everybody know +that?" + +"How hot do you suppose your blood is?" + +"I don't know." + +"Let us suppose it to be eighty degrees. Three times eighty would be +two hundred and forty. Water boils at two hundred and twelve. If it +be indeed true that the lad's blood is above the boiling-point, I +must agree with you that his clothes are quite sufficient to keep +out the cold at any season." + +"You understand me well enough, doctor," replied Maxwell, exhibiting +a good deal of confusion. "I mean that a boy's blood is much warmer +than a man's, which, with his greater activity, causes him to be +less affected by cold. I have seen a good deal of boys, and have +been a boy myself, and know all about it." + +"Generally speaking, what you affirm about the greater warmth of +young persons is true," I said to this. "But there are many +exceptions. It is true, where there is good health, good spirits, +plenty of good food, and activity. But it is not true where these +are lacking. Nor is it true in any case to the extent you seem to +imagine. Particularly is it not true in the case of the boy about +whom we are conversing." + +"Why not in his case, doctor? I can see no reason." + +"He has not the vital activity of most boys of his age, and +consequently not the warmth of body. His face is pale and thin, and +his limbs have not the fulness of youth. He has no activity in his +movements." + +"Because he is a lazy fellow," replied the shoemaker, knitting his +brows. "He wants the strap two or three times a day; that would make +his blood circulate freely enough." + +"Brutal wretch!" I could hardly keep from exclaiming. But for the +boy's sake I put a curb upon my feelings. + +"In doing so," I quietly replied, "you would be guilty of sad +cruelty and injustice. The lad can no more help what you call +laziness, than you could help being born with gray eyes. It his +natural bodily temperament. He has not the robust constitution we +see in most boys; and this is his misfortune, not his fault." + +Maxwell replied to this by pushing out his lips, drawing up his +chin, half closing his eyes, and nodding his head in a very +contemptuous manner; saying almost as plainly as words could express +it--"All gammon, doctor! You needn't try to come over me with that +kind of nonsense." + +Satisfied that it would be useless to say any thing more upon the +subject at that time, I turned away, remarking as I did so-- + +"If you are not influenced by my advice in this matter, you may +chance to feel more potent reasons. A word to the wise is +sufficient." + +The shoemaker made no reply, and we parted. My first impression was +to go immediately to Mr. W----and apprize him of the condition of +his nephew. But a little reflection convinced me that it would be +much better to make some previous inquiries in regard to his family, +and endeavour to ascertain the reason of his estrangement from his +sister. I would then be able to act with more certainty of success. +I soon obtained all the information I desired. The history was an +impressive one. I will give it as briefly as possible. + +Anna W----, at the age of twenty, was esteemed and beloved by all +who knew her. Her family was one of wealth and standing, and she +moved in our first circles. She had but one brother, to whom she was +tenderly attached. Philip was her elder by some years. Among the +many who sought the regard of Anna, was a young man named Miller, +who had been for years the intimate friend of her brother. Extremely +fond of his sister, and highly valuing his friend for his many +estimable qualities, Philip was more than gratified when he saw +evidences of attachment springing up between them. + +Besides Miller, Anna had another suitor, a young man named +Westfield, who had become quite intimate with her, but who had made +no open declaration of love before Miller came forward and offered +for her hand. Westfield loved Anna passionately, but hesitated to +declare his feelings, long after he had come to the conclusion that +without her for his companion through life, existence would be +undesirable. This arose from the fact of his not being certain in +regard to the maiden's sentiments, Anna was always kind, but +reserved. She was, he could see, ever pleased to meet him; but how +far this pleasure was the same that she experienced in meeting other +friends, he could not tell. While thus hesitating, business required +him to go to New Orleans, and spend some months there. Before +leaving he called three several times upon Miss W----, with the +intention of making known his sentiments, but each time shrank from +the avowal, and finally resolved that he would make the declaration +in writing immediately on his arrival at New Orleans. With this +object in view, he asked her if she were willing to correspond with +him. Anna hesitated a moment or two before replying, and then +assented with a blushing cheek. + +For some months before this, Miller had shown more than his usual +attentions to the sister of his friend; and these had been +sufficiently marked to attract Anna's notice. He was a man of +intelligence, fine attainments, honourable sentiments, and of good +personal appearance. To his attractions the maiden was by no means +insensible. But Westfield had a prior claim upon her heart--she +admired the former, but loved the latter unacknowledged to herself. + +Immediately on his arrival at New Orleans, Westfield wrote to Anna, +but did not speak of the true nature of his feelings. The letter +touched upon all subjects but the one nearest to his heart. Anna +replied to it briefly, and with evident reserve. This threw such a +damper upon the young man, that he did not write again for nearly +two months, and then not with the warmth and freedom that had +distinguished his first letter. + +Meantime, Miller grew more and more constant in his attentions to +Anna: To second these attentions, Philip W----frequently alluded to +his friend in terms of admiration. Gradually Anna became interested +in the young man, and pleased whenever he made her a visit. When +Westfield asked the privilege of opening a correspondence with her, +she believed, from many corroborating circumstances, that he +designed formally addressing her, and that the correspondence would +lead to that result. But as his letters, with the lapse of time, +grew less and less frequent, and more constrained and formal, she +was led to form a different opinion. During all this time Miller's +attentions increased, and Anna's feelings became more and more +interested. Finally, an offer of marriage was made, and, after due +reflection accepted. Three days afterward Miss W----received the +following letter:-- + +"NEW ORLEANS, June.8th, 18--. + +"MY DEAR ANNA, + +"A letter from an intimate and mutual friend prompts me at once to +open to you my whole heart. For many months--nay, for more than a +year--I have loved you with an ardour that has made your image ever +present with me, sleeping or waking. Often and often have I resolved +to declare this sentiment, but a foolish weakness has hitherto kept +me silent; and now the danger of losing you constrains me to speak +out as abruptly as freely. When I asked the privilege of opening a +correspondence with you, it was that I might, in my very first +epistle, say what I am now saying; but the same weakness and +hesitation remained. Many times I wrote all I wished to say, folded +and sealed the letter, and--cast it into the flames. I had not the +courage to send it. Foolish weakness! I tremble to think of the +consequences that may follow. Dear Anna!--I will thus address you +until you forbid the tender familiarity, and bid my yearning heart +despair--Dear Anna! write me at once and let me know my fate. Do not +wait for a second post. Until I hear from you I shall be the most +unhappy of mortals. If your heart is still free--if no promise to +another has passed your lips, let me urge my suit by all the +tenderest, holiest, and purest, considerations. No one can love you +with a fervour and devotion surpassing mine; no heart can beat +responsive to your own more surely than mine; no one can cherish you +in his heart of hearts, until life shall cease, more tenderly than I +will cherish you. But I will write no more. Why need I? I shall +count the days and hours until your answer come. + +"Yours, in life and death, + +"H. WESTFIELD." + +Tears gushed from the eyes of Anna W----, as she read the last line +of this unlooked for epistle, her whole frame trembled, and her +heart beat heavily in her bosom. It was a long time before she was +sufficiently composed to answer the letter. When she did answer, it +was, briefly, thus-- + +"BALTIMORE, June 28, 18--. + +"MR. H. WESTFIELD. + +"Dear Sir:--Had your letter of the 18th, come a week earlier, my +answer might have been different. Now I can only bid you forget me. + +"Yours, &c. + +ANNA." + +"Forget you?" was the answer received to this. "Forget you? Bid me +forget myself! No, I can never forget you. A week!--a week earlier? +Why should a single week fix our fates for ever. You are not +married. That I learn from my friend. It need not, then, be too +late. If you love me, as I infer from your letter, throw yourself +upon the magnanimity of the man to whom you are betrothed, and he +will release you from your engagement. I know him. He is +generous-minded, and proud. Tell him he has not and cannot have your +whole heart. That will be enough. He will bid you be free." + +The reply of Anna was in these few words. "Henry Westfield; it is +too late. Do not write to me again. I cannot listen to such language +as you use to me without dishonour." + +This half-maddened the young man. He wrote several times urging Anna +by every consideration he could name to break her engagement with +Miller. But she laid his letters aside unanswered. + +An early day for the marriage was named. The stay of Westfield at +the South was prolonged several months beyond the time at first +determined upon. He returned to Baltimore a month after the proposed +union of Anna with Miller had been consummated. + +Although induced, from the blinding ardency of his feelings, to urge +Anna to break the engagement she had formed, this did not arise from +any want of regard in his mind to the sacredness of the marriage +relation. So suddenly had the intelligence of her contract with +Miller come upon him, coupled with the admission that if his +proposal had come a week earlier it might have been accepted, that +for a time his mind did not act with its usual clearness. But, when +the marriage of her he so idolized took place, Westfield, as a man +of high moral sense, gave up all hope, and endeavoured to banish +from his heart the image of one who had been so dearly beloved. On +his return to Baltimore, he did not attempt to renew his +acquaintance with Anna. This he deemed imprudent, as well as wrong. +But, as their circle of acquaintance was the same, and as the +husband and brother of Anna were his friends, it was impossible for +him long to be in the city without meeting, her. They met a few +weeks after his return, at the house of a friend who had a large +company. Westfield saw Anna at the opposite side of one of the +parlours soon after he came in. The question of leaving the house +came up and was some time debated. This he finally determined not to +do, for several reasons. He could not always avoid her; and the +attempt to do so would only make matters worse, for it would attract +attention and occasion remarks. But, although he remained with the +company, he preferred keeping as distant as possible from Anna. His +feelings were yet too strong. To meet her calmly was impossible, and +to meet her in any other way, would, he felt, be wrong. While he +thus thought and felt, the husband of Anna touched him on the arm +and said-- + +"Come! I must introduce you to my wife. You were one of her old +friends, but have not once called upon her since your return from +the South. She complains of your neglect, and, I think, justly. +Come!" + +Westfield could not hesitate. There was no retreat. In a space of +time shorter than it takes to write this sentence, he was standing +before the young bride, struggling manfully for the mastery over +himself. This was only partial--not complete. Anna, on the contrary, +exhibited very few, if any signs of disturbance. She received him +with a warm, frank, cordial manner, that soon made him feel at +ease--it caused a pleasant glow in his bosom. As soon as they had +fairly entered into conversation, the young husband left them. His +presence had caused Westfield to experience some restraint; this +gave way as soon as he withdrew to another part of the room, and he +felt that no eye but an indifferent one was upon him. An hour passed +like a minute. When supper was announced, Westfield offered his arm +to conduct Anna to the refreshment room. She looked around for her +husband, and, not seeing him, accepted. the attention. Just as they +were about leaving the parlour, Miller came up, and Westfield +offered to resign his wife to his care, but he politely declined +taking her from his arm. At supper, the husband and the former lover +seemed to vie with each other in their attention to Anna, who never +felt happier in her life. Why she experienced more pleasurable +feelings than usual, she did not pause to inquire. She was conscious +of being happy, and that was all. + +From that time, Westfield became a regular visiter at the house of +Mr. Miller, with whom he was now more intimate than before. He came +and went without ceremony, and frequently spent hours with Anna +while her husband was away. This intimacy continued for two or three +years without attracting any attention from the social gossips who +infest every circle. + +"It is high time you were married." + +Or-- + +"Westfield, why don't you go more into company?" + +Or-- + +"I really believe you are in love with Mrs. Miller." + +Were laughing remarks often made by his friends, to which he always +made some laughing answer; but no one dreamed of thinking his +intimacy with Anna an improper one. He was looked upon as a warm +friend of both her husband and herself, and inclined to be something +of an "old bachelor." If she were seen at the theatre, or on the +street, with Westfield, it was looked upon almost as much a matter +of course as if she were with her