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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/4595-h.zip b/4595-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1de2b39 --- /dev/null +++ b/4595-h.zip diff --git a/4595-h/4595-h.htm b/4595-h/4595-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..871e9ad --- /dev/null +++ b/4595-h/4595-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13361 @@ +<!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 Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures, +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 Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures, 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: Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 14, 2009 [EBook #4595] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: February 12, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART-HISTORIES AND LIFE-PICTURES *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +HEART-HISTORIES AND LIFE-PICTURES. +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +T. S. ARTHUR. +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +NEW YORK: +<BR> +1853. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +INTRODUCTION. +</H3> + +<P> +So interested are we all in our every-day pursuits; so given up, +body and mind, to the attainment of our own ends; so absorbed by our +own hopes, joys, fears and disappointments, that we think rarely, if +at all, of the heart-histories of others—of the bright and sombre +life-pictures their eyes may look upon. And yet, every heart has its +history: how sad and painful many of these histories are, let the +dreamy eyes, the sober faces, the subdued, often mournful tones, of +many that daily cross our paths, testify. An occasional remembrance +of these things will cause a more kindly feeling towards others; and +this will do us good, in withdrawing our minds from too exclusive +thoughts of self. +</P> + +<P> +Whatever tends to awaken our sympathies towards others, to interest +us in humanity, is, therefore, an individual benefit as well as a +common good. In all that we have written, we have endeavored to +create this sympathy and awaken this interest; and so direct has +ever been our purpose, that we have given less thought to those +elegancies of style on which a literary reputation is often founded, +than to the truthfulness of our many life-pictures. In the +preparation of this volume, the same end has been kept in view, and +its chief merit will be found, we trust, in its power to do good. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +T. S. A. +<BR> +PHILADELPHIA, December, 1852. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS. +</H2> + +<H4> + <A HREF="#memory">THE BOOK OF MEMORY,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#brilliant">THE BRILLIANT AND THE COMMON-PLACE,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#jenny">JENNY LAWSON,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#shadows">SHADOWS,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#office">THE THANKLESS OFFICE,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#springs">GOING TO THE SPRINGS,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#wife">THE WIFE,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#happy">NOT GREAT BUT HAPPY,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#sisters">THE MARRIED SISTERS,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#people">GOOD-HEARTED PEOPLE,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#slow">SLOW AND SURE,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#girl">THE SCHOOL GIRL,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#pledges">UNREDEEMED PLEDGES,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#mention">DON'T MENTION IT,</A><BR> + <A HREF="#heiress">THE HEIRESS,</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="memory"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BOOK OF MEMORY. +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H3> + +<P> +"THERE is a book of record in your mind, Edwin," said an old man to +his young friend, "a book of record, in which every act of your life +is noted down. Each morning a blank page is turned, on which the +day's history is written in lines that cannot be effaced. This book +of record is your memory; and, according to what it bears, will your +future life be happy or miserable. An act done, is done forever; +for, the time in which it is done, in passing, passes to return no +more. The history is written and sealed up. Nothing can ever blot it +out. You may repent of evil, and put away the purpose of evil from +your heart; but you cannot, by any repentance, bring back the time +that is gone, nor alter the writing on the page of memory. Ah! my +young friend, if I could only erase some pages in the book of my +memory, that almost daily open themselves before the eyes of my +mind, how thankful I would be! But this I cannot do. There are acts +of my life for which repentance only avails as a process of +purification and preparation for a better state in the future; it in +no way repairs wrong done to others. Keep the pages of your memory +free from blots, Edwin. Guard the hand writing there as you value +your best and highest interests!" +</P> + +<P> +Edwin Florence listened, but only half comprehended what was said by +his aged friend. An hour afterwards he was sitting by the side of a +maiden, her hand in his, and her eyes looking tenderly upon his +face. She was not beautiful in the sense that the world regards +beauty. Yet, no one could be with her an hour without perceiving the +higher and truer beauty of a pure and lovely spirit. It was this +real beauty of character which had attracted Edwin Florence; and the +young girl's heart had gone forth to meet the tender of affection +with an impulse of gladness. +</P> + +<P> +"You love me, Edith?" said Edwin, in a low voice, as he bent nearer, +and touched her pure forehead with his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"As my life," replied the maiden, and her eyes were full of love as +she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +Again the young man kissed her. +</P> + +<P> +In low voices, leaning towards each other until the breath of each +was warm on the other's cheek, they sat conversing for a long time. +Then they separated; and both were happy. How sweet were the +maiden's dreams that night, for, in every picture that wandering +fancy drew, was the image of her lover! +</P> + +<P> +Daily thus they met for a long time. Then there was a change in +Edwin Florence. His visits were less frequent, and when he met the +young girl, whose very life was bound up in his, his manner had in +it a reserve that chilled her heart as if an icy hand had been laid +upon it. She asked for no explanation of the change; but, as he grew +colder, she shrunk more and more into herself, like a flower folding +its withering leaves when touched by autumn's frosty fingers. +</P> + +<P> +One day he called on Edith. He was not as cold as he had been, but +he was, from some cause, evidently embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +"Edith," said he, taking her hand—it was weeks since he had touched +her hand except in meeting and parting—"I need not say how highly I +regard you. How tenderly I love you, even as I could love a pure and +gentle sister. But—" +</P> + +<P> +He paused, for he saw that Edith's face had become very pale; and +that she rather gasped for air than breathed. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sick?" he asked, in a voice of anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +Edith was recovering herself. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied, faintly. +</P> + +<P> +A deep silence, lasting for the space of nearly half a minute, +followed. By this time the maiden, through a forced effort, had +regained the command of her feelings. Perceiving this, Edwin +resumed— +</P> + +<P> +"As I said, Edith, I love you as I could love a pure and gentle +sister. Will you accept this love? Will you be to me a friend—a +sister?" +</P> + +<P> +Again there passed upon the countenance of Edith a deadly pallor; +while her lips quivered, and her eyes had a strange expression. This +soon passed away, and again something of its former repose was in +her face. At the first few words of Florence, Edith withdrew the +hand he had taken. He now sought it again, but she avoided the +contact. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not answer me, Edith," said the young man. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish an answer?" This was uttered in a scarcely audible +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I do, Edith," was the earnest reply. "Let there be no separation +between us. You are to me what you have ever been, a dearly prized +friend. I never meet you that my heart does not know an impulse for +good—I never think of you but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Let us be as strangers!" said Edith, rising abruptly. And turning +away, she fled from the room. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly did the young man leave the apartment in which they were +sitting, and without seeing any member of the family, departed from +the house. There was a record on his memory that time would have no +power to efface. It was engraved too deeply for the dust of years to +obliterate. As he went, musing away, the pale face of Edith was +before him; and the anguish of her voice, as she said, "Let us be as +strangers," was in his ears. He tried not to see the one, nor hear +the other. But that was impossible. They had impressed themselves +into the very substance of his mind. +</P> + +<P> +Edwin Florence had an engagement for that very evening. It was with +one of the most brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating women he had +ever met. A few months before, she had crossed his path, and from +that time he was changed towards Edith. Her name was Catharine +Linmore. The earnest attentions of Florence pleased her, and as she +let the pleasure she felt be seen, she was not long in winning his +heart entirely from his first love. In this, she was innocent; for +she knew nothing of the former state of his affections towards +Edith. +</P> + +<P> +After parting with Edith, Edwin had no heart to fulfill his +engagement with Miss Linmore. He could think of nothing but the +maiden he had so cruelly deserted; and more than half repented of +what he had done. When the hour for the appointment came, his mind +struggled awhile in the effort to obtain a consent to go, and then +decided against meeting, at least on that occasion, the woman whose +charms had led him to do so great a wrong to a loving and confiding +heart. No excuse but that of indisposition could be made, under the +circumstances; and, attempting to screen himself, in his own +estimation, from falsehood, he assumed, in his own thoughts, a +mental indisposition, while, in the billet he dispatched, he gave +the idea of bodily indisposition. The night that followed was, +perhaps, the most unhappy one the young man had ever spent. Days +passed, and he heard nothing from Edith. He could not call to see +her, for she had interdicted that. Henceforth they must be as +strangers. The effect produced by his words had been far more +painful than was anticipated; and he felt troubled when he thought +about what might be their ultimate effects. +</P> + +<P> +On the fifth day, as the young man was walking with Catharine +Linmore, he came suddenly face to face with Edith. There was a +change in her that startled him. She looked at him, in passing, but +gave no signs of recognition. +</P> + +<P> +"Wasn't that Miss Walter?" inquired the companion of Edwin, in a +tone of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Florence. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with her? Has she been sick? How dreadful she +looks!" +</P> + +<P> +"I never saw her look so bad," remarked the young man. As they +walked along, Miss Linmore kept alluding to Edith, whose changed +appearance had excited her sympathies. +</P> + +<P> +"I've met her only a few times," said she, "but I have seen enough +of her to give me a most exalted opinion of her character. Some one +called her very plain; but I have not thought so. There is something +so good about her, that you cannot be with her long without +perceiving a real beauty in the play of her countenance." +</P> + +<P> +"No one can know her well, without loving her for the goodness of +which you have just spoken," said Edwin. +</P> + +<P> +"You are intimate with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. She has been long to me as a sister." There was a roughness in +the voice of Florence as he said this. +</P> + +<P> +"She passed without recognizing you," said Miss Linmore. +</P> + +<P> +"So I observed." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet I noticed that she looked you in the face, though with a +cold, stony, absent look. It is strange! What can have happened to +her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have observed a change in her for some time past," Florence +ventured to say; "but nothing like this. There is something wrong." +</P> + +<P> +When the time to part, with his companion came, Edwin Florence felt +a sense of relief. Weeks now passed without his seeing or hearing +any thing from Edith. During the time he met Miss Linmore +frequently; and encouraged to approach, he at length ventured to +speak to her of what was in his heart. The young lady heard with +pleasure, and, though she did not accept the offered hand, by no +means repulsed the ardent suitor. She had not thought of marriage, +she said, and asked a short time for reflection. +</P> + +<P> +Edwin saw enough in her manner to satisfy him that the result would +be in his favor. This would have made him supremely happy, could he +have blotted out all recollection of Edith and his conduct towards +her. But, that was impossible. Her form and face, as he had last +seen them, were almost constantly before his eyes. As he walked the +streets, he feared lest he should meet her; and never felt pleasant +in any company until certain that she was not there. +</P> + +<P> +A few days after Mr. Florence had made an offer of his hand to Miss +Linmore, and at a time when she was about making a favorable +decision, that young lady happened to hear some allusion made to +Edith Walter, in a tone that attracted her attention. She +immediately asked some questions in regard to her, when one of the +persons conversing said— +</P> + +<P> +"Why, don't you know about Edith?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know that there is a great change in her. But the reason of it I +have not heard." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! I thought it was pretty well known that her affections had +been trifled with." +</P> + +<P> +"Who could trifle with the affections of so sweet, so good a girl," +said Miss Linmore, indignantly. "The man who could turn from her, +has no true appreciation of what is really excellent and exalted in +woman's character. I have seen her only a few times; but, often +enough to make me estimate her as one among the loveliest of our +sex." +</P> + +<P> +"Edwin Florence is the man," was replied. "He won her heart, and +then turned from her; leaving the waters of affection that had +flowed at his touch to lose themselves in the sands at his feet. +There must be something base in the heart of a man who could trifle +thus with such a woman." +</P> + +<P> +It required a strong effort on the part of Miss Linmore to conceal +the instant turbulence of feeling that succeeded so unexpected a +declaration. But she had, naturally, great self-control, and this +came to her aid. +</P> + +<P> +"Edwin Florence!" said she, after a brief silence, speaking in a +tone of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he is the man. Ah, me! What a ruin has been wrought! I never +saw such a change in any one as Edith exhibits. The very inspiration +of her life is gone. The love she bore towards Florence seems to +have been almost the mainspring of her existence; for in touching +that the whole circle of motion has grown feeble, and will, I fear, +soon cease for ever." +</P> + +<P> +"Dreadful! The falsehood of her lover has broken her heart." +</P> + +<P> +"I fear that it is even so." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she ill? I have not seen her for a long time," said Miss +Linmore. +</P> + +<P> +"Not ill, as one sick of a bodily disease; but drooping about as one +whose spirits are broken, and who finds no sustaining arm to lean +upon. When you meet her, she strives to be cheerful, and appear into +rested. But the effort deceives no one." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did Mr. Florence act towards her as he has done?" asked Miss +Linmore. +</P> + +<P> +"A handsomer face and more brilliant exterior were the attractions, +I am told." +</P> + +<P> +The young lady asked no more questions. Those who observed her +closely, saw the warm tints that made beautiful her cheeks grow +fainter and fainter, until they had almost entirely faded. Soon +after, she retired from the company. +</P> + +<P> +In the ardor of his pursuit of a new object of affection, Edwin +Florence scarcely thought of the old one. The image of Edith was +hidden by the interposing form of Miss Linmore. The suspense +occasioned by a wish for time to consider the offer he had made, +grew more and more painful the longer it was continued. On the +possession of the lovely girl as his wife, depended, so he felt, his +future happiness. Were she to decline his offer he would be +wretched. In this state of mind, he called one day upon Miss +Linmore, hoping and fearing, yet resolved to know his fate. The +moment he entered her presence he observed a change. She did not +smile; and there was something chilling in the steady glance of her +large dark eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I offended you?" he asked, as she declined taking his offered +hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," was the firm reply, while the young lady assumed a dignified +air. +</P> + +<P> +"In what?" asked Florence. +</P> + +<P> +"In proving false to her in whose ears you first breathed words of +affection." +</P> + +<P> +The young man started as if stung by a serpent. +</P> + +<P> +"The man," resumed Miss Linmore, "who has been false to Edith +Walter, never can be true to me. I wouldn't have the affection that +could turn from one like her. I hold it to be light as the +thistle-down. Go! heal the heart you have almost broken, if, +perchance, it be not yet too late. As for me, think of me as if we +had all our lives been strangers—such, henceforth, we must ever +remain." +</P> + +<P> +And saying this, Catharine Linmore turned from the rebuked and +astonished young man, and left the room. He immediately retired. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H4> + +<P> +EVENING, with its passionless influences, was stealing softly down, +and leaving on all things its hues of quiet and repose. The heart of +nature was beating with calm and even pulses. Not so the heart of +Edwin Florence. It had a wilder throb; and the face of nature was +not reflected in the mirror of his feelings, He was alone in his +room, where he had been during the few hours that had elapsed since +his interview with Miss Linmore. In those few hours, Memory had +turned over many leaves of the Book of his Life. He would fain have +averted his eyes from the pages, but he could not. The record was +before him, and he had read it. And, as he read, the eyes of Edith +looked into his own; at first they were loving and tender, as of +old; and then, they were full of tears. Her hand lay, now, +confidingly in his; and now it was slowly withdrawn. She sat by his +side, and leaned upon him—his lips were upon her lips; his cheek +touching her cheek; their breaths were mingling. Another moment and +he had turned from her coldly, and she was drooping towards the +earth like a tender vine bereft of the support to which it had held +by its clinging tendrils. Ah! If he could only have shut out these +images! If he could have erased the record so that Memory could not +read it! How eagerly would he have drunk of Lethe's waters, could he +have found the fabled stream! +</P> + +<P> +More than all this. The rebuke of Miss Linmore almost maddened him. +In turning from Edith, he had let his heart go out towards the other +with a passionate devotion. Pride in her beauty and brilliant +accomplishments had filled his regard with a selfishness that could +ill bear the shock of a sudden repulse. Sleepless was the night that +followed; and when the morning, long looked for, broke at last, it +brought no light for his darkened spirit. Yet he had grown calmer, +and a gentle feeling pervaded his bosom. Thrown off by Miss Linmore, +his thoughts now turned by a natural impulse, as the needle, long +held by opposing attraction, turns to its polar point, again towards +Edith Walter. As he thought of her longer and longer, tenderer +emotions began to tremble in his heart. The beauty of her character +was again seen; and his better nature bowed before it once more in a +genuine worship. +</P> + +<P> +"How have I been infatuated! What syren spell has been on me!" Such +were the words that fell from his lips, marking the change in his +feelings. +</P> + +<P> +Days went by, and still the change went on, until the old affection +had come back; the old tender, true affection. But, he had turned +from its object—basely turned away. A more glaring light had +dazzled his eyes so that he could see, for a time, no beauty, no +attraction, in his first love. Could he turn to her again? Would she +receive him? Would she let him dip healing leaves in the waters he +had dashed with bitterness? His heart trembled as he asked these +questions, for there was no confident answer. +</P> + +<P> +At last Edwin Florence resolved that he would see Edith once more, +and seek to repair the wrong done both to her and to himself. It was +three months after his rejection by Miss Linmore when he came to +this resolution. And then, some weeks elapsed before he could force +himself to act upon it. In all that time he had not met the young +girl, nor had he once heard of her. To the house of her aunt, where +she resided, Florence took his way one evening in early autumn, his +heart disturbed by many conflicting emotions. His love for Edith had +come back in full force; and his spirit was longing for the old +communion. +</P> + +<P> +"Can I see Miss Walter!" he asked, on arriving at her place of +residence. +</P> + +<P> +"Walk in," returned the servant who had answered his summons. +</P> + +<P> +Florence entered the little parlor where he had spent so many +never-to-be-forgotten hours with Edith—hours unspeakably happy in +passing, but, in remembrance, burdened with pain—and looking around +on each familiar object with strange emotions. Soon a light step was +heard descending the stairs, and moving along the passage. The door +opened, and Edith—no, her aunt—entered. The young man had risen in +the breathlessness of expectation. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Florence," said the aunt, coldly. He extended his hand; but she +did not take it. +</P> + +<P> +"How is Edith?" was half stammered. +</P> + +<P> +"She is sinking rapidly," replied the aunt. +</P> + +<P> +Edwin staggered back into a chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Is she ill?" he inquired, with a quivering lip. +</P> + +<P> +"Ill! She is dying!" There was something of indignation in the way +this was said. +</P> + +<P> +"Dying!" The young man clasped his hands together with a gesture of +despair. +</P> + +<P> +"How long has she been sick?" he next ventured to ask. +</P> + +<P> +"For months she has been dying daily," said the aunt. There was a +meaning in her tones that the young man fully comprehended. He had +not dreamed of this. +</P> + +<P> +"Can I see her?" +</P> + +<P> +The aunt shook her head, as she answered, +</P> + +<P> +"Let her spirit depart in peace." +</P> + +<P> +"I will not disturb, but calm her spirit," said the young man, +earnestly. "Oh, let me see her, that I may call her back to life!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is too late," replied the aunt. "The oil is exhausted, and light +is just departing." +</P> + +<P> +Edwin started to his feet, exclaiming passionately—"Let me see her! +Let me see her!" +</P> + +<P> +"To see her thus, would be to blow the breath that would extinguish +the flickering light," said the aunt. "Go home, young man! It is too +late! Do not seek to agitate the waters long troubled by your hand, +but now subsiding into calmness. Let her spirit depart in peace." +</P> + +<P> +Florence sunk again into his chair, and, hiding his face with his +hands, sat for some moments in a state of a mental paralysis. +</P> + +<P> +In the chamber above lay the pale, almost pulseless form of Edith. A +young girl, who had been as her sister for many years, sat holding +her thin white hand. The face of the invalid was turned to the wall. +Her eyes were closed; and she breathed so quietly that the motions +of respiration could hardly be seen. Nearly ten minutes had elapsed +from the time a servant whispered to the aunt that there was some +one in the parlor, when Edith turned, and said to her companion, in +a low, calm voice— +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Florence has come." +</P> + +<P> +The girl started, and a flush of surprise went over her face. +</P> + +<P> +"He is in the parlor now. Won't you ask him to come up?" added the +dying maiden, still speaking with the utmost composure. +</P> + +<P> +Her friend stood surprised and hesitating for some moments, and then +turning away, glided from the chamber. She found the aunt and Mr. +Florence in the passage below, the latter pleading with the former +for the privilege of seeing Edith, which was resolutely denied. +</P> + +<P> +"Edith wants to see Mr. Florence," said the girl, as she joined +them. +</P> + +<P> +"Who told her that he was here?" quickly asked the aunt. +</P> + +<P> +"No one. I did not know it myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Her heart told her that I was here," exclaimed Mr. Florence—and, +as he spoke, he glided past the aunt, and, with hurried steps, +ascended to the chamber where the dying one lay. The eyes of Edith +were turned towards the door as he entered; but no sign of emotion +passed over her countenance. Overcome by his feelings, at the sight +of the shadowy remnant of one so loved and so wronged, the young man +sunk into a chair by her side, as nerveless as a child; and, as his +lips were pressed upon her lips and cheeks, her face was wet with +his tears. +</P> + +<P> +Coming in quickly after, the aunt took firmly hold of his arm and +sought to draw him away, but, in a steady voice, the invalid said— +</P> + +<P> +"No—no. I was waiting for him. I have expected him for days. I knew +he would come; and he is here now." +</P> + +<P> +All was silence for many minutes; and during this time Edwin +Florence sat with his face covered, struggling to command his +feelings. At a motion from the dying girl, the aunt and friend +retired, and she was alone with the lover who had been false to his +vows. As the door closed behind them, Edwin looked up. He had grown +calm. With a voice of inexpressible tenderness, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"Live for me, Edith." +</P> + +<P> +"Not here," was answered. "The silver chord will soon be loosened +and the golden bowl broken." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, say not that! Let me call you back to life. Turn to me again as +I have turned to you with my whole heart. The world is still +beautiful; and in it we will be happy together." +</P> + +<P> +"No, Edwin," replied the dying maiden. "The history of my days here +is written, and the angel is about sealing the record. I am going +where the heart will never feel the touch of sorrow. I wished to see +you once more before I died; and you are here. I have, once more, +felt your breath upon my cheek; once more held your hand in mine. +For this my heart is grateful. You had become the sun of my life, +and when your face was turned away, the flower that spread itself +joyfully in the light, drooped and faded. And now, the light has +come back again; but it cannot warm into freshness and beauty the +withered blossom." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my Edith! Say not so! Live for me! I have no thoughts, no +affection that is not for you. The drooping flower will lift itself +again in the sunshine when the clouds have passed away." +</P> + +<P> +As the young man said this, Edith raised herself up suddenly, and, +with a fond gesture, flung herself forward upon his bosom. For a few +moments her form quivered in his arms. Then all became still, and he +felt her lying heavier and heavier against him. In a little while he +was conscious that he clasped to his heart only the earthly +semblance of one who had passed away forever. +</P> + +<P> +Replacing the light and faded form of her who, a little while +before, had been in the vigor of health, upon the bed, Edwin gazed +upon the sunken features for a few moments, and then, leaving a last +kiss upon her cold lips, hurried aware. +</P> + +<P> +Another page in his Book of Life was written, There was another +record there from which memory, in after life, could read. And such +a record! What would he not have given to erase that page! +</P> + +<P> +When the body of Edith Walter was borne to its last resting-place, +Florence was among the mourners. After looking his last look upon +the coffin that contained the body, he went away, sadder in heart +than he had ever been in his life. He was not only a prey to +sadness, but to painful self-accusation. In his perfidy lay the +cause of her death. He had broken the heart that confided in him, +and only repented of his error when it was too late to repair the +ruin. +</P> + +<P> +As to what was thought or said of him by others, Edwin Florence +cared but little. There was enough of pain in his own +self-consciousness. He withdrew himself from the social circle, and, +for several years, lived a kind of hermit-life in the midst of +society. But, he was far from being happy in his solitude; for +Memory was with him, and almost daily, from the Book of his Life, +read to him some darkly written page. +</P> + +<P> +One day, it was three years from the time he parted with Edith in +the chamber of death, and when he was beginning to rise in a measure +above the depressing influences attendant upon that event,—he +received an invitation to make one of a social party on the next +evening. The desire to go back again in society had been gaining +strength with him for some time; and, as it had gained strength, +reason had pointed out the error of his voluntary seclusion as +unavailing to alter the past. +</P> + +<P> +"The past is past," he said to himself, as he mused with the +invitation in his hand. "I cannot recall it—I cannot change it. If +repentance can in any way atone for error, surely I have made +atonement; for my repentance has been long and sincere. If Edith can +see my heart, her spirit must be satisfied. Even she could not wish +for this living burial. It is better for me to mingle in society as +of old." +</P> + +<P> +Acting on this view, Florence made one on the next evening, in a +social party. He felt strangely, for his mind was invaded by old +influences, and touched by old impressions. He saw, in many a light +and airy form, as it glanced before him, the image of one long since +passed away; and heard, in the voices that filled the rooms, many a +tone that it seemed must have come from the lips of Edith. How busy +was Memory again with the past. In vain he sought to shut out the +images that arose in his mind. The page was open before him, and +what was impressed thereon he could not but see and read. +</P> + +<P> +This passed, in some degree, away as the evening progressed, and he +came nearer, so to speak, to some of those who made up the happy +company. Among those present was a young lady from a neighboring +city, who attracted much attention both from her manners and person. +She fixed the eyes of Mr. Florence soon after he entered the room, +and, half unconsciously to himself, his observation was frequently +directed towards her. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is that lady?" he asked of a friend, an hour after his arrival. +</P> + +<P> +"Her name is Miss Welden. She is from Albany." +</P> + +<P> +"She has a very interesting face," said Florence. +</P> + +<P> +"And quite as interesting a mind. Miss Weldon is a charming girl." +</P> + +<P> +Not long after, the two were thrown near together, when an +introduction took place. The conversation of the young lady +interested Florence, and in her society he passed half an hour most +pleasantly. While talking with more than usual animation, in lifting +his eyes he saw that some one on, the opposite side of the room was +observing him attentively. For the moment this did not produce any +effect. But, in looking up again, he saw the same eyes upon him, and +felt their expression as unpleasant. He now, for the first time, +became aware that the aunt of Edith Walter was present. She it was +who had been regarding him so attentively. From that instant his +heart sunk in his bosom. Memory's magic mirror was before him, and +in it he saw pictured the whole scene of that last meeting with +Edith. +</P> + +<P> +A little while afterward, and Edwin Florence was missed from the +pleasant company. Where was he? Alone in the solitude of his own +chamber, with his thoughts upon the past. Again he had been reading +over those pages of his Book of Life in which was written the +history of his intimacy with and desertion of Edith; and the record +seemed as fresh as if made but the day before. It was in vain that +he sought to close or avert his eyes. There seemed a spell upon him; +and he could only look and read. +</P> + +<P> +"Fatal error!" he murmured to himself, as he struggled to free +himself from his thraldom to the past. "Fatal error! How a single +act will curse a man through life. Oh! if I could but extinguish the +whole of this memory! If I could wipe out the hand-writing. Sorrow, +repentance, is of no avail. The past is gone for ever. Why then +should I thus continue to be unhappy over what I cannot alter? It +avails nothing to Edith. She is happy—far happier than if she had +remained on this troublesome earth." +</P> + +<P> +But, even while he uttered these words, there came into his mind +such a realizing sense of what the poor girl must have suffered, +when she found her love thrown back upon her, crushing her heart by +its weight, that he bowed his head upon his bosom and in bitter +self-upbraidings passed the hours until midnight, when sleep locked +up his senses, and calmed the turbulence of his feelings. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H4> + +<P> +MONTHS elapsed before Edwin Florence ventured again into company. +</P> + +<P> +"Why will you shut yourself up after this fashion?" said an +acquaintance to him one day. "It isn't just to your friends. I've +heard half a dozen persons asking for you lately. This hermit life +you are leading is, let me tell you, a very foolish life." +</P> + +<P> +The friend who thus spoke knew nothing of the young man's heart +history. +</P> + +<P> +"No one really misses me," said Florence, in reply. +</P> + +<P> +"In that you are mistaken," returned the friend. "You are missed. I +have heard one young lady, at least, ask for you of late, more than +a dozen times." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! A <I>young</I> lady?