husband. It is but fair to state, +that the fact of his ever having been an avowed lover was not known, +except to a very few. He had kept his own secret, and so had the +object of his misplaced affection. + +No suspicion had ever crossed the generous mind of Miller, although +there were times when he felt that his friend was in the way, and +wished that his visits might be less frequent and shorter. But such +feelings were of rare occurrence. One day, about three years after +his marriage, a friend said to him, half in jest, and half in +earnest-- + +"Miller, a'n't you jealous of Westfield?" + +"Oh yes--very jealous," he returned, in mock seriousness. + +"I don't think I would like my wife's old flame to be quite as +intimate with her as Westfield is with your wife." + +"Perhaps I would be a little jealous if I believed him to be an old +flame." + +"Don't you know it?" + +The tone and look that accompanied this question, more than the +question itself, produced an instant revulsion in Miller's feelings. + +"No, I do not know it!" he replied, emphatically--"Do _you_ know +it?" + +Conscious that he had gone too far, the friend hesitated, and +appeared confused. + +"Why have you spoken to me in the way that you have done? Are you +jesting or in earnest?" + +Miller's face was pale, and his lip quivered as he said this. + +"Seriously, my friend," replied the other, "if you do not know that +Westfield was a suitor to your wife, and only made known his love to +her after you had offered her your hand, it is time that you did +know it. I thought you were aware of this." + +"No, I never dreamed of such a thing. Surely it cannot be true." + +"I know it to be true, for I was in correspondence with Westfield, +and was fully aware of his sentiments. Your marriage almost set him +beside himself." + +As soon as Miller could get away from the individual who gave him +this startling information, he turned his steps homeward. He did not +ask himself why he did so. In fact, there was no purpose in his +mind. He felt wretched beyond description. The information just +conveyed, awakened the most dreadful suspicions, that would not +yield to any effort his generous feelings made to banish them. + +On arriving at home, (it was five o'clock in the afternoon,) he +found that his wife had gone out; and further learned that Westfield +had called for her in a carriage, and that they had ridden out +together. This information did not, in the least, tend to quiet the +uneasiness he felt. + +Going up into the chambers, he noticed many evidences of Anna's +having dressed, herself to go out, in haste. The door of the +wardrobe stood open, and also one of her drawers, with her bunch of +keys lying upon the bureau. The dress she had on when he left her at +dinner-time, had been changed for another, and, instead of being +hung up, was thrown across a chair. + +The drawer that stood open was her private drawer, in which she kept +all her trinkets, and little matters particularly her own. Its +contents her husband had never seen, and had never desired to see. +Now, however, something more than mere curiosity prompted him to +look somewhat narrowly into its contents. In one corner of this +drawer he found a small casket, beautifully inlaid, that had never +before come under his notice. Its workmanship was costly and +exquisite. He lifted it and examined it carefully, and then taking +the bunch of keys that lay before him, tried the smallest in the +lock. The lid flew open. A few letters, and a small braid of hair, +were its only contents. These letters were addressed to her under +her maiden name. The husband was about unfolding one of them, when +he let it fall suddenly into the casket, saying, as he did so-- + +"No, no! I have no right to read these letters. They were not +addressed to my wife." With an effort he closed the drawer and +forced himself from the room. But the fact that Westfield had been a +suitor for the hand of Anna, and was now on terms of the closest +intimacy with her, coming up vividly in his mind, he came, after +some reflection, to the firm conclusion that he ought to know the +contents of letters treasured so carefully--letters that he had +every reason now to believe were from Westfield. Their post-mark he +had noticed. They were from New Orleans. + +After again hesitating and debating the question for some time, he +finally determined to know their contents. He read them over and +over again, each sentence almost maddening him. They were from +Westfield. The reader already knows their contents. From their +appearance, it was evident that they had been read over very many +times; one of them bore traces of tears. For some time the feelings +of Miller were in a state of wild excitement. While this continued, +had his wife or Westfield appeared, he would have been tempted to +commit some desperate act. But this state gradually gave way to a +more sober one. The letters were replaced carefully, the casket +locked, and every thing restored to its former appearance. The +husband then sat down to reflect, as calmly as was in his power, +upon the aspect of affairs. The more he thought, the more closely he +compared the sentiments of the letters so carefully treasured with +the subsequent. familiarity of his wife with Westfield, the more +satisfied was he that he had been deeply and irreparably +wronged--wronged in a way for which there was no atonement. + +As this conviction fully formed itself in his mind, the question of +what he should do came up for immediate decision. He had one child, +about eighteen months old, around whom his tenderest affections had +entwined themselves; but when he remembered that his friend's +intimacy with his wife had run almost parallel with their marriage, +a harrowing suspicion crossed his mind, and made his heart turn from +the form of beauty and innocence it had loved so purely. + +The final conclusion of the agonized husband was to abandon his wife +at once, taking with him the corroborating evidence of her +unfaithfulness. He returned to her private drawer, and taking from +it the letters of Westfield and the braid of hair, placed them in +his pocket. He then packed his clothes and private papers in a +trunk, which he ordered to be sent to Gadsby's Hotel. Half an hour, +before his wife's return, he had abandoned her for ever. + +When Mrs. Miller came home, it was as late as tea-time. She was +accompanied by Westfield, who came into the house with his usual +familiarity, intending to share with the family in their evening +meal, and enjoy a social hour afterward. + +Finding that her husband was not in the parlour--it was past the +usual hour of his return--nor anywhere in the house, Mrs. Miller +inquired if he had not been home. + +"Oh yes, ma'am," said the servant to whom she spoke, "he came home +more than two hours ago." + +"Did he go out again?" she asked, without suspicion of any thing +being wrong. + +"Yes, ma'am. He went up-stairs and stayed a good while, and then +came down and told Ben to take his trunk to Gadsby's." + +The face of Mrs. Miller blanched in an instant. She turned quickly +away and ran up to her chamber. Her drawer, which she had not +noticed before, stood open. She eagerly seized her precious casket; +this, too, was open, and the contents gone! Strength and +consciousness remained long enough for her to reach the bed, upon +which she fell, fainting. + +When the life-blood once more flowed through her veins, and she was +sufficiently restored to see what was passing around her, she found +the servants and Westfield standing by her bedside. The latter +looked anxiously into her face. She motioned him to come near. As he +bent his ear low toward her face, she whispered-- + +"Leave me. You must never again visit this house, nor appear to be +on terms of intimacy with me." + +"Why?" + +"Go, Mr. Westfield. Let what I have said suffice. Neither of us have +acted with the prudence that should have governed our conduct, all +things considered. Go at once! In time you will know enough, and +more than enough." + +Westfield still hesitated, but Mrs. Miller motioned him away with an +imperative manner; he then withdrew, looking earnestly back at every +step. + +A glass of wine and water was ordered by Anna, after drinking which, +she arose from the bed, and desired all her domestics to leave the +room. + +Meantime, her husband was suffering the most poignant anguish of +mind. On retiring to a hotel, he sent for the brother of his wife, +and to him submitted the letters he had taken from Anna's casket. +After they had been hurriedly perused, he said-- + +"You know the intimacy of Westfield with Anna. Put that fact +alongside of these letters and their careful preservation, and what +is your conclusion?" + +"Accursed villain!" exclaimed W----, grinding his teeth and stamping +upon the floor, his anger completely overmastering him. "His life +shall pay the price of my sister's dishonour. Madness!" + +"You think, then, as I do," said the husband, with forced calmness, +"that confidence, nay, every thing sacred and holy, has been +violated?" + +"Can I doubt? If these were his sentiments," (holding up the letters +of Westfield,) "before my sister's marriage, can they have changed +immediately afterward. No, no; our confidence has been basely +betrayed. But the wretch shall pay for this dearly." + +On the next day W----called upon Westfield in company with a friend +who had possession of the letters, and who read them as a +preliminary explanation of the cause of the visit. + +"Did you write those letters?" W----asked, with a stern aspect. + +"I certainly did," was the firm reply. "Do you question my right to +do so?" + +"No: not your right to make known to my sister your sentiments +before marriage, but your right to abuse her husband's confidence +after marriage." + +"Who dares say that I did?" + +"I dare say it," returned the brother, passionately. + +"You! Bring your proof." + +"I want no better proof than the fact that, entertaining sentiments +such as are here avowed, you have visited her at all times, and +under nearly all circumstances. You have abused a husband's and a +brother's confidence. You have lain like a stinging viper in the +bosom of friendship." + +"It is false!" replied Westfield, emphatically. + +W----'s feelings were chafed to the utmost already. This remark +destroyed entirely the little self-control that remained. He sprang +toward Westfield, and would have grappled his throat, had not his +friend, who had feared some such result, been perfectly on his +guard, and stepped between the two men in time to prevent a +collision. + +Nothing was now left W----but to withdraw, with his friend. A +challenge to mortal combat followed immediately. A meeting was the +result, in which Westfield was severely wounded. This made public +property of the whole matter; and as public feeling is generally on +the side of whoever is sufferer, quite a favourable impression of +the case began to prevail, grounded upon the denial of Westfield to +the charge of improper intimacy with Mrs. Miller. But this feeling +soon changed. The moment Mrs. Miller heard that Westfield had been +seriously wounded by her brother, she flew to his bedside, and +nursed him with unwearying devotion for three weeks; when he died of +inflammation arising from his wound. + +This act sealed her fate: it destroyed all sympathy for her; it was, +in the mind of every one, proof positive of her guilt. When she +returned home, the house was closed against her. An application for +a divorce had already been laid before the legislature; then in +session at Annapolis, and, as the inferential proofs of defection +were strongly corroborated by Mrs. Miller's conduct after the +hostile meeting between Westfield and her brother, the application +was promptly granted, with the provision of five hundred dollars a +year for her support. The decision of the legislature, with +information of the annual amount settled upon her, were communicated +through the attorney of her husband. Her only answer was a prompt +and indignant refusal to accept the support the law had awarded her. +From that moment she sank into obscurity with her child, and with +her own hands earned the bread that sustained both their lives. From +that moment until the day of her death, all intercourse with her +family and friends was cut off. How great were her sufferings, no +one can know. They must have been nearly up to the level of human +endurance. + +I learned this much from one who had been intimate with all the +circumstances. He remembered the duel very well, but had never +before understood the true cause. My informant had no knowledge +whatever of Mrs. Miller from the time of her divorce up to the +period of my inquiries. Miller himself still lived. I had some +slight acquaintance with him. + +Under this aspect of things, I hardly knew what course to pursue in +order to raise the lad at Maxwell's above his present unhappy +condition. I entertained, for some time, the idea of communicating +with his father and uncle on the subject; but I could not make up my +mind to do this. The indignation with which they had thrown off his +erring mother, and the total oblivion that had been permitted to +fall upon her memory, made me fearful that to approach them on the +subject would accomplish no good for the boy, and might place me in +a very unpleasant position toward them. Thus far I had kept my own +counsel, although the nature of my inquiries about Mrs. Miller had +created some curiosity in the minds of one or two, who asked me a +good many questions that I did not see proper to answer directly. + +"The child is innocent, even if the mother were guilty." This I said +to myself very frequently, as a reason why I should make every +effort in my power to create an interest in favour of little Bill, +and get him out of the hands of his master, who, in my view, treated +him With great cruelty. In thinking about the matter, it occurred to +me that in case Mrs. Miller were innocent of the derelictions +charged upon her, she would leave some evidence of the fact, for the +sake of her child at least. So strongly did this idea take hold of +my mind, that I determined to question Bill closely about his mother +as early as I could get an opportunity. This did not occur for +several weeks. I then met the boy in the street, hobbling along with +difficulty. I stopped him and asked him what ailed his feet. He said +they were sore, and all cracked open, and hurt him so that he could +hardly walk. + +"Come round to my office and let me see them," said I. + +"I am going to take these shoes to the binder's,"--he had a package +of "uppers" in his hand--"and must be back in twenty minutes, or Mr. +Maxwell says he will give me the strap." The boy made this reply, +and then hobbled on as fast as he could. + +"Stop, stop, my lad," I called after him. "I want you for a little +while, and will see that Mr. Maxwell does not give you the strap. +You must come to my office and get something done for your feet." + +"They are very bad," he said, turning round, and looking down at +them with a pitiable expression on his young face. + +"I know they are, and you must have something done for them +immediately." + +"Let me go to the binder's first." + +"Very well. Go to the binder's. But be sure to come to my office as +you return; I want to see you particularly." + +My words made the blood rush to the child's pale face. Hope again +was springing up in his bosom. + +In about ten minutes he entered my office. His step was lighter, but +I could see that each footfall gave him pain. The first thing I did +was to examine his feet. They were in a shocking condition. One of +them had cracked open in several places, and the wounds had become +running sores; other parts were red and shining, and much swollen, I +dressed them carefully. When I came to replace his shoes, I found +them so dilapidated and out of shape, as to be no protection to his +feet whatever, but rather tending to fret them, and liable to rub +off the bandages I had put on. To remedy this, I sent my man out for +a new pair, of soft leather. When these were put on, and he stood +upon, his feet, he said that they did not hurt him at all. I needed +not his declaration of the fact to convince me of this, for the +whole expression of his face had changed. His eyes were no longer +fixed and sad; nor were his brows drawn down, nor his lips +compressed. + +"I think you told me that your name was Miller?" I said to him, as +he stood looking earnestly in my face after the dressing of his feet +was completed. + +"Yes, sir," he replied. + +"And that your mother was dead?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I think you said that W----was your uncle?" + +"Yes, sir. Mother told me that he was my uncle." + +"Is your father living?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Did your mother ever speak to you about him?" + +"No, sir." + +"Then you can't tell whether he is living or not?" + +"No, sir; but I suppose he is dead." + +"Why do you think so?" + +"Because I never saw him, nor heard mother speak of him." + +"You are sure your name is Miller?" + +"Oh yes, sir." + +"And that Mr. W----is your uncle?" + +"My mother said he was." + +"Did you ever see him?" + +"No, sir." + +"Why don't you go, to see him, and tell him who you are?" + +"I asked mother, one day, to let me do so, but she said I must never +think of such a thing." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't know." + +"And so you never went to see him?" + +"No, indeed; mother said I must not." This was said with great +artlessness. + +"What became of your mother's things after she died?" + +"The woman we rented from took them all. Mother owed her, she said." + +"Indeed! Where did you live?" + +"In Commerce street, three or four doors from Mr. Maxwell's. Mother +rented a room up-stairs." + +"Does the woman live there still?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Do you ever go to see her?" + +"No, sir; she won't let me come into the house." + +"Why not?" + +"I cannot tell. She was going to send me to the poorhouse, when Mr. +Maxwell took me in. I have often and often wanted to see the room +where we lived in, and where mother died, but she wouldn't let me go +up. One day I begged and cried for her to let me go up--I wanted to, +so bad; but she called me a dirty little brat, and told me to go +about my business, or she would get Mr. Maxwell to give me a +beating. I never have tried to go there since." + +"What is the woman's name?" + +"Her name is Mrs. Claxon." + +"And she lives three or four doors from Mr. Maxwell's?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I am going home with you in a little while, and will get you to +show me the house. Your mother had some furniture in her room?" + +"Yes, sir. We had a bureau, and a bedstead, and a good many things." + +"Do you know what was in the bureau?" + +"Our clothes." + +"Nothing else?" + +"Mother had a beautiful little box that was always locked. It had +letters in it, I think." + +"Did you ever see her reading them?" + +"Oh yes, often, when she thought I was asleep; and she would cry, +sometimes, dreadful hard." + +"This box Mrs. Claxon kept?" + +"Yes, sir; she kept every thing." + +"Very well. We will see if we can't make her give up some of the +things." + +"If she will give me that little box, she may have every thing +else," said the lad. + +"Why are you so desirous to have that box?" + +"I sometimes think if I could get that box, and all the letters and +papers it had in it, that I would be able to know better who I am, +and why I mustn't go and see my uncle, who is rich, and could take +me away from where I am now." + +"You don't like to live with Mr. Maxwell, then?" + +"Oh no, sir." + +I did not question him as to the reason; that was unnecessary. + +After putting up one or two prescriptions, (we had not then fallen +into the modern more comfortable mode of _writing_ them,) I told the +boy that I would walk home with him, and excuse him to his master +for having stayed away so long. I had no great difficulty in doing +this, although the shoemaker seemed at first a little fretted at my +having taken up the lad's cause again. In passing to his shop, the +house where Mrs. Claxon lived was pointed out to me. Before leaving, +I made Maxwell promise to let the boy come up on the next evening to +get his feet dressed, telling him, what was true, that this was +necessary to be done, or very serious consequences might follow. + +I then called upon Mrs. Claxon. She was a virago. But the grave and +important face that I put on when I asked if a Mrs. Miller did not +once live in her house, subdued her. After some little hesitation, +she replied in the affirmative. + +"I knew as much," I said, thinking it well to let her understand +from the beginning that it would not do to attempt deception. + +"She died here, I believe?" I continued. + +"Yes, sir; she died in my house." + +"She left some property in your hands, did she not?" + +"Property? Humph! If you call an old bed and bedstead, with other +trumpery that didn't sell for enough to pay her back rent, +_property_, why, then, she did leave property." + +"Of course," I said, calmly. "Whatever she left was property; and, +of course, in taking possession of it, you did so under a regular +legal process. You took out letters of administration, I presume, +and brought in your bill against the effects of the deceased, which +was regularly passed by the Orphans' Court, and paid out of the +amount for which the things sold." + +The effect of this was just what I desired. The woman looked +frightened. She had done no such thing, as I knew very well. + +"If you have proceeded in this way," I resumed, "all is well enough; +but if you have not done so, I am sorry to say that you will most +likely get yourself into trouble." + +"How so, sir?" she asked, with increasing alarm. + +"The law is very rigid in all these matters. When a person dies, +there must be a regular administration upon his property. The law +permits no one to seize upon his effects. In the case of Mrs. +Miller, if you were legally authorized to settle her estate, you +can, of course, account for all that came into your hands. Now, I am +about instituting a rigid examination into the matter, and if I do +not get satisfaction, shall have you summoned to appear before the +Orphans' Court, and answer for your conduct. Mrs. Miller was highly +connected, and it is believed had papers in her possession of vital +importance to the living. These were contained in a small casket of +costly and curious workmanship. This casket, with its contents, must +be produced. Can you produce them?" + +"Y-y-yes!" the alarmed creature stammered out. + +"Very well. Produce them at once, if you wish to save yourself a +world of trouble." + +The woman hurried off up-stairs, and presently appeared with the +casket. + +"It is locked," she said. "I never could find the key, and did not +like to force it open. She handed me the box as she spoke. + +"Yes, this is it," I remarked, as if I was perfectly familiar with +the casket. "You are sure the contents have not been disturbed?" + +"Oh yes: very sure." + +"I trust it will be found so. I will take possession of the casket. +In a few days you will hear from me." + +Saying this, I arose and left the house. I directed my steps to the +shop of a locksmith, whose skill quickly gave me access to the +contents. They consisted mainly of papers, written in a delicate +female hand; but there were no letters. Their contents were, to me, +of a most gratifying kind. I read on every, page the injured wife's +innocence. The contents of the first paper I read, I will here +transcribe. Like the others, it was a simple record of feelings, +coupled with declarations of innocence. The object in view, in +writing these, was not fully apparent; although the mother had +evidently in mind her child, and cherished the hope that, after her +death, these touching evidences of the wrong she had endured, would +cause justice to be done to him. + +The paper I mentioned was as follows, and appeared to have been +written a short time after her divorce:-- + +"That I still live, is to me a wonder. But a few short months ago I +was a happy wife, and my husband loved me with a tenderness that +left my heart nothing to ask for. I am now cast off from his +affections, driven from his home, repudiated, and the most horrible +suspicions fastened upon me; And worse, the life of one who never +wronged me by a look, or word, or act--in whose eyes my honour was +as dear as his own--has been murdered. Oh! I shall yet go mad with +anguish of spirit! There are heavy burdens to bear in this life; but +none can be heavier than that which an innocent wife has to endure, +when all accuse her as I am accused, and no hope of justice is left. + +"Let me think calmly. Are not the proofs of my guilt strong? Those +letters--those fatal letters--why did I keep them? I had no right to +do so. They should have been destroyed. But I never looked at them +from the day I gave my hand with my heart at the altar to one who +now throws me off as a polluted wretch. But I knew they were there, +and often thought of them; but to have read over one line of their +contents, would have been false to my husband; and that I could not +be, under any temptation. I think Westfield was wrong, under the +circumstances, to visit me as constantly as he did; but my husband +appeared to like his company, and even encouraged him to come. Many +times he has asked him to drive me out, or to attend me to a concert +or the theatre, as he knew that I wished to go, and he had business +that required his attention, or felt a disinclination to leave home. +In not a single instance, when I thus went out, would not my +pleasure have been increased, had my husband been my companion; and +yet I liked the company of Westfield--perhaps too well. The remains +of former feelings may still have lingered, unknown to me, in my +heart. But I was never false to my husband, even in thought; nor did +Westfield ever presume to take the smallest liberty. Indeed, whether +in my husband's presence, or when with me, his manner was polite, +and inclined to be deferential rather than familiar. I believe that +the sentiments he held toward me before my marriage, remained; and +these, while they drew him to my side, made him cherish my honour +and integrity as a wife, as he would cherish the apple of his eye. +And yet he has been murdered, and I have been cast off, while both +were innocent! Fatal haste! Fatal misjudgment! How suddenly have I +fallen from the pinnacle of happiness into the dark pit of despair! +Alas! alas! Who can tell what a day may bring forth?" + +Another, and very important paper, which the casket contained, was a +written declaration of Mrs. Miller's innocence, made by Westfield +before his death. It was evidently one of his last acts, and was +penned with a feeble and trembling hand. It was in these impressive +words:-- + +"Solemnly, in the presence of God, and without the hope of living +but a few hours, do I declare that Mrs. Anna Miller is innocent of +the foul charges made against her by her husband and brother, and +that I never, even in thought, did wrong to her honour. I was on +terms of close intimacy with her, and this her husband knew and +freely assented to. I confess that I had a higher regard for her +than for any living woman. She imbodied all my highest conceptions +of female excellence. I was never happier than when in her company. +Was this a crime? It would have been had I attempted to win from her +any thing beyond a sentiment of friendship. But this I never did +after her marriage, and do not believe that she regarded me in any +other light than as her own and her husband's friend. This is all +that, as a dying man, I can do or say. May heaven right the +innocent! HENRY WESTFIELD." + +Besides the paper in the handwriting of Mrs. Miller, which I have +given, there were many more, evidently written at various times, but +all shortly after her separation from her husband. They imbodied +many touching allusions to her condition, united with firm +expressions of her entire innocence of the imputation under which +she lay. One sentiment particularly arrested my attention, and +answered the question that constantly arose in my mind, as to why +she did not attempt, by means of Westfield's dying asseveration, to +establish her innocence. It was this:-- + +"He has prejudged me guilty and cast me off without seeing me or +giving me a hearing, and then insulted me by a legislative tender of +five hundred dollars a year. Does he think that I would save myself, +even from starvation, by means of his bounty? No--no--he does not +know the woman he has wronged." + +After going over the entire contents of the casket, I replaced them, +and sent the whole to Mr. Miller, with a brief note, stating that +they had come into my possession in rather a singular manner, and +that I deemed it but right to transmit them to him. Scarcely half an +hour had elapsed from the time my messenger departed, before Miller +himself entered my office, pale and agitated. I had met him a few +times before, and had a slight acquaintance with him. + +"This is from you, I believe, doctor?" he said, holding up the note +I had written him. + +I bowed. + +"How did you come in possession of the casket you sent me?" he +continued as he took the chair I handed him. + +I was about replying, when he leaned over toward me, and laying his +hand upon my arm, said, eagerly-- + +"First tell me, is the writer of its contents living?" + +"No," I replied; "she has been dead over two years." + +His countenance fell, and he seemed, for some moments, as if his +heart had ceased to beat. "Dead!" he muttered to himself--"dead! and +I have in my hands undoubted proofs of her innocence." + +The expression of his face became agonizing. + +"Oh, what would I not give if she were yet alive," he continued, +speaking to himself. "Dead--dead--I would rather be dead with her +than living with my present consciousness." + +"Doctor," said he, after a pause, speaking in a firmer voice, "let +me know how those papers came into your hands?" I related, as +rapidly as I could, what the reader already knows about little Bill +and his mother dwelling as strongly as I could upon the suffering +condition of the poor boy. + +"Good heavens!" ejaculated Miller, as I closed my narrative--"can +all this indeed be true? So much for hasty judgment from +appearances! You have heard the melancholy history of my wife?" + +I bowed an assent. + +"From these evidences, that bear the force of truth, it is plain +that she was innocent, though adjudged guilty of one of the most +heinous offences against society. Innocent, and yet made to suffer +all the penalties of guilt. Ah, sir--I thought life had already +brought me its bitterest cup: but all before were sweet to the taste +compared with the one I am now compelled to drink. Nothing is now +left me, but to take home my child. But, as he grows up toward +manhood, how can I look him in the face, and think of his mother +whom I so deeply wronged." + +"The events of the past, my dear sir," I urged, "cannot be altered. +In a case like this, it is better to look, forward with hope, than +backward with self-reproaches." + +"There is little in the future to hope for," was the mournful reply +to this. + +"But you have a duty to perform, and, in the path of duty, always +lie pleasures." + +"You mean to my much wronged and suffering child. Yes, I have a +duty, and it shall be performed as faithfully as lies in my power. +But I hope for little from that source." + +"I think you may hope for much. Your child I have questioned +closely. He knows nothing of his history; does not even know that +his father is alive. The only information he has received from his +mother is, that W----is his uncle." + +"Are you sure of this?" + +"Oh yes. I have, as I said, questioned him very closely on this +point." + +This seemed to relieve the mind of Mr. Miller. He mused for some +minutes, and then said-- + +"I wish to see my son, and at once remove him from his present +position. May I ask you to accompany me to the place where he now +is." + +"I will go with pleasure," I returned, rising. + +We left my office immediately, and went direct to Maxwell's shop. As +we entered, we heard most agonizing cries, mingled with hoarse angry +imprecations from the shoemaker and the sound of his strap. He was +whipping some one most severely. My heart misgave me that it was +poor little Bill. We hurried into the shop. It was true. Maxwell had +the child across his knees, and was beating him most cruelly. + +"That is your son," I said, in an excited voice to Miller, pointing +to the writhing subject of the shoemaker's ire. In an instant +Maxwell was lying four or five feet from his bench in a corner of +his shop, among the lasts and scraps of leather. A powerful blow on +the side of his head, with a heavy cane, had done his. The father's +hand had dealt it. Maxwell rose to his feet in a terrible fury, but +the upraised cane of Miller, his dark and angry countenance, and his +declaration that if he advanced a step toward him, or attempted to +lay his hand again upon the boy, he would knock his brains out, +cooled his ire considerably. + +"Come, my boy," Miller then said, catching hold of the hand of the +sobbing child--"let me take you away from this accursed den for +ever." + +"Stop!" cried Maxwell, coming forward at this; "you cannot take that +boy away. He is bound to me by law, until he is twenty-one. Bill! +don't you dare to go." + +"Villain!" said Miller, in a paroxysm of anger, turning toward +him--"I will have you before the the court in less than twenty-four +hours for inhuman treatment of this child--of _my child_." + +As Miller said this, the trembling boy at his side started and +looked eagerly in his face. + +"Oh, sir! Are you indeed my father?" said he, in a voice that +thrilled me to the finger ends. + +"Yes, William; I am your father, and I have come to take you home." + +Tears gushed like rain over the cheeks of the poor boy. He shrank +close to his father's side, and clung to him with a strong grasp, +still looking up into a face that he had never hoped to see, with a +most tender, confiding, hopeful, expressive countenance. + +The announcement of the fact subdued the angry shoemaker. He made a +feeble effort at apology, but was cut short by our turning abruptly +from him and carrying of the child he had so shamefully abused. + +I parted from the father and son at the first carriage-stand that +came in our way. When I next saw Bill, his appearance was very +different indeed from what it was when I first encountered him. His +father lived some ten years from this time during the most of which +period William was at school or college. At his death he left him a +large property, which remained with him until his own death, which +took place a few years ago. He never I believe, had the most distant +idea of the cause which had separated his mother from his father. +That there had been a separation he knew too well but, he always +shrank from inquiring the reason, and had always remained in +ignorance of the main facts here recorded. + + + + + + +EUTHANSY. + + + + + +"YOU remember Anna May, who sewed for you about a year ago?" said +one fashionably-dressed lady to another. + +"That pale, quiet girl, who made up dresses for the children?" + +"The one I sent you." + +"Oh yes; very well. I had forgotten her name. What has become of +her? If I remember rightly, I engaged her for a week or two in the +fall; but she did not keep her engagement." + +"Poor thing!" said the first lady, whose name was Mrs. Bell, "she'll +keep no more engagements of that kind." + +"Why so? Is she dead?" The tone in which these brief questions were +asked, evinced no lively interest in the fate of the poor +sewing-girl. + +"Not dead; but very near the end of life's weary pilgrimage." + +"Ah, well! we must all die, I suppose--though it's no pleasant thing +to think about. But I am glad you called in this morning"--the +lady's voice rose into a more cheerful tone--"I was just about +putting on my things to go down to Mrs. Bobinet's opening. You +intend going, of course. I shall be so delighted to have you along, +for I want to consult your taste about a bonnet." + +"I came out for a different purpose altogether, Mrs. Ellis," said +Mrs. Bell, "and have called to ask you to go with me." + +"Where?" + +"To see Anna May." + +"What!--that poor seamstress of whom you just spoke?" There was a +look of unfeigned surprise in the lady's countenance. + +"Yes; the poor seamstress, Anna May. Her days in this world are +nearly numbered. I was to see her yesterday, and found her very low. +She cannot long remain on this side the river of death. I am now on +my way to her mother's house. Will you not go with me?" + +"No, no," replied Mrs. Ellis, quickly, while a shadow fell over her +face; "why should I go? I never took any particular interest in the +girl. And as for dying, every thing in relation thereto is +unpleasant to me. I can't bear to think of death: it makes me +shudder all over." + +"You have never looked in the face of death," said Mrs. Lee. + +"And never wish to," replied Mrs. Ellis, feelingly. "Oh, if it +wasn't for this terrible consummation, what a joyful thing life +might be!" + +"Anna May has looked death in the face; but does not find his aspect +so appalling. She calls him a beautiful angel, who is about to take +her by the hand, and lead her up gently and lovingly to her Father's +house." + +There came into the face of Mrs. Ellis a sudden look of wonder. + +"Are you in earnest, Mrs. Bell?" + +"Altogether in earnest." + +"The mind of the girl is unbalanced." + +"No, Mrs. Ellis; never was it more evenly poised. Come with me: it +will do you good." + +"Don't urge me, Mrs. Bell. If I go, it will make me sad for a week. +Is the sick girl in want any comfort?--I will freely minister +thereto. But I do not wish to look upon death." + +"In this aspect it is beautiful to look upon. Go with me, then. The +experience will be something accompany you through life. The image +of frightful monster is in your mind; you may now have it displaced +by the form of an angel." + +"How strangely you talk, Mrs. Bell! How can death be an angel? Is +any thing more terrible than death?" + +"The phantom called death, which a diseased imagination conjures up, +may be terrible to look upon; but death itself is a kind messenger, +whose it is to summon us from this world of shadows and changes, to +a world of eternal light and unfading beauty. But come, Mrs. Ellis; +I must urge you to go with me. Do not fear a shock to your feelings, +for none will be experienced." + +So earnest were Mrs. Bell's persuasions, that her friend at last +consented to go with her. At no great distance from the elegant +residence of Mrs. Ellis, in an obscure neighbourhood, was a small +house, humble in exterior, and modestly, yet neatly attired within. +At the door of this house the ladies paused, and were admitted by a +woman somewhat advanced in years, on whose mild face sorrow and holy +resignation were beautifully blended. + +"How is your daughter?" inquired Mrs. Bell, as soon as they were +seated in the small, neat parlour. + +"Not so strong as when you were here yesterday," was answered, with +a faint smile. "She is sinking hourly." + +"But continues in the same tranquil, heavenly state?" + +"Oh yes." There was a sweet, yet touching earnestness in the +mother's voice. "Dear child! Her life has been pure and unselfish; +and now, when her change is about to come, all is peace, and hope, +and patient waiting for the time when she will be clothed upon with +immortality." + +"Is she strong enough to see any one?" asked Mrs. Bell. + +"The presence of others in no way disturbs her. Will you walk up +into her chamber, friends?" + +The two ladies ascended the narrow stairs, and Mrs. Ellis found +herself, for the first time in many years, in the presence of one +about to die. A slender girl, with large, mild eyes, and face almost +as white as the pillow it pressed, was before her. The unmistakable +signs of speedy dissolution were on the pale, shrunken features; not +beautiful, in the ordinary acceptation of beauty, but from the pure +spirit within. Radiant with heavenly light was the smile that +instantly played upon her lips. + +"How are you to-day, Anna?" kindly inquired Mrs. Bell, as she took +the shadowy hand of the dying girl. + +"Weaker in body than when you were here yesterday," was answered; +"but stronger in spirit." + +"I have brought Mrs. Ellis to see you. You remember Mrs. Ellis?" + +Anna lifted her bright eyes to the face of Mrs. Ellis, and said-- + +"Oh yes, very well;" and she feebly extended her hand. The lady +touched her hand with an emotion akin to awe. As yet, the scene +oppressed and bewildered her. There was something about it that was +dreamlike and unreal. "Death! death!" she questioned with herself; +"can this be dying?" + +"Your day will soon close, Anna," said Mrs. Bell, in a cheerful +tone. + +"Or, as we say," quickly replied Anna, smiling, "my morning will +soon break. It is only a kind of twilight here. I am waiting for the +day-dawn." + +"My dear young lady," said Mrs. Ellis, with much earnestness, +bending over the dying girl as she spoke--the newness and +strangeness of the scene had so wrought upon her feelings, that she +could not repress their utterance--"Is all indeed as you say? Are +you inwardly so calm, so hopeful, so confident of the morning? +Forgive me such a question, at such a moment. But the thought of +death has ever been terrible to me; and now, to see a fellow-mortal +standing, as you are, so near the grave, and yet speaking in +cheerful tones of the last agony, fills me with wonder. Is it all +real? Are you so full of heavenly tranquillity?" + +Was the light dimmed in Anna's eyes by such pressing questions? Did +they turn her thoughts too realizingly upon the "last agony?" Oh no! +Even in the waning hours of life, her quickest impulse was to render +service to another. Earnest, therefore, was her desire to remove +from the lady's mind this fear of death, even though she felt the +waters of Jordan already touching her own descending feet. + +"God is love," she said, and with an emphasis that gave to the mind +of Mrs. Ellis a new appreciation of the words. "In his love he made +us, that he might bless us with infinite and eternal blessings, and +these await us in heaven. And now that he sends an angel to take me +by the hand and lead me up to my heavenly home, shall I tremble and +fear to accompany the celestial messenger? Does the child, long +separated from a loving parent, shrink at the thought of going home, +or ask the hours to linger? Oh no!" + +"But all is so uncertain," said Mrs. Ellis, eager to penetrate +further into the mystery. + +"Uncertain!" There was something of surprise in the voice of Anna +May. "God is truth as well as love; and both in his love and truth +he is unchangeable. When, as Divine Truth, he came to our earth, and +spake as never man spake, he said, 'In my Father's house are many +mansions. I go to prepare a place for you.' The heavens and the +earth may pass away, Mrs. Ellis, but not a jot or tittle of the +divine word can fail." + +"Ah! but the preparation for those heavenly mansions!" said Mrs. +Ellis. "The preparation, Anna! Who may be certain of this?" + +The eyes of the sick girl closed, the long lashes resting like a +dark fringe on her snowy cheek. For more than a moment she lay +silent and motionless; then looking up, she answered-- + +"God is love. If we would be with him, we must be like him." + +"How are we to be like him, Anna?" asked Mrs. Ellis. + +"He is love; but not a love of himself. He loves and seeks to bless +others. We must do the same." + +"And have you, Anna"-- + +But the words died on the lips of the speaker. Again had the +drooping lashes fallen, and the pale lids closed over the beautiful +eyes. And now a sudden light shone through the transparent tissue of +that wan face--a light, the rays of which none who saw them needed +to be told were but gleams of the heavenly morning just breaking for +the mortal sleeper. + +How hushed the room--how motionless the group that bent forward +toward the one just passing away! Was it the rustle of angels +garments that penetrated the inward sense of hearing? + +It is over! The pure spirit of that humble girl, who, in her sphere, +was loving, and true, and faithful, hath ascended to the God in +whose infinite love she reposed a childlike and unwavering +confidence. Calmly and sweetly she went to sleep, like an infant on +its mother's bosom, knowing that the everlasting arms were beneath +and around her. + +And thus, in the by-ways and obscure places of life, are daily +passing away the humble, loving, true-hearted ones. The world +esteems them lightly; but they are precious in the sight of God. +When the time of their departure comes, they shrink not back in +fear, but lift their hands trustingly to the angel messenger, whom +their Father sends to lead them up to their home in heaven. With +them is the true "Euthanasy." + +"Is not that a new experience in life?" said Mrs. Bell, as the two +ladies walked slowly homeward. With a deep sigh, the other +answered-- + +"New and wonderful. I scarcely comprehend what I have seen. Such a +lesson from such a source! How lightly I thought of that poor +sewing-girl, who came and went so unobtrusively! How little dreamed +I that so rich a jewel was in so plain a casket! Ah! I shall be +wiser for this--wiser, and I may hope, better. Oh, to be able to die +as she has died!--what of mere earthly good would I not cheerfully +sacrifice!" + +"It is for us all," calmly answered Mrs. Bell. "The secret we have +just heard--we must be like God." + +"How--how?" + +"He loves others out of himself, and seeks their good. If we would +be like him, we must do the same." + +Yes; this is the secret of an easy death, and the only true secret. + + + + + + +THREE SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A WORLDLING. + +SCENE FIRST. + + + + + +"IT is in vain to urge me, brother Robert. Out into the world I must +go. The impulse is on me. I should die of inaction here." + +"You need not be inactive. There is work to do. I shall never be +idle." + +"And such work! Delving in and grovelling close to the very ground. +And for what? Oh no, Robert. My ambition soars beyond your 'quiet +cottage in a sheltered vale.' My appetite craves something more than +simple herbs and water from the brook. I have set my heart on +attaining wealth; and, where there is a will there is always a way." + +"Contentment is better than wealth." + +"A proverb for drones." + +"No, William; it is a proverb for the wise." + +"Be it for the wise or simple, as commonly understood, it is no +proverb for me. As a poor plodder along the way of life, it were +impossible for me to know content. So urge me no further, Robert. I +am going out into the world a wealth-seeker, and not until wealth is +gained do I purpose to return." + +"What of Ellen, Robert?" + +The young man turned quickly toward his brother, visibly disturbed, +and fixed his eyes upon him with an earnest expression. + +"I love her as my life," he said, with a strong emphasis on his +words. + +"Do you love wealth more than life, William?" + +"Robert!" + +"If you love Ellen as your life, and leave her for the sake of +getting riches, then you must love money more than life." + +"Don't talk to me after this fashion. I cannot bear it. I love Ellen +tenderly and truly. I am going forth as well for her sake as my own. +In all the good fortune that comes as the meed of effort, she will +be a sharer." + +"You will see her before you leave us?" + +"No. I will neither pain her nor myself by a parting interview. Send +her this letter and this ring." + +A few hours later, and the brothers stood with tightly grasped +hands, gazing into each other's faces. + +"Farewell, Robert." + +"Farewell, William. Think of the old homestead as still your home. +Though it is mine, in the division of our patrimony, let your heart +come back to it as yours. Think of it as home; and, should fortune +cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return to it again. Its doors +will ever be open, and its hearth-fire bright for you as of old. +Farewell." + +And they turned from each other, one going out into the restless +world, an eager seeker for its wealth and honours; the other to +linger among the pleasant places dear to him by every association of +childhood, there to fill up the measure of his days--not idly, for +he was no drone in the social hive. + +On the evening of that day, two maidens sat alone, each in the +sanctuary of her own chamber. There was a warm glow on the cheeks of +one, and a glad light in her eyes. Pale was the other's face, and +wet her drooping lashes. And she that sorrowed held an open letter +in her hand. It was full of tender words; but the writer loved +wealth more than the maiden, and had gone forth to seek the mistress +of his soul. He would "come back;" but when? Ah, what a vail of +uncertainty was upon the future! Poor stricken heart! The other +maiden--she of the glowing cheeks and dancing eyes--held also a +letter in her hand. It was from the brother of the wealth-seeker; +and it was also full of loving words; and it said that, on the +morrow, he would come to bear her as a bride to his pleasant home. +Happy maiden! + + + + + +SCENE SECOND. + + + + +TEN years have passed. And what of the wealth-seeker? Has he won the +glittering prize? What of the pale-faced maiden he left in tears? +Has he returned to her? Does she share now his wealth and honour? +Not since the day he went forth from the home of his childhood has a +word of intelligence from the wanderer been received; and, to those +he left behind him, he is now as one who has passed the final +bourne. Yet he still dwells among the living. + +In a far-away, sunny clime, stands a stately mansion. We will not +linger to describe the elegant exterior, to hold up before the +reader's imagination a picture of rural beauty, exquisitely +heightened by art, but enter its spacious hall, and pass up to one +of its most luxurious chambers. How hushed and solemn the pervading +atmosphere! The inmates, few in number, are grouped around one on +whose white forehead Time's trembling finger has written the word +"Death." Over her bends a manly form. There--his face is toward you. +Ah! You recognise the wanderer--the wealth-seeker. What does he +here? What to him is the dying one? His wife! And has he, then, +forgotten the maiden whose dark lashes lay wet on her pale cheeks +for many hours after she read his parting words? He has not +forgotten, but been false to her. Eagerly sought he the prize, to +contend for which he went forth. Years came and departed; yet still +hope mocked him with ever-attractive and ever-fading illusions. +To-day he stood with his hand just ready to seize the object of his +wishes--to-morrow, a shadow mocked him. At last, in an evil hour, he +bowed down his manhood prostrate even to the dust in mammon-worship, +and took to himself a bride, rich in golden attractions, but poorer, +as a woman, than even the beggar at his father's gate. What a thorn +in his side she proved!--a thorn ever sharp and ever piercing. The +closer he attempted to draw her to his bosom, the deeper went the +points into his own, until, in the anguish of his soul, again and +again he flung her passionately from him. + +Five years of such a life! Oh, what is there of earthly good to +compensate therefor? But, in this last desperate throw, did the +worldling gain the wealth, station, and honour he coveted? He had +wedded the only child of a man whose treasure might be counted by +hundreds of thousands; but, in doing so, he had failed to secure the +father's approval or confidence. The stern old man regarded him as a +mercenary interloper, and ever treated him as such. For five years, +therefore, he fretted and chafed in the narrow prison whose gilded +bars his own hands had forged. How often, during that time, had his +heart wandered back to the dear old home, and the beloved ones with +whom he had passed his early years And ah! how many, many times came +between him and the almost hated countenance of his wife, the +gentle, loving face of that one to whom he had been false! How often +her soft blue eyes rested on his own! How often he started and +looked up suddenly, as if her sweet voice came floating on the air! + +And so the years moved on, the chain galling more deeply, and a +bitter sense of humiliation as well as bondage robbing him of all +pleasure in life. + +Thus it is with him when, after ten years, we find him waiting, in +the chamber of death, for the stroke that is to break the fetters +that so long have bound him. It has fallen. He is free again. In +dying, the sufferer made no sign. Sullenly she plunged into the dark +profound, so impenetrable to mortal eyes, and as the turbid waves +closed, sighing, over her, he who had called her wife turned from +the couch on which her frail body remained, with an inward "Thank +God! I am a man again!" + +One more bitter drug yet remained for his cup. Not a week had gone +by, ere the father of his dead wife spoke to him these cutting +words-- + +"You were nothing to me while my daughter lived--you are less than +nothing now. It was my wealth, not my child, that you loved. She has +passed away. What affection would have given to her, dislike will +never bestow on you. Henceforth we are strangers." + +When next the sun went down on that stately mansion which the +wealth-seeker had coveted, he was a wanderer again--poor, +humiliated, broken in spirit. + +How bitter had been the mockery of all his early hopes! How terrible +the punishment he had suffered! + + + + + +SCENE THIRD. + + + + +ONE more eager, almost fierce struggle with alluring fortune, in +which the worldling came near steeping his soul in crime, and then +fruitless ambition died in his bosom. + +"My brother said well," he murmured, as a ray of light fell suddenly +on the darkness of his spirit: "Contentment _is_ better than wealth. +Dear brother! Dear old home! Sweet Ellen! Ah, why did I leave you? +Too late! too late! A cup, full of the wine of life, was at my lips; +but I turned my head away, asking for a more fiery and exciting +draught. How vividly comes before me now that parting scene! I am +looking into my brother's face. I feel the tight grasp of his hand. +His voice is in my ears. Dear brother! And his parting words, I hear +them now, even more earnestly than when they were first +spoken:--'Should fortune cheat you with the apples of Sodom, return +to your home again. Its doors will ever be open, and its +hearth-fires bright for you as of old.' Ah! do the fires still burn? +How many years have passed since I went forth! And Ellen? But I dare +not think of her. It is too late--too late! Even if she be living +and unchanged in her affections, I can never lay this false heart at +her feet. Her look of love would smite me as with a whip of +scorpions." + +The step of time had fallen so lightly on the flowery path of those +to whom contentment was a higher boon than wealth, that few +footmarks were visible. Yet there had been changes in the old +homestead. As the smiling years went by, each, as it looked in at +the cottage-window, saw the home circle widening, or new beauty +crowning the angel brows of happy children. No thorn in his side had +Robert's gentle wife proved. As time passed on, closer and closer +was she drawn to his bosom; yet never a point had pierced him. Their +home was a type of paradise. + +It is near the close of a summer day. The evening meal is spread, +and they are about gathering around the table, when a stranger +enters. His words are vague and brief, his manner singular, his air +slightly mysterious. Furtive, yet eager glances go from face to +face. + +"Are these all your children?" he asks, surprise and admiration +mingling in his tones. + +"All ours. And, thank God! the little flock is yet unbroken." + +The stranger averts his face. He is disturbed by emotions that it is +impossible to conceal. + +"Contentment is better than wealth," he murmurs. "Oh that I had +earlier comprehended this truth!" + +The words were not meant for others; but the utterance had been too +distinct. They have reached the ears of Robert, who instantly +recognises in the stranger his long wandering, long mourned brother. + +"William!" + +The stranger is on his feet. A moment or two the brothers stand +gazing at each other, then tenderly embrace. + +"William!" + +How the stranger starts and trembles! He had not seen, in the quiet +maiden, moving among and ministering to the children so +unobtrusively, the one he had parted from years before--the one to +whom he had been so false. But her voice has startled his ears with +the familiar tones of yesterday. + +"Ellen!" Here is an instant oblivion of all the intervening years. +He has leaped back over the gloomy gulf, and stands now as he stood +ere ambition and lust for gold lured him away from the side of his +first and only love. It is well both for him and the faithful maiden +that he can so forget the past as to take her in his arms and clasp +her almost wildly to his heart. But for this, conscious shame would +have betrayed his deeply repented perfidy. + +And here we leave them, reader. "Contentment is better than wealth." +So the wordling proved, after a bitter experience--which may you +be spared! It is far better to realize a truth perceptively, and +thence make it a rule of action, than to prove its verity in a +life of sharp agony. But how few are able to rise into such a +realization! + + + + + + +MATCH-MAKING. + + + + + +"YOU are a sly girl, Mary." + +"Not by general reputation, I believe, Mrs. Martindale." + +"Oh no. Every one thinks you a little paragon of propriety. But I +can see as deep as most people." + +"You might as well talk in High Dutch to me, Mrs. Martindale. You +would be equally intelligible." + +"You are a very innocent girl, Mary." + +"I hope I am. Certainly I am not conscious of wishing harm to any +one. But pray, Mrs. Martindale, oblige me by coming a little nearer +to the point." + +"You don't remember any thing about Mrs. Allenson's party--of +course?" + +"It would be strange if I did not." + +"Oh yes. Now you begin to comprehend a little." + +"Do speak out plainly, Mrs. Martindale!" + +"So innocent! Ah me, Mary! you are a sly girl. You didn't see any +thing of a young man there with dark eyes and hair, and a beautiful +white, high forehead?" + +"If there was an individual there, answering to your description, it +is highly probable that I did see him. But what then?" + +"Oh, nothing, of course!" + +"You are trifling with me, Mrs. Martindale." + +"Seriously, then, Mary, I was very much pleased to notice the +attentions shown you by Mr. Fenwick, and more pleased at seeing how +much those attentions appeared to gratify you. He is a young man in +a thousand." + +"I am sure I saw nothing very particular in his attentions to me; +and I am very certain that I was also more gratified at the +attentions shown by him, than I was by those of other young men +present." + +"Of course not." + +"You seem to doubt my word?" + +"Oh no--I don't doubt your word. But on these subjects young ladies +feel themselves privileged to--to"---- + +"To what, Mrs. Martindale?" + +"Nothing--only. But don't you think Mr. Fenwick a charming young +man?" + +"I didn't perceive any thing very remarkable about him." + +"He did about you. I saw that, clearly." + +"How can you talk so to me, Mrs. Martindale?" + +"Oh la! Do hear the girl! Did you never have a beau, Mary?" + +"Yes, many a one. What of it?" + +"And a lover too?" + +"I know nothing about lovers." + +As Mary Lester said this, her heart made a fluttering bound, and an +emotion, new and strange, but sweet, swelled and trembled in her +bosom. + +"But you soon will, Mary, or I'm mistaken." + +Mrs. Martindale saw the cheek of the fair girl kindle, and her eye +brighten, and she said to herself, with an inward smile of +satisfaction-- + +"I'll make a match of it yet--see if I don't! What a beautiful +couple they will be!" + +Mrs. Martindale was one of that singular class of elderly ladies +whose chief delight consists in match-making. Many and many a couple +had she brought together in her time, and she lived in the pleasing +hope of seeing many more united. It was a remarkable fact, however, +that in nearly every instance where her kind offices had been +interposed, the result had not been the very happiest in the world. +This fact, however, never seemed to strike her. The one great end of +her life was to get people together--to pair them off. Whether they +jogged on harmoniously together, or pulled separate ways, was no +concern of hers. Her business was to make the matches. As to living +in harmony, or the opposite, that concerned the couples themselves, +and to that they must look themselves. It was enough for her to make +the matches, without being obliged to accord the dispositions. + +As in every thing else, practice makes perfect, so in this +occupation, practice gave to Mrs. Martindale great skill in +discerning character--at least, of such character as she could +operate on. And she could, moreover, tell the progressive states of +mind of those upon whom she exercised her kind offices, almost as +truly as if she heard them expressed in words. It was, therefore, +clear to her, after her first essay, that Mary Lester's affections +might very easily be brought out and made to linger about the young +man whom she had, in her wisdom, chosen as her husband. As Mary was +a very sweet girl, and, moreover, had a father well to do in the +world, she had no fears about interesting Mr. Fenwick in her favour. + +Only a few days passed before Mrs. Martindale managed to throw +herself into the company of the young man. + +"How were you pleased with the party, Mr. Fenwick?" she began. + +"At Mrs. Allenson's?" + +"Yes." + +"Very much." + +"So I thought." + +"Did I seem, then, particularly pleased?" + +"I thought so." + +"Indeed! Well, I can't say that I was interested a great deal more +than I usually am on such occasions." + +"Not a _great deal_ more?" + +"No, I certainly was not." + +"But a _little_ more?" + +"Perhaps I was; but I cannot be positive." + +"Oh yes. I know it. And I'm of the opinion that you were not the +only person there who was interested a _little more_ than usual." + +"Ah, indeed! And who was the other, pray?" + +"A dear little girl, whom I could mention." + +"Who was she?" + +"The sweetest young lady in the room." + +"Well, what was her name?" + +"Can't you guess?" + +"I am not good at guessing." + +"Try." + +"Mary Lester?" + +"Of course! Ha! ha! ha! I knew it." + +"Knew what?" + +"Oh yes, Mr. Innocence! Knew what!" + +"You are disposed to be quite merry, Mrs. Martindale." + +"I always feel merry when I see a young couple like you and Mary +Lester mutually pleased with each other." + +"Mutually pleased?" + +"Of course, mutually pleased." + +"How do you know that, Mrs. Martindale?" + +"Haven't I got a good pair of eyes in my head?" + +"Very good, I should certainly think, to make such a wonderful +discovery." + +"Seriously, though, Mr. Fenwick, do you not think Mary Lester a very +sweet girl?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"And just such a one as you could love?" + +"Any one, it seems to me, might love Mary Lester; but then, it is +just as apparent that she could not love any one who might chance to +offer." + +"Of course not. And I should be very sorry to think that she could. +But of one thing I am certain, she cannot look upon you with +unfavourable eyes." + +"Mrs. Martindale!" + +"I am in earnest, Mr. Fenwick." + +"What reason have you for thinking so?" + +"Very good reason. I had my eyes on you both at Mrs. Allenson's +party, and I saw as plain as could be that Mary was deeply +interested. Since then, I have met her, and observed her eye +brighten and her cheek kindle at the mention of your name. Mr. +Fenwick, she is a prize well worth winning, and may be yours." + +"Are you, then, really serious?" the young man now said, his tone +and manner changing. + +"Assuredly I am, Mr. Fenwick." + +"Mary Lester, you know, moves in a circle above my own; that is, her +father is accounted rich, and I am known to have nothing but my own +energies to depend upon." + +"All that is nothing. Win her affections, and she must be yours." + +"But I am not so certain that I can do that." + +"Nonsense! It is half done already." + +"You seem very positive about the matter." + +"Because I am never mistaken on these subjects. I can tell, the +moment I see a young couple together, whether they will suit each +other or not." + +"And you think, then, that we will just suit?" + +"Certainly I do." + +"I only wish that I could think so." + +"Do you, indeed? I am glad to hear you say that. I thought you could +not be insensible to the charms of so sweet a girl." + +"Do you, then, really believe that if I offered myself to Mary +Lester, she would accept me?" + +"If you went the right way about it, I am sure she would." + +"What do you mean by the right way?" + +"The right way for you, of course, is to endeavour to win her +affections. She is already, I can see, strongly prepossessed in your +favour, but is not herself aware to what extent her feelings are +interested. Throw yourself into her company as much as you can, and +when in her company pay her the kindest attentions. But do not visit +her at her own house at present, or her father may crush the whole +affair. When I see her again, I will drop a word in your favour." + +"I am certainly very much indebted to you, Mrs. Martindale, for your +kind hints and promised interference. I have often felt drawn toward +Mary, but always checked the feeling, because I had no idea that I, +could make an impression on her mind." + +"Faint heart never won fair lady," was Mrs. Martindale's encouraging +response. + +"Well, Mary," said the lady to Miss Lester, a few days afterward, +"have you seen Mr. Fenwick since?" + +"Mr. Fenwick!" said she, in tones of affected surprise. + +"Yes, Mr. Fenwick." + +"No--of course not. Why do you ask so strange a question? He does +not visit me." + +"Don't he? Well, I have seen him." + +"Have you? Then I hope you were very much delighted with his +company, for he seems to be a favourite of yours." + +"He certainly is a favourite of mine, Mary. I have known him for a +good many years, and have always esteemed him highly. There are few +young men who can claim to be his equal." + +"I doubt not but there are hundreds to be met with every day as good +as he." + +"Perhaps so, Mary. I have not, however, been so fortunate as to come +across them." + +"No doubt he is a paragon!" + +"Whether he be one or not, he at least thinks there is no one like +you." + +"Like me!" ejaculated Mary, taken thus suddenly by surprise, while +the colour mounted to her face, and deepened about her eyes and +forehead. + +"Yes, like you. The fact is, Mary, he thinks and speaks of you in +the kindest terms. You have evidently interested him very much." + +"I certainly never intended to do so, Mrs. Martindale." + +"Of course not, Mary. I never supposed for a moment that you had. +Still he is interested, and deeply so." + +Having ventured thus far, Mrs. Martindale deemed it prudent to say +no more for the present, but to leave her insinuations to work upon +Mary's heart what they were designed to effect. She was satisfied +that all was as she could wish--that both Fenwick and Mary were +interested in each other; and she knew enough of the human heart, +and of her own power over it, when exercised in a certain way, to +know that it would not be long before they were much more deeply +interested. + +Like all the rest of Mrs. Martindale's selections of parties for +matrimony, the present was a very injudicious one. Mary was only +seventeen--too young, by three or four years, to be able properly to +judge of character; and Fenwick was by no means a suitable man for +her husband. He was himself only about twenty-one, with a character +not yet fully decided, though the different constituents of his mind +were just ready to take their various positions, and fixed and +distinctive forms. Unfortunately, these mental and moral relations +were not truly balanced; there was an evident bias of selfishness +and evil over generous and true principles. As Mrs. Martindale was +no profound judge of character, she could not, of course, make a +true discrimination of Fenwick's moral fitness for the husband of +Mary Lester. Indeed, she never attempted to analyze character, nor +had she an idea of any thing beneath the surface. Personal +appearance, an affable exterior, and a little flattery of herself, +were the three things which, in her estimation, went to make up a +perfect character--were enough to constitute the beau ideal of a +husband for any one. + +Mary's father was a merchant of considerable wealth and standing in +society, and possessing high-toned feelings and principles. Mary was +his oldest child. He loved her tenderly, and, moreover, felt all a +parent's pride in one so young, so lovely, and so innocent. + +Fenwick had, until within a few months, been a clerk in a retail +dry-goods store, at a very small salary. A calculating, but not too +honest a wholesale dealer in the same line, desirous of getting rid +of a large stock of unsaleable goods, proposed to the young man to +set him up in business--a proposition which was instantly accepted. +The credit thus furnished to Fenwick was an inducement for others to +sell to him; and so, without a single dollar of capital, he obtained +a store full of goods. The scheme of the individual who had thus +induced him to venture upon a troubled and uncertain sea, was to get +paid fair prices for his own depreciated goods out of Fenwick's +first sales, and then gradually to withdraw his support, compelling +him to buy of other jobbing houses, until his indebtedness to him +would be but nominal. He was very well assured that the young +merchant could not stand it over a year or two, and for that length +of time only by a system of borrowing and accommodations; but as to +the result he cared nothing, so that he effected a good sale of a +bad stock. + +Notwithstanding such an unpromising condition of his affairs, even +if fully known to Mr. Lester, that gentleman would not have strongly +opposed a union of his daughter with Mr. Fenwick, had he been a man +of strong mind, intelligence, energy, and high-toned principles--for +he was philosopher enough to know that these will elevate a man +under any circumstances. But Fenwick had no decided points in his +character. He had limited intelligence, and no energy arising from +clear perceptions and strong resolutions. He was a man fit to +captivate a young and innocent girl, but not to hold the affection +of a generous-minded woman. + +In the natural order of events, such a circumstance as a marriage +union between the daughter of Mr. Lester, and an individual like +Fenwick, was not at all likely to occur. But a meddlesome woman, +who, by the accident of circumstances, had found free access to the +family of Mr. Lester, set herself seriously at work to interfere +with the orderly course of things, and effect a conjunction between +two in no way fitted for each other, either in external +circumstances or similarity of character. But let us trace the +progress of this artificial passion, fanned into a blaze by the +officious Mrs. Martindale. After having agitated the heart of Mary +with the idea of being beloved, while she coolly calculated its +effects upon her, the match-monger sought an early opportunity for +another interview with Fenwick. + +"I have seen Mary since we last met," she said. + +"Well, do you think I have any thing to hope?" + +"Certainly I do. I mentioned your name to her on purpose, and I +could see that the heart of the dear little thing began to flutter +at the very sound; and when I bantered her, she blushed, and was all +confusion." + +"When shall I be able to meet her again?" + +"Next week, I think. There is to be a party at Mrs. Cameron's and as +I am a particular friend of the family, I will endeavour to get you +an invitation." + +"Mary is to be there, of course?" + +"Certainly." + +"Are you sure that you can get me invited?" + +"Yes, I think so. Mrs. Cameron, it is true, has some exclusive +notions of her own; but I have no doubt of being able to remove +them." + +"Try, by all means." + +"You may depend on me for that," was Mrs. Martindale's encouraging +reply. + +The evening of Mrs. Cameron's party soon came around. Mrs. +Martindale had been as good as her word, and managed to get Fenwick +invited, although he had never in his life met either Mr. or Mrs. +Cameron. But he had no delicate and manly scruples on the subject. +All he desired was to get invited; the way in which it was done was +of no consequence to him. + +Mary Lester was seated by the side of her interested friend when the +young man entered. Her heart gave a quick bound as she saw him come +in, while a pleasant thrill pervaded her bosom. He at once advanced +toward them, while Mrs. Martindale rose, and after receiving him +with her blandest manner, presented him to Mary, so as to give him +an opportunity for being in her society at once. Both were, as might +very naturally be supposed, a good deal embarrassed, for each was +conscious that now a new relation existed between them. This their +very kind friend observed, and with much tact introduced subjects of +conversation, until she had paved the way, for a freer intercourse, +and then she left them alone for a brief period, not, however, +without carefully observing them, to see how they "got along +together," as she mentally expressed it. + +She had little cause for further concern on this account, for +Fenwick had a smooth and ready tongue in his head, and five years +behind the counter of a retail dealer had taught him how to use it. +Instead of finding it necessary to prompt them, the wily Mrs. +Martindale soon discovered that her kind offices were needed to +restrain them a little, lest the evidence of their being too well +pleased with each other should be discovered by the company. + +Two or three interviews more were all that were needed to bring +about a declaration from the young man. Previous to his taking this +step, however, Mrs. Martindale had fully prepared Mary's mind for +it. + +"You own to me, Mary," said she, during one of the many +conversations now held with her on the subject of Fenwick's +attentions, "that you love him?" + +"I do, Mrs. Martindale," the young lady replied, in a tone half sad, +leaning at the same time upon the shoulder of her friend. "But I am +conscious that I have been wrong in permitting my affections to +become so much interested without having consulted my mother." + +"It will never do for you to consult her now, Mary, for she does not +know Mr. Fenwick as you and I know him. She will judge of him, as +will your father, from appearances, and forbid you to keep his +company." + +"I am sure that such will be the case, and you cannot tell how it +troubles me. From childhood up I have been taught to confide in +them, and, except in this thing, have never once deceived them. The +idea of doing so now, is one that gives me constant pain. I feel +that I have not acted wisely in this matter." + +"Nonsense, Mary! Parents never think with their children in these +matters. It would make no odds whom you happened to love, they would +most certainly oppose you. I never yet knew a young lady whose +parents fully approved her choice of a husband." + +"I feel very certain that mine will not approve my choice; and I +cannot bear the idea of their displeasure. Sometimes I feel half +determined to tell them all, let the consequences be what they may." + +"Oh no, no, Mary! not for the world. They would no doubt take steps +to prevent your again meeting each other." + +"What, then, shall I do, Mrs. Martindale?" + +"See Mr. Fenwick whenever an opportunity offers, and leave the rest +to me. I will advise you when and how to act." + +The almost involuntary admissions made by Mary in this conversation, +were at once conveyed to the ears of Fenwick, who soon sought an +opportunity openly to declare his love. Of course, his suit was not +rejected. Thus, under the advice and direction of a most injudicious +woman, who had betrayed the confidence placed in her, was a young +girl, unacquainted with life, innocent and unsuspicious, wooed and +won, and her parents wholly ignorant of the circumstance. + +Thoughts of marriage follow quickly a declaration of love. Once with +the prize in view, Fenwick was eager to have it wholly in his +possession. Mrs. Martindale was, of course, the mutual friend and +adviser, and she urged an immediate clandestine marriage. For many +weeks Mary resisted the persuasions of both. Fenwick and Mrs. +Martindale; but at last, in a state of half distraction of mind, she +consented to secretly leave her father's house, and throw herself +upon the protection of one she had not known for six months, and of +whose true character she had no certain knowledge. + +"Mary is out a great deal of late, it seems to me," Mr. Lester +remarked, as he sat alone with his wife one evening about ten +o'clock. + +"So I was just thinking. There is, scarcely an evening now in the +week that she has not an engagement somewhere." + +"I cannot say that I much approve of such a course myself. There is +always danger of a girl, just at Mary's age, forming injudicious +preferences for young men, if she be thrown much into their company, +unattended by a proper adviser." + +"Mrs. Martindale is very fond of Mary, and I believe is with her a +good deal." + +"Mrs. Martindale? Humph! Do you know that I have no great confidence +in that woman?" + +"Why?" + +"Have you forgotten the hand she had in bringing about that most +unfortunate marriage of Caroline Howell?" + +"I had almost forgotten it. Or, rather, I never paid much attention +to the rumour in regard to her interference in the matter; because, +you know, people will talk." + +"And to some purpose, often; at least, I am persuaded that there is +truth in all that is alleged in this instance. And now that my +thoughts begin to run in this way, I do really feel concerned lest +the reason of Mary's frequent absence of late, in company with Mrs. +Martindale, has some reference to a matter of this kind. Have you +not observed some change in her of late?" + +"She has not been very cheerful for the last two or three months." + +"So I have once or twice thought, but supposed it was only my +imagination. If this, then, be true, it is our duty to be on our +guard--to watch over Mary with a careful eye, and to know +particularly into what company she goes." + +"I certainly agree with you that we ought to do so. Heaven grant +that our watchfulness do not come too late!" Mrs. Lester said, a +sudden feeling of alarm springing up in her bosom. + +"It is a late hour for her to be from home, and we not apprized of +where she is," the father remarked anxiously. + +"It is, indeed. She has rarely stayed out later than nine o'clock." + +"Who has been in the habit of coming home with her?" + +"Usually Mrs. Martindale has accompanied her home, and this fact has +thrown me off my guard." + +"It should have put you on your guard; for a woman like Mrs. +Martindale, gossiping about as she does, night after night, with +young folks, cannot, it seems to me, have the best ends in view." + +"She seems to be a very well-disposed woman." + +"That is true. And yet I have been several times persuaded that she +was one of the detestable tribe of match-makers" + +"Surely not." + +"I am afraid that it is too true. And if it be so, Mary is in +dangerous company." + +"Indeed she is. From this time forth we must guard her more +carefully. Of all things in the world, I dread an improper marriage +for Mary. If she should throw away her affections upon an unworthy +object, how sad would be her condition! Her gentle spirit, wounded +in the tenderest part, would fail, and droop, and pine away in +hopeless sorrow. Some women have a strength of character that +enables them to rise superior, in a degree, to even such an +affliction; but Mary could not bear it." + +"I feel deeply the truth of what you say," replied Mr. Lester. "Her +affections are ardent, and easily called out. We have been to blame +in not thinking more seriously of this matter before." + +"I wish she would come home! It is growing far too late for her to +be absent," the mother said, in a voice of anxious concern. + +Then succeeded a long and troubled silence, which continued until +the clock struck eleven. + +"Bless me! where can she be?" ejaculated Mr. Lester, rising and +beginning to pace the floor with hurried steps. + +This he continued to do for nearly a quarter of an hour, when he +paused, and said-- + +"Do you know where Mrs. Martindale lives?" + +"At No.--Pearl street." + +"No doubt she can tell where Mary is." + +"I think it more than probable." + +"Then I will see her at once." + +"Had you not better wait a little longer? I should be sorry to +attract attention, or cause remark about the matter, which would be +the result, if it got out that you went in search of her after +eleven o'clock at night." + +This had the effect to cause Mr. Lester to wait little longer. But +when the clock struck twelve, he could restrain himself no further. +Taking up his hat, he hurried off in the direction of Mrs. +Martindale's. + +"Is Mrs. Martindale at home?" he asked of the servant, who, after he +had rung three or four times, found her way to the door. + +"No, sir," was the reply. + +"Where is she?" + +"I do not know, sir." + +"Will she be here to-night?" + +"No, sir." + +"Is she in the habit of staying away at night?" + +"No, sir." + +"Where did she go early in the evening?" + +"I do not know, sir." + +Disappointed, and doubly alarmed, Mr. Lester turned away, and +retraced his steps homeward. + +"Did you see her?" eagerly inquired his wife, as he entered. + +"She is not at home." + +"Where is she?" + +"The stupid servant could not or would not tell." + +"Indeed, indeed, I do not like the appearance of all this," said +Mrs. Lester, with a troubled countenance. + +"Nor do I. I am sadly afraid all is not right in regard to Mary." + +"But she certainly could not be induced to go away with any one--in +a word, to marry clandestinely." + +"I should hope not. But one so innocent and unsuspecting as +Mary--one with so much natural goodness of character--is most easily +led away by the specious and designing, who can easily obscure their +minds, and take from them their own freedom of action. For this +reason, we should have guarded her much more carefully than we have +done." + +For two hours longer did the anxious parents wait and watch for +Mary's return, but in vain. They then retired to take a brief but +troubled repose. + +Early on the next morning, in going into Mary's room, her mother +found a letter for her, partly concealed among the leaves of a +favourite volume that lay upon her table. It contained the +information that she was about to marry Mr. Fenwick, and gave Mrs. +Martindale as authority for the excellence of his character: The +letter was written on the previous day, and the marriage was to take +place that night. + +With a stifled cry of anguish, Mrs. Lester sprang down the stairs, +on comprehending the tenor of the letter, and, placing it in the +hands of her husband, burst into tears. He read it through without +visible emotion; but the intelligence fell like a dead, oppressive +weight upon his heart--almost checking respiration. Slowly he seated +himself upon a chair, while his head sank upon his bosom, and thus +he remained almost motionless for nearly half an hour, while his +wife wept and sobbed by his side. + +"Mary," he at last said, in a mournful tone--"she is our child yet." + +"Wretched--wretched girl!" responded Mrs. Lester; "how could she so +fatally deceive herself and us?" + +"Fatally, indeed, has she done so! But upon her own head will the +deepest sorrow rest. I only wish that we were altogether guiltless +of this sacrifice." + +"But may it not turn out that this Mr. Fenwick will not prove so +unworthy of her as we fear?--that he will do all in his power to +make her happy?" + +"Altogether a vain hope, Mary. He is evidently not a man of +principle, for no man of principle would have thus clandestinely +stolen away our child--which he could only have done by first +perverting or blinding her natural perceptions of right. Can such an +one make any pure-minded, unselfish woman happy? No!--the hope is +altogether vain. He must have been conscious of his unworthiness, or +he would have come forward like a man and asked for her." + +Mr. and Mrs. Lester loved their daughter too well to cast her off. +They at once brought her, with her husband, back to her home again, +and endeavoured to make that home as pleasant to her as ever. But, +alas! few months had passed away, before the scales fell from her +eyes--before she perceived that the man upon whom she had lavished +the wealth of her young heart's affections, could not make her +happy. A weak and vain young man, Fenwick could not stand the honour +of being Mr. Lester's son-in-law, without having his brain turned. +He became at once an individual of great consequence--assumed airs, +and played the fool so thoroughly, as not only to disgust her +friends and family, but even Mary herself. His business was far too +limited for a man of his importance. He desired to relinquish the +retail line, and get into the jobbing trade. He stated his plans to +Mr. Lester, and boldly asked for a capital of twenty thousand +dollars to begin with. This was of course refused. That gentleman +thought it wisdom to support him in idleness, if it came to that, +rather than risk the loss of a single dollar in a business in which +there was a moral certainty of failure. + +Disgusted with his father-in-law's narrow-mindedness, as he called +it, Fenwick attempted to make the desired change on the strength of +his own credit. This scheme likewise proved a failure. And that was +not all, as in the course of a twelve-month his creditors wound him +up, and he came out a bankrupt. + +Mr. Lester then offered him a situation as clerk in his own store; +but Fenwick was a young man of too much consequence to be clerk to +any man. If he could not be in business himself, he, would do no +business at all, he said. That he was determined on. He could do +business as well as any one, and had as much right to be in business +as any one. + +The consequence was, that idle habits took him into idle company, +and idle company led him on to dissipation. Three years after his +marriage with Mary Lester, he was a drunkard and a gambler, and she +a drooping, almost heart-broken young wife and mother. + +One night, nearly four years from the date of her unhappy marriage, +Mary sat alone in her chamber, by the side of the bed upon which +slept sweetly and peacefully a little girl nearly three years of +age, the miniature image of herself. Her face was very thin and +pale, and there was a wildness in her restless eyes, that betokened +a troubled spirit. The time had worn on until nearly one o'clock, +and still she made no movement to retire; but seemed waiting for +some one, and yet not in anxious expectation. At last the door below +was opened, and footsteps came shuffling along the hall, and noisily +up the stairs. In a moment or two, her room-door was swung widely +open, and her husband staggered in, so drunk that he could scarcely +keep his feet. + +"And pray what are you doing up at this time of night, ha?" said he, +in drunken anger. + +"You did not like it, you know, because I was in bed last night, and +so I have sat up for you this time," his wife replied, soothingly. + +"Well, you've no business to be up this late, let me tell you, +madam. And I'm not agoing to have it. So bundle off to bed with you, +in less than no time!" + +"O Henry! how can you talk so to me?" poor Mary said, bursting into +tears. + +"You needn't go to blubbering in that way, I can tell you, madam; so +just shut up! I won't have it! And see here: I must have three +hundred dollars out of that stingy old father of yours to-morrow, +and you must get it for me. If you don't, why, just look out for +squalls." + +As he said this, he threw himself heavily upon the bed, and came +with his whole weight upon the body of his child. Mrs. Fenwick +screamed out, sprang to the bedside, and endeavoured to drag him off +the little girl. Not understanding what she meant, he rose up +quickly, and threw her from him with such force, as to dash her +against the wall opposite, when she fell senseless upon the floor. +Just at this moment, her father, who had overheard his first angry +words, burst into the room, and with the energy of suddenly aroused +indignation, seized Fenwick by the collar, dragged him down-stairs, +and thence threw him into the street from his hall-door, which he +closed and locked after him--vowing, as he did so, that the wretch +should never again cross his threshold. + +All night long did poor Mrs. Fenwick lie, her senses locked in +insensibility; and all through the next day she remained in the same +state, in spite of every effort to restore her. Her husband several +times attempted to gain admittance, but was resolutely refused. + +"He never crosses my door-stone again!" the old man said; and to +that resolution he determined to adhere. + +Another night and another day passed, and still another night, and +yet the heart-stricken young wife showed no signs of returning +consciousness. It was toward evening on the fourth day, that the +family, with Mrs. Martindale, who had called in, were gathered round +her bed, in a state of painful and gloomy anxiety, waiting for, yet +almost despairing again to see her restored to consciousness. All at +once she opened her eyes, and looked up calmly into the faces of +those who surrounded her bed. + +"Where is little Mary?" she at length asked. + +The child was instantly brought to her. + +"Does Mary love mother?" she asked of the child, in a tone of +peculiar tenderness. + +The child drew its little arms about her neck, and kissed her pale +lips and cheeks fondly. + +"Yes, Mary loves mother. But mother is going away to leave Mary. +Will she be a good girl?" + +The little thing murmured assent, as it clung closer to its mother's +bosom. + +Mrs. Fenwick then looked up into the faces of her father and mother +with a sad but tender smile, and said-- + +"You will be good to little Mary when I am gone? + +"Don't talk so, Mary!--don't, my child! You are not going to leave +us," her mother sobbed, while the tears fell from her eyes like +rain. + +"Oh no, dear! you will not leave us," said her father, in a +trembling voice. + +"Yes, dear mother! dear father! I must go. But you will not let any +one take little Mary from you?" + +"Oh no--ever! She is ours, and no one shall ever take her away." + +Mrs. Fenwick then closed her eyes, while a placid expression settled +upon her sweet but careworn face. Again she looked up, but with a +more serious countenance. As she did so, her eyes rested upon Mrs. +Martindale. + +"I am about to die, Mrs. Martindale," she said, hit a calm but +feeble voice--"and with my dying breath I charge upon you the ruin +of my hopes and happiness. If my little girl should live to woman's +estate," she added, turning to her parents, "guard her from the +influence of this woman, as you would from the fangs of a serpent." + +Then closing her eyes again, she sank away into a sleep that proved +the sleep of death. Alas! how many like her have gone down to an +early grave, or still pine on in hopeless sorrow, the victims of +that miserable interference in society, which is constantly bringing +young people together, and endeavouring to induce them to love and +marry each other, without there being between them any true +congeniality or fitness for such a relation! Of all assumed social +offices, that of the match-maker is one of the most pernicious, and +her character one of the most detestable. She should be shunned with +the same shrinking aversion with which we shun a serpent which +crosses our path. + + + + + + +THE RETURN; OR, WHO IS IT? + + + + + +"IT'S nearly a year now since I was home," said Lucy Gray to her +husband; "and so you must let me go for a few weeks." + +They had been married some four or five years, and never during that +time had been separated for a single night. + +"I thought you called this your home," said Gray, looking up with a +mock-serious air. + +"I mean my old home," replied Lucy, in a half-affected tone of +anger. "Or, to make it plain, I want to go, and see father and +mother." + +"Can't you wait three or four months, until I can go with you?" +asked the young husband. + +"I want to go now. You said all along that I should go in May." + +"I know I did. But then I supposed that I would be able to go with +you." + +"Well, why can't you? I am sure you might, if you would." + +"No, Lucy, I cannot possibly leave home now. But if you are very +anxious to see the old folks, I can put you in the stage, and you +will go safely enough. Ellen and I can take care of little Lucy, no +doubt. How long a time do you wish to spend with them?" + +"About three weeks or so?" + +"Very well, Lucy, if you are not afraid to go lone, I have not a +word to say." + +"I'm not afraid, dear," replied the wife in a voice hanged and +softened in its expression. "But are you perfectly willing to let me +go, Henry?" + +"Oh, certainly," was answered, although the tone in which the words +were uttered had in it something of reluctance. "It would be selfish +in me to say no. Your father and mother will be delighted receive a +visit just now." + +"And you think that you and Ellen can get along with little Lucy?" + +"Oh yes, very well." + +"I should like to go so much." + +"Go, then, by all means." + +"But won't you be very lonesome without me?" suggested Lucy, in +whose own bosom a feeling of loneliness was already beginning to be +felt at the bare idea of a separation from her husband. + +"I can stand it as long as you," was Gray's laughing reply to this. +"And then I shall have our dear little Lucy." + +Mrs. Gray laughed in return, but did not feel as happy at the idea +of "going home" as she thought she would be before her husband's +consent was gained. The desire to go, however, remaining strong, it +was finally settled that the visit should take place. So all the +preparations were made, and in the course of a week Henry Gray saw +his wife take her seat in the stage, with a feeling of regret at +parting which it required all his efforts to conceal. As for Lucy, +when the time came, she regretted ever having thought of going +without her husband and child; but she was ashamed to let her real +feelings be known. So she kept on a show of indifference, all the +while that her heart was fluttering. The "good-bye" finally said, +the driver cracked his whip, and off rolled the stage. Gray turned +homeward with a dull, lonely feeling, and Lucy drew her vail over +her face to conceal the unbidden tears from her fellow-passengers. + +That night, poor Mr. Gray slept but little. How could he? His Lucy +was absent, and for the first time, from his side. On the. next +morning, as he could think of nothing but his wife, he sat down and +wrote to her, telling her how lost and lonely he felt, and how much +little Lucy missed her, but still to try and enjoy herself, and by +all means to write him a letter by return mail. + +As for Mrs. Gray, during her journey of two whole days, she cried +fully half the time, and when she got "home" at last, that is, at +her father's, she looked the picture of distress, rather than the +daughter full of joy at meeting her parents. + +Right glad were the old people to see their dear child, but grieved +at the same time, and a little hurt too, at her weakness and evident +regret at having left her husband, to make them a brief visit. The +real pleasure that Lucy felt at once more seeing the faces of her +parents, whom she tenderly loved, was not strong enough to subdue +and keep in concealment, except for a very short period at a time, +her yearning desire again to be with her husband, for whom she never +before experienced a feeling of such deep and earnest affection. +Several times during the first day of her visit, did her mother +find, her in tears, which she would quickly dash aside, and then +endeavour to smile and seem cheerful. + +The day after her arrival brought her a letter--the first she had +ever received from her husband. How precious was every word! How +often and often did she read it over, until every line was engraven +on her memory! Then she sat down, and spent some two or three hours +in replying to it. As she sealed this first epistle to her husband, +full of tender expressions, she sighed as the wish arose in her +mind, involuntarily, to go with it on its journey to the village +of----. + +Long were the hours, and wearily passed, to Henry Gray. It was the +sixth day of trial, before Lucy's answer came. How dear to his heart +was every word of her affectionate epistle! Like her, he went over +it so often, that every sentiment was fixed in his mind. + +"Two weeks longer! How can I bear it?" said he, rising up, and +pacing the floor backward and forward, after reading her letter for +the tenth time. + +On the next day, the seventh of his lonely state, Mr. Gray sat down +to write again to Lucy. Several times he wrote the words, as he +proceeded in the letter--"Come home soon,"--but often obliterated +them. He did not wish to appear over anxious for her return, on her +father and mother's account, who were much attached to her. But +forgetting this reason for not urging her early return, he had +commenced again writing the words, "Come home soon," when a pair of +soft hands were suddenly placed over his eyes, by some one who had +stolen softly up behind him. + +"Guess my name," said a voice, in feigned tones. + +But he had no need to guess, for a sudden cry of joy from a little +toddling thing, told that "Mamma" had come. + +How "Mamma" was hugged and kissed all round, need not here be told. +That scene was well enough in its place, but would lose its interest +in telling. It may be imagined, however, without suffering any +particular detriment, by all who have a fancy for such things. + +"And father, too!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Gray, after he had almost +smothered his wife with kisses, looking up with an expression of +pleasure and surprise, at an old man, who stood looking on with his +good-humoured face covered with smiles. + +"Yes. I had to bring the good-for-nothing jade home," replied the +old man advancing, and grasping his son-in-law's hand, with a hearty +grip. "She did nothing but mope and cry all the while; and I don't +care if she never comes to see us again, unless she brings you along +to keep her in good humour." + +"And I never intend going alone again," said Mrs. Gray, holding a +little chubby girl to her bosom, while she kissed it over and over +again, at the same time that he pressed close up to her husband's +side. + +The old man understood it all. He was not jealous of Lucy's +affection, for he knew that she loved him as tenderly as ever. He +was too glad to know that she was happy with a husband to whom she +was as the apple of his eye. In about three months Lucy made another +visit "home." But husband and child were along this time, and the +visit proved a happy one all around. Of course "father and mother" +had their jest, and their laugh, and their affectation of jealousy +and anger at Lucy for her "childishness," as they termed it, when +home in May; but Lucy, though half vexed at herself for what she +called her weakness, nevertheless persevered in saying that she +never meant to go any where again without Henry. "That was settled." + +THE END. +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Finger Posts on the Way of Life +by T. S. 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