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; and a very beautiful young lady at that." +</P> + +<P> +"In whose eyes can I have found such favor?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have met Miss Clara Weldon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only once." +</P> + +<P> +"But once!" +</P> + +<P> +"That is all." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it must be a case of love at first sight—at least on the +lady's part—for Miss Weldon has asked for you, to my knowledge, not +less than a dozen times." +</P> + +<P> +"I am certainly flattered at the interest she takes in me." +</P> + +<P> +"Well you may be. I know more than one young man who would sacrifice +a good deal to find equal favor in her eyes. Now see what you have +lost by this hiding of your countenance. And you are not the only +loser." +</P> + +<P> +Florence, who was more pleased at what he heard than he would like +to have acknowledged, promised to come forth from his hiding place +and meet the world in a better spirit. And he did so; being really +drawn back into the social circle by the attraction of Miss Weldon. +At his second meeting with this young lady he was still more charmed +with her than at first; and she was equally well pleased with him. A +few more interviews, and both their hearts were deeply interested. +</P> + +<P> +Now there came a new cause of disquietude to Edwin; or, it might be +said, the old cause renewed. The going out of his affections towards +Miss Weldon revived the whole memory of the past; and, for a time he +found it almost impossible to thrust it from his mind. While sitting +by her side and listening to her voice, the tones of Edith would be +in his ears; and, often, when he looked into her face he would see +only the fading countenance of her who had passed away. This was the +first state, and it was exceedingly painful while it lasted. But, it +gradually changed into one more pleasant, yet not entirely free from +the unwelcome intrusion of the past. +</P> + +<P> +The oftener Florence and Miss Weldon met, the more strongly were +their hearts drawn toward each other; and, at length, the former was +encouraged to make an offer of his hand. In coming to this +resolutions, it was not without passing through a painful conflict. +As his mind dwelt upon the subject, there was a reproduction of old +states. Most vividly did he recall the time when he breathed into +the ears of Edith vows to which he had proved faithless. He had, it +is true, returned to his first allegiance. He had laid his heart +again at her feet; but, to how little purpose! While in this state +of agitation, the young man resolved, more than once, to abandon his +suit for the hand of Miss Weldon, and shrink back again into the +seclusion from which he had come forth. But, his affection for the +lovely girl was too genuine to admit of this. When he thought of +giving her up, his mind was still more deeply disturbed. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that I could forget!" he exclaimed, while this struggle was in +progress. "Of what avail is this turning over of the leaves of a +long passed history? I erred—sadly erred! But repentance is now too +late. Why, then should my whole existence be cursed for a single +error? Ah, me! thou not satisfied, departed one? Is it, indeed, from +the presence of thy spirit that I am troubled? My heart sinks at the +thought. But no, no! Thou wert too good to visit pain upon any; much +less upon one who, thou false to thee, thou didst so tenderly love." +</P> + +<P> +But, upon this state there came a natural re-action. A peaceful calm +succeeded the storm. Memory deposited her records in the mind's +dimly lighted chambers. To the present was restored its better +influences. +</P> + +<P> +"I am free again," was the almost audible utterance, of the young +man, so strong was his sense of relief. +</P> + +<P> +An offer of marriage was then made to Miss Weldon. Her heart +trembled with joy when she received it. But confiding implicitly in +her uncle, who had been for the space of ten years her friend and +guardian, she could not give an affirmative reply until his approval +was gained. She, therefore, asked time for reflection and +consultation with her friend. +</P> + +<P> +Far different from what Florence had expected, was the reception of +his offer. To him, Miss Weldon seemed instantly to grow cold and +reserved. Vividly was now recalled his rejection by Miss Linmore, as +well as the ground of her rejection. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this to be gone over again?" he sighed to himself, when alone +once more, "Is that one false step never to be forgotten nor +forgiven? Am I to be followed, through life, by this shadow of +evil?" +</P> + +<P> +To no other cause than this could the mind of Florence attribute the +apparent change and hesitation in Clara Weldon. +</P> + +<P> +Immediately on receiving an offer of marriage, Miss Weldon returned +to Albany. Before leaving, she dropped Florence a note, to the +effect, that he should hear from her in a few days. A week passed, +but the promised word came not. It was, now plain that the friends +of the young lady had been making inquiries about him, and were in +possession of certain facts in his life, which, if known, would +almost certainly blast his hopes of favor in her eyes. While in this +state of uncertainty, he met the aunt of Edith, and the way she +looked at him, satisfied his mind that his conjectures were true. A +little while after a friend remarked to him casually— +</P> + +<P> +"I saw Colonel Richards in town to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"Colonel Richards! Miss Weldon's uncle?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Have you seen him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I have not the pleasure of an acquaintance." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! I thought you knew him. I heard him mention your name this +morning." +</P> + +<P> +"My name!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What had he to say of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Let me think. Oh! He asked me if I knew you." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"I said that I did, of course and that you were a pretty clever +fellow; though you had been a sad boy in your time." +</P> + +<P> +The face of Florence instantly reddened. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, what's the matter? Oh I understand now! That little niece of +his is one of your flames. But come! Don't take it so to heart. Your +chances are one in ten, I have no doubt. By the way, I haven't seen +Clara for a week. What has become of her? Gone back to Albany, I +suppose. I hope you haven't frightened her with an offer. By the +way, let me whisper a word of comfort in your ear. I heard her say +that she didn't believe in any thing but first love; and, as you are +known to have had half a dozen sweethearts, more or less, and to +have broken the hearts of two or three young ladies, the probability +is, that you won't be able to add her to tie number of your lady +loves." +</P> + +<P> +All this was mere jesting; but the words, though uttered in jest, +fell upon the ears of Edwin Florence with all the force of truth. +</P> + +<P> +"Guilty, on your own acknowledgment," said the friend, seeing the +effect of his words. "Better always to act fairly in these matters +of the heart, Florence. If we sow the wind, we will be pretty sure +to reap the whirlwind. But come; let me take you down to the +Tremont, and introduce you to Colonel Richards. I know he will be +glad to make your acquaintance, and will, most probably, give you an +invitation to go home with him and spend a week. You can then make +all fair with his pretty niece." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no wish to make his acquaintance just at this time," +returned Florence; "nor do I suppose he cares about making mine, +particularly after the high opinion you gave him of my character." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense, Edwin! You don't suppose I said that to him. Can't you +take a joke?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes; I can take a joke." +</P> + +<P> +"Take that as one, then. Colonel Richards did ask for you, however; +and said that he would like to meet you. He was serious. So come +along, and let me introduce you." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I would prefer not meeting with him at this time." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a strange individual." +</P> + +<P> +The young men parted; Florence to feel more disquieted than ever. +Colonel Richards had been inquiring about him, and, in prosecuting +his inquiries, would, most likely, find some one inclined to relate +the story of Edith Walter. What was more natural? That story once in +the ears of Clara, and he felt that she must turn from him with a +feeling of repulsion. +</P> + +<P> +Three or four days longer he was in suspense. He heard of Col. +Richards from several quarters, and, in each case when he was +mentioned, he was alluded to as making inquiries about him. +</P> + +<P> +"I hear that the beautiful Miss Weldon is to be married," was said +to Florence at a time when he was almost mad with the excitement of +suspense. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" he replied, with forced calmness, "I hope she will be +successful in securing a good husband." +</P> + +<P> +"So do I; for she is indeed a sweet girl. I was more than half +inclined to fall in love with her myself; and would leave done so, +if I had believed there was any chance for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is the favored one?" asked Florence. +</P> + +<P> +"I have not been able to find out. She received three or four +offers, and went back to Albany to consider them and make her +election. This she has done, I hear; and already, the happy +recipient of her favor is rejoicing over his good fortune. May they +live a thousand years to be happy with each other!" +</P> + +<P> +Here was another drop of bitterness in the cup that was at the lips +of Edwin Florence. He went to his office immediately, and, setting +down, wrote thus to Clara: +</P> + +<P> +"I do not wrongly interpret, I presume, a silence continued far +beyond the time agreed upon when we parted. You have rejected my +suit. Well, be it so; and may you be happy with him who has found +favor in your eyes. I do not think he can love you more sincerely +than I do, or be more devoted to your happiness than I should have +been. It would have relieved the pain I cannot but feel, if you had +deemed my offer worthy a frank refusal. But, to feel that one I have +so truly loved does not think me even deserving of this attention, +is humiliating in the extreme. But, I will not upbraid you. +Farewell! May you be happy." +</P> + +<P> +Sealing Up his epistle, the young man, scarcely pausing even for +hurried reflection, threw it into the post office. This done, he +sunk into a gloomy state of mind, in which mortification and +disappointment struggled alternately for the predominance. +</P> + +<P> +Only a few hours elapsed after the adoption of this hasty course, +before doubts of its propriety began to steal across his mind. It +was possible, it occurred to him, that he might have acted too +precipitately. There might be reasons for the silence of Miss Weldon +entirely separate from those he had been too ready to assume; and, +if so, how strange would his letter appear. It was too late now to +recall the act, for already the mail that bore his letter was half +way from New York to Albany. A restless night succeeded to this day. +Early on the next morning he received a letter. It was in these +words— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MY DEAR MR. FLORENCE:—I have been very ill, and to-day am able to +sit up just long enough to write a line or two. My uncle was in New +York some days ago, but did not meet with you. Will you not come up +and see me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Ever Yours, CLARA WELDON." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Florence was on board the next boat that left New York for Albany. +The letter of Clara was, of course, written before the receipt of +his hasty epistle. What troubled him now was the effect of this +epistle on her mind. He had not only wrongly interpreted her +silence, but had assumed the acceptance of another lover as +confidently as if he knew to an certainty that such was the case. +This was a serious matter and might result in the very thing he had +been so ready to assume—the rejection of his suit. +</P> + +<P> +Arriving at length, in Albany, Mr. Florence sought out the residence +of Miss Weldon. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Colonel Richards at home?" he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +On being answered in the affirmative he sent up his name, with a +request to see him. The colonel made his appearance in short time. +He was a tall, thoughtful looking man, and bowed with a dignified +air as he came into the room. +</P> + +<P> +"How is Miss Weldon?" asked Florence, with an eagerness he could not +restrain. +</P> + +<P> +"Not so well this morning," replied the guardian. "She had a bad +night." +</P> + +<P> +"No wonder," thought the young man, "after receiving that letter." +</P> + +<P> +"She has been sleeping, however since daylight," added Colonel +Richards, "and that is much in her favor." +</P> + +<P> +"She received my letter, I presume," said Florence, in a hesitating +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"A letter came for her yesterday," was replied; "but as she was more +indisposed than usual, we did not give it to her." +</P> + +<P> +"It is as well," said the young man, experiencing a sense of relief. +</P> + +<P> +An hour afterwards he was permitted to enter the chamber, where she +lay supported by pillows. One glance at her face dispelled from his +mind every lingering doubt. He had suffered from imaginary fears, +awakened by the whispers of a troubled conscience. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H4> + +<P> +IN a few days Clara was well enough to leave her room, and was soon +entirely recovered from her sudden illness. That little matter of +the heart had been settled within three minutes of their meeting, +and they were now as happy as lovers usually are under such +favorable circumstances. +</P> + +<P> +When Edwin Florence went back to New York, it was with a sense of +interior pleasure more perfect than he had experienced for years; +and this would have remained, could he have shut out the past; or, +so much of it as came like an unwelcome intruder. But, alas! this +was not to be. Even while he was bending, in spirit, over the +beautiful image of his last beloved, there would come between his +eyes and that image a pale sad face, in which reproof was stronger +than affection, It was all in vain that he sought to turn from that +face. For a time it would remain present, and then fade slowly away, +leaving his heart oppressed. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it to be ever thus!" he would exclaim, in these seasons of +darkness. "Will nothing satisfy this accusing spirit? Edith! Dear +Edith! Art thou not among the blessed ones? Is not thy heart happy +beyond mortal conception? Then why come to me thus with those +tearful eyes, that shadowy face, those looks of reproof? Have I not +suffered enough for purification! Am I never to be forgiven?" +</P> + +<P> +And then, with an effort, he would turn his eyes from the page laid +open by Memory, and seek to forget what was written there. But it +seemed as if every thing conspired to freshen his remembrance of the +past, the nearer the time approached, when by a marriage union with +one truly beloved, he was to weaken the bonds it had thrown around +him. The marriage of Miss Linmore took place a few weeks after his +engagement with Clara, and as an intimate friend led her to the +altar, he could not decline making one of the number that graced the +nuptial festivities. In meeting the young bride, he endeavored to +push from his mind all thoughts of their former relations. But she +had not done this, and her thought determined his. Her mind recurred +to the former time, the moment he came into her presence, and, of +necessity his went back also. They met, therefore, with a certain +reserve, that was to him most unpleasant, particularly as it stirred +a hundred sleeping memories. +</P> + +<P> +By a strong effort, Florence was able to conceal from other eyes +much of what he felt. In doing this, a certain over action was the +consequence; and he was gayer than usual. Several times he +endeavored to be lightly familiar with the bride; but, in every +instance that he approached her, he perceived a kind of instinctive +shrinking; and, if she was in a laughing mood, when he drew near she +became serious and reserved. All this was too plain to be mistaken; +and like the repeated strokes of a hammer upon glowing iron, +gradually bent his feelings from the buoyant form they had been +endeavoring to assume. The effect was not wholly to be resisted. +More than an hour before the happy assemblage broke up, Florence was +not to be found in the brilliantly lighted rooms. Unable longer to +conceal what he felt, he had retired. +</P> + +<P> +For many days after this, the young man felt sober. "Why haven't you +called to see me?" asked the friend who had married Miss Linmore, a +week or two after the celebration of the nuptials. +</P> + +<P> +Florence excused himself as best he could, and promised to call in a +few days. Two weeks went by without the fulfillment of his promise. +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt, we shall see you next week," said the friend, meeting him +one day about this time; "though I am not so sure we will receive +your visits then." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"A certain young lady with whom, I believe, you have some +acquaintance, is to spend a short time with us." +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" asked Florence, quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"A young lady from Albany." +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Weldon?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same." +</P> + +<P> +"I was not aware that she was on terms of intimacy with your wife." +</P> + +<P> +"She's an old friend of mine; and, in that sense a friend of +Kate's." +</P> + +<P> +"Then they have not met." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes; frequently. And are warmly attached. We look for a +pleasant visit. But, of course, we shall not expect to see you. That +is understood." +</P> + +<P> +"I rather think you will; that is, if your wife will admit me on +friendly terms." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say that?" inquired the friend, appearing a little +surprised. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought, on the night of your wedding, that she felt my presence +as unwelcome to her." +</P> + +<P> +"And is this the reason why you have not called to see us." +</P> + +<P> +"I frankly own that it is." +</P> + +<P> +"Edwin! I am surprised at you. It is all a piece of imagination. +What could have put such a thing into your head?" +</P> + +<P> +"It may have been all imagination. But I couldn't help feelings as I +did. However, you may expect to see me, and that, too, before Miss +Weldon's arrival." +</P> + +<P> +"If you don't present yourself before, I am not so sure that we will +let you come afterwards," said the friend, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +On the next evening the young man called. Mrs. Hartley, the bride of +his friend, endeavored to forget the past, and to receive him with +all the external signs of forgetfulness. But, in this she did not +fully succeed, and, of course, the visit of Florence was painfully +embarrassing, at least, to himself. From that time until the arrival +of Miss Weldon, he felt concerned and unhappy. That Mrs. Hartley +would fully communicate or covertly hint to Clara certain events of +his former life, he had too much reason to fear; and, were this +done, he felt that all his fond hopes would be scattered to the +winds. In due time, Miss Weldon arrived. In meeting her, Florence +was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment, never before +experienced in her presence. He understood clearly why this was so. +At each successive visit his embarrassment increased; and, the more +so, from the fact that he perceived a change in Clara ere she had +been in the city a week. As to the cause of this change, he had no +doubts. It was evident that Mrs. Hartley had communicated certain +matters touching his previous history. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it went on day after day, for two or three weeks, by which time +the lovers met under the influence of a most chilling constraint. +Both were exceedingly unhappy. +</P> + +<P> +One day, in calling as usual, Mr. Florence was surprised to learn +that Clara had gone back to Albany. +</P> + +<P> +"She said, nothing of this last night," remarked the young man to +Mrs. Hartley. +</P> + +<P> +"Her resolution was taken after you went away," was replied. +</P> + +<P> +"And you, no doubt, advised the step," said Mr. Florence, with +ill-concealed bitterness. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you say that?" was quickly asked. +</P> + +<P> +"How can I draw any other inference?" said the young man, looking at +her with knit brows. +</P> + +<P> +"Explain yourself, Mr. Florence!" +</P> + +<P> +"Do my words need explanation?" +</P> + +<P> +"Undoubtedly! For, I cannot understand them." +</P> + +<P> +"There are events in my past life—I will not say how bitterly +repented—of which only you could have informed her." +</P> + +<P> +"What events?" calmly asked the lady. +</P> + +<P> +"Why lacerate my feelings by such a question?" said Florence, while +a shadow of pain flitted over his face, as Memory presented a record +of the past. +</P> + +<P> +"I ask it with no such intention. I only wish to understand you," +replied Mrs. Hartley. "You have brought against me a vague +accusation. I wish it distinct, that I may affirm or deny it." +</P> + +<P> +"Edith Walter," said Edwin Florence, in a low, unsteady voice, after +he had been silent for nearly a minute. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hartley looked earnestly into his face. Every muscle was +quivering. +</P> + +<P> +"What of her?" she inquired, in tones quite as low as those in which +the young man had spoken. +</P> + +<P> +"You know the history." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"And, regardless of my suffering and repentance, made known to Clara +the blasting secret." +</P> + +<P> +"No! By my hopes of heaven, no!" quickly exclaimed Mrs. Hartley. +</P> + +<P> +"No?" A quiver ran through the young man's frame. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mr. Florence! That rested as silently in my own bosom as in +yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Who, then, informed her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one." +</P> + +<P> +"Has she not heard of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, then, did she change towards me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You changed, first, towards her." +</P> + +<P> +"Me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. From the day of her arrival in New York, she perceived in you +a certain coldness and reserve, that increased with each repeated +interview." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is true. I saw it myself." +</P> + +<P> +Florence clasped his hands together, and bent his eyes in doubt and +wonder upon the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Did she complain of coldness and change in me?" he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, often. And returned, last night, to leave you free, doubting +not that you had ceased to love her." +</P> + +<P> +"Ceased to love her! While this sad work has been going on, I have +loved her with the agony of one who is about losing earth's most +precious thing. Oh! write to her for me, and explain all. How +strange has been my infatuation. Will you write for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Say that my heart has not turned from her an instant. That her +imagined coldness has made me of all men most wretched." +</P> + +<P> +"I will do so. But why not write yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"It will be better to come from you. Ask her to return. I would +rather meet her here than in her uncle's house. Urge her to come +back." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hartley promised to do so, according to the wish of Mr. +Florence. Two days passed, and there was no answer. On the morning +of the third day, the young man, in a state of agitation from +suspense called at the house of his friend. After sending up his +name, he sat anxiously awaiting the appearance of Mrs. Hartley. The +door at length opened, and, to his surprise and joy, Clara entered. +She came forward with a smile upon her face, extending her hand as +she did so. Edwin sprang to meet her, and catching her hand, pressed +it eagerly to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Strange that we should have so erred in regard to each other," said +Clara, as they sat communing tenderly. "I trust no such error will +come in the future to which I look forward with so many pleasing +hopes." +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven forbid!" replied the young man, seriously. +</P> + +<P> +"But we are in a world of error. Ah! if we could only pass through +life without a mistake. If the heavy weight of repentance did not +lie so often and so long upon our hearts—this would be a far +pleasanter world than it is." +</P> + +<P> +"Do not look so serious," remarked Clara, as she bent forward and +gazed affectionately into the young man's face. "To err is human. No +one here is perfect. How often, for hours, have I mourned over +errors; yet grief was of no avail, except to make my future more +guarded." +</P> + +<P> +"And that was much gained," said Florence, breathing deeply with a +sense of relief. "If we cannot recall and correct the past, we can +at least be more guarded in the future. This is the effect of my own +experience. Ah! if we properly considered the action of our present +upon the future, how guarded would we be. All actions are in the +present, and the moment they are done the present becomes the past, +over which Memory presides. What is past is fixed. Nothing can +change it. The record is in marble, to be seen in all future time." +</P> + +<P> +The serious character of the interview soon changed, and the young +lovers forgot every thing in the joy of their reconciliation. +Nothing arose to mar their intercourse until the appointed time for +the nuptial ceremonies arrived, when they were united in holy +wedlock. But, Edwin Florence did not pass on to this time without +another visit from the rebuking Angel of the past. He was not +permitted to take the hand of Clara in his, and utter the words that +bound him to her forever, without a visit from the one whose heart +he had broken years before. She came to him in the dark and silent +midnight, as he tossed sleeplessly upon his bed, and stood and +looked at him with her pale face and despairing eyes, until he was +driven almost to madness. She was with him when the light of morning +dawned; she moved by his side as he went forth to meet and claim his +betrothed; and was near him, invisible to all eyes but his own, when +he stood at the altar ready to give utterance to the solemn words +that bound him to his bride. And not until these words were said, +did the vision fade away. +</P> + +<P> +No wonder the face of the bridegroom wore a solemn aspect as he +presented himself to the minister, and breathed the vows of eternal +fidelity to the living, while before him, as distinct as if in +bodily form, was the presence of one long since sleeping ill her +grave, who had gone down to her shadowy resting place through his +infidelity. +</P> + +<P> +From this time there was a thicker veil drawn over the past. The +memory of that one event grew less and less distinct; though it was +not obliterated, for nothing that is written in the Book of Life is +ever blotted out. There were reasons, even in long years after his +marriage, when the record stood suddenly before him, as if written +in words of light; and he would turn from it with a feeling of pain. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it is that our present blesses or curses our future. Every act +of our lives affects the coming time for good or evil. We make our +own destiny, and make it always in the present. The past is gone, +the future is yet to come. The present only is ours, and, according +to what we do in the present, will be the records of the past and +its influence on the future. They are only wise who wisely regard +their actions in the present. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="brilliant"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BRILLIANT AND THE COMMONPLACE. +</H3> + +<P> +DAY after day I worked at my life-task, and worked in an earnest +spirit. Not much did I seem to accomplish; yet the little that was +done had on it the impress of good. Still, I was dissatisfied, +because my gifts were less dazzling than those of which many around +me could boast. When I thought of the brilliant ones sparkling in +the firmament of literature, and filling the eyes of admiring +thousands, something like the evil spirit of envy came into my heart +and threw a shadow upon my feelings. I was troubled because I had +not their gifts. I wished to shine with a stronger light. To dazzle, +as well as to warm and vivify. +</P> + +<P> +Not long ago, there came among us one whom nature had richly +endowed. His mind possessed exceeding brilliancy. Flashes of +thought, like lightning from summer cloud, were ever filling the air +around him. There was a stateliness in the movement of his +intellect, and an evidence of power, that oppressed you at times +with wonder. +</P> + +<P> +Around him gathered the lesser lights in the hemisphere of thought, +and veiled their feeble rays beneath his excessive brightness. He +seemed conscious of his superior gifts and displayed them more like +a giant beating the air to excite wonder, than putting forth his +strength to accomplish a good and noble work. Still, I was oppressed +and paralyzed by the sphere of his presence. I felt puny and weak +beside him, and unhappy because I was not gifted with equal power. +</P> + +<P> +It so happened that a work of mine, upon which the maker's name was +not stamped—work done with a purpose of good—was spoken of and +praised by one who did not know me as the handicraftsman. +</P> + +<P> +"It is tame, dull, and commonplace," said the brilliant one, in a +tone of contempt; and there were many present to agree with him. +</P> + +<P> +Like the strokes of a hammer upon my heart, came these words of +condemnation. "Tame, dull, and commonplace!" And was it, indeed, so? +Yes; I felt that what he uttered was true. That my powers were +exceedingly limited, and my gifts few. Oh, what would I not have +then given for brilliant endowments like those possessed by him from +whom had fallen the words of condemnation? +</P> + +<P> +"You will admit," said one—I thought it strange at the time that +there should be even one to speak a word in favor of my poor +performance—"that it will do good?" +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" was answered, in a tone slightly touched by contempt. "Oh, +yes; it will do good!" and the brilliant one tossed his head. +"Anybody can do good!" +</P> + +<P> +I went home with a perturbed spirit. I had work to do; but I could +not do it. I sat down and tried to forget what I had heard. I tried +to think about the tasks that were before me. "Tame, dull, and +commonplace!" Into no other form would my thoughts come. +</P> + +<P> +Exhausted, at last, by this inward struggle, I threw myself upon my +bed, and soon passed into the land of dreams. +</P> + +<P> +Dream-land! Thou art thought by many to be <I>only</I> a land of fantasy +and of shadows. But it is not so. Dreams, for the most part, <I>are</I> +fantastic; but all are not so. Nearer are we to the world of +spirits, in sleep; and, at times, angels come to us with lessons of +wisdom, darkly veiled under similitude, or written in characters of +light. +</P> + +<P> +I passed into dream-land; but my thoughts went on in the same +current. "Tame, dull, and commonplace!" I felt the condemnation more +strongly than before. +</P> + +<P> +I was out in the open air, and around me were mountains, trees, +green fields, and running waters; and above all bent the sky in its +azure beauty. The sun was just unveiling his face in the east, and +his rays were lighting up the dew-gems on a thousand blades of +grass, and making the leaves glitter as if studded with diamonds. +</P> + +<P> +"How calm and beautiful!" said a voice near me. I turned, and one +whose days were in the "sear and yellow leaf," stood by my side. +</P> + +<P> +"But all is tame and commonplace," I answered. "We have this over +and over again, day after day, month after month, and year after +year. Give me something brilliant and startling, if it be in the +fiery comet or the rushing storm. I am sick of the commonplace!" +</P> + +<P> +"And yet to the commonplace the world is indebted for every great +work and great blessing. For everything good, and true, and +beautiful!" +</P> + +<P> +I looked earnestly into the face of the old man. He went on. +</P> + +<P> +"The truly good and great is the useful; for in that is the Divine +image. Softly and unobtrusively has the dew fallen, as it falls +night after night. Silently it distilled, while the vagrant meteors +threw their lines of dazzling light across the sky, and men looked +up at them in wonder and admiration. And now the soft grass, the +green leaves, and the sweet flowers, that drooped beneath the +fervent heat of yesterday, are fresh again and full of beauty, ready +to receive the light and warmth of the risen sun, and expand with, a +new vigor. All this may be tame, and commonplace; but is it not a +great and a good work that has been going on? +</P> + +<P> +"The tiller of the soil is going forth again to his work. Do not +turn your eyes from him, and let a feeling of impatience stir in +your heart because he is not a soldier rushing to battle, or a +brilliant orator holding thousands enchained by the power of a +fervid eloquence that is born not so much of good desires for his +fellow-men as from the heat of his own self-love. Day after day, as +now, patient, and hopeful, the husbandman enters upon the work that +lies before him, and, hand in hand with God's blessed sunshine, +dews, and rain, a loving and earnest co-laborer, brings forth from +earth's treasure-house of blessings good gifts for his fellow-men. +Is all this commonplace? How great and good is the commonplace!" +</P> + +<P> +I turned to answer the old man, but he was gone. I was standing on a +high mountain, and beneath me, as far as the eye could reach, were +stretched broad and richly cultivated fields; and from a hundred +farm-houses went up the curling smoke from the fires of industry. +Fields were waving with golden grain, and trees bending with their +treasures of fruit. Suddenly, the bright sun was veiled in clouds, +that came whirling up from the horizon in dark and broken masses, +and throwing a deep shadow over the landscape just before bathed in +light. Calmly had I surveyed the peaceful scene spread out before +me. I was charmed with its quiet beauty. But now, stronger emotions +stirred within me. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, this is sublime!" I murmured, as I gazed upon the cloudy hosts +moving across the heavens in battle array. +</P> + +<P> +A gleam of lightning sprang forth from a dark cavern in the sky, and +then, far off, rattled and jarred the echoing thunder. Next came the +rushing and roaring wind, bending the giant-limbed oaks as if they +were but wands of willow, and tearing up lesser trees as a child +tears up from its roots a weed or flower. +</P> + +<P> +In this war of elements I stood, with my head bared, and clinging to +a rock, mad with a strange and wild delight. +</P> + +<P> +"Brilliant! Sublime! Grand beyond the power of descriptions," I said, +as the storm deepened in intensity. +</P> + +<P> +"An hour like this is worth all the commonplace, dull events of a +lifetime." +</P> + +<P> +There came a stunning crash in the midst of a dazzling glare. For +some moments I was blinded. When sight was restored, I saw, below +me, the flames curling upward from a dwelling upon which the fierce +lightning had fallen. +</P> + +<P> +"What majesty! what awful sublimity!" said I, aloud. I thought not +of the pain, and terror, and death that reigned in the human +habitation upon which the bolt of destruction had fallen, but of the +sublime power displayed in the strife of the elements. +</P> + +<P> +There was another change. I no longer stood on the mountain, with +the lightning and tempest around me; but was in the valley below, +down upon which the storm had swept with devastating fury. Fields of +grain were level with the earth; houses destroyed; and the trophies +of industry marred in a hundred ways. +</P> + +<P> +"How sublime are the works of the tempest!" said a voice near me. I +turned, and the old man was again at my side. +</P> + +<P> +But I did not respond to his words. +</P> + +<P> +"What majesty! What awful sublimity and power!" continued the old +man. "But," he added, in a changed voice, "there is a higher power +in the gentle rain than lies in the rushing tempest. The power to +destroy is an evil power, and has bounds beyond which it cannot go. +But the gentle rain that falls noiselessly to the earth, is the +power of restoration and recreation. See!" +</P> + +<P> +I looked, and a mall lay upon the ground apparently lifeless. He had +been struck down by the lightning. His pale face was upturned to the +sky, and the rain shaken free from the cloudy skirts of the retiring +storm, was falling upon it. I continued to gaze upon the force of +the prostrate man, until there came into it a flush of life. Then +his limbs quivered; he threw his arms about. A groan issued from his +constricted chest. In a little while, he arose. +</P> + +<P> +"Which is best? Which is most to be loved and admired?" said the old +Man. "The wild, fierce, brilliant tempest, or the quiet rain that +restores the image of life and beauty which the tempest has +destroyed? See! The gentle breezes are beginning to move over the +fields, and, hand in hand with the uplifting sunlight, to raise the +rain that has been trodden beneath the crushing heel of the tempest, +whose false sublimity you so much admired. There is nothing +startling and brilliant in this work; but it is a good and a great +work, and it will go on silently and efficiently until not a trace +of the desolating storm can be found. In the still atmosphere, +unseen, but all-potent, lies a power ever busy in the work of +creating and restoring; or, in other words, in the commonplace work +of doing good. Which office would you like best to assume—which is +the most noble—the office of the destroyer or the restorer?" +</P> + +<P> +I lifted my eyes again, and saw men busily engaged in blotting out +the traces of the storm, and in restoring all to its former use and +beauty. +</P> + +<P> +Builders were at work upon the house which had been struck by +lightning, and men engaged in repairing fences, barns, and other +objects upon which had been spent the fury of the excited elements. +Soon every vestige of the destroyer was gone. +</P> + +<P> +"Commonplace work, that of nailing on boards and shingles," said the +old man; "of repairing broken fences; of filling up the deep +foot-prints of the passing storm; but is it not a noble work? Yes; +for it is ennobled by its end. Far nobler than the work of the +brilliant tempest, which moved but to destroy." +</P> + +<P> +The scene changed once more. I was back again from the land of +dreams and similitudes. It was midnight, and the moon was shining in +a cloudless sky. I arose, and going to the window, sat and looked +forth, musing upon my dream. All was hushed as if I were out in the +fields, instead of in the heart of a populous city. Soon came the +sound of footsteps, heavy and measured, and the watchman passed on +his round of duty. An humble man was he, forced by necessity into +his position, and rarely thought of and little regarded by the many. +There was nothing brilliant about him to attract the eye and extort +admiration. The man and his calling were commonplace. He passed on; +and, as his form left my eye, the thought of him passed from my +mind. Not long after, unheralded by the sound of footsteps, came one +with a stealthy, crouching air; pausing now, and listening; and now +looking warily from side to side. It was plain that he was on no +errand of good to his fellowmen. He, too, passed on, and was lost to +my vision. +</P> + +<P> +Many minutes went by, and I still remained at the window, musing +upon the subject of my dream, when I was startled by a cry of terror +issuing from a house not far away. It was the cry of a woman. +Obeying the instinct of my feelings, I ran into the street and made +my way hurriedly towards the spot from which the cry came. +</P> + +<P> +"Help! help! murder!" shrieked a woman from the open window. +</P> + +<P> +I tried the street door of the house, but it was fastened. I threw +myself against it with all my strength, and it yielded to the +concussion. As I entered the dark passage, I found myself suddenly +grappled by a strong man, who threw me down and held me by the +throat. I struggled to free myself, but in vain. His grip tightened. +In a few moments I would have been lifeless. But, just at the +instant when consciousness was about leaving me, the guardian of the +night appeared. With a single stroke of his heavy mace, he laid the +midnight robber and assassin senseless upon the floor. +</P> + +<P> +How instantly was that humble watchman ennobled in my eyes! How high +and important was his use in society! I looked at him from a new +standpoint, and saw him in a new relation. +</P> + +<P> +"Commonplace!" said I, on regaining my own room in my own house, +panting from the excitement and danger to which I had been +subjected. "Commonplace! Thank God for the commonplace and the +useful!" +</P> + +<P> +Again I passed into the land of dreams, where I found myself walking +in a pleasant way, pondering the theme which had taken such entire +possession of my thoughts. As I moved along, I met the gifted one +who had called my work dull and commonplace; that work was a simple +picture of human life; drawn for the purpose of inspiring the reader +with trust in God and love towards his fellow-man. He addressed me +with the air of one who felt that he was superior, and led off the +conversation by a brilliant display of words that half concealed, +instead of making clear, his ideas. Though I perceived this, I was +yet affected with admiration. My eyes were dazzled as by a glare of +light. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes," I sighed to myself; "I am dull, tame, and commonplace +beside these children of genius. How poor and mean is the work that +comes from my hands!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not so!" said my companion. I turned to look at him; but the gifted +being stood not by my side. In his place was the ancient one who had +before spoken to me in the voice of wisdom. +</P> + +<P> +"Not so!" he continued. "Nothing that is useful is poor and mean. +Look up! In the fruit of our labor is the proof of its quality." +</P> + +<P> +I was in the midst of a small company, and the gifted being whose +powers I had envied was there, the centre of attraction and the +observed of all observers. He read to those assembled from a book; +and what he read flashed with a brightness that was dazzling. All +listened in the most rapt attention, and, by the power of what the +gifted one read, soared now, in thought, among the stars, spread +their wings among the swift-moving tempest, or descended into the +unknown depths of the earth. As for myself, my mind seemed endowed +with new faculties, and to rise almost into the power of the +infinite. +</P> + +<P> +"Glorious! Divine! Godlike!" Such were the admiring words that fell +from the lips of all. +</P> + +<P> +And then the company dispersed. As we went forth from the room in +which we had assembled, we met numbers who were needy, and sick, and +suffering; mourners, who sighed for kind words from the comforter: +little children, who had none to love and care for them; the faint +and weary, who needed kind hands to help them on their toilsome +journey. But no human sympathies were stirring in our hearts. We had +been raised, by the power of the genius we so much admired, far +above the world and its commonplace sympathies. The wings of our +spirits were still beating the air, far away in the upper regions of +transcendant thought. +</P> + +<P> +Another change came. I saw a woman reading from the same book from +which the gifted one had read. Ever and anon she paused, and gave +utterance to words of admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"Beautiful! beautiful!" fell, ever and anon, from her lips; and she +would lift her eyes, and muse upon what she was reading. As she sat +thus, a little child entered the room. He was crying. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother! mother!" said the child, "I want—" +</P> + +<P> +But the mother's thoughts were far above the regions of the +commonplace. Her mind was in a world of ideal beauty. Disturbed by +the interruption, a slight frown contracted on her beautiful brows +as she arose and took her child by the arm to thrust it from the +room. +</P> + +<P> +A slight shudder went through my frame as I marked the touching +distress that overspread the countenance of the child as it looked +up into its mother's face and saw nothing there but an angry frown. +</P> + +<P> +"Every thought is born of affection," said the old man, as this +scene faded away, "and has in it the quality of the life that gave +it birth; and when that thought is reproduced in the mind of +another, it awakens its appropriate affection. If there had been a +true love of his neighbor in the mind of the gifted one when he +wrote the book from which the mother read, and if his purpose had +been to inspire with human emotions—and none but these are +God-like—the souls of men, his work would have filled the heart of +that mother with a deeper love of her child, instead of freezing in +her bosom the surface of love's celestial fountain. To have +hearkened to the grief of that dear child, and to have ministered to +its comfort, would have been a commonplace act, but, how truly noble +and divine! And now, look again, and let what passes before you give +strength to your wavering spirits." +</P> + +<P> +I lifted my eyes, and saw a man reading, and I knew that he read +that work of mine which the gifted one had condemned as dull, and +tame, and commonplace. And, moreover, I knew that he was in trouble +so deep as to be almost hopeless of the future, and just ready to +give up his life-struggle, and let his hands fall listless and +despairing by his side. Around him were gathered his wife and his +little ones, and they were looking to him, but in vain, for the help +they needed. +</P> + +<P> +As the man read, I saw a light come suddenly into his face. He +paused, and seemed musing for a time; and his eyes gleamed quickly +upwards, and as his lips parted, these words came forth: "Yes, yes; +it must be so. God is merciful as he is wise, and will not forsake +his creatures. He tries us in the fires of adversity but to consume +the evil of our hearts. I will trust him, and again go forth, with +my eyes turned confidingly upwards." And the man went forth in the +spirit of confidence in Heaven, inspired by what I had written. +</P> + +<P> +"Look again," said the one by my side. +</P> + +<P> +I looked, and saw the same man in the midst of a smiling family. His +countenance was full of life and happiness, for his trust had not +been in vain. As I had written, so he had found it. God is good, and +lets no one feel the fires of adversity longer than is necessary for +his purification from evil. +</P> + +<P> +"Look again!" came like tones of music to my ear. +</P> + +<P> +I looked, and saw one lying upon a bed. By the lines upon his brow, +and the compression of his lips, it was evident that he was in +bodily suffering. A book lay near him; it was written by the gifted +one, and was full of bright thoughts and beautiful images. He took +it, and tried to forget his pain in these thoughts and images. But +in this he did not succeed, and soon laid it aside with a groan of +anguish. Then there was handed to him my poor and commonplace work; +and he opened the pages and began to read. I soon perceived that an +interest was awakened in his mind. Gradually the contraction of his +brow grew less severe, and, in a little while, he had forgotten his +pain. +</P> + +<P> +"I will be more patient," said he, in a calm voice, after he had +read for a long time with a deep interest. "There are many with pain +worse than mine to bear, who have none of the comforts and blessings +so freely scattered along my way through life." +</P> + +<P> +And then he gave directions to have relief sent to one and another +whom he now remembered to be in need. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a good work that prompts to good in others," said the old +man. "What if it be dull and tame—commonplace to the few—it is a +good gift to the world, and thousands will bless the giver. Look +again!" +</P> + +<P> +An angry mother, impatient and fretted by the conduct of a froward +child, had driven her boy from her presence, when, if she had +controlled her own feelings, she might have drawn him to her side +and subdued him by the power of affection. She was unhappy, and her +boy had received an injury. +</P> + +<P> +The mother was alone. Before her was a table covered with books, and +she took up one to read. I knew the volume; it was written by one +whose genius had a deep power of fascination. Soon the mother became +lost in its exciting pages, and remained buried in them for hours. +At length, after turning the last page, she closed the book; and +then came the thought of her wayward boy. But, her feelings toward +him had undergone no change; she was still angry, because of his +disobedience. +</P> + +<P> +Another book lay upon the table; a book of no pretensions, and +written with the simple purpose of doing good. It was commonplace, +because it dealt with things in the common life around us. The +mother took this up, opened to the title-page, turned a few leaves, +and then laid it down again; sat thoughtful for some moments, and +then sighed. Again she lifted the book, opened it, and commenced +reading. In a little while she was all attention, and ere long I saw +a tear stealing forth upon her cheeks. Suddenly she closed the book, +evincing strong emotion as she did so, and, rising up, went from the +room. Ascending to a chamber above, she entered, and there found the +boy at play. He looked towards her, and, remembering her anger, a +shadow flitted across his face. But his mother smiled and looked +kindly towards him. Instantly the boy dropped his playthings, and +sprung to her side. She stooped and kissed him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, mother! I do love you, and I will try to be good!" +</P> + +<P> +Blinding tears came to my eyes, and I saw this scene no longer. I +was out among the works of nature, and my instructor was by my side. +</P> + +<P> +"Despise not again the humble and the commonplace," said he, "for +upon these rest the happiness and well-being of the world. Few can +enter into and appreciate the startling and the brilliant, but +thousands and tens of thousands can feel and love the commonplace +that comes to their daily wants, and inspires them with a mutual +sympathy. Go on in your work. Think it rot low and mean to speak +humble, yet true and fitting words for the humble; to lift up the +bowed and grieving spirit; to pour the oil and wine of consolation +for the poor and afflicted. It is a great and a good work—the very +work in which God's angels delight. Yea, in doing this work, you are +brought nearer in spirit to Him who is goodness and greatness +itself, for all his acts are done with the end of blessing his +creatures." +</P> + +<P> +There was another change. I was awake. It was broad daylight, and +the sun had come in and awakened me with a kiss. Again I resumed my +work, content to meet the common want in my labors, and let the more +gifted and brilliant ones around me enjoy the honors and fame that +gathered in cloudy incense around them. +</P> + +<P> +It is better to be loved by the many, than admired by the few. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="jenny"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JENNY LAWSON. +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H4> + +<P> +MARK CLIFFORD had come up from New York to spend a few weeks with +his maternal grandfather, Mr. Lofton, who lived almost alone on his +beautiful estate a few miles from the Hudson, amid the rich valleys +of Orange county. Mr. Lofton belonged to one of the oldest families +in the country, and retained a large portion of that aristocratic +pride for which they were distinguished. The marriage of his +daughter to Mr. Clifford, a merchant of New York, had been strongly +opposed on the ground that the alliance was degrading—Mr. Clifford +not being able to boast of an ancestor who was anything more than an +honest man and a useful citizen. A closer acquaintance with his +son-in-law, after the marriage took place, reconciled Mr. Lofton in +a good measure to the union; for he found Mr. Clifford to be a man +of fine intelligence, gentlemanly feeling, and withal, tenderly +attached to his daughter. The marriage was a happy one—and this is +rarely the case when the external and selfish desire to make a good +family connection is regarded above the mental and moral qualities +on which a true union only can be based. +</P> + +<P> +A few years previous to the time at which our story opens, Mrs. +Clifford died, leaving one son and two daughters. Mark, the oldest +of the children, was in his seventeenth year at the time the sad +bereavement occurred—the girls were quite young. He had always been +an active boy—ever disposed to get beyond the judicious restraints +which his parents wisely sought to throw around him. After his +mother's death, he attained a wider liberty. He was still at college +when this melancholy event occurred, and continued there for two +years; but no longer in correspondence with, and therefore not under +the influence of one whose love for him sought ever to hold him back +from evil, his natural temperament led him into the indulgence of a +liberty that too often went beyond the bounds of propriety. +</P> + +<P> +On leaving college Mr. Clifford conferred with his son touching the +profession he wished to adopt, and to his surprise found him bent on +entering the navy. All efforts to discourage the idea were of no +avail. The young man was for the navy and nothing else. Yielding at +last to the desire of his son, Mr. Clifford entered the usual form +of application at the Navy Yard in Washington, but, at the same +time, in a private letter to the Secretary, intimated his wish that +the application might not be favorably considered. +</P> + +<P> +Time passed on, but Mark did not receive the anxiously looked for +appointment. Many reasons were conjectured by the young man, who, at +last, resolved on pushing through his application, if personal +efforts could be of any avail. To this end, he repaired to the seat +of government, and waited on the Secretary. In his interviews with +this functionary, some expressions were dropped that caused a +suspicion of the truth to pass through his mind. A series of rapidly +recurring questions addressed to the Secretary were answered in a +way that fully confirmed this suspicion. The effect of this upon the +excitable and impulsive young man will appear as our story +progresses. +</P> + +<P> +It was while Mark's application was pending, and a short time before +his visit to Washington, that he came up to Fairview, the residence +of his grandfather. Mark had always been a favorite with the old +gentleman, who rather encouraged his desire to enter the navy. +</P> + +<P> +"The boy will distinguish himself," Mr. Lofton would say, as he +thought over the matter. And the idea of distinction in the army or +navy, was grateful to his aristocratic feelings. "There is some of +the right blood in his veins for all." +</P> + +<P> +One afternoon, some two or three days after the young man came up to +Fairview, he was returning from a ramble in the woods with his gun, +when he met a beautiful young girl, simply attired, and bearing on +her head a light bundle of grain which she had gleaned in a +neighboring field. She was tripping lightly along, singing as gaily +as a bird, when she came suddenly upon the young man, over whose +face there passed an instant glow of admiration. Mark bowed and +smiled, the maiden dropped a bashful courtesy, and then each passed +on; but neither to forget the other. When Mark turned, after a few +steps, to gaze after the sweet wild flower he had met so +unexpectedly, he saw the face again, for she had turned also. He did +not go home on that evening, until he had seen the lovely being who +glanced before him in her native beauty, enter a neat little cottage +that stood half a mile from Fairview, nearly hidden by vines, and +overshadowed by two tall sycamores. +</P> + +<P> +On the next morning Mark took his way toward the cottage with his +gun. As he drew near, the sweet voice he had heard on the day before +was warbling tenderly an old song his mother had sung when he was +but a child; and with the air and words so well remembered, came a +gentleness of feeling, and a love of what was pure and innocent, +such as he had not experienced for many years. In this state of mind +he entered the little porch, and stood listening for several minutes +to the voice that still flung itself plaintively or joyfully upon +the air, according to the sentiment breathed in the words that were +clothed in music; then as the voice became silent, he rapped gently +at the door, which, in a few moments, was opened by the one whose +attractions had drawn him thither. +</P> + +<P> +A warm color mantled the young girl's face as her eyes fell upon so +unexpected a visitor. She remembered him as the young man she had +met on the evening before; about whom she had dreamed all night, and +thought much since the early morning. Mark bowed, and, as an excuse +for calling, asked if her mother were at home. +</P> + +<P> +"My mother died when I was but a child," replied the girl, shrinking +back a step or two; for Mark was gazing earnestly into her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Then you are living with your—your—" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lee has been a mother to me since then," said she, dropping +her eyes to the floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will see the good woman who has taken your mother's place." +Mark stepped in as he spoke, and took a chair in the neat little +sitting room into which the door opened. +</P> + +<P> +"She has gone over to Mr. Lofton's," said the girl, in reply, "and +won't be back for an hour." +</P> + +<P> +"Has she, indeed? Then you know Mr. Lofton?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. We know him very well. He owns our little cottage." +</P> + +<P> +"Does he! No doubt you find him a good landlord." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a kind man," said the girl, earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +"He is, as I have good reason to know," remarked the young man. "Mr. +Lofton is my grandfather." +</P> + +<P> +The girl seemed much surprised at this avowal, and appeared less at +ease than before. +</P> + +<P> +"And now, having told you who I am," said Mark, "I think I may be +bold enough to ask your name." +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Jenny Lawson," replied the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"A pretty name, that—Jenny—I always liked the sound of it. My +mother's name was Jenny. Did you ever see my mother? But don't +tremble so! Sit down, and tell your fluttering heart to be still." +</P> + +<P> +Jenny sunk into a chair, her bosom heaving, and the crimson flush +still glowing on her cheeks, while Mark gazed into her face with +undisguised admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"Who would have thought," said he to himself, "that so sweet a wild +flower grew in this out of the way place." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever see my mother, Jenny?" asked the young man, after she +was a little composed. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Clifford?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Often." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we will be friends from this moment, Jenny. If you knew my +mother then, you must have loved her. She has been dead now over +three years." +</P> + +<P> +There was a shade of sadness in the young man's voice as he said +this. +</P> + +<P> +"When did you see her last?" he resumed. +</P> + +<P> +"The summer before she died she came up from New York and spent two +or three weeks here. I saw her then, almost every day." +</P> + +<P> +"And you loved my mother? Say you did!" +</P> + +<P> +The young man spoke with a rising emotion that he could not +restrain. +</P> + +<P> +"Every body loved her," replied Jenny, simply and earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments Mark concealed his face with his hands, to hide +the signs of feeling that were playing over it; then looking up +again, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"Jenny, because you knew my mother and loved her, we must be +friends. It was a great loss to me when she died. The greatest loss +I ever had, or, it may be, ever will have. I have been worse since +then. Ah me! If she had only lived!" +</P> + +<P> +Again Mark covered his face with his hands, and, this time, he could +not keep the dimness from his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +It was a strange sight to Jenny to see the young man thus moved. Her +innocent heart was drawn toward him with a pitying interest, and she +yearned to speak words of comfort, but knew not what to say. +</P> + +<P> +After Mark grew composed again, he asked Jenny a great many +questions touching her knowledge of his mother; and listened with +deep interest and emotion to many little incidents of Jenny's +intercourse with her, which were related with all the artlessness +and force of truth. In the midst of this singular interview, Mrs. +Lee came in and surprised the young couple, who, forgetting all +reserve, were conversing with an interest in their manner, the +ground of which she might well misunderstand. Jenny started and +looked confused, but, quickly recovering herself, introduced Mark as +the grandson of Mr. Lofton. +</P> + +<P> +The old lady did not respond to this with the cordiality that either +of the young folks had expected. No, not by any means. A flush of +angry suspicion came into her face, and she said to Jenny as she +handed her the bonnet she hurriedly removed— +</P> + +<P> +"Here—take this into the other room and put it away." +</P> + +<P> +The moment Jenny retired, Mrs. Lee turned to Mark, and after looking +at him somewhat sternly for a moment, surprised him with this +speech— +</P> + +<P> +"If I ever find you here again, young man, I'll complain to your +grandfather." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you, indeed!" returned Mark, elevating his person, and looking +at the old lady with flashing eyes. "And pray, what will you say to +the old gentleman?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fine doings, indeed, for the likes o' you to come creeping into a +decent woman's house when she is away!" resumed Mrs. Lee. "Jenny's +not the kind you're looking after, let me tell you. What would your +poor dear mother, who is in heaven, God bless her! think, if she +knew of this?" +</P> + +<P> +The respectful and even affectionate reference to his mother, +softened the feelings of Mark, who was growing very angry. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, old lady," said he, as he turned away; "you don't +know what you're talking about!" and springing from the door, he +hurried off with rapid steps. On reaching a wood that lay at some +distance off, Mark sought a retired spot, near where a quiet stream +went stealing noiselessly along amid its alder and willow-fringed +banks, and sitting down upon a grassy spot, gave himself up to +meditation. Little inclined was he now for sport. The birds sung in +the trees above him, fluttered from branch to branch, and even +dipped their wings in the calm waters of the stream, but he heeded +them not. He had other thoughts. Greatly had old Mrs. Lee, in the +blindness of her suddenly aroused fears, wronged the young man. If +the sphere of innocence that was around the beautiful girl had not +been all powerful to subdue evil thoughts and passions in his +breast, the reference to his mother would have been effectual to +that end. +</P> + +<P> +For half an hour had Mark remained seated alone, busy, with thoughts +and feelings of a less wandering and adventurous character than +usually occupied his mind, when, to his surprise, he saw Jenny +Lawson advancing along a path that led through a portion of the +woods, with a basket on her arm. She did not observe him until she +had approached within some fifteen or twenty paces; when he arose to +his feet, and she, seeing him, stopped suddenly, and looked pale and +alarmed. +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad to meet you again, Jenny," said Mark, going quickly +toward her, and taking her hand, which she yielded without +resistance. "Don't be frightened. Mrs. Lee did me wrong. Heaven +knows I would not hurt a hair of your head! Come and sit down with +me in this quiet place, and let us talk about my mother. You say you +knew her and loved her. Let her memory make us friends." +</P> + +<P> +Mark's voice trembled with feeling. There was something about the +girl that made the thought of his mother a holier and tenderer +thing. He had loved his mother intensely, and since her death, had +felt her loss as the saddest calamity that had, or possibly ever +could, befall him. Afloat on the stormy sea of human life, he had +seemed like a mariner without helm or compass. Strangely enough, +since meeting with Jenny at the cottage a little while before, the +thought of her appeared to bring his mother nearer to him; and when, +so unexpectedly, he saw her approaching him in the woods, he felt +momentarily, that it was his mother's spirit guiding her thither. +</P> + +<P> +Urged by so strong an appeal, Jenny suffered herself to be led to +the retired spot where Mark had been reclining, half wondering, half +fearful—yet impelled by a certain feeling that she could not well +resist. In fact, each exercised a power over the other, a power not +arising from any determination of will, but from a certain spiritual +affinity that neither comprehended. Some have called this "destiny," +but it has a better name. +</P> + +<P> +"Jenny," said Mark, after they were seated—he still retained her +hand in his, and felt it tremble—"tell me something about my +mother. It will do me good to hear of her from your lips." +</P> + +<P> +The girl tried to make some answer, but found no utterance. Her lips +trembled so that she could not speak. But she grew more composed +after a time, and then in reply to many questions of Mark, related +incident after incident, in which his mother's goodness of character +stood prominent. The young man listened intently, sometimes with his +eyes upon the ground, and sometimes gazing admiringly into the sweet +face of the young speaker. +</P> + +<P> +Time passed more rapidly than either Mark or Jenny imagined. For +full an hour had they been engaged in earnest conversation, when +both were painfully surprised by the appearance of Mrs. Lee, who had +sent Jenny on an errand, and expected her early return. A suspicion +that she might encounter young Clifford having flashed through the +old woman's mind, she had come forth to learn if possible the cause +of Jenny's long absence. To her grief and anger, she discovered them +sitting together engaged in earnest conversation. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Mark Clifford!" she exclaimed as she advanced, "this is too +bad! And Jenny, you weak and foolish girl! are you madly bent on +seeking the fowler's snare? Child! child! is it thus you repay me +for my love and care over you!" +</P> + +<P> +Both Mark and Jenny started to their feet, the face of the former +flushed with instant anger, and that of the other pale from alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"Come!" and Mrs. Lee caught hold of Jenny's arm and drew her away. +As they moved off, the former, glancing back at Mark, and shaking +her finger towards him, said— +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see your grandfather, young man!" +</P> + +<P> +Fretted by this second disturbance of an interview with Jenny, and +angry at an unjust imputation of motive, Mark dashed into the woods, +with his gun in his hand, and walked rapidly, but aimlessly, for +nearly an hour, when he found himself at the summit of a high +mountain, from which, far down and away towards the east, he could +see the silvery Hudson winding along like a vein of silver. Here, +wearied with his walk, and faint in spirit from over excitement, he +sat down to rest and to compose his thoughts. Scarcely intelligible +to himself were his feelings. The meeting with Jenny, and the effect +upon him, were things that he did not clearly understand. Her +influence over him was a mystery. In fact, what had passed so +hurriedly, was to him more like a dream than a reality. +</P> + +<P> +No further idea of sport entered the mind of the young man on that +day. He remained until after the sun had passed the meridian in this +retired place, and then went slowly back, passing the cottage of +Mrs. Lee on his return. He did not see Jenny as he had hoped. On +meeting Mr. Lofton, Mark became aware of a change in the old man's +feelings towards him, and he guessed at once rightly as to the +cause. If he had experienced any doubts, they would have been +quickly removed. +</P> + +<P> +"Mark!" said the old gentleman, sternly, almost the moment the +grandson came into his presence, "I wish you to go back to New York +to-morrow. I presume I need hardly explain my reason for this wish, +when I tell you that I have just had a visit from old Mrs. Lee." +</P> + +<P> +The fiery spirit of Mark was stung into madness by this further +reaction on him in a matter that involved nothing of criminal +intent. Impulsive in his feelings, and quick to act from them, he +replied with a calmness and even sadness in his voice that Mr. +Lofton did not expect—the calmness was from a strong effort: the +sadness expressed his real feelings: +</P> + +<P> +"I will not trouble you with my presence an hour longer. If evil +arise from this trampling of good impulse out of my heart, the sin +rest on your own head. I never was and never can be patient under a +false judgment. Farewell, grandfather! We may never meet again. If +you hear of evil befalling me, think of it as having some connection +with this hour." +</P> + +<P> +With these words Mark turned away and left the house. The old man, +in grief and alarm at the effect of his words, called after him, but +he heeded him not. +</P> + +<P> +"Run after him, and tell him to come back," he cried to a servant +who stood near and had listened to what had passed between them. The +order was obeyed, but it was of no avail. Mark returned a bitter +answer to the message he brought him, and continued on his way. As +he was hurrying along, suddenly he encountered Jenny. It was strange +that he should meet her so often. There was something in it more +than accident, and he felt that it was so. +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you, Jenny!" he exclaimed with much feeling, catching +hold of her hand and kissing it. "We may never meet again. They +thought I meant you harm, and have driven me away. But, Heaven knows +how little of evil purpose was in my heart! Farewell! Sometimes, +when you are kneeling to say your nightly prayers, think of me, and +breathe my name in your petitions. I will need the prayers of the +innocent. Farewell!" +</P> + +<P> +And under the impulse of the moment, Mark bent forward and pressed +his lips fervently upon her pure forehead; then, springing away, +left her bewildered and in tears. +</P> + +<P> +Mark hurried on towards the nearest landing place on the river, some +three miles distant, which he reached just as a steamboat was +passing. Waving his handkerchief, as a signal, the boat rounded to, +and touching at the rude pier, took him on board. He arrived in New +York that evening, and on the next morning started for Washington to +see after his application for a midshipman's appointment in the +navy. It was on this occasion that the young man became aware of the +secret influence of his father against the application which had +been made. His mind, already feverishly excited, lost its balance +under this new disturbing cause. +</P> + +<P> +"He will repent of this!" said he, bitterly, as he left the room of +the Secretary of the Navy, "and repent it until the day of his +death. Make a fixture of me in a counting room! Shut me up in a +lawyer's office! Lock me down in a medicine chest! Mark Clifford +never will submit! If I cannot enter the service in one way I will +in another." +</P> + +<P> +Without pausing to weigh the consequences of his act, Mark, in a +spirit of revenge towards his father, went, while the fever was on +him, to the Navy Yard, and there entered the United States service +as a common sailor, under the name of Edward James. On the day +following, the ship on board of which he had enlisted was gliding +down the Potomac, and, in a week after, left Hampton Roads and went +to sea. +</P> + +<P> +From Norfolk, Mr. Clifford received a brief note written by his son, +upbraiding him for having defeated the application to the +department, and avowing the fact that he had gone to sea in the +government service, as a common sailor. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H3> + +<P> +IT was impossible for such passionate interviews, brief though they +were, to take place without leaving on the heart of a simple minded +girl like Jenny Lawson, a deep impression. New impulses were given +to her feelings, and a new direction to her thoughts. Nature told +her that Mark Clifford loved her; and nothing but his cold disavowal +of the fact could possibly have affected this belief. He had met +her, it was true, only three or four times; but their interviews +during these meetings had been of a character to leave no ordinary +effect behind. So long as her eyes, dimmed by overflowing tears, +could follow Mark's retiring form, she gazed eagerly after him; and +when he was at length hidden from her view, she sat down to pour out +her heart in passionate weeping. +</P> + +<P> +Old Mrs. Lee, while she tenderly loved the sweet flower that had +grown up under her care, was not, in all things, a wise and discreet +woman; nor deeply versed in the workings of the human heart. +</P> + +<P> +Rumor of Mark's wildness had found its way to the neighborhood of +Fairview, and made an unfavorable impression. Mrs. Lee firmly +believed that he was moving with swift feet in the way to +destruction, and rolling evil under his tongue as a sweet morsel. +When she heard of his arrival at his grandfather's, a fear came upon +her lest he should cast his eyes upon Jenny. No wonder that she met +the young man with such a quick repulse, when, to her alarm, she +found that he had invaded her home, and was already charming the ear +of the innocent child she so tenderly loved and cared for. To find +them sitting alone in the woods, only a little while afterwards, +almost maddened her; and so soon as she took Jenny home, she hurried +over to Mr. Lofton, and in a confused, exaggerated, and intemperate +manner, complained of the conduct of Mark. +</P> + +<P> +"Together alone in the woods!" exclaimed the old gentleman, greatly +excited. "What does the girl mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"What does he mean, thus to entice away my innocent child?" said +Mrs. Lee, equally excited. "Oh, Mr. Lofton! for goodness' sake, send +him back to New York! If he remain here a day longer, all may be +lost! Jenny is bewitched with him. She cried as if her heart would +break when I took her back home, and said that I had done wrong to +Mark in what I had said to him." +</P> + +<P> +"Weak and foolish child! How little does she know of the world—how +little of the subtle human heart! Yes—yes, Mrs. Lee, Mark shall go +back at once. He shall not remain here a day longer to breathe his +blighting breath on so sweet a flower. Jenny is too good a girl to +be exposed to such an influence." +</P> + +<P> +The mind of Mr. Lofton remained excited for hours after this +interview; and when Mark appeared, he met him as has already been +seen. The manner in which the young man received the angry words of +his grandfather, was a little different from what had been +anticipated. Mr. Lofton expected some explanation by which he could +understand more clearly what was in the young man's thoughts. When, +therefore, Mark abruptly turned from him with such strange language +on his tongue, Mr. Lofton's anger cooled, and he felt that he had +suffered himself to be misled by a hasty judgment. That no evil had +been in the young man's mind he was sure. It was this change that +had prompted him to make an effort to recall him. But, the effort +was fruitless. +</P> + +<P> +On Jenny's return home, after her last interview with Mark, she +found a servant there with a summons from Mr. Lofton. With much +reluctance she repaired to the mansion house. On meeting with the +old gentleman he received her in a kind but subdued manner; but, as +for Jenny herself, she stood in his presence weeping and trembling. +</P> + +<P> +"Jenny," said Mr. Lofton, after the girl had grown more composed, +"when did you first meet my grandson?" +</P> + +<P> +Jenny mentioned the accidental meeting on the day before, and the +call at the cottage in the morning. +</P> + +<P> +"And you saw him first only yesterday?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What did he say when he called this morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"He asked for my mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Your mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I told him that my mother was dead, and that I lived with Mrs. +Lee. He then wanted to see her; but I said that she had gone over to +your house." +</P> + +<P> +"What did he say then?" +</P> + +<P> +"He spoke of you, and said you were a good man, and that we no doubt +found you a good landlord. I had mentioned that you owned our +cottage." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Lofton appeared affected at this. +</P> + +<P> +"What then?" he continued. +</P> + +<P> +"He told me who he was, and then asked me my name. When I told him +that it was Jenny, he said, it was a good name, and that he always +liked the sound of it, for his mother's name was Jenny. Then he +asked me, if I had known his mother, and when I said yes, he wanted +to know if I loved her. I said yes—for you know we all loved her. +Then he covered his face with his hands, and I saw the tears coming +through his fingers. 'Because you know my mother, and loved her, +Jenny,' said he, 'we will be friends.' Afterwards he asked me a +great many questions about her, and listened with the tears in his +eyes, when I told him of many things she had said and done the last +time she was up here. We were talking together about his mother, +when Mrs. Lee came in. She spoke cross to him, and threatened to +complain to you, if he came there any more. He went away angry. But +I'm sure he meant nothing wrong, sir. How could he and talk as he +did about his mother in heaven?" +</P> + +<P> +"But, how came you to meet him, in the woods, Jenny?" said Mr. +Lofton. "Did he tell you that he would wait there for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, sir. The meeting was accidental. I was sent over to Mrs. +Jasper's on an errand, and, in passing through the woods, saw him +sitting alone and looking very unhappy. I was frightened; but he +told me that he wouldn't hurt a hair of my head. Then he made me sit +down upon the grass beside him, and talk to him about his mother. He +asked me a great many questions, and I told him all that I could +remember about her. Sometimes the tears would steal over his cheeks; +and sometimes he would say—'Ah! if my mother had not died. Her +death was a great loss to me, Jenny—a great loss—and I have been +worse for it.'" +</P> + +<P> +"And was this all you talked about, Jenny," asked Mr. Lofton, who +was much, affected by the artless narrative of the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"It was all about his mother," replied Jenny. "He said that I not +only bore her name, but that I looked like her, and that it seemed +to him, while with me, that she was present." +</P> + +<P> +"He said that, did he!" Mr. Lofton spoke more earnestly, and looked +intently upon Jenny's face. "Yes—yes—it is so. She does look like +dear Jenny," he murmured to himself. "I never saw this before. Dear +boy! We have done him wrong. These hasty conclusions—ah, me! To how +much evil do they lead!" +</P> + +<P> +"And you were talking thus, when Mrs. Lee found you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"What did she say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can hardly tell what she said, I was so frightened. But I know +she spoke angrily to him and to me, and threatened to see you." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Lofton sighed deeply, then added, as if the remark were casual— +</P> + +<P> +"And that is the last you have seen of him." +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; I met him a little while ago, as he was hurrying away from +your house." +</P> + +<P> +"You did!" Mr. Lofton started at Jenny's unexpected reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he speak to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; he stopped and caught hold of my hand, saying, 'God bless you, +Jenny! We may never meet again. They have driven me away, because +they thought I meant to harm you.' But he said nothing wrong was in +his heart, and asked me to pray for him, as he would need my +prayers." +</P> + +<P> +At this part of her narrative, Jenny wept bitterly, and her +auditor's eyes became dim also. +</P> + +<P> +Satisfied that Jenny's story was true in every particular, Mr. +Lofton spoke kindly to her and sent her home. +</P> + +<P> +A week after Mark Clifford left Fairview, word came that he had +enlisted in the United States' service and gone to sea as a common +sailor; accompanying this intelligence was an indignant avowal of +his father that he would have nothing more to do with him. To old +Mr. Lofton this was a serious blow. In Mark he had hoped to see +realized some of his ambitious desires. His daughter Jenny had been +happy in her marriage, but the union never gave him much +satisfaction. She was to have been the wife of one more +distinguished than a mere plodding money-making merchant. +</P> + +<P> +Painful was the shock that accompanied the prostration of old Mr. +Lofton's ambitious hopes touching his grandson, of whom he had +always been exceedingly fond. To him he had intended leaving the +bulk of his property when he died. But now anger and resentment +arose in his mind against him as unworthy such a preference, and in +the warmth of a moment's impulse, he corrected his will and cut him +off with a dollar. This was no sooner done than better emotions +stirred in the old man's bosom, and he regretted the hasty act; but +pride of consistency prevented his recalling it. +</P> + +<P> +From that time old Mr. Lofton broke down rapidly. In six months he +seemed to have added ten years to his life. During that period no +news had come from Mark; who was not only angry with both his father +and grandfather, but felt that in doing what he had done, he had +offended them beyond the hope of forgiveness. He, therefore, having +taken a rash step, moved on in the way he had chosen, in a spirit of +recklessness and defiance. The ties of blood which had bound him to +his home were broken; the world was all before him, and he must make +his way in it alone. The life of a common sailor in a government +ship he found to be something different from what he had imagined, +when, acting under a momentary excitement, he was so mad as to +enlist in the service. Unused to work or ready obedience, he soon +discovered that his life was to be one not only of bodily toil, +pushed sometimes to the extreme of fatigue, but one of the most +perfect subordination to the will of others, under pain of corporeal +punishment. The first insolent word of authority passed to him by a +new fledged midshipman, his junior by at least three years, stung +him so deeply that it was only by a most violent effort that he +could master the impulse that prompted him to seize and throw him +overboard. He did not regret this successful effort at self-control, +when, a few hours afterwards, he was compelled to witness the +punishment of the cat inflicted on a sailor for the offence of +insolence to an officer. The sight of the poor man, writhing under +tile brutality of the lash, made an impression on him that nothing +could efface. It absorbed his mind and brought it into a healthier +state of reflection than it had yet been. +</P> + +<P> +"I have placed myself in this position by a rash act," he said to +himself, as he turned, sick at heart, away from the painful and +disgusting sight. "And all rebellion against the authority around me +will but make plainer my own weakness. I have degraded myself; but +there is a lower degradation still, and that I must avoid. Drag me +to the gangway, and I am lost!" +</P> + +<P> +Strict obedience and submission was from that time self-compelled on +the part of Mark Clifford. It was not without a strong effort, +however, that he kept down the fiery spirit within him. A word of +insolent command—and certain of the young midshipmen on board could +not speak to a senior even if he were old as their father, except in +a tone of insult—would send the blood boiling through his veins. +</P> + +<P> +It was only by the narrowest chances that Mark escaped punishment +during the first six months of the cruise, which was in the Pacific. +If he succeeded in bridling his tongue, and restraining his hands +from violence he could not hide the indignant flash of his eyes, nor +school the muscles of his face into submission. They revealed the +wild spirit of rebellion that was in his heart. Intelligent +promptness in duty saved him. +</P> + +<P> +This was seen by his superior officers, and it was so much in his +favor when complaints came from the petty tyrants of the ship who +sometimes shrunk from the fierce glance that in a moment of +struggling passion would be cast upon them. After a trying ordeal of +six months, he was favored by one of the officers who saw deeper +than the rest; and gathered from him a few hints as to his true +character. In pitying him, he made use of his influence to save him +from some of the worst consequences of his position. +</P> + +<P> +Jenny Lawson was a changed girl after her brief meeting with Mark +Clifford. Before, she had been as light hearted and gay as a bird. +But, her voice was no longer heard pouring forth the sweet melodies +born of a happy heart. Much of her time she sought to be alone; and +when alone, she usually sat in a state of dreamy absent-mindedness. +As for her thoughts, they were most of the time on Clifford. His +hand had stirred the waters of affection in her gentle bosom; and +they knew no rest. Mr. Lofton frequently sent for her to come over +to the mansion house. He never spoke to her of Mark; nor did she +mention his name—though both thought of him whenever they were +together. The oftener Mr. Lofton saw Jenny, and the more he was with +her, the more did she remind him of his own lost child—his Jenny, +the mother of Mark—now in heaven. The incident of meeting with +young Clifford had helped to develop Jenny's character, and give it +a stronger type than otherwise would have been the case. Thus, she +became to Mr. Lofton companionable; and, ere a year had elapsed from +the time Mark went away, Mrs. Lee, having passed to her account, she +was taken into his house, and he had her constantly with him. As he +continued to fail, he leaned upon the affectionate girl more and +more heavily; and was never contented when she was away from him. +</P> + +<P> +It would be difficult to represent clearly Jenny's state of feeling +during this period. A simple minded, innocent, true-hearted girl, in +whose bosom scarce beat a single selfish impulse, she found herself +suddenly approached by one in station far above her, in a way that +left her heart unguarded. He had stooped to her, and leaned upon +her, and she, obeying an impulse of her nature, had stood firmer to +support him as he leaned. Their tender, confiding, and delightful +intercourse, continued only for a brief season, and was then rudely +broken in upon; forced separation was followed by painful +consequences to the young man. When Jenny thought of how Mark had +been driven away on her account, she felt that in order to save him +from the evils that must be impending over him, she would devote +even her life in his service. But, what could she do? This desire to +serve him had also another origin. A deep feeling of love had been +awakened; and, though she felt it to be hopeless, she kept the flame +brightly burning. +</P> + +<P> +Intense feelings produced more active thoughts, and the mind of +Jenny took a higher development. A constant association with Mr. +Lofton, who required her to read to him sometimes for hours each +day, filled her thoughts with higher ideas than any she had known, +and gradually widened the sphere of her intelligence. Thus she grew +more and more companionable to the old man, who, in turn, perceiving +that her mind was expanding, took pains to give it a right +direction, so far as external knowledge were concerned. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after Mark went to sea, Jenny took pains to inform herself +accurately as to the position and duties of a common sailor on board +of a United States' vessel. She was more troubled about Mark after +this, for she understood how unfitted he was for the hard service he +entered upon so blindly. +</P> + +<P> +One day, it was over a year from the time that Mark left Fairview, +Mr. Lofton sent for Jenny, and, on her coming into his room, handed +her a sealed letter, but without making any remark. On it was +superscribed her name; and it bore, besides, the word "Ship" in red +printed letters, "Valparaiso," also, was written upon it. Jenny +looked at the letter wonderingly, for a moment or two, and then, +with her heart throbbing wildly, left the room. On breaking the +seal, she found the letter to be from Mark. It was as follows: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"U. S. SHIP ——, Valparaiso, September 4, 18—, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MY GENTLE FRIEND.—A year has passed since our brief meeting and +unhappy parting. I do not think you have forgotten me in that time; +you may be sure I have not forgotten you. The memory of one about +whom we conversed, alone would keep your image green in my thoughts. +Of the rash step I took you have no doubt heard. In anger at unjust +treatment both from my father and grandfather, I was weak enough to +enter the United States' service as a sailor. Having committed this +folly, and being unwilling to humble myself, and appeal to friends +who had wronged me for their interest to get me released, I have +looked the hardship and degradation before me in the face, and +sought to encounter it manfully. The ordeal has been thus far most +severe, and I have yet two years of trial before me. As I am where I +am by my own act, I will not complain, and yet, I have felt it hard +to be cut off from all the sympathy and kind interest of my +friends—to have no word from home—to feel that none cares for me. +I know that I have offended both my father and grandfather past +forgiveness, and my mind is made up to seek for no reconciliation +with them. I cannot stoop to that. I have too much of the blood of +the Loftons in my veins. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"But why write this to you, Jenny? You will hardly understand how +such feelings can govern any heart—your own is so gentle and +innocent in all of its impulses. I have other things to say to you! +Since our meeting I have never ceased to think of you! I need no +picture of your face, for I see it ever before me as distinctly as +if sketched by the painter's art. I sometimes ask myself +wonderingly, how it is that you, a simple country maiden, could, in +one or two brief meetings, have made so strong an impression upon +me? But, you bore my mother's name, and your face was like her dear +face. Moreover, the beauty of goodness was in your countenance, and +a sphere of innocence around you; and I had not strayed so far from +virtue's paths as to be insensible to these. Since we parted, Jenny, +you have seemed ever present with me, as an angel of peace and +protection. In the moment when passion was about overmastering me, +you stood by my side, and I seemed to hear your voice speaking to +the rising storm, and hushing all into calmness. When my feet have +been ready to step aside, you instantly approached and pointed to +the better way. Last night I had a dream, and it is because of that +dream that I now write to you. I have often felt like writing +before; now I write because I cannot help it. I am moved to do so by +something that I cannot resist. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Yesterday I had a difficulty with an officer who has shewn a +disposition to domineer over me ever since the cruise commenced. He +complained to the commander, who has, in more than one instance +shown me kindness. The commander said that I must make certain +concessions to the officer, which I felt as humiliating; that good +discipline required this, and that unless I did so, he would be +reluctantly compelled to order me to the gangway. Thus far I had +avoided punishment by a strict obedience to duty. No lash had ever +touched me. That degradation I felt would be my ruin; and in fear of +the result I bore much, rather than give any petty officer the power +to have me punished. 'Let me sleep over it, Captain,' said I, so +earnestly, that my request was granted. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Troubled dreams haunted me as I lay in my hammock that night. At +last I seemed to be afloat on the wide ocean, on a single plank, +tossing about with the hot sun shining fiercely upon me, and +monsters of the great deep gathering around, eager for their prey. I +was weak, faint, and despairing. In vain did my eyes sweep the +horizon, there was neither vessel nor land in sight. At length the +sun went down, and the darkness drew nearer and nearer. Then I could +see nothing but the stars shining above me. In this moment, when +hope seemed about leaving my heart forever, a light came suddenly +around me. On looking up I saw a boat approaching. In the bow stood +my mother, and you sat guiding the helm! She took my hand, and I +stepped into the boat with a thrill of joy at my deliverance. As I +did so, she kissed me, looked tenderly towards you, and faded from +my sight. Then I awoke. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"The effect of all this was to subdue my haughty spirit. As soon as +an opportunity offered, I made every desired concession for my +fault, and was forgiven. And now I am writing to you, I feel as if +there was something in that dream, Jenny. Ah! Shall I ever see your +face again? Heaven only knows! +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I send this letter to you in care of my grandfather. I know that he +will not retain it or seek to know its contents. Unless he should +ask after me, do not speak to him or any one of what I have written +to you. Farewell! Do not forget me in your prayers. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MARK CLIFFORD." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The effect of this letter upon Jenny, was to interest her intensely. +The swell of emotion went deeper, and the activity of her mind took +a still higher character. It was plain to her, when she next came +into Mr. Lofton's presence, that his thoughts had been busy about +the letter she had received. But he asked her no questions, and, +faithful to the expressed wish of Mark, she made no reference to the +subject whatever. +</P> + +<P> +One part of Jenny's service to the failing old man, had been to read +to him daily from the newspapers. This made her familiar with what +was passing in the world, gave her food for thought, and helped her +to develop and strengthen her mind. Often had she pored over the +papers for some news of Mark, but never having heard the name of the +vessel in which he had gone to sea, she had possessed no clue to +find what she sought for. But now, whenever a paper was opened, her +first search was for naval intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +With what a throb of interest did she one day, about a week after +Mark's letter came to hand, read an announcement that the ship —— +had been ordered home, and might be expected to arrive daily at +Norfolk. +</P> + +<P> +A woman thinks quickly to a conclusion; or, rather, arrives there by +a process quicker than thought; especially where her conclusions are +to affect a beloved object. In an hour after Jenny had read the fact +just stated, she said to Mr. Lofton, who had now come to be much +attached to her— +</P> + +<P> +"Will you grant me a favor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ask what you will, my child," replied Mr. Lofton, with more than +usual affection in his tones. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me have fifty dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. I know you will use it for a good purpose." +</P> + +<P> +Two days after this Jenny was in Washington. She made the journey +alone, but without timidity or fear. Her purpose made her +self-possessed and courageous. On arriving at the seat of +government, Jenny inquired for the Secretary of the Navy. When she +arrived at the Department over which he presided, and obtained an +interview, she said to him, as soon as she could compose herself— +</P> + +<P> +"The ship —— has been ordered home from the Pacific?" +</P> + +<P> +"She arrived at Norfolk last night, and is now hourly expected at +the Navy Yard," replied the Secretary. +</P> + +<P> +At this intelligence, Jenny was so much affected that it was some +time before she could trust herself to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"You have a brother on board?" said the Secretary. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a young man on board," replied Jenny, in a tremulous +voice, "for whose discharge I have come to ask." +</P> + +<P> +The Secretary looked grave. +</P> + +<P> +"At whose instance do you come?" he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Solely at my own." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is the young man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know Marshal Lofton?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do, by reputation, well. He belongs to a distinguished family in +New York, to which the country owes much for service rendered in +trying times." +</P> + +<P> +"The discharge I ask, is for his grandson." +</P> + +<P> +"Young Clifford, do you mean?" The Secretary looked surprised as he +spoke. "He is not in the service." +</P> + +<P> +"He is on board the ship —— as a common sailor." +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is too true. In a moment of angry disappointment he took the +rash step. And, since then, no communication has passed between him +and his friends." +</P> + +<P> +The Secretary turned to the table near which he was sitting, and, +after writing a few lines on a piece of paper, rung a small +hand-bell for the messenger, who came in immediately. +</P> + +<P> +"Take this to Mr J——, and bring me an answer immediately." +</P> + +<P> +The messenger left the room, and the Secretary said to Jenny— +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a moment or two, if you please." +</P> + +<P> +In a little while the messenger came back and handed the Secretary a +memorandum from the clerk to whom he had sent for information. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no such person as Clifford on board the ship ——, nor, in +fact, in the service as a common sailor," said the Secretary, +addressing Jenny, after glancing at the memorandum he had received. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, there is; there must be," exclaimed the now agitated girl. +"I received a letter from him at Valparaiso, dated on board of this +ship. And, besides, he wrote home to his father, at the time he +sailed, declaring what he had done." +</P> + +<P> +"Strange. His name doesn't appear in the Department as attached to +the service. Hark! There's a gun. It announces, in all probability, +the arrival of the ship —— at the Navy Yard." +</P> + +<P> +Jenny instantly became pale. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," suggested the Secretary, "your best way will be to take a +carriage and drive down, at once, to the Navy Yard. Shall I direct +the messenger to call a carriage for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will thank you to do so," replied Jenny, faintly. +</P> + +<P> +The carriage was soon at the door. Jenny was much agitated when she +arrived at the Navy Yard. To her question as to whether the ship +—— had arrived, she was pointed to a large vessel which lay moored +at the dock. How she mounted its side she hardly knew; but, in what +seemed scarcely an instant of time, she was standing on the deck. To +an officer who met her, as she stepped on board, she asked for Mark +Clifford. +</P> + +<P> +"What is he? A sailor or marine?" +</P> + +<P> +"A sailor." +</P> + +<P> +"There is no such person on board, I believe," said the officer. +</P> + +<P> +Poor Jenny staggered back a few paces, while a deadly paleness +overspread her face. As she leaned against the side of the vessel +for support, a young man, dressed as a sailor, ascended from the +lower deck. Their eyes met, and both sprung towards each other. +</P> + +<P> +"Jenny! Jenny! is it you!" fell passionately from his lips, as he +caught her in his arms, and kissed her fervently. "Bless you! Bless +you, Jenny! This is more than I had hoped for," he added, as he +gazed fondly into her beautiful young face. +</P> + +<P> +"They said you were not here," murmured Jenny, "and my heart was in +despair." +</P> + +<P> +"You asked for Mark Clifford?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not known in the service by that name. I entered it as Edward +James." +</P> + +<P> +This meeting, occurring as it did, with many spectators around, and +they of the ruder class, was so earnest and tender, yet with all, so +mutually respectful and decorous, that even the rough sailors were +touched by the manner and sentiment of the interview; and mole than +one eye grew dim. +</P> + +<P> +Not long did Jenny linger on the deck of the ——. Now that she had +found Mark, her next thought was to secure his discharge. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H4> + +<P> +IT was little more than half an hour after the Secretary of the Navy +parted with Jenny, ere she entered his office again; but now with +her beautiful face flushed and eager. +</P> + +<P> +"I have found him!" she exclaimed; "I knew he was on board this +ship!" +</P> + +<P> +The Secretary's interest had been awakened by the former brief +interview with Jenny, and when she came in with the announcement, he +was not only affected with pleasure, but his feelings were touched +by her manner. "How is it, then," he inquired, "that his name is not +to be found in the list of her crew?" +</P> + +<P> +"He entered the service under the name of Edward James." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! that explains it." +</P> + +<P> +"And now, sir," said Jenny, in a voice so earnest and appealing, +that her auditor felt like granting her desire without a moment's +reflection: "I have come to entreat you to give me his release." +</P> + +<P> +"On what ground do you make this request?" inquired the Secretary, +gazing into the sweet young face of Jenny, with a feeling of respect +blended with admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"On the ground of humanity," was the simple yet earnestly spoken +reply. +</P> + +<P> +"How can you put it on that ground?" +</P> + +<P> +"A young man of his education and abilities can serve society better +in another position." +</P> + +<P> +"But he has chosen the place he is in." +</P> + +<P> +"Not deliberately. In a moment of disappointment and blind passion +he took a false step. Severely has he suffered for this act. Let it +not be prolonged, lest it destroy him. One of his spirit can +scarcely pass through so severe an ordeal without fainting." +</P> + +<P> +"Does Mr. Lofton, his grandfather, desire what you ask?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Lofton is a proud man. He entertained high hopes for Mark, who +has, in this act, so bitterly disappointed them, that he has not +been known to utter his name since the news of his enlistment was +received." +</P> + +<P> +"And his father?" +</P> + +<P> +Jenny shook her head, sighing— +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know anything about him. He was angry, and, I believe, cast +him off." +</P> + +<P> +"And you, then, are his only advocate?" +</P> + +<P> +Jenny's eyes dropped to the floor, and a deeper tinge overspread her +countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"What is your relation to him, and to his friends?" asked the +Secretary, his manner becoming more serious. +</P> + +<P> +It was some moments before Jenny replied. Then she said, in a more +subdued voice: +</P> + +<P> +"I am living with Mr. Lofton. But—" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated, and then became silent and embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +"Does Mr. Lofton know of your journey to Washington?" +</P> + +<P> +Jenny shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you tell him you were going?" +</P> + +<P> +"I said nothing to him, but came away the moment I heard the ship +was expected to arrive at Norfolk." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose I release him from the service?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will persuade him to go back with me to Fairview, and then I know +that all will be forgiven between him and his grandfather. You don't +know how Mr. Lofton has failed since Mark went away," added Jenny in +a tone meant to reach the feelings of her auditor. +</P> + +<P> +"He looks many years older. Ah, sir, if you would only grant my +request!" +</P> + +<P> +"Will the young man return to his family! Have you spoken to him +about it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I wished not to create hopes that might fail. But give me his +release, and I will have a claim on him." +</P> + +<P> +"And you will require him to go home in acknowledgment of that +claim." +</P> + +<P> +"I will not leave him till he goes back," said Jenny. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he not satisfied in the service?" +</P> + +<P> +"How could he be satisfied with it?" Jenny spoke with a quick +impulse, and with something like rebuke in her voice. "No! It is +crushing out his very life. Think of your own son in such a +position!" +</P> + +<P> +There was something in this appeal, and in the way it was uttered, +that decided the Secretary's mind. A man of acute observation, and +humane feelings, he not only understood pretty clearly the relation +that Jenny bore to Mark and his family, but sympathised with the +young man and resolved to grant the maiden's request. Leaving her +for a few minutes, he went into an adjoining room. When he returned, +he had a sealed letter in his hand directed to the commander of the +ship ——. +</P> + +<P> +"This will procure his dismissal from the service," said he, as he +reached it towards Jenny. +</P> + +<P> +"May heaven reward you!" fell from the lips of the young girl, as +she received the letter. Then, with the tears glistening in her +eyes, she hurriedly left the apartment. +</P> + +<P> +While old Mr. Lofton was yet wondering what Jenny could want with +fifty dollars, a servant came and told him that she had just heard +from a neighbor who came up a little while before from the landing, +that he had seen Jenny go on board of a steamboat that was on its +way to New York. +</P> + +<P> +"It can't be so," quickly answered Mr. Lofton. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Jones said, positively, that it was her." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell Henry to go to Mr. Jones and ask him, as a favor, to step over +and see me." +</P> + +<P> +In due time Mr. Jones came. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you certain that you saw Jenny Lawson go on board the steamboat +for New York to-day?" asked Mr. Lofton, when the neighbor appeared. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, sir; it was her," replied the man. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you speak to her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was going to, but she hurried past me without looking in my +face." +</P> + +<P> +"Had she anything with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"There was a small bundle in her hand." +</P> + +<P> +"Strange—strange—very strange," murmured the old man to himself. +"What does it mean? Where can she have gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Did she say nothing about going away?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Lofton's eyes fell to the floor, and he sat thinking for some +moments. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Jones," said he, at length, "can you go to New York for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose so," replied Mr. Jones. +</P> + +<P> +"When will the morning boat from Albany pass here?" +</P> + +<P> +"In about two hours." +</P> + +<P> +"Then get yourself ready, if you please, and come over to me. I do +not like this of Jenny, and must find out where she has gone." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Jones promised to do as was desired, and went to make all +necessary preparations. Before he returned, a domestic brought Mr. +Lofton a sealed note bearing his address, which she had found in +Jenny's chamber. It was as follows: +</P> + +<P> +"Do not be alarmed at my telling you that, when you receive this, I +will be on a journey of two or three hundred miles in extent, and +may not return for weeks. Believe me, that my purpose is a good one. +I hope to be back much sooner than I have said. When I do get home, +I know you will approve of what I have done. My errand is one of +Mercy. +</P> + +<P> +"Humbly and faithfully yours, JENNY." +</P> + +<P> +It was some time before Mr. Lofton's mind grew calm and clear, after +reading this note. That Jenny's absence was, in some way, connected +with Mark, was a thought that soon presented itself. But, in what +way, he could not make out; for he had never heard the name of the +ship in which his grandson sailed, and knew nothing of her expected +arrival home. +</P> + +<P> +By the time Mr. Jones appeared, ready to start on the proposed +mission to New York, Mr. Lofton had made up his mind not to attempt +to follow Jenny, but to wait for some word from her. Not until this +sudden separation took place did Mr. Lofton understand how necessary +to his happiness the affectionate girl had become. So troubled was +he at her absence, and so anxious for her safety, that when night +came he found himself unable to sleep. In thinking about the dangers +that would gather around one so ignorant of the world, his +imagination magnified the trials and temptations to which, alone as +she was, she would be exposed. Such thoughts kept him tossing +anxiously upon his pillow, or restlessly pacing the chamber floor +until day dawn. Then, from over-excitement and loss of rest, he was +seriously indisposed—so much so, that his physician had to be +called in during the day. He found him with a good deal of fever, +and deemed it necessary to resort to depletion, as well as to the +application of other remedies to allay the over-action of his vital +system. These prostrated him at once—so much so, that he was unable +to sit up. Before night he was so seriously ill that the physician +had to be sent for again. The fever had returned with great +violence, and the pressure on his brain was so great that he had +become slightly delirious. +</P> + +<P> +During the second night, this active stage of the disease continued; +but all the worst symptoms subsided towards morning. Daylight found +him sleeping quietly, with a cool moist skin, and a low, regular +pulse. Towards mid-day he awoke; but the anxiety that came with +thought brought back many of the unfavorable symptoms, and he was +worse again towards evening. On the third day he was again better, +but so weak as to be unable to sit up. +</P> + +<P> +How greatly did old Mr. Lofton miss the gentle girl, who had become +almost as dear to him as a child, during this brief illness, brought +on by her strange absence. No hand could smooth his pillow like +hers. No presence could supply her place by his side. He was +companionless, now that she was away; and his heart reached vainly +around for something to lean upon for support. +</P> + +<P> +On the fourth day he was better, and sat up a little. But his +anxiety for Jenny was increasing. Where could she be? He read her +brief letter over and over again. +</P> + +<P> +"May not return for weeks," he said, as he held the letter in his +hand. "Where can she have gone? Foolish child! Why did she not +consult with me? I would have advised her for the best." +</P> + +<P> +Late on the afternoon of that day, Jenny, in company with Mark, the +latter in the dress of a seaman in the United States service, passed +from a steamboat at the landing near Fairview, and took their way +towards the mansion of Mr. Lofton. They had not proceeded far, +before the young man began to linger, while Jenny showed every +disposition to press on rapidly. At length Mark stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"Jenny," said he, while a cloud settled on his face, "you've had +your own way up to this moment. I've been passive in your hands. But +I can't go on with you any further." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say that," returned Jenny, her voice almost imploring in its +tones. And in the earnestness of her desire to bring Mark back to +his grandfather, she seized one of his hands, and, by a gentle +force, drew him a few paces in the direction they had been going. +But he resisted that force, and they stood still again. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think I can go back, Jenny," said Mark, in a subdued voice: +"I have some pride left, much as has been crushed out of me during +the period of my absence, and this rises higher and higher in my +heart the nearer I approach my grandfather. How can I meet him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Only come into his presence, Mark," urged Jenny, speaking tenderly +and familiarly. She had addressed him as Mr. Clifford, but he had +forbidden that, saying— +</P> + +<P> +"To you my name is Mark—let none other pass your lips!" +</P> + +<P> +"Only come into his presence. You need not speak to him, nor look +towards him. This is all I ask." +</P> + +<P> +"But, the humiliation of going back after my resentment of his +former treatment," said Mark. "I can bear anything but this bending +of my pride—this humbling of myself to others." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't think of yourself, Mark," replied Jenny. "Think of your +grandfather, on whom your absence has wrought so sad a change. Think +of what he must have suffered to break down so in less than two +years. In pity to him, then, come back. Be guided by me, Mark, and I +will lead you right. Think of that strange dream!" +</P> + +<P> +At this appeal, Mark moved quickly forward by the side of the +beautiful girl, who had so improved in every way—mind and body +having developed wonderfully since he parted with her—that he was +filled all the while by wonder, respect and admiration. He moved by +her side as if influenced by a spell that subdued his own will. +</P> + +<P> +In silence they walked along, side by side, the pressure of thought +and feeling on each mind being so strong as to take away the desire +to speak, until the old mansion house of Mr. Lofton appeared in +view. Here Mark stopped again; but the tenderly uttered "Come," and +the tearful glance of Jenny, effectually controlled the promptings +of an unbroken will. Together, in a few minutes afterwards, they +approached the house and entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Mr. Lofton?" asked Jenny of a servant who met them in the +great hall. +</P> + +<P> +"He's been very ill," replied the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Ill!" Jenny became pale. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, very ill. But he is better now." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"In his own chamber." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Jenny hesitated whether to go up alone, or in company +with Mark. She would have preferred going alone; but fearing that, +if she parted even thus briefly from Mark, her strong influence over +him, by means of which she had brought him, almost as a struggling +prisoner, thus far, would be weakened, and be tempted to turn from +the house, she resolved to venture upon the experiment of entering +Mr. Lofton's sick chamber, in company with his grandson. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he sitting up?" she asked of the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"He's been sitting up a good deal to-day, but is lying down now." +</P> + +<P> +"He's much better?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes!" +</P> + +<P> +"Come," said Jenny, turning to Mark, and moving towards the +stairway. Mark followed passively. On entering the chamber of Mr. +Lofton, they found him sleeping. +</P> + +<P> +Both silently approached, and looked upon his venerable face, +composed in deep slumber. Tears came to the eyes of Mark as he gazed +at the countenance of his grandfather, and his heart became soft as +the heart of a child. While they yet stood looking at him, his lips +moved, and he uttered both their names. Then he seemed disturbed, +and moaned, as if in pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Grandfather!" said Mark, taking the old man's hand, and bending +over him. +</P> + +<P> +Quickly his eyes opened. For a few moments he gazed earnestly upon +Mark, and then tightened his hand upon that of the young man, closed +his eyes again, and murmured in a voice that deeply touched the +returning wanderer— +</P> + +<P> +"My poor boy! My poor boy! Why did you do so? Why did you break my +heart? But, God be thanked, you are back again! God be thanked!" +</P> + +<P> +"Jenny!" said the old man, quickly, as he felt her take his other +hand and press it to her lips. "And it was for this you left me! +Dear child, I forgive you!" +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke, he drew her hand over towards the one that grasped that +of Mark, and uniting them together, murmured— +</P> + +<P> +"If you love each other, it is all right. My blessing shall go with +you." +</P> + +<P> +How mild and delicious was the thrill that ran through each of the +hearts of his auditors. This was more than they expected. Mark +tightly grasped the hand that was placed within his own, and that +hand gave back an answering pressure. Thus was the past reconciled +with the present; while a vista was opened toward a bright future. +</P> + +<P> +Little more than a year has passed since this joyful event took +place. Mark Clifford, with the entire approval of his grandfather, +who furnished a handsome capital for the purpose, entered, during +the time, into the mercantile house of his father as a partner, and +is now actively engaged in business, well sobered by his severe +experience. He has taken a lovely bride, who is the charm of all +circles into which she is introduced; and her name is Jenny. But few +who meet her dream that she once grew, a beautiful wild flower, near +the banks of the Hudson. +</P> + +<P> +Old Mr. Lofton could not be separated from Jenny; and, as he could +not separate her from her husband, he has removed to the city, where +he has an elegant residence, in which her voice is the music and her +smiles the ever present sunshine. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="shadows"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SHADOWS. +</H3> + +<P> +A HAPPY-HEARTED child was Madeline Henry, for the glad sunshine ever +lay upon the threshold of her early home. Her father, a cheerful, +unselfish man, left the world and its business cares behind him when +he placed his hand upon the door of entrance to his household +treasures. Like other men, he had his anxieties, his hopes and +losses, his disappointments and troubles; but he wisely and humanely +strove to banish these from his thoughts, when he entered the +home-sanctuary, lest his presence should bring a shadow instead of +sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +Madeline was just twenty years of age, when, as the wife of Edward +Leslie, she left this warm down-covered nest, and was borne to a new +and more elegant home. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Leslie was her senior by eight or nine years. He began his +business life at the age of twenty-two, as partner in a well +established mercantile house, and, as he was able to place ten +thousand dollars in the concern, his position, in the matter of +profits, was good from the beginning. Yet, for all this, +notwithstanding more than one loving-hearted girl, in whose eyes he +might have found favor, crossed his path, he resolutely turned his +thoughts away, lest the fascination should be too strong for him. He +resolved not to marry until he felt able to maintain a certain style +of living. +</P> + +<P> +Thus were the heart's impulses checked; thus were the first tender +leaves of affection frozen in the cold breath of mere calculation. +He wronged himself in this; yet, in his worldliness and ignorance, +did he feel proud of being above, what he called, the weaknesses of +other men. +</P> + +<P> +It was but natural that Mr. Leslie should become, in a measure, +reserved towards others. Should assume a statelier step, and more +set forms of speech. Should repress, more and more, his heart's +impulses. +</P> + +<P> +In Leslie, the love of money was strong; yet there was in his +character a firmly laid basis of integrity. Though shrewd in his +dealings, he never stooped to a system of overreaching. He was not +long, therefore, in establishing a good reputation among business +men. In social circles, where he occasionally appeared, almost as a +matter of course he became an object of interest. +</P> + +<P> +Observation, as it regards character, is, by far, too superficial. +With most persons, merely what strikes the eye is sufficient ground +for an opinion; and this opinion is freely and positively expressed. +Thus, a good reputation comes, as a natural consequence, to a man +who lives in the practice of most of the apparent social virtues, +while he may possess no real kindness of heart, may be selfish to an +extreme degree. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it was with Mr. Leslie. He was generally regarded as a model of +a man; and when he, at length, approached Madeline Henry as a lover, +the friends of the young lady regarded her as particularly +fortunate. +</P> + +<P> +As for Madeline, she rather shrunk, at first, from his advances. +There was a coldness in his sphere that chilled her; a rigid +propriety of speech and action that inspired too much respect and +deference. Gradually, however, love for the maiden, (if by such a +term it might be called) fused his hard exterior, and his manner +became so softened, gentle and affectionate, that she yielded up to +him a most precious treasure—the love of her young and trusting +heart. +</P> + +<P> +Just twenty years old, as we have said, was Madeline when she +passed, as the bride of Mr. Leslie, from the warm home-nest in which +she had reposed so happily, to become the mistress of an elegant +mansion. Though in age a woman, she was, in many things, but a child +in feelings. Tenderly cared for and petted by her father, her spirit +had been, in a measure, sustained by love as an aliment. +</P> + +<P> +One like Madeline is not fit to be the wife of such a man as Edward +Leslie. For him, a cold, calculating woman of the world were a +better companion. One who has her own selfish ends to gain; and who +can find, in fashion, gaiety, or personal indulgence, full +compensation for a husband's love. +</P> + +<P> +Madeline was scarcely the bride of a week, ere shadows began to fall +upon her heart; and the form that interposed itself between her and +the sunlight, was the form of her husband. As a daughter, love had +ever gone forth in lavish expression. This had been encouraged by +all the associations of home. But, from the beginning of her wedded +life, she felt the manner of her husband like the weight of a hand +on her bosom, repressing her heart's outgushing impulses. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the fifth evening of their marriage, about the early +twilight hour, and Madeline, alone, almost for the first time since +morning, sat awaiting the return of her husband. Full of pleasant +thoughts was her mind, and warm with love her heart. A few hours of +separation from Edward had made her impatient to meet him again. +When, at length, she heard him enter, she sprang to meet him, and, +with an exclamation of delight, threw her arms about his neck. +</P> + +<P> +There was a cold dignity in the way this act was received by Edward +Leslie, that chilled the feelings of his wife. Quickly disengaging +her arms, she assumed a more guarded exterior; yet, trying all the +while, to be cheerful in manner. We say "trying;" for a shadow had +fallen on her young heart—and, to seem cheerful was from an effort. +They sat down, side by side, in the pensive twilight close to the +windows, through which came fragrant airs; and Madeline laid her +hand upon that of her husband. Checked in the first gush of +feelings, she now remained silent, yet with her yearning spirit +intently listening for words of tenderness and endearment. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been greatly vexed to-day." +</P> + +<P> +These were the very words he uttered. How chilly they fell upon the +ears of his expectant wife. +</P> + +<P> +"What has happened?" she asked, in a voice of concern. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nothing in reality more than usual. Men in business are exposed +to a thousand annoyances. If all the world were honest, trade would +be pleasant enough. But you have to watch every one you deal with as +closely as if he were a rogue. A man, whom I had confided in and +befriended, tried to overreach me today, and it has hurt me a good +deal. I couldn't have believed it of him." +</P> + +<P> +Nothing more was said on either side for several minutes. Leslie, +absorbed in thoughts of business, so far forgot the presence of his +wife, as to withdraw the hand upon which her's was laid. How +palpable to her was the coldness of his heart! She felt it as an +atmosphere around him. +</P> + +<P> +After tea, Leslie remarked, as he arose from the table, that he +wished to see a friend on some matter of business; but would be home +early. Not even a kiss did he leave with Madeline to cheer her +during his absence. His selfish dignity could not stoop to such +childishness. +</P> + +<P> +The young bride passed the evening with no companionship but her +tears. When Leslie came home, and looked upon her sober face, he was +not struck with its aspect as being unusual. It did not enter his +imagination that she could be otherwise than happy. Was she not +<I>his</I> wife? And had she not, around her, every thing to make the +heart satisfied? He verily believed that she had. He spoke to her +kindly, yet, as she felt, indifferently, while her heart was pining +for words of warm affection. +</P> + +<P> +This was the first shadow that fell, darkly, across the young wife's +path. For hours after her husband's senses were locked in slumber, +she lay wakeful and weeping. He understood not, if he remarked the +fact, why her cheeks had less color and her eyes less brightness on +the morning that succeeded to this, on Madeline's part, never +forgotten evening. +</P> + +<P> +We need not present a scene from the sixth, the seventh, or even the +twentieth day of Madeline's married life. All moved on with a kind +of even tenor. Order—we might almost say, mercantile order—reigned +throughout the household. And yet, shadows were filling more and +more heavily over the young wife's feelings. To be loved, was an +element of her existence—to be loved with expression. But, +expressive fondness was not one of the cold, dignified Mr. Leslie's +weaknesses. He loved Madeline—as much as he was capable of loving +anything out of himself. And he had given her the highest possible +evidence of this love, by making her his wife.—What more could she +ask? It never occurred to his unsentimental thought, that words and +acts of endearment were absolutely essential to her happiness. That +her world of interest was a world of affections, and that without +his companionship in this world, her heart would feel an aching +void. +</P> + +<P> +Who will wonder that, as weeks and months went by, shadows were more +apparent on the sunny face of Madeline? Yet, such shadows, when they +became visible to casual eyes, did excite wonder. What was there to +break the play of sunshine on her countenance? +</P> + +<P> +"The more some people have, the more dissatisfied they are," +remarked one superficial observer to another, in reply to some +communication touching Mrs. Leslie's want of spirits. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," was answered. "Nothing but <I>real</I> trouble ever brings such +persons to their senses." +</P> + +<P> +Ah! Is not heart-trouble the most real of all with which we are +visited? There comes to it, so rarely, a balm of healing. To those +external evils which merely affect the personal comfort, the mind +quickly accommodates itself. We may find happiness in either +prosperity or adversity. But, what true happiness is there for a +loving heart, if, from the only source of reciprocation, there is +but an imperfect response? A strong mind may accommodate itself, in +the exercise of a firm religious philosophy, to even these +circumstances, and like the wisely discriminating bee, extract honey +from even the most unpromising flower. But, it is hard—nay, almost +impossible—for one like Madeline, reared as she was in so warm an +atmosphere of love, to fall back upon and find a sustaining power, +in such a philosophy. Her spirit first must droop. There must be a +passing through the fire, with painful purification. Alas! How many +perish in the ordeal!—How many gentle, loving ones, unequally +mated, die, daily, around us; moving on to the grave, so far as the +world knows, by the way of some fatal bodily ailment; yet, in truth, +failing by a heart-sickness that has dried up the fountains of life. +</P> + +<P> +And so it was with the wife of Edward Leslie. Greatly her husband +wondered at the shadows which fell, more and more heavily, on +Madeline—wondered as time wore on, at the paleness of her +cheeks—the sadness which, often, she could not repress when he was +by; the variableness of her spirits—all tending to destroy the +balance of her nervous system, and, finally, ending in confirmed +ill-health, that demanded, imperiously, the diversion of his +thoughts from business and worldly schemes to the means of +prolonging her life. +</P> + +<P> +Alas! What a sad picture to look upon, would it be, were we to +sketch, even in outline, the passing events of the ten years that +preceded this conviction on the part of Mr. Leslie. To Madeline, his +cold, hard, impatient, and, too frequently, cruel re-actions upon +what he thought her unreasonable, captious, dissatisfied states of +mind, having no ground but in her imagination, were heavy +heart-strokes—or, as a discordant hand dashed among her +life-chords, putting them forever out of tune. Oh! The wretchedness, +struggling with patience and concealment, of those weary years. The +days and days, during which her husband maintained towards her a +moody silence, that it seemed would kill her. And yet, so far as the +world went, Mr. Leslie was among the best of husbands. How little +does the world, so called, look beneath the surface of things! +</P> + +<P> +With the weakness of failing health, came, to Madeline, the loss of +mental energy. She had less and less self-control. A brooding +melancholy settled upon her feelings; and she often spent days in +her chamber, refusing to see any one except members of her own +family, and weeping if she were spoken to. +</P> + +<P> +"You will die, Madeline. You will kill yourself!" said her husband, +repeating, one day, the form of speech so often used when he found +his wife in these states of abandonment. He spoke with more than his +usual tenderness, for, to his unimaginative mind had come a quickly +passing, but vivid realization, of what he would lose if she were +taken from him. +</P> + +<P> +"The loss will scarcely be felt," was her murmured answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Your children will, at least, feel it," said Mr. Leslie, in a more +captious and meaning tone than, upon reflection, he would have used. +He felt her words as expressing indifference for himself, and his +quick retort involved, palpably, the same impression in regard to +his wife. +</P> + +<P> +Madeline answered not farther, but her husband's words were not +forgotten—"My children will feel my loss." This thought became so +present to her mind, that none other could, for a space, come into +manifest perception. The mother's heart began quickening into life a +sense of the mother's duty. Thus it was, when her oldest +child—named for herself, and with as loving and dependent a +nature—opened the chamber door, and coming up to her father, made +some request that he did not approve. To the mother's mind, her +desire was one that ought to have been granted; and, she felt, in an +instant, that the manner, as well as the fact of the father's +denial, were both unkind, and that Madeline's heart would be almost +broken. She did not err in this. The child went sobbing from the +room. +</P> + +<P> +How distinctly came before the mind of Mrs. Leslie a picture of the +past. She was, for a time, back in her father's house; and she felt, +for a time, the ever-present, considerate, loving kindness of one +who had made all sunshine in that early home. Slowly came back the +mind of Mrs. Leslie to the present, and she said to herself, not +passively, like one borne on the current of a down-rushing stream, +but resolutely, as one with a purpose to struggle—to suffer, and +yet be strong— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; my children will feel my loss. I could pass away and be at +rest. I could lie me down and sleep sweetly in the grave. But, is +all my work done? Can I leave these little ones to his tender mer—" +</P> + +<P> +She checked herself in the mental utterance of this sentiment, which +referred to her husband. But, the feeling was in her heart; and it +inspired her with a new purpose. Her thought, turned from herself, +and fixed, with a yearning love upon her children, gave to the blood +a quicker motion through the veins, and to her mind a new activity. +She could no longer remain passive, as she had been for hours, +brooding over her own unhappy state, but arose and left her chamber. +In another room she found her unhappy child, who had gone off to +brood alone over her disappointment, and to weep where none could +see her. +</P> + +<P> +"Madeline, dear!" said the mother, in a loving, sympathetic voice. +</P> + +<P> +Instantly the child flung herself into her arms, and laid her face, +sobbing, upon her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +Gently, yet wisely—for there came, in that moment, to Mrs. Leslie, +a clear perception of all her duty—did the mother seek to soften +Madeline's disappointment, and to inspire her with fortitude to +bear. Beyond her own expectation came success in this effort. The +reason she invented or imagined, for the father's refusal, satisfied +the child; and soon the clouded brow was lit up by the heart's +sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +From that hour, Mrs. Leslie was changed. From that hour, a new +purpose filled her heart. She could not leave her children, nor +could she take them with her if she passed away; and so, she +resolved to live for them, to forget her own suffering, in the +tenderness of maternal care. The mother had risen superior to the +unhappy, unappreciated wife. +</P> + +<P> +All marked the change; yet in none did it awaken more surprise than +in Mr. Leslie. He never fully understood its meaning; and, no +wonder, for he had never understood her from the beginning. He was +too cold and selfish to be able fully to appreciate her character or +relation to him as a wife. +</P> + +<P> +Yet, for all this change—though the long drooping form of Mrs. +Leslie regained something of its erectness, and her exhausted system +a degree of tension—the shadow passed not from her heart or brow; +nor did her cheeks grow warm again with the glow of health. The +delight of her life had failed; and now, she lived only for the +children whom God had given her. +</P> + +<P> +A man of Mr. Leslie's stamp of character too rarely grows wiser in +the true sense. Himself the centre of his world, it is but seldom +that he is able to think enough out of himself to scan the effect of +his daily actions upon others. If collisions take place, he thinks +only of the pain he feels, not of the pain he gives. He is ever +censuring; but rarely takes blame. During the earlier portions of +his married life, Mr. Leslie's mind had chafed a good deal at what +seemed to him Madeline's unreasonable and unwomanly conduct; the +soreness of this was felt even after the change in her exterior that +we have noticed, and he often indulged in the habit of mentally +writing bitter things against her. He had well nigh broken her +heart; and was yet impatient because she gave signs indicative of +pain. +</P> + +<P> +And so, as years wore on, the distance grew wider instead of +becoming less and less. The husband had many things to draw him +forth into the busy world, where he established various interests, +and sought pleasure in their pursuits, while the wife, seldom seen +abroad, buried herself at home, and gave her very life for her +children. +</P> + +<P> +But, even maternal love could not feed for very many years the flame +of her life. The oil was too nearly exhausted when that new supply +came. For a time, the light burned clearly; then it began to fail, +and ere the mother's tasks were half done, it went out in darkness. +</P> + +<P> +How heavy the shadows which then fell upon the household and upon +the heart of Edward Leslie! As he stood, alone, in the chamber of +death, with his eyes fixed upon the pale, wasted countenance, no +more to quicken with life, and felt on his neck the clinging arms +that were thrown around it a few moments before the last sigh of +mortality was breathed; and still heard the eager, "Kiss me, Edward, +once, before I die!"—a new light broke upon him,—and he was +suddenly stung by sharp and self-reproaching thoughts. Had he not +killed her, and, by the slowest and most agonizing process by which +murder can be committed? There was in his mind a startling +perception that such was the awful crime of which he had been +guilty. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, there were shadows on the heart of Edward Leslie; shadows that +never entirely passed away. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="office"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE THANKLESS OFFICE. +</H3> + +<P> +"AN object of real charity," said Andrew Lyon to his wife, as a poor +woman withdrew from the room in which they were seated. +</P> + +<P> +"If ever there was a worthy object, she is one," returned Mrs. Lyon. +"A widow, with health so feeble that even ordinary exertion is too +much for her; yet obliged to support, with the labor of her own +hands, not only herself, but three young children. I do not wonder +that she is behind with her rent." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I," said Mr. Lyon in a voice of sympathy. "How much did she say +was due to her landlord?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ten dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"She will not be able to pay it." +</P> + +<P> +"I fear not. How can she? I give her all my extra sewing, and have +obtained work for her from several ladies; but, with her best +efforts she can barely obtain food and decent clothing for herself +and babes." +</P> + +<P> +"Does it not seem hard," remarked Mr. Lyon, "that one like Mrs. +Arnold, who is so earnest in her efforts to take care of herself and +family, should not receive a helping hand from some one of the many +who could help her without feeling the effort? If I didn't find it +so hard to make both ends meet, I would pay off her arrears of rent +for her, and feel happy in so doing." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" exclaimed the kind-hearted wife, "how much I wish that we were +able to do this. But we are not." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you what we can do," said Mr. Lyon, in a cheerful +voice—"or, rather what I can do. It will be a very light matter +for, say ten persons, to give a dollar a-piece, in order to relieve +Mrs. Arnold from her present trouble. There are plenty who would +cheerfully contribute for this good purpose; all that is wanted is +some one to take upon himself the business of making the +collections. That task shall be mine." +</P> + +<P> +"How glad, James, to hear you say so," smilingly replied Mrs. Lyon. +"Oh! what a relief it will be to poor Mrs. Arnold. It will make her +heart as light as a feather. That rent has troubled her sadly. Old +Links, her landlord, has been worrying her about it a good deal, +and, only a week ago, threatened to put her things in the street if +she didn't pay up." +</P> + +<P> +"I should have thought of this before," remarked Andrew Lyon. "There +are hundreds of people who are willing enough to give if they were +only certain in regard to the object. Here is one worthy enough in +every way. Be it my business to present her claims to benevolent +consideration. Let me see. To whom shall I go? There are Jones, and +Green, and Tompkins. I can get a dollar from each of them. That will +be three dollars—and one from myself, will make four. Who else is +there? Oh! Malcolm! I'm sure of a dollar from him; and, also, from +Smith, Todd, and Perry." +</P> + +<P> +Confident in the success of his benevolent scheme, Mr. Lyon started +forth, early on the very next day, for the purpose of obtaining, by +subscription, the poor widow's rent. The first person he called on +was Malcolm. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, friend Lyon," said Malcolm, smiling blandly. "Good morning! +What can I do for you to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing for me, but something for a poor widow, who is behind with +her rent," replied Andrew Lyon. "I want just one dollar from you, +and as much more from some eight or nine as benevolent as yourself." +</P> + +<P> +At the words "poor widow," the countenance of Malcolm fell, and when +his visiter ceased, he replied in a changed and husky voice, +clearing his throat two or three times as he spoke, +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure she is deserving, Mr. Lyon?" The man's manner had +become exceedingly grave. +</P> + +<P> +"None more so," was the prompt answer. "She is in poor health, and +has three children to support with the product of her needle. If any +one needs assistance it is Mrs. Arnold." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold." +</P> + +<P> +"The same," replied Andrew Lyon. +</P> + +<P> +Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm +benevolence. But, he turned slowly away, and opening his +money-drawer, <I>very slowly</I>, toyed with his fingers amid its +contents. At length he took therefrom a dollar bill, and said, as he +presented it to Lyon,—sighing involuntarily as he did so— +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I must do my part. But, we are called upon so often." +</P> + +<P> +The ardor of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at +this unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the +glow of a pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment +his errand was made known. +</P> + +<P> +"I thank you in the widow's name," said he, as he took the dollar. +When he turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on +his feelings, as if he had asked the coldly-given favor for himself. +</P> + +<P> +It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call +upon Mr. Green, considered the "next best man" on his list. But he +entered his place of business with far less confidence than he had +felt when calling upon Malcolm. His story told, Green without a word +or smile, drew two half dollars from his pocket, and presented them. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," said Lyon. +</P> + +<P> +"Welcome," returned Green. +</P> + +<P> +Oppressed with a feeling of embarrassment, Lyon stood for a few +moments. Then bowing, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning," was coldly and formally responded. +</P> + +<P> +And thus the alms-seeker and alms-giver parted. +</P> + +<P> +"Better be at his shop, attending to his work," muttered Green to +himself, as his visitor retired. "Men ain't very apt to get along +too well in the world who spend their time in begging for every +object of charity that happens to turn up. And there are plenty of +such, dear knows. He's got a dollar out of me; may it do him, or the +poor widow he talked so glibly about, much good." +</P> + +<P> +Cold water had been poured upon the feelings of Andrew Lyon. He had +raised two dollars for the poor widow, but, at what a sacrifice for +one so sensitive as himself. Instead of keeping on in his work of +benevolence, he went to his shop, and entered upon the day's +employment. How disappointed he felt;—and this disappointment was +mingled with a certain sense of humiliation, as if he had been +asking alms for himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Catch me at this work again!" he said, half aloud, as his thoughts +dwelt upon what had so recently occurred. "But this is not right," +he added, quickly. "It is a weakness in me to feel so. Poor Mrs. +Arnold must be relieved; and it is my duty to see that she gets +relief. I had no thought of a reception like this. People can talk +of benevolence; but putting the hand in the pocket is another affair +altogether. I never dreamed that such men as Malcolm and Green could +be insensible to an appeal like the one I made." +</P> + +<P> +"I've got two dollars towards paying Mrs. Arnold's rent," he said to +himself, in a more cheerful tone, sometime afterwards; "and it will +go hard if I don't raise the whole amount for her. All are not like +Green and Malcolm. Jones is a kind-hearted man, and will instantly +respond to the call of humanity. I'll go and see him." +</P> + +<P> +So, off Andrew Lyon started to see this individual. +</P> + +<P> +"I've come begging, Mr. Jones," said he, on meeting him. And he +spoke in a frank, pleasant manner. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you've come to the wrong shop; that's all I have to say," was +the blunt answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say that, Mr. Jones. Hear my story, first." +</P> + +<P> +"I do say it, and I'm in earnest," returned Jones. "I feel as poor +as Job's turkey, to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"I only want a dollar to help a poor widow pay her rent," said Lyon. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, hang all the poor widows! If that's your game, you'll get +nothing here. I've got my hands full to pay my own rent. A nice time +I'd have in handing out a dollar to every poor widow in town to help +pay her rent! No, no, my friend, you can't get anything here." +</P> + +<P> +"Just as you feel about it," said Andrew Lyon. "There's no +compulsion in the matter." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I presume not," was rather coldly replied. +</P> + +<P> +Lyon returned to his shop, still more disheartened than before. He +had undertaken a thankless office. +</P> + +<P> +Nearly two hours elapsed before his resolution to persevere in the +good work he had begun came back with sufficient force to prompt to +another effort. Then he dropped in upon his neighbor Tompkins, to +whom he made known his errand. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes, I suppose I must do something in a case like this," said +Tompkins, with the tone and air of a man who was cornered. "But, +there are so many calls for charity, that we are naturally enough +led to hold on pretty tightly to our purse strings. Poor woman! I +feel sorry for her. How much do you want?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am trying to get ten persons, including myself, to give a dollar +each." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, here's my dollar." And Tompkins forced a smile to his face as +he handed over his contribution—but the smile did not conceal an +expression which said very plainly— +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you will not trouble me again in this way." +</P> + +<P> +"You may be sure I will not," muttered Lyon, as he went away. He +fully understood the meaning of the expression. +</P> + +<P> +Only one more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was +successful; but, there was something in the manner of the individual +who gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke. +</P> + +<P> +"And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of +rent paid off," says some one who has felt an interest in her favor. +</P> + +<P> +Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more +from his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to +undertake the thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent +for a fellow creature in need. He has learned that a great many who +refuse alms on the plea that the object presented is not worthy, are +but little more inclined to charitable deeds, when on this point +there is no question. +</P> + +<P> +How many who read this can sympathise with Andrew Lyon. Few men who +have hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time +in their lives, to seek aid for a fellow-creature in need. That +their office was a thankless one, they have too soon become aware. +Even those who responded to their call most liberally, in too many +instances gave in a way that left an unpleasant impression behind. +How quickly has the first glow of generous feeling, that sought to +extend itself to others, that they might share the pleasure of +humanity, been chilled; and, instead of finding the task an easy +one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, humiliating! Alas, +that this should be! That men should shut their hearts so +instinctively at the voice of charity. +</P> + +<P> +We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the +benevolent; but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see +themselves. At best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow-men +aid for the suffering and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all +sacrifice on his part, and the least that can be done is to honor +his disinterested regard for others in distress, and treat him with +delicacy and consideration. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="springs"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GOING TO THE SPRINGS; OR, VULGAR PEOPLE. +</H3> + +<P> +"I SUPPOSE you will all be off to Saratoga, in a week or two," said +Uncle Joseph Garland to his three nieces, as he sat chatting with +them and their mother, one hot day, about the first of July. +</P> + +<P> +"We're not going to Saratoga this year," replied Emily, the eldest, +with a toss of her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! And why not, Emily?" +</P> + +<P> +"Everybody goes to Saratoga, now." +</P> + +<P> +"Who do you mean by everybody, Emily?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I mean merchants, shop-keepers, and tradesmen, with their +wives and daughters, all mixed up together, into a kind of +hodge-podge. It used to be a fashionable place of resort—but people +that think any thing of themselves, don't go there now." +</P> + +<P> +"Bless me, child!" ejaculated old Uncle Joseph, in surprise. "This +is all new to me. But you were there last year." +</P> + +<P> +"I know. And that cured us all. There was not a day in which we were +not crowded down to the table among the most vulgar kind of people." +</P> + +<P> +"How, vulgar, Emily?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, there was Mr. Jones, the watchmaker, with his wife and two +daughters. I need not explain what I mean by vulgar, when I give you +that information." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot say that I have any clearer idea of what you mean, Emily." +</P> + +<P> +"You talk strangely, uncle! You do not suppose that we are going to +associate with the Joneses?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not say that I did. Still, I am in the dark as to what you +mean by the most vulgar kind of people." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, common people, brother," said Mrs. Ludlow, coming up to the +aid of her daughter. "Mr. Jones is only a watchmaker, and therefore +has no business to push himself and family into the company of +genteel people." +</P> + +<P> +"Saratoga is a place of public resort," was the quiet reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, genteel people will have to stay away, then, that's all. I, +at least, for one, am not going to be annoyed as I have been for the +last two or three seasons at Saratoga, by being thrown amongst all +sorts of people." +</P> + +<P> +"They never troubled me any," spoke up Florence Ludlow, the youngest +of the three sisters. "For my part, I liked Mary Jones very much. +She was——" +</P> + +<P> +"You are too much of a child to be able to judge in matters of this +kind," said the mother, interrupting Florence. +</P> + +<P> +Florence was fifteen; light-hearted and innocent. She had never been +able, thus far in life, to appreciate the exclusive principles upon +which her mother and sisters acted, and had, in consequence, +frequently fallen under their censure. Purity of heart, and the +genuine graces flowing from a truly feminine spirit, always +attracted her, no matter what the station of the individual in whose +society she happened to be thrown. The remark of her mother silenced +her, for the time, for experience had taught her that no good ever +resulted from a repetition of her opinions on a subject of this +kind. +</P> + +<P> +"And I trust she will ever remain the child she is, in these +matters," said Uncle Joseph, with emphasis. "It is the duty of every +one, sister, to do all that he can to set aside the false ideas of +distinction prevailing in the social world, and to build up on a +broader and truer foundation, a right estimate of men and things. +Florence, I have observed, discriminates according to the quality of +the person's mind into whose society she is thrown, and estimates +accordingly. But you, and Emily, and Adeline, judge of people +according to their rank in society—that is according to the +position to which wealth alone has raised them. In this way, and in +no other, can you be thrown so into association with 'all kinds of +people,' as to be really affected by them. For, the result of my +observation is, that in any circle where a mere external sign is the +passport to association, 'all sorts of people,' the good, the bad, +and the indifferent, are mingled. It is not a very hard thing for a +bad man to get rich, sister; but for a man of evil principles to +rise above them, is very hard, indeed; and is an occurrence that too +rarely happens. The consequence is, that they who are rich, are not +always the ones whom we should most desire to mingle with." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see that there is any use in our talking about these +things, brother," replied Mrs. Ludlow. "You know that you and I +never did agree in matters of this kind. As I have often told you, I +think you incline to be rather low in your social views." +</P> + +<P> +"How can that be a low view which regards the quality of another, +and estimates him accordingly?" was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't pretend to argue with you, on these subjects, brother; so +you will oblige me by dropping them," said Mrs. Ludlow, coloring, +and speaking in an offended tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well, never mind," Uncle Joseph replied, soothingly. "We will +drop them." +</P> + +<P> +Then turning to Emily, he continued— +</P> + +<P> +"And so your minds are made up not to go to Saratoga?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, where do you intend spending the summer months?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly know yet. But, if I have my say, we will take a trip in +one of the steamers. A flying visit to London would be delightful." +</P> + +<P> +"What does your father say to that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he won't listen to it. But I'll do my best to bring him +round—and so will Adeline. As for Florence, I believe I will ask +father to let her go to Saratoga with the Joneses." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have no very decided objections," was the quiet reply of +Florence. A half angry and reproving glance from her mother, warned +her to be more discreet in the declaration of her sentiments. +</P> + +<P> +"A young lady should never attempt to influence her father," said +Uncle Joseph. "She should trust to his judgment in all matters, and +be willing to deny herself any pleasure to which he objected. If +your father will not listen to your proposition to go to London, be +sure that he has some good reason for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't know that he has such very good reasons, beyond his +reluctance to go away from business," Emily replied, tossing her +head. +</P> + +<P> +"And should not you, as his daughter, consider this a most +conclusive reason? Ought not your father's wishes and feelings be +considered first?" +</P> + +<P> +"You may see it so, Uncle; but I cannot say that I do." +</P> + +<P> +"Emily," and Uncle Joseph spoke in an excited tone of voice, "If you +hold these sentiments, you are unworthy of such a man as your +father!" +</P> + +<P> +"Brother, you must not speak to the girls in that way," said Mrs. +Ludlow. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall always speak my thoughts in your house Margaret," was the +reply; "at least to you and the girls. As far as Mr. Ludlow is +concerned, I have rarely occasion to differ with him." +</P> + +<P> +A long silence followed, broken at last by an allusion to some other +subject; when a better understanding among all parties ensued. +</P> + +<P> +On that evening, Mr. Ludlow seemed graver than usual when he came +in. After tea, Emily said, breaking in upon a conversation that had +become somewhat interesting to Mr. Ludlow— +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not going to let you have a moment's peace, Pa, until you +consent to go to England with us this season." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid it will be a long time before I shall have any peace, +then, Emily," replied the father, with an effort to smile, but +evidently worried by the remark. This, Florence, who was sitting +close by him, perceived instantly, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can tell you, for one, Pa, that I don't wish to go. I'd +rather stay at home a hundred times." +</P> + +<P> +"It's no particular difference, I presume, what you like," remarked +Emily, ill-naturedly. "If you don't wish to go, I suppose no one +will quarrel with you for staying at home." +</P> + +<P> +"You are wrong to talk so, Emily," said Mr. Ludlow, calmly but +firmly, "and I cannot permit such remarks in my presence." +</P> + +<P> +Emily looked rebuked, and Mr. Ludlow proceeded. +</P> + +<P> +"As to going to London, that is altogether out of the question. The +reasons why it is so, are various, and I cannot now make you +acquainted with all of them. One is, that I cannot leave my business +so long as such a journey would require. Another is, that I do not +think it altogether right for me to indulge you in such views and +feelings as you and Adeline are beginning to entertain. You wish to +go to London, because you don't want to go to Saratoga, or to any +other of our watering places; and you don't want to go there, +because certain others, whom you esteem below you in rank, can +afford to enjoy themselves, and recruit their health at the same +places of public resort. All this I, do not approve, and cannot +encourage." +</P> + +<P> +"You certainly cannot wish us to associate with every one," said +Emily, in a tone less arrogant. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not, Emily," replied Mr. Ludlow; "but I do most decidedly +condemn the spirit from which you are now acting. It would exclude +others, many of whom, in moral character, are far superior to +yourself from enjoying the pleasant, health-imparting recreation of +a visit to the Springs, because it hurts your self-importance to be +brought into brief contact with them." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't understand what you mean by speaking of these kind of +people as superior in moral character to us," Mrs. Ludlow remarked. +</P> + +<P> +"I said some of them. And, in this, I mean what I say. Wealth and +station in society do not give moral tone. They are altogether +extraneous, and too frequently exercise a deteriorating influence +upon the character. There is Thomas, the porter in my store—a +plain, poor man, of limited education; yet possessing high moral +qualities, that I would give much to call my own. This man's +character I esteem far above that of many in society to whom no one +thinks of objecting. There are hundreds and thousands of humble and +unassuming persons like him, far superior in the high moral +qualities of mind to the mass of self-esteeming exclusives, who +think the very air around them tainted by their breath. Do you +suppose that I would enjoy less the pleasures of a few weeks at +Saratoga, because Thomas was there? I would, rather, be gratified to +see him enjoying a brief relaxation, if his duties at the store +could be remitted in my absence." +</P> + +<P> +There was so much of the appearance of truth in what Mr. Ludlow +said, combined with a decided tone and manner, that neither his wife +or daughters ventured a reply. But they had no affection for the +truth he uttered, and of course it made no salutary impression on +their minds. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall we do, Ma?" asked Adeline, as they sat with their +mother, on the next afternoon. "We must go somewhere this summer, +and Pa seems in earnest about not letting us visit London." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, I am sure, child," was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't think of going to Saratoga," said Emily, in a positive +tone. +</P> + +<P> +"The Emmersons are going," Adeline remarked. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" asked Emily, in a tone of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Victorine told me so this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"She did!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I met her at Mrs. Lemmington's and she said that they were all +going next week." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand that," said Emily, musingly. +</P> + +<P> +"It was only last week that Victorine told me that they were done +going to Saratoga; that the place had become too common. It had been +settled, she said, that they were to go out in the next steamer." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Emmerson, I believe, would not consent, and so, rather than not +go anywhere, they concluded to visit Saratoga, especially as the +Lesters, and Milfords, and Luptons are going." +</P> + +<P> +"Are they all going?" asked Emily, in renewed surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"So Victorine said." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I declare! there is no kind of dependence to be placed in +people now-a-days. They all told me that they could not think of +going to such a vulgar place as Saratoga again." +</P> + +<P> +Then, after a pause, Emily resumed, +</P> + +<P> +"As it will never do to stay at home, we will have to go somewhere. +What do you think of the Virginia Springs, Ma?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think that I am not going there, to be jolted half to death in a +stage coach by the way." +</P> + +<P> +"Where, then, shall we go?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, unless to Saratoga." +</P> + +<P> +"Victorine said," remarked Adeline, "that a large number of +distinguished visiters were to be there, and that it was thought the +season would be the gayest spent for some time." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose we will have to go, then," said Emily. +</P> + +<P> +"I am ready," responded Adeline. +</P> + +<P> +"And so am I," said Florence. +</P> + +<P> +That evening Mr. Ludlow was graver and more silent than usual. After +tea, as he felt no inclination to join in the general conversation +about the sayings and doings of distinguished and fashionable +individuals, he took a newspaper, and endeavored to become +interested in its contents. But he tried in vain. There was +something upon his mind that absorbed his attention at the same time +that it oppressed his feelings. From a deep reverie he was at length +roused by Emily, who said— +</P> + +<P> +"So, Pa, you are determined not to let us go out in the next +steamer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't talk to me on that subject any more, if you please," replied +Mr. Ludlow, much worried at the remark. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's all given up now," continued Emily, "and we've made up +our minds to go to Saratoga. How soon will you be able to go with +us?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not just now," was the brief, evasive reply. +</P> + +<P> +"We don't want to go until next week." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not sure that I can go even then." +</P> + +<P> +"O, but we must go then, Pa." +</P> + +<P> +"You cannot go without me," said Mr. Ludlow, in a grave tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not," replied Emily and Adeline at the same moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose, then, I cannot leave the city next week?" +</P> + +<P> +"But you can surely." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid not. Business matters press upon me, and will, I fear, +engage my exclusive attention for several weeks to come." +</P> + +<P> +"O, but indeed you must lay aside business," said Mrs. Ludlow. "It +will never do for us to stay at home, you knows during the season +when everybody is away." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be very sorry if circumstances arise to prevent you having +your regular summer recreation," was replied, in a serious, even sad +tone. "But, I trust my wife and daughters will acquiesce with +cheerfulness." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, indeed, Pa! We never can stay at home," said Emily, with a +distressed look. "How would it appear? What would people say if we +were to remain in the city during all the summer?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, Emily, that you should consider that as having any +relation to the matter. What have other people to do with matters +which concerns us alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"You talk very strangely of late, Mr. Ludlow," said his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I have reason for so doing," he responded, a shadow +flitting across his face. +</P> + +<P> +An embarrassing silence ensued, which was broken, at last, by Mr. +Ludlow. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," he began, "there may occur no better time than the +present, to apprise you all of a matter that must, sooner or later, +become known to you. We will have to make an effort to reduce our +expenses—and it seems to me that this matter of going to the +Springs, which will cost some three or four hundred dollars, might +as well be dispensed with. Business is in a worse condition than I +have ever known it; and I am sustaining, almost daily, losses that +are becoming alarming. Within the last six weeks I have lost, beyond +hope, at least twenty thousand dollars. How much more will go I am +unable to say. But there are large sums due me that may follow the +course of that already gone. Under these circumstances, I am driven +to the necessity of prudence in all my expenditures." +</P> + +<P> +"But three or four hundred are not much, Pa," Emily urged, in a +husky voice, and with dimmed eyes. For the fear of not being able to +go somewhere, was terrible to her. None but vulgar people staid at +home during the summer season. +</P> + +<P> +"It is too large a sum to throw away now. So I think you had all +better conclude at once not to go from home this summer," said Mr. +Ludlow. +</P> + +<P> +A gush of tears from Emily and Adeline followed this annunciation, +accompanied by a look of decided disapprobation from the mother. Mr. +Ludlow felt deeply tried, and for some moments his resolution +wavered; but reason came to his aid, and he remained firm. He was +accounted a very rich merchant. In good times, he had entered into +business, and prosecuted it with great energy. The consequence was, +that he had accumulated money rapidly. The social elevation +consequent upon this, was too much for his wife. Her good sense +could not survive it. She not only became impressed with the idea, +that, because she was richer, she was better than others, but that +only such customs were to be tolerated in "good society," as were +different from prevalent usages in the mass. Into this idea her two +eldest daughters were thoroughly inducted. Mr. Ludlow, immersed in +business, thought little about such matters, and suffered himself to +be led into almost anything that his wife and daughters proposed. +But Mrs. Ludlow's brother—Uncle Joseph, as he was called—a +bachelor, and a man of strong common sense, steadily opposed his +sister in her false notions, but with little good effect. Necessity +at last called into proper activity the good sense of Mr. Ludlow, +and he commenced the opposition that has just been noticed. After +reflecting some time upon the matter, he resolved not to assent to +his family leaving home at all during the summer. +</P> + +<P> +All except Florence were exceedingly distressed at this. She +acquiesced with gentleness and patience, although she had much +desired to spend a few weeks at Saratoga. But Mrs. Ludlow, Emily, +and Adeline, closed up the front part of the house, and gave +directions to the servants not to answer the door bell, nor to do +anything that would give the least suspicion that the family were in +town. Then ensconcing themselves in the back buildings of their +dwelling, they waited in gloomy indolence for the "out of the city" +season to pass away; consoling themselves with the idea, that if +they were not permitted to join the fashionables at the Springs, it +would at lest be supposed that they had gone some where into the +country, and thus they hoped to escape the terrible penalty of +losing <I>caste</I> for not conforming to an indispensable rule of high +life. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Ludlow was compelled to submit to all this, and he did so +without much opposition; but it all determined him to commence a +steady opposition to the false principles which prompted such absurd +observances. As to Uncle Joseph, he was indignant, and failing to +gain admittance by way of the front door after one or two trials, +determined not to go near his sister and nieces, a promise which he +kept for a few weeks, at least. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime, every thing was passing off pleasantly at Saratoga. Among +the distinguished and undistinguished visitors there, was Mary +Jones, and her father, a man of both wealth and worth, +notwithstanding he was only a watchmaker and jeweller. Mary was a +girl of no ordinary character. With beauty of person far exceeding +that of the Misses Ludlow, she had a well cultivated mind, and was +far more really and truly accomplished than they were. Necessarily, +therefore, she attracted attention at the Springs; and this had been +one cause of Emily's objection to her. +</P> + +<P> +A day or two after her arrival at Saratoga, she was sitting near a +window of the public parlor of one of the hotels, when a young man, +named Armand, whom she had seen there several times before, during +the watering season, in company with Emily Ludlow, with whose family +he appeared to be on intimate terms came up to her and introduced +himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me, Miss Jones," said he, "but not seeing any of the Miss +Ludlows here, I presumed that you might be able to inform me whether +they intend visiting Saratoga or not, this season, and, therefore, I +have broken through all formalities in addressing you. You are well +acquainted with Florence, I believe?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, sir," Mary replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Then perhaps you can answer my question?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe I can, sir. I saw Florence several times within the last +week or two; and she says that they shall not visit any of the +Springs this season." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! And how comes that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe the reason is no secret," Mary replied, utterly +unconscious that any one could be ashamed of a right motive, and +that an economical one. "Florence tells me that her father has met +with many heavy losses in business; and that they think it best not +to incur any unnecessary expenses. I admire such a course in them." +</P> + +<P> +"And so do I, most sincerely," replied Mr. Armand. Then, after +thinking for a moment, he added— +</P> + +<P> +"I will return to the city in the next boat. All of their friends +being away, they must feel exceedingly lonesome." +</P> + +<P> +"It will certainly be a kind act, Mr. Armand, and one, the motive +for which they cannot but highly appreciate," said Mary, with an +inward glow of admiration. +</P> + +<P> +It was about eleven o'clock on the next day that Mr. Armand pulled +the bell at the door of Mr. Ludlow's beautiful dwelling, and then +waited with a feeling of impatience for the servant to answer the +summons. But he waited in vain. No servant came. He rang again, and +again waited long enough for a servant to come half a dozen times. +Then he looked up at the house and saw that all the shutters were +closed; and down upon the marble steps, and perceived that they were +covered with dust and dirt; and on the bell-handle, and noted its +loss of brightness. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Jones must have been mistaken," he said to himself, as he gave +the bell a third pull, and then waited, but in vain, for the +hall-door to be swung open. +</P> + +<P> +"Who can it be?" asked Emily, a good deal disturbed, as the bell +rang violently for the third time, and in company with Adeline, went +softly into the parlor to take a peep through one of the shutters. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Armand, as I live!" she ejaculated, in a low, husky whisper, +turning pale. "I would not have <I>him</I> know that we are in town for +the world!" +</P> + +<P> +And then she stole away quietly, with her heart leaping and +fluttering in her bosom, lest he should instinctively perceive her +presence. +</P> + +<P> +Finding that admission was not to be obtained, Mr. Armand concluded +that the family had gone to some other watering place, and turned +away irresolute as to his future course. As he was passing down +Broadway, he met Uncle Joseph. +</P> + +<P> +"So the Ludlows are all out of town," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"So they are not!" replied Uncle Joseph, rather crustily, for he had +just been thinking over their strange conduct, and it irritated him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I have been ringing there for a quarter of an hour, and no one +came to the door; and the house is all shut up." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; and if you had ringing for a quarter of a century, it would +all have been the same." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't understand you," said Mr. Armand. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, the truth is, Mr. Ludlow cannot go to the Springs with them +this season, and they are so afraid that it will become known that +they are burying themselves in the back part of the house, and +denying all visiters." +</P> + +<P> +"Why so? I cannot comprehend it." +</P> + +<P> +"All fashionable people, you know, are expected to go to the +sea-shore or the Springs; and my sister and her two eldest daughters +are so silly, as to fear that they will lose <I>caste</I>, if it is known +that they could not go this season. Do you understand now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's the plain A B C of the case. But it provokes me out of +all patience with them." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a strange idea, certainly," said Mr. Armand, in momentary +abstraction of thought; and then bidding Uncle Joseph good morning, +he walked hastily along, his mind in a state of fermentation. +</P> + +<P> +The truth was, Mr. Armand had become much attached to Emily Ludlow, +for she was a girl of imposing appearance and winning manners. But +this staggered him. If she were such a slave to fashion and +observance, she was not the woman for his wife. As he reflected upon +the matter, and reviewed his intercourse with her, he could remember +many things in her conversation and conduct that he did not like. He +could distinctly detect a degree of self-estimation consequent upon +her station in society, that did not meet his approbation—because +it indicated a weakness of mind that he had no wish to have in a +wife. The wealth of her father he had not regarded, nor did now +regard, for he was himself possessor of an independence. +</P> + +<P> +Two days after, he was again at Saratoga. The brief interview that +had passed between him and Mary Jones was a sufficient introduction +for him; and, taking advantage of it, he threw himself in her way +frequently, and the more he saw of her, the more did he admire her +winning gentleness, sweet temper, and good sense. When he returned +to New York, he was more than half in love with her. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Armand has not been to see us once this fall," said Adeline, +one evening in October. They were sitting in a handsomely furnished +parlor in a neat dwelling, comfortable and commodious, but not so +splendid as the one they had occupied a few months previous. Mr. +Ludlow's affairs had become so embarrassed, that he determined, in +spite of the opposition of his family, to reduce his expenses. This +resolution he carried out amid tears and remonstrances—for he could +not do it in any other way. +</P> + +<P> +"Who could expect him to come <I>here?</I>" Emily replied, to the remark +of her sister. "Not I, certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe that would make any difference with him," Florence +ventured to say, for it was little that she could say, that did not +meet with opposition. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you?" asked Adeline. +</P> + +<P> +"Because Mary Jones—" +</P> + +<P> +"Mary Jones again!" ejaculated Emily. "I believe you don't think of +anybody but Mary Jones. I'm surprised that Ma lets you visit that +girl!" +</P> + +<P> +"As good people as I am visit her," replied Florence. "I've seen +those there who would be welcome here." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you had waited until I had finished my sentence, you would have +known before now. Mary Jones lives in a house no better than this, +and Mr. Armand goes to see her." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe it!" said Emily, with emphasis. +</P> + +<P> +"Just as you like about that. Seeing is believing, they say, and as +I have seen him there, I can do no less than believe he was there." +</P> + +<P> +"When did you see him there?" Emily now asked with eager interest, +while her face grew pale. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw him there last evening—and he sat conversing with Mary in a +way that showed them to be no strangers to each other." +</P> + +<P> +A long, embarrassed, and painful silence followed this announcement. +At last, Emily got up and went off to her chamber, where she threw +herself upon her bed and burst into tears. After these ceased to +flow, and her mind had become, in some degree, tranquillized, her +thoughts became busy. She remembered that Mr. Armand had called, +while they were hiding away in fear lest it should be known that +they were not on a fashionable visit to some watering place—how he +had rung and rung repeatedly, as if under the idea that they were +there, and how his countenance expressed disappointment as she +caught a glimpse of it through the closed shutters. With all this +came, also, the idea that he might have discovered that they were at +home, and have despised the principle from which they acted, in thus +shutting themselves up, and denying all visiters. This thought was +exceedingly painful. It was evident to her, that it was not their +changed circumstances that kept him away—for had he not visited +Mary Jones? +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Joseph came in a few evenings afterwards, and during his visit +the following conversation took place. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Armand visits Mary Jones, I am told," Adeline remarked, as an +opportunity for saying so occurred. +</P> + +<P> +"He does? Well, she is a good girl—one in a thousand," replied +Uncle Joseph. +</P> + +<P> +"She is only a watchmaker's daughter," said Emily, with an +ill-concealed sneer. +</P> + +<P> +"And you are only a merchant's daughter. Pray, what is the +difference?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, a good deal of difference!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well state it." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Jones is nothing but a mechanic." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who thinks of associating with mechanics?" +</P> + +<P> +"There may be some who refuse to do so; but upon what grounds do +they assume a superiority?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because they are really above them." +</P> + +<P> +"But in what respect?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are better and more esteemed in society." +</P> + +<P> +"As to their being better, that is only an assumption. But I see I +must bring the matter right home. Would you be really any worse, +were your father a mechanic?" +</P> + +<P> +"The question is not a fair one. You suppose an impossible case." +</P> + +<P> +"Not so impossible as you might imagine. You are the daughter of a +mechanic." +</P> + +<P> +"Brother, why will you talk so? I am out of all patience with you!" +said Mrs. Ludlow, angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"And yet, no one knows better than you, that I speak only the truth. +No one knows better than you, that Mr. Ludlow served many years at +the trade of a shoemaker. And that, consequently, these high-minded +young ladies, who sneer at mechanics, are themselves a shoemaker's +daughters—a fact that is just as well known abroad as anything else +relating to the family. And now, Misses Emily and Adeline, I hope +you will hereafter find it in your hearts to be a little more +tolerant of mechanics daughters." +</P> + +<P> +And thus saying, Uncle Joseph rose, and bidding them good night, +left them to their own reflections, which were not of the most +pleasant character, especially as the mother could not deny the +allegation he had made. +</P> + +<P> +During the next summer, Mr. Ludlow, whose business was no longer +embarrassed, and who had become satisfied that, although he should +sink a large proportion of a handsome fortune, he would still have a +competence left, and that well secured—proposed to visit Saratoga, +as usual. There was not a dissenting voice—no objecting on the +score of meeting vulgar people there. The painful fact disclosed by +Uncle Joseph, of their plebeian origin, and the marriage of Mr. +Armand—whose station in society was not to be questioned—with Mary +Jones, the watchmaker's daughter, had softened and subdued their +tone of feeling, and caused them to set up a new standard of +estimation. The old one would not do, for, judged by that, they +would have to hide their diminished heads. Their conduct at the +Springs was far less objectionable than it had been heretofore, +partaking of the modest and retiring in deportment, rather than the +assuming, the arrogant, and the self-sufficient. Mrs. Armand was +there, with her sister, moving in the first circles; and Emily +Ludlow and her sister Adeline felt honored rather than humiliated by +an association with them. It is to be hoped they will yet make +sensible women. +</P> +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="wife"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WIFE. +</H3> + +<P> +"I AM hopeless!" said the young man, in a voice that was painfully +desponding. "Utterly hopeless! Heaven knows I have tried hard to get +employment! But no one has need of my service. The pittance doled +out by your father, and which comes with a sense of humiliation that +is absolutely heart-crushing, is scarcely sufficient to provide this +miserable abode, and keep hunger from our door. But for your sake, I +would not touch a shilling of his money if I starved." +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, dear Edward!" returned the gentle girl, who had left father, +mother, and a pleasant home, to share the lot of him she loved; and +she laid a finger on his lips, while she drew her arm around him. +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes," said the young man, "I cannot endure this life much longer. +The native independence of my character revolts at our present +condition. Months have elapsed, and yet the ability I possess finds +no employment. In this country every avenue is crowded." +</P> + +<P> +The room in which they were overlooked the sea. +</P> + +<P> +"But there is another land, where, if what we hear be true, ability +finds employment and talent a sure reward." And, as Agnes said this, +in a voice of encouragement, she pointed from the window towards the +expansive waters that stretched far away towards the south and west. +</P> + +<P> +"America!" The word was uttered in a quick, earnest voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes, I thank you for this suggestion! Return to the pleasant home +you left for one who cannot procure for you even the plainest +comforts of life, and I will cross the ocean to seek a better +fortune in that land of promise. The separation, painful to both, +will not, I trust, be long." +</P> + +<P> +"Edward," replied the young wife with enthusiasm, as she drew her +arm more tightly about his neck, "I will never leave thee nor +forsake thee! Where thou goest I will go, and where thou liest I +will lie. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you forsake all," said Edward, in surprise, "and go far away +with me into a strange land?" +</P> + +<P> +"It will be no stranger to me than it will be to you, Edward." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, Agnes! I will not think of that," said Edward Marvel, in a +positive, voice. "If I go to that land of promise, it must first be +alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Alone!" A shadow fell over the face of Agnes. "Alone! It cannot—it +must not be!" +</P> + +<P> +"But think, Agnes. If I go alone, it will cost me but a small sum to +live until I find some business, which may not be for weeks, or even +months after I arrive in the New World." +</P> + +<P> +"What if you were to be sick?" The frame of Agnes slightly quivered +as she made this suggestion. +</P> + +<P> +"We will not think of that." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot help thinking of it, Edward. Therefore entreat me not to +leave thee, nor to return from following after thee. Where thou +goest, I will go." +</P> + +<P> +Marvel's countenance became more serious. +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes," said the young man, after he had reflected for some time, +"let us think no more about this. I cannot take you far away to this +strange country. We will go back to London. Perhaps another trial +there may be more successful." +</P> + +<P> +After a feeble opposition on the part of Agnes, it was finally +agreed that Edward should go once more to London, while she made a +brief visit to her parents. If he found employment, she was to join +him immediately; if not successful, they were then to talk further +of the journey to America. +</P> + +<P> +With painful reluctance, Agnes went back to her father's house, the +door of which ever stood open to receive her; and she went back +alone. The pride of her husband would not permit him to cross the +threshold of a dwelling where his presence was not a welcome one. In +eager suspense, she waited for a whole week ere a letter came from +Edward. The tone of this letter was as cheerful and as hopeful as it +was possible for the young man to write. But, as yet, he had found +no employment. A week elapsed before another came. It opened in +these words:— +</P> + +<P> +"MY DEAR, DEAR AGNES! Hopeless of doing anything here, I have turned +my thoughts once more to the land of promise; and, when you receive +this, I will be on my journey thitherward. Brief, very brief, I +trust, will be our separation. The moment I obtain employment, I +will send for you, and then our re-union will take place with a +fulness of delight such as we have not yet experienced." +</P> + +<P> +Long, tender, and hopeful was the letter; but it brought a burden of +grief and heart-sickness to the tender young creature, who felt +almost as if she had been deserted by the one who was dear to her as +her own life. +</P> + +<P> +Only a few days had Edward Marvel been at sea, when he became +seriously indisposed, and, for the remaining part of the voyage, was +so ill as to be unable to rise from his berth. He had embarked in a +packet ship from Liverpool bound for New York, where he arrived, at +the expiration of five weeks. Then he was removed to the sick wards +of the hospital on Staten Island, and it was the opinion of the +physicians there that he would die. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you friends in this country?" inquired a nurse who was +attending the young man. This question was asked on the day after he +had become an inmate of the hospital. +</P> + +<P> +"None," was the feebly uttered reply. +</P> + +<P> +"You are very ill," said the nurse. +</P> + +<P> +The sick man looked anxiously into the face of his attendant. +</P> + +<P> +"You have friends in England?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any communication to make to them?" +</P> + +<P> +Marvel closed his eyes, and remained for some time silent. +</P> + +<P> +"If you will get me a pen and some paper, I will write a few lines," +said he at length. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid you are too weak for the effort," replied the nurse. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me try," was briefly answered. +</P> + +<P> +The attendant left the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there any one in your part of the house named Marvel?" asked a +physician, meeting the nurse soon after she had left the sick man's +room. "There's a young woman down in the office inquiring for a +person of that name." +</P> + +<P> +"Marvel—Marvel?" the nurse shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you certain?" remarked the physician. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm certain there is no one by that name for whom any here would +make inquiries. There's a young Englishman who came over in the last +packet, whose name is something like that you mention. But he has no +friends in this country." +</P> + +<P> +The physician passed on without further remark. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after, the nurse returned to Marvel with the writing materials +for which he had asked. She drew a table to the side of his bed, and +supported him as he leaned over and tried, with an unsteady hand, to +write. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you a wife at home?" asked the nurse; her eyes had rested on +the first words he wrote. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," sighed the young man, as the pen dropped from his fingers, +and he leaned back heavily, exhausted by even the slight effort he +had made. +</P> + +<P> +"Your name is Marvel?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"A young woman was here just now inquiring if we had a patient by +that name." +</P> + +<P> +"By my name?" There was a slight indication of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Marvel closed his eyes, and did not speak for some moments. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see her?" he asked at length, evincing some interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Did she find the one for whom she was seeking?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is no person here, except yourself, whose name came near to +the one she mentioned. As you said you had no friends in this +country, we did not suppose that you were meant." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no." And the sick man shook his head slowly. "There is none to +ask for me. Did you say it was a young woman?" he inquired, soon +after. His mind dwelt on the occurrence. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. A young woman with a fair complexion and deep blue eyes." +</P> + +<P> +Marvel looked up quickly into the face of the attendant, while a +flush came into his cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"She was a slender young girl, with light hair, and her face was +pale, as from trouble." +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes! Agnes!" exclaimed Marvel, rising up. "But, no, no," he +added, mournfully, sinking back again upon the bed; "that cannot be. +I left her far away over the wide ocean." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you write?" said the nurse after some moments. +</P> + +<P> +The invalid, without unclosing his eyes, slowly shook his head. A +little while the attendant lingered in his room, and then retired. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear, dear Agnes!" murmured Edward Marvel, closing his eyes, and +letting his thoughts go, swift-winged, across the billow sea. "Shall +I never look on your sweet face again? Never feel your light arms +about my neck, or your breath warm on my cheek? Oh, that I had never +left you! Heaven give thee strength to bear the trouble in store!" +</P> + +<P> +For many minutes he lay thus, alone, with his eyes closed, in sad +self-communion. Then he heard the door open and close softly; but he +did not look up. His thoughts were far, far away. Light feet +approached quickly; but he scarcely heeded them. A form bent over +him; but his eyes remained shut, nor did he open them until warm +lips were pressed against his own, and a low voice, thrilling +through his whole being, said— +</P> + +<P> +"Edward!" +</P> + +<P> +"Agnes!" was his quick response, while his arms were thrown eagerly +around the neck of his wife, "Agnes! Agnes! Have I awakened from a +fearful dream?" +</P> + +<P> +Yes, it was indeed her of whom he had been thinking. The moment she +received his letter, informing her that he had left for the United +States, she resolved to follow him in the next steamer that sailed. +This purpose she immediately avowed to her parents. At first, they +would not listen to her; but, finding that she would, most probably, +elude their vigilance, and get away in spite of all efforts to +prevent her, they deemed it more wise and prudent to provide her +with everything necessary for the voyage, and to place her in the +care of the captain of the steamship in which she was to go. In New +York they had friends, to whom they gave her letters fully +explanatory of her mission, and earnestly commending her to their +care and protection. +</P> + +<P> +Two weeks before the ship in which Edward Marvel sailed reached her +destination, Agnes was in New York. Before her departure, she had +sought, but in vain, to discover the name of the vessel in which her +husband had embarked. On arriving in the New World, she was +therefore uncertain whether he had preceded her in a steamer, or was +still lingering on the way. +</P> + +<P> +The friends to whom Agnes brought letters received her with great +kindness, and gave her all the advice and assistance needed under +the circumstances. But two weeks went by without a word of +intelligence on the one subject that absorbed all her thoughts. +Sadly was her health beginning to suffer. Sunken eyes and pale +cheeks attested the weight of suffering that was on her. +</P> + +<P> +One day it was announced that a Liverpool packet had arrived with +the ship fever on board, and that several of the passengers had been +removed to the hospital. +</P> + +<P> +A thrill of fear went through the heart of the anxious wife. It was +soon ascertained that Marvel had been a passenger on board of this +vessel; but, from some cause, nothing in regard to him beyond this +fact could she learn. Against all persuasion, she started for the +hospital, her heart oppressed with a fearful presentiment that he +was either dead or struggling in the grasp of a fatal malady. On +making inquiry at the hospital, she was told the one she sought was +not there, and she was about returning to the city, when the truth +reached her ears. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he very ill?" she asked, struggling to compose herself. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he is extremely ill," was the reply. "And it might not be well +for you, under the circumstances, to see him at present." +</P> + +<P> +"Not well for his wife to see him?" returned Agnes. Tears sprung to +her eyes at the thought of not being permitted to come near in his +extremity. "Do not say that. Oh, take me to him! I will save his +life." +</P> + +<P> +"You must be very calm," said the nurse; for it was with her she was +talking. "The least excitement may be fatal." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I will be calm and prudent." Yet, even while she spoke, her +frame quivered with excitement. +</P> + +<P> +But she controlled herself when the moment of meeting came, and, +though her unexpected appearance produced a shock, it was salutary +rather than injurious. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear, dear Agnes!" said Edward Marvel, a month from this time, +as they sat alone in the chamber of a pleasant house in New York, "I +owe you my life. But for your prompt resolution to follow me across +the sea, I would, in all probability, now be sleeping the sleep of +death. Oh, what would I not suffer for your sake!" +</P> + +<P> +As Marvel uttered the last sentence, a troubled expression flitted +over his countenance. Agnes gazed tenderly into his face, and +asked— +</P> + +<P> +"Why this look of doubt and anxiety?" +</P> + +<P> +"Need I answer the question?" returned the young man. "It is, thus +far, no better with me than when we left our old home. Though health +is coming back through every fibre, and my heart is filled with an +eager desire to relieve these kind friends of the burden of our +support, yet no prospect opens." +</P> + +<P> +No cloud came stealing darkly over the face of the young wife. The +sunshine, so far from being dimmed, was brighter. +</P> + +<P> +"Let not your heart be troubled," said she, with a beautiful smile. +"All will come out right." +</P> + +<P> +"Right, Agnes? It is not right for me thus to depend on strangers." +</P> + +<P> +"You need depend but a little while longer. I have already made warm +friends here, and, through them, secured for you employment. A good +place awaits you so soon as strength to fill it comes back to your +weakened frame." +</P> + +<P> +"Angel!" exclaimed the young man, overcome with emotion at so +unexpected a declaration. +</P> + +<P> +"No, not an angel," calmly replied Agnes, "only a wife. And now, +dear Edward," she added, "never again, in any extremity, think for a +moment of meeting trials or enduring privations alone. Having taken +a wife, you cannot move safely on your journey unless she moves by +your side." +</P> + +<P> +"Angel! Yes, you are my good angel," repeated Edward. +</P> + +<P> +"Call me what you will," said Agnes, with a sweet smile, as she +brushed, with her delicate hand, the hair from his temples; "but let +me be your wife. I ask no better name, no higher station." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="happy"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NOT GREAT, BUT HAPPY. +</H3> + +<P> +How pure and sweet is the love of young hearts! How little does it +contain of earth—how much of heaven! No selfish passions mar its +beauty. Its tenderness, its pathos, its devotion, who does not +remember, even when the sere leaves of autumn are rustling beneath +his feet? How little does it regard the cold and calculating +objections of worldly-mindedness. They are heard but as a passing +murmur. The deep, unswerving confidence of young love, what a +blessed thing it is! Heart answers to heart without an unequal +throb. The world around is bright and beautiful: the atmosphere is +filled with spring's most delicious perfumes. +</P> + +<P> +From this dream—why should we call it a dream?—Is it not a blessed +reality?—Is not young, fervent love, true love? Alas! this is an +evil world, and man's heart is evil. From this dream there is too +often a tearful awaking. Often, too often, hearts are suddenly torn +asunder, and wounds are made that never heal, or, healing, leave +hard, disfiguring scars. But this is not always so. Pure love +sometimes finds its own sweet reward. I will relate one precious +instance. +</P> + +<P> +The Baron Holbein, after having passed ten years of active life in a +large metropolitan city of Europe, retired to his estate in a +beautiful and fertile valley, far away from the gay circle of +fashion—far away from the sounds of political rancor with which he +had been too long familiar—far away from the strife of selfish men +and contending interests. He had an only child, Nina, just fifteen +years of age. For her sake, as well as to indulge his love of quiet +and nature, he had retired from the world. Her mother had been with +the angels for some years. Without her wise counsels and watchful +care, the father feared to leave his innocent-minded child exposed +to the temptations that must gather around her in a large city. +</P> + +<P> +For a time Nina missed her young companions, and pined to be with +them. The old castle was lonely, and the villagers did not interest +her. Her father urged her to go among the peasantry, and, as an +inducement, placed a considerable sum of money at her command, to be +used as she might see best in works of benevolence. Nina's heart was +warm, and her impulses generous. The idea pleased her, and she acted +upon it. She soon found employment enough both for her time and the +money placed at her disposal. Among the villagers was a woman named +Blanche Delebarre, a widow, whose only son had been from home since +his tenth year, under the care of an uncle, who had offered to +educate him, and fit him for a life of higher usefulness than that +of a mere peasant. There was a gentleness about this woman, and +something that marked her as superior to her class. Yet she was an +humble villager, dependent upon the labor of her own hands, and +claimed no higher station. +</P> + +<P> +Nina became acquainted with Blanche soon after the commencement of +her residence at the castle. When she communicated to her the wishes +of her father, and mentioned the money that had been placed at her +disposal, the woman took her hand and said, while a beautiful light +beamed from her countenance— +</P> + +<P> +"It is more blessed to give than to receive, my child. Happy are +they who have the power to confer benefits, and who do so with +willing hearts. I fear, however, that you will find your task a +difficult one. Everywhere are the idle and undeserving, and these +are more apt to force themselves forward as objects of benevolence +than the truly needy and meritorious. As I know every one in the +village, perhaps I may be able to guide you to such objects as +deserve attention." +</P> + +<P> +"My good mother," replied Nina, "I will confide in your judgment. I +will make you my almoner." +</P> + +<P> +"No, my dear young lady, it will be better for you to dispense with +your own hands. I will merely aid you to make a wise dispensation." +</P> + +<P> +"I am ready to begin. Show me but the way." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you see that company of children on the green?" said Blanche. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And a wild company they are." +</P> + +<P> +"For hours each day they assemble as you see them, and spend their +time in idle sports. Sometimes they disagree and quarrel. That is +worse than idleness. Now, come here. Do you see that little cottage +yonder on the hill-side, with vines clustering around the door?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"An aged mother and her daughter reside there. The labor of the +daughter's hands provides food and raiment for both. These children +need instruction, and Jennet Fleury is fully qualified to impart it. +Their parents cannot, or will not, pay to send them to school, and +Jennet must receive some return for her labors, whatever they be." +</P> + +<P> +"I see it all," cried Nina with animation. "There must be a school +in the village. Jennet shall be the teacher." +</P> + +<P> +"If this can be done, it will be a great blessing," said Blanche. +</P> + +<P> +"It shall be done. Let us go over to that sweet little cottage at +once and see Jennet." +</P> + +<P> +The good Blanche Delebarre made no objection. In a little while they +entered the cottage. Every thing was homely, but neat and clean. +Jennet was busy at her reel when they entered. She knew the lady of +Castle Holbein, and arose up quickly and in some confusion. But she +soon recovered herself, and welcomed, with a low courtesy, the +visitors who had come to grace her humble abode. When the object of +this visit was made known, Jennet replied that the condition of the +village children had often pained her, and that she had more than +once prayed that some way would open by which they could receive +instruction. She readily accepted the proposal of Nina to become +their teacher, and wished to receive no more for the service than +what she could now earn by reeling silk. +</P> + +<P> +It did not take long to get the proposed school in operation. The +parents were willing to send their children, the teacher was willing +to receive them, and the young lady patroness was willing to meet +the expenses. +</P> + +<P> +Nina said nothing to her father of what she was doing. She wished to +surprise him some day, after every thing was going on prosperously. +But a matter of so much interest to the neighborhood could not +remain a secret. The school had not been in operation two days +before the baron heard all about it. But he said nothing to his +daughter. He wished to leave her the pleasure which he knew she +desired, that of telling him herself. +</P> + +<P> +At the end of a month Nina presented her father with an account of +what she had done with the money he had placed in her hands. The +expenditure had been moderate enough, but the good done was far +beyond the baron's anticipations. Thirty children were receiving +daily instructions; nurses had been employed, and medicines bought +for the sick; needy persons, who had no employment, were set to work +in making up clothing for children, who, for want of such as was +suitable, could not attend the school. Besides, many other things +had been done. The account was looked over by the Baron Holbein, and +each item noted with sincere pleasure. He warmly commended Nina for +what she had done; he praised the prudence with which she had +managed what she had undertaken; and begged her to persevere in the +good work. +</P> + +<P> +For the space of more than a year did Nina submit to her father, for +approval, every month an accurate statement of what she had done, +with a minute account of all the moneys expended. But after that +time she failed to render this account, although she received the +usual supply, and was as actively engaged as before in works of +benevolence among the poor peasantry. The father often wondered at +this, but did not inquire the cause. He had never asked an account: +to render it had been a voluntary act, and he could not, therefore, +ask why it was withheld. He noticed, however, a change in Nina. She +was more thoughtful, and conversed less openly than before. If he +looked at her intently, her eyes would sink to the floor, and the +color deepen on her cheek. She remained longer in her own room, +alone, than she had done since their removal to the castle. Every +day she went out, and almost always took the direction of Blanche +Delebarre's cottage, where she spent several hours. +</P> + +<P> +Intelligence of his daughter's good deeds did not, so often as +before, reach the old baron's ears; and yet Nina drew as much money +as before, and had twice asked to have the sum doubled. The father +could not understand the meaning of all this. He did not believe +that any thing was wrong—he had too much confidence in Nina—but he +was puzzled. We will briefly apprise the reader of the cause of this +change. +</P> + +<P> +One day—it was nearly a year from the time Nina had become a +constant visitor at Blanche Delebarre's—the young lady sat reading +a book in the matron's cottage. She was alone—Blanche having gone +out to visit a sick neighbor at Nina's request. A form suddenly +darkened the door, and some one entered hurriedly. Nina raised her +eyes, and met the gaze of a youthful strange, who had paused and +stood looking at her with surprise and admiration. With more +confusion, but with not less of wonder and admiration, did Nina +return the stranger's gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"Is not this the cottage of Blanche Delebarre?" asked he, after a +moment's pause. His voice was low and musical. +</P> + +<P> +"It is," replied Nina. "She has gone to visit a sick neighbor, but +will return shortly." +</P> + +<P> +"Is my mother well?" asked the youth. +</P> + +<P> +Nina rose to her feet. This, then, was Pierre Delebarre, of whom his +mother had so often spoke. The heart of the maiden fluttered. +</P> + +<P> +"The good Blanche is well," was her simple reply. "I will go and say +to her that her son has come home. It will make her heart glad." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear young lady, no!" said Pierre. "Do not disturb my mother in +her good work. Let her come home and meet me here—the surprise will +add to the pleasure. Sit down again. Pardon my rudeness—but are not +you the young lady from the castle, of whom my mother so often +writes to me as the good angel of the village? I am sure you must +be, or you would not be alone in my mother's cottage." +</P> + +<P> +Nina's blushes deepened, but she answered without disguise that she +was from the castle. +</P> + +<P> +A full half hour passed before Blanche returned. The young and +artless couple did not talk of love with their lips during that +time, but their eyes beamed with a mutual passion. When the mother +entered, so much were they interested in each other, that they did +not hear her approaching footstep. She surprised them leaning toward +each other in earnest conversation. +</P> + +<P> +The joy of the mother's heart was great on meeting her son. He was +wonderfully improved since she last saw him—had grown several +inches, and had about him the air of one born of gentle blood, +rather than the air of a peasant. Nina staid only a very short time +after Blanche returned, and then hurried away from the cottage. +</P> + +<P> +The brief interview held with young Pierre sealed the maiden's fate. +She knew nothing of love before the beautiful youth stood before +her—her heart was as pure as an infant's—she was artlessness +itself. She had heard him so often spoken of by his mother, that she +had learned to think of Pierre as the kindest and best of youths. +She saw him, for the first time, as one to love. His face, his +tones, the air of refinement and intelligence that was about him, +all conspired to win her young affections. But of the true nature of +her feelings, Nina was as yet ignorant. She did not think of love. +She did not, therefore, hesitate as to the propriety of continuing +her visits at the cottage of Blanche Delebarre, nor did she feel any +reserve in the presence of Pierre. Not until the enamored youth +presumed to whisper the passion her presence had awakened in his +bosom, did she fully understand the cause of the delight she always +felt while by his side. +</P> + +<P> +After Pierre had been home a few weeks, he ventured to explain to +his mother the cause of his unexpected and unannounced return. He +had disagreed with his uncle, who, in a passion, had reminded him +of his dependence. This the high-spirited youth could not bear, +and he left his uncle's house within twenty-four hours, with a fixed +resolution never to return. He had come back to the village, resolved, +he said, to lead a peasant's life of toil, rather than live with a relative +who could so far forget himself as to remind him of his dependence. +Poor Blanche was deeply grieved. All her fond hopes for her son were +at an end. She looked at his small, delicate hands and slender +pro-portions, and wept when she thought of a peasant's life of hard +labor. +</P> + +<P> +A very long time did not pass before Nina made a proposition to +Blanche, that relieved, in some measure, the painful depression +under which she labored. It was this. Pierre had, from a child, +exhibited a decided talent for painting. This talent had been +cultivated by the uncle, and Pierre was, already, quite a +respectable artist. But he needed at least a year's study of the old +masters, and more accurate instruction than he had yet received, +before he would be able to adopt the painter's calling as one by +which he could take an independent position in society as a man. +Understanding this fully, Nina said that Pierre must go to Florence, +and remain there a year, in order to perfect himself in the art, and +that she would claim the privilege of bearing all the expense. For a +time, the young man's proud spirit shrunk from an acceptance of this +generous offer; but Nina and the mother overruled all his +objections, and almost forced him to go. +</P> + +<P> +It may readily be understood, now, why Nina ceased to render +accurate accounts of her charitable expenditures to her father. The +baron entertained not the slightest suspicion of the real state of +affairs, until about a year afterward, when a fine looking youth +presented himself one day, and boldly preferred a claim to his +daughter's hand. The old man was astounded. +</P> + +<P> +"Who, pray, are you," he said, "that presume to make such a demand?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am the son of a peasant," replied Pierre, bowing, and casting his +eyes to the ground, "and you may think it presumption, indeed, for +me to aspire to the hand of your noble daughter. But a peasant's +love is as pure as the love of a prince; and a peasant's heart may +beat with as high emotions." +</P> + +<P> +"Young man," returned the baron, angrily, "your assurance deserves +punishment. But go—never dare cross my threshold again! You ask an +impossibility. When my daughter weds, she will not think of stooping +to a presumptuous peasant. Go, sir!" +</P> + +<P> +Pierre retired, overwhelmed with confusion. He had been weak enough +to hope that the Baron Holbein would at least consider his suit, and +give him some chance of showing himself worthy of his daughter's +hand. But this repulse dashed every hope the earth. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as he parted with the young man, the father sent a servant +for Nina. She was not in her chamber—nor in the house. It was +nearly two hours before she came home. When she entered the presence +of her father, he saw, by her countenance, that all was not right +with her. +</P> + +<P> +"Who was the youth that came here some hours ago?" he asked, +abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +Nina looked up with a frightened air, but did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you know that he was coming?" said the father. +</P> + +<P> +The maiden's eyes drooped to the ground, and her lips remained +sealed. +</P> + +<P> +"A base-born peasant! to dare—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, father! he is not base! His heart is noble," replied Nina, +speaking from a sudden impulse. +</P> + +<P> +"He confessed himself the son of a peasant! Who is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is the son of Blanche Delebarre," returned Nina, timidly. "He +has just returned from Florence, an artist of high merit. There is +nothing base about him, father!" +</P> + +<P> +"The son of a peasant, and an artist, to dare approach me and claim +the hand of my child! And worse, that child to so far forget her +birth and position as to favor the suit! Madness! And this is your +good Blanche!—your guide in all works of benevolence! She shall be +punished for this base betrayal of the confidence I have reposed in +her." +</P> + +<P> +Nina fell upon her knees before her father, and with tears and +earnest entreaties pleaded for the mother of Pierre; but the old man +was wild and mad with anger. He uttered passionate maledictions on +the head of Blanche and her presumptuous son, and positively forbade +Nina again leaving the castle on any pretext whatever, under the +penalty of never being permitted to return. +</P> + +<P> +Had so broad an interdiction not been made, there would have been +some glimmer of light in Nina's dark horizon; she would have hoped +for some change—would have, at least, been blessed with short, even +if stolen, interviews with Pierre. But not to leave the castle on +any pretext—not to see Pierre again! This was robbing life of every +charm. For more than a year she had loved the young man with an +affection to which every day added tenderness and fervor. Could this +be blotted out in an instant by a word of command? No! That love +must burn on the same. +</P> + +<P> +The Baron Holbein loved his daughter; she was the bright spot in +life. To make her happy, he would sacrifice almost anything. A +residence of many years in the world had shown him its pretensions, +its heartlessness, the worth of all its titles and distinctions. He +did not value them too highly. But, when a peasant approached and +asked the hand of his daughter, the old man's pride, that was +smouldering in the ashes, burned up with a sudden blaze. He could +hardly find words to express his indignation. It took but a few days +for this indignation to burn low. Not that he felt more favorable to +the peasant—but, less angry with his daughter. It is not certain +that time would not have done something favorable for the lovers in +the baron's mind. But they could not wait for time. Nina, from the +violence and decision displayed by her father, felt hopeless of any +change, and sought an early opportunity to steal away from the +castle and meet Pierre, notwithstanding the positive commands that +had been issued on the subject. The young man, in the thoughtless +enthusiasm of youth, urged their flight. +</P> + +<P> +"I am master of my art," he said, with a proud air. "We can live in +Florence, where I have many friends." +</P> + +<P> +The youth did not find it hard to bring the confiding, artless girl +into his wishes. In less than a month the baron missed his child. A +letter explained all. She had been wedded to the young peasant, and +they had left for Florence. The letter contained this clause, signed +by both Pierre and Nina:— +</P> + +<P> +"When our father will forgive us, and permit our return, we shall be +truly happy—but not till then." +</P> + +<P> +The indignant old man saw nothing but impertinent assurance in this. +He tore up the letter, and trampled it under his feet, in a rage. He +swore to renounce his child forever! +</P> + +<P> +For the Baron Holbein, the next twelve months were the saddest of +his life. Too deeply was the image of his child impressed upon his +heart, for passion to efface it. As the first ebullitions subsided, +and the atmosphere of his mind grew clear again, the sweet face of +his child was before him, and her tender eyes looking into his own. +As the months passed away, he grew more and more restless and +unhappy. There was an aching void in bosom. Night after night he +would dream of his child, and awake in the morning and sigh that the +dream was not reality. But pride was strong—he would not +countenance her disobedience. +</P> + +<P> +More than a year had passed away, and not one word had come from his +absent one, who grew dearer to his heart every day. Once or twice he +had seen the name of Pierre Delebarre in the journals, as a young +artist residing Florence, who was destined, to become eminent. The +pleasure these announcements gave him was greater than he would +confess, even to himself. +</P> + +<P> +One day he was sitting in his library endeavoring to banish the +images that haunted him too continually, when two of his servants +entered, bearing a large square box in their arms, marked for the +Baron Holbein. When the box was opened, it was found to contain a +large picture, enveloped in a cloth. This was removed and placed +against the wall, and the servants retired with the box. The baron, +with unsteady hands, and a heart beating rapidly, commenced removing +the cloth that still held the picture from view. In a few moments a +family group was before him. There sat Nina, his lovely, loving and +beloved child, as perfect, almost, as if the blood were glowing in +her veins. Her eyes were bent fondly upon a sleeping cherub that lay +in her arms. By her side sat Pierre, gazing upon her face in silent +joy. For only a single instant did the old man gaze upon this scene, +before the tears were gushing over his cheeks and falling to the +floor like rain. This wild storm of feeling soon subsided, and, in +the sweet calm that followed, the father gazed with unspeakable +tenderness for a long time upon the face of his lovely child, and +with a new and sweeter feeling upon the babe that lay, the +impersonation of innocence, in her arms. While in this state of +mind, he saw, for the first time, written on the bottom of the +picture—"NOT GREAT, BUT HAPPY." +</P> + +<P> +A week from the day on which the picture was received, the Baron +Holbein entered Florence. On inquiring for Pierre Delebarre, he +found that every one knew the young artist. +</P> + +<P> +"Come," said one, "let me go with you to the exhibition, and show +you his picture that has taken the prize. It is a noble production. +All Florence is alive with its praise." +</P> + +<P> +The baron went to the exhibition. The first picture that met his +eyes on entering the door was a counterpart of the one he had +received, but larger, and, in the admirable lights in which it was +arranged, looked even more like life. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it a grand production?" said the baron's conductor. +</P> + +<P> +"My sweet, sweet child!" murmured the old man, in a low thrilling +voice. Then turning, he said, abruptly— +</P> + +<P> +"Show me where I can find this Pierre Delebarre." +</P> + +<P> +"With pleasure. His house is near at hand," said his companion. +</P> + +<P> +A few minutes walk brought them to the artist's dwelling. +</P> + +<P> +"That is an humble roof," said the man, pointing to where Pierre +lived, "but it contains a noble man." He turned away, and the baron +entered alone. He did not pause to summon any one, but walked in +through the open door. All was silent. Through a neat vestibule, in +which were rare flowers, and pictures upon the wall, he passed into +a small apartment, and through that to the door of an inner chamber +It was half open. He looked in. Was it another picture? No, it was +in very truth his child; and her babe lay in her arms, as he had +just seen it, and Pierre sat before her looking tenderly in her +face. He could restrain himself no longer. Opening the door, he +stepped hurriedly forward, and, throwing his arms around the group, +said in broken voice—"God bless you, my children!" +</P> + +<P> +The tears that were shed; the smiles that beamed from glad faces; +the tender words that were spoken, and repeated again and again; why +need we tell of all these? Or why relate how happy the old man was +when the dove that had flown from her nest came back with her mate +by her side The dark year had passed, and there was sunshine again +in his dwelling, brighter sunshine than before. Pierre never painted +so good a picture again as the one that took the prize—that was his +masterpiece. +</P> + +<P> +The Young Baron Holbein has an immense picture gallery, and is a +munificent patron of the arts. There is one composition on his +walls he prizes above all the rest. The wealth of India could not +purchase it. It is the same that took the prize when he was but a +babe and lay in his mother's arms. The mother who held him so +tenderly, and the father who gazed so lovingly upon her pure young +brow have passed away, but they live before him daily, and he feels +their gentle presence ever about him for good. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="sisters"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MARRIED SISTERS. +</H3> + +<P> +"COME, William, a single day, out of three hundred and sixty-five, +is not much." +</P> + +<P> +"True, Henry Thorne. Nor is the single drop of water, that first +finds its way through the dyke, much; and yet, the first drop but +makes room for a small stream to follow, and then comes a flood. No, +no, Henry, I cannot go with you, to-day; and if you will be governed +by a friend's advice, you will not neglect your work for the fancied +pleasures of a sporting party." +</P> + +<P> +"All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy, We were not made to be +delving forever with tools in close rooms. The fresh air is good for +us. Come, William, you will feel better for a little recreation. You +look pale from confinement. Come; I cannot go without you." +</P> + +<P> +"Henry Thorne," said his friend, William Moreland, with an air more +serious than that at first assumed, "let me in turn urge you to +stay." +</P> + +<P> +"It is in vain, William," his friend said, interrupting him. +</P> + +<P> +"I trust not, Henry. Surely, my early friend and companion is not +deaf to reason." +</P> + +<P> +"No, not to right reason." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, listen to me. As I said at first, it is not the loss of a +simple day, though even this is a serious waste of time, that I now +take into consideration. It is the danger of forming a habit of +idleness. It is a mistake, that a day of idle pleasure recreates the +mind and body, and makes us return and necessary employments with +renewed delight. My own experience is, that a day thus spent, causes +us to resume our labors with reluctance, and makes irksome what +before was pleasant. Is it not your own?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't know; I can't altogether say that it is; indeed, I +never thought about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Henry, the worst of all kinds of deception is self-deception. +Don't, let me, beg of you, attempt to deceive yourself in a matter +so important. I am sure you have experienced this reluctance to +resuming work after a day of pleasure. It is a universal experience. +And now that we are on this subject, I will add, that I have +observed in you an increasing desire to get away from work. You make +many excuses and they seem to you to be good ones. Can you tell me +how many days you have been out of the shop in the last three +months?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I cannot," was the reply, made in a tone indicating a slight +degree of irritation. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can, Henry." +</P> + +<P> +"How many is it, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ten days." +</P> + +<P> +"Never!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is true, for I kept the count." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, then, you are mistaken. I was only out a gunning three +times, and a fishing twice." +</P> + +<P> +"And that makes five times. But don't you remember the day you were +made sick by fatigue?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, true, but that is only six." +</P> + +<P> +"And the day you went up the mountain with the party?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And the twice you staid away because it stormed?" +</P> + +<P> +"But, William, that has nothing to do with the matter. If it stormed +so violently that I couldn't come to the shop, that surely is not to +be set down to the account of pleasure-taking." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet, Henry, I was here, and so were all the workmen but +yourself. If there had not been in your mind a reluctance to coming +to the shop, I am sure the storm would not have kept you away. I am +plain with you, because I am your friend, and you know it. Now, it +is this increasing reluctance on your part, that alarms me. Do not, +then, add fuel to a flame, that, if thus nourished, will consume +you." +</P> + +<P> +"But, William——" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't make excuses, Henry. Think of the aggregate of ten lost days. +You can earn a dollar and a half a day, easily, and do earn it +whenever you work steadily. Ten days in three months is fifteen +dollars. All last winter, Ellen went without a cloak, because you +could not afford to buy one for her; now the money that you could +have earned in the time wasted in the last three months, would have +bought her a very comfortable one—and you know that it is already +October, and winter will soon be again upon us. Sixty dollars a year +buys a great many comforts for a poor man." +</P> + +<P> +Henry Thorne remained silent for some moments. He felt the force of +William Moreland's reasoning; but his own inclinations were stronger +than his friend's arguments. He wanted to go with two or three +companions a gunning, and even the vision of his young wife +shrinking in the keen winter wind, was not sufficient to conquer +this desire. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go this once, William," said he, at length, with a long +inspiration; "and then I will quit it. I see and acknowledge the +force of what you say; I never viewed the matter so seriously +before." +</P> + +<P> +"This once may confirm a habit now too strongly fixed," urged his +companion. "Stop now, while your mind is rationally convinced that +it is wrong to waste your time, when it is so much needed for the +sake of making comfortable and happy one who loves you, and has cast +her lot in life with yours. Think of Ellen, and be a man." +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Harry!" said a loud, cheerful voice at the shop door; "we are +waiting for you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, ay," responded Henry Thorne. "Good morning, William! I am +pledged for to-day. But after this, I will swear off!" And so +saying, he hurried away. +</P> + +<P> +Henry Thorne and William Moreland were workmen in a large +manufacturing establishment in one of our thriving inland towns. +They had married sisters, and thus a friendship that had long +existed, was confirmed by closer ties of interest. +</P> + +<P> +They had been married about two years, at the time of their +introduction to the reader, and, already, Moreland could perceive +that his earnings brought many more comforts for his little family +than did Henry's. The difference was not to be accounted for in the +days the other spent in pleasure taking, although their aggregate +loss was no mean item to be taken from a poor man's purse. It was to +be found, mainly, in a disposition to spend, rather than to save; to +pay away for trifles that were not really needed, very small sums, +whose united amounts in a few weeks would rise to dollars. But, when +there was added to this constant check upon his prosperity the +frequent recurrence of a lost day, no wonder that Ellen had less of +good and comfortable clothing than her sister Jane, and that her +house was far less neatly furnished. +</P> + +<P> +All this had been observed, with pain, by William Moreland and his +wife, but, until the conversation recorded in the opening of this +story, no word or remonstrance or warning had been ventured upon by +the former. The spirit in which Moreland's words were received, +encouraged him to hope that he might exercise a salutary control +over Henry, if he persevered, and he resolved that he would extend +thus far towards him the offices of a true friend. +</P> + +<P> +After dinner on the day during which her husband was absent, Ellen +called in to see Jane, and sit the afternoon with her. They were +only sisters, and had always loved each other much. During their +conversation, Jane said, in allusion to the season: +</P> + +<P> +"It begins to feel a little chilly to-day, as if winter were coming. +And, by the way, you are going to get a cloak this fall, Ellen, are +you not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, I can hardly tell, Jane," Ellen replied, in a serious tone; +"Henry's earnings, somehow or other, don't seem to go far with us; +and yet I try to be as prudent as I can. We have but a few dollars +laid by, and both of us want warm underclothing. Henry must have a +coat and pair of pantaloons to look decent this winter; so I must +try and do without the cloak, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry for that. But keep a good heart about it, sister. Next +fall, you will surely be able to get a comfortable one; and you +shall have mine as often as you want it, this winter. I can't go out +much, you know; our dear little Ellen, your namesake, is too young +to leave often." +</P> + +<P> +"You are very kind, Jane," said Ellen, and her voice slightly +trembled. +</P> + +<P> +A silence of some moments ensued, and then the subject of +conversation was changed to one more cheerful. +</P> + +<P> +That evening, just about nightfall, Henry Thorne came home, much +fatigued, bringing with him half a dozen squirrels and a single wild +pigeon. +</P> + +<P> +"There, Ellen, is something to make a nice pie for us to-morrow," +said he, tossing his game bag upon the table. +</P> + +<P> +"You look tired, Henry," said his wife, tenderly; "I wouldn't go out +any more this fall, if I were you." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't intend going out any more, Ellen," was replied, "I'm sick +of it." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know how glad I am to hear you say so! Somehow, I always +feel troubled and uneasy when you are out gunning or fishing, as if +you were not doing right." +</P> + +<P> +"You shall not feel so any more, Ellen," said Thorne: "I've been +thinking all the afternoon about your cloak. Cold weather is coming, +and we haven't a dollar laid by for anything. How I am to get the +cloak, I do not see, and yet I cannot bear the thought of your going +all this winter again without one." +</P> + +<P> +"O, never mind that, dear," said Ellen, in a cheerful tone, her face +brightening up. "We can't afford it this fall, and so that's +settled. But I can have Jane's whenever I want it, she says; and you +know she is so kind and willing to lend me anything that she has. I +don't like to wear her things; but then I shall not want the cloak +often." +</P> + +<P> +Henry Thorne sighed at the thoughts his wife's words stirred in his +mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know how it is," he at length said, despondingly; "William +can't work any faster than I can, nor earn more a week, and yet he +and Jane have every thing comfortable, and are saving money into the +bargain, while we want many things that they have, and are not a +dollar ahead." +</P> + +<P> +One of the reasons for this, to her husband so unaccountable, +trembled on Ellen's tongue, but she could not make up her mind to +reprove him; and so bore in silence, and with some pain, what she +felt as a reflection upon her want of frugality in managing +household affairs. +</P> + +<P> +Let us advance the characters we have introduced, a year in their +life's pilgrimage, and see if there are any fruits of these good +resolutions. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Thorne, this morning?" asked the owner of the shop, +speaking to Moreland, one morning, an hour after all the workmen had +come in. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know, really," replied Moreland. "I saw him yesterday, +when he was well." +</P> + +<P> +"He's off gunning, I suppose, again. If so, it is the tenth day he +has lost in idleness during the last two months. I am afraid I shall +have to get a hand in his place, upon whom I can place more +dependence. I shall be sorry to do this for your sake, and for the +sake of his wife. But I do not like such an example to the workmen +and apprentices; and besides being away from the shop often +disappoints a job." +</P> + +<P> +"I could not blame you, sir," Moreland said; "and yet, I do hope you +will bear with him for the sake of Ellen. I think if you would talk +with him it would do him good." +</P> + +<P> +"But, why don't you talk to him, William?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have talked to him frequently, but he has got so that he won't +bear it any longer from me." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor would he bear it from me, either, I fear, William." +</P> + +<P> +Just at that moment the subject of the conversation came in. +</P> + +<P> +"You are late this morning, Henry," said the owner of the shop to +him, in the presence of the other workmen. +</P> + +<P> +"It's only a few minutes past the time," was replied, moodily. +</P> + +<P> +"It's more than an hour past." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if it is, I can make it up." +</P> + +<P> +"That is not the right way, Henry. Lost time is never made up." +</P> + +<P> +Thorne did not understand the general truth intended to be +expressed, but supposed, at once, that the master of the shop meant +to intimate that he would wrong him out of the lost hour, +notwithstanding he had promised to make it up. He therefore turned +an angry look upon him, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean to say that I would cheat you, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +The employer was a hasty man, and tenacious of his dignity as a +master. He invariably discharged a journeyman who was in the least +degree disrespectful in his language or manner towards him before +the other workmen. Acting under the impulse that at once prompted +him, he said: +</P> + +<P> +"You are discharged;" and instantly turned away. +</P> + +<P> +As quickly did Henry Thorne turn and leave the shop. He took his way +homeward, but he paused and lingered as he drew nearer and nearer +his little cottage, for troubled thoughts had now taken the place of +angry feelings. At length he was at the door, and lifting slowly the +latch, he entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Henry!" said Ellen, with a look and tone of surprise. Her face was +paler and more care-worn than it was a year before; and its calm +expression had changed into a troubled one. She had a babe upon her +lap, her first and only one. The room in which she sat, so far from +indicating circumstances improved by the passage of a year, was far +less tidy and comfortable; and her own attire, though neat, was +faded and unseasonable. Her husband replied not to her inquiring +look, and surprised ejaculation, but seated himself in a chair, and +burying his face in his hands, remained silent, until, unable to +endure the suspense, Ellen went to him, and taking his hand, asked, +so earnestly, and so tenderly, what it was that troubled him, that +he could not resist her appeal. +</P> + +<P> +"I am discharged!" said he, with bitter emphasis. "And there is no +other establishment in the town, nor within fifty miles!" +</P> + +<P> +"O, Henry! how did that happen?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly know myself, Ellen, for it all seems like a dream. When I +left home this morning, I did not go directly to the shop; I wanted +to see a man at the upper end of the town, and when I got back it +was an hour later than usual. Old Ballard took me to task before all +the shop, and intimated that I was not disposed to act honestly +towards him. This I cannot bear from any one; I answered him in +anger, and was discharged on the spot. And now, what we are to do, +heaven only knows! Winter is almost upon us, and we have not five +dollars in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"But something will turn up for us, Henry, I know it will," said +Ellen, trying to smile encouragingly, although her heart was heavy +in her bosom. +</P> + +<P> +Her husband shook his head, doubtingly, and then all was gloomy and +oppressive silence. For nearly an hour, no word was spoken by +either. Each mind was busy with painful thoughts, and one with +fearful forebodings of evil. At the end of that time, the husband +took up his hat and went out. For a long, long time after, Ellen sat +in dreamy, sad abstraction, holding her babe to her breast. From +this state, a sense of duty roused her, and laying her infant on the +bed,—for they had not yet been able to spare money for a +cradle,—she began to busy herself in her domestic duties. This +brought some little relief. +</P> + +<P> +About eleven o'clock Jane came in with her usual cheerful, almost +happy face, bringing in her hand a stout bundle. Her countenance +changed in its expression to one of concern, the moment her eyes +rested upon her sister's face, and she laid her bundle on a chair +quickly, as if she half desired to keep it out of Ellen's sight. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter, Ellen?" she asked, with tender concern, the +moment she had closed the door. +</P> + +<P> +Ellen could not reply; her heart was too full. But she leaned her +head upon her sister's shoulder, and, for the first time since she +had heard the sad news of the morning, burst into tears. Jane was +surprised, and filled with anxious concern. She waited until this +ebullition of feeling in some degree abated, and then said, in a +tone still more tender than that in which she had first spoken,— +</P> + +<P> +"Ellen, dear sister! tell me what has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am foolish, sister," at length, said Ellen, looking up, and +endeavoring to dry her tears. "But I cannot help it. Henry was +discharged from the shop this morning; and now, what are we to do? +We have nothing ahead, and I am afraid he will not be able to get +anything to do here, or within many miles of the village." +</P> + +<P> +"That is bad, Ellen," replied Jane, while a shadow fell upon her +face, but a few moments before so glowing and happy. And that was +nearly all she could say; for she did not wish to offer false +consolation, and she could think of no genuine words of comfort. +After a while, each grew more composed and less reserved; and then +the whole matter was talked over, and all that Jane could say, that +seemed likely to soothe and give hope to Ellen's mind, was said with +earnestness and affection. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you there?" at length asked Ellen, glancing towards the +chair upon which Jane had laid her bundle. +</P> + +<P> +Jane paused a moment, as if in self-communion, and then said— +</P> + +<P> +"Only a pair of blankets, and a couple of calico dresses that I have +been out buying." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me look at them," said Ellen, in as cheerful a voice as she +could assume. +</P> + +<P> +A large heavy pair of blankets, for which Jane had paid five +dollars, were now unrolled, and a couple of handsome chintz dresses, +of dark rich colors, suitable for the winter season, displayed. It +was with difficulty that Ellen could restrain a sigh, as she looked +at these comfortable things, and thought of how much she needed, and +of how little she had to hope for. Jane felt that such thoughts must +pass through her sister's mind, and she also felt much pained that +she had undesignedly thus added, by contrast, to Ellen's unhappy +feelings. When she returned home, she put away her new dresses and +her blankets. She had no heart to look at them, no heart to enjoy +her own good things, while the sister she so much loved was denied +like present comforts, and, worse than all, weighed down with a +heart-sickening dread of the future. +</P> + +<P> +We will not linger to contrast, in a series of domestic pictures, +the effects of industry and idleness on the two married sisters and +their families,—effects, the causes of which, neither aided +materially in producing. Such contrasts, though useful, cannot but +be painful to the mind, and we would, a thousand times, rather give +pleasure than pain. But one more striking contrast we will give, as +requisite to show the tendency of good or bad principles, united +with good or bad habits. +</P> + +<P> +Unable to get any employment in the village, Thorne, hearing that +steady work could be obtained in Charleston, South Carolina, sold +off a portion of his scanty effects, by which he received money +enough to remove there with his wife and child. Thus were the +sisters separated; and in that separation, gradually estranged from +the tender and lively affection that presence and constant +intercourse had kept burning with undiminished brightness. Each +became more and more absorbed, every day, in increasing cares and +duties; yet to one those cares and duties were painful, and to the +other full of delight. +</P> + +<P> +Ten years from the day on which they parted in tears, Ellen sat, +near the close of day, in a meanly furnished room, in one of the +southern cities, watching, with a troubled countenance, the restless +slumber of her husband. Her face was very thin and pale, and it had +a fixed and strongly marked expression of suffering. Two children, a +boy and a girl, the one about six, and the other a little over ten +years of age, were seated listlessly on the floor, which was +uncarpeted. They seemed to have no heart to play. Even the +elasticity of childhood had departed from them. From the appearance +of Thorne, it was plain that he was very sick; and from all the +indications the room in which he lay, afforded, it was plain that +want and suffering were its inmates. The habit of idleness he had +suffered to creep at a slow but steady pace upon him. Idleness +brought intemperance, and intemperance, reacting upon idleness, +completed his ruin, and reduced his family to poverty in its most +appalling form. Now he was sick with a southern fever, and his +miserable dwelling afforded him no cordial, nor his wife and +children the healthy food that nature required. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother!" said the little boy, getting up from the floor, where he +had been sitting for half an hour, as still as if he were sleeping, +and coming to Ellen's side, he looked up earnestly and imploringly +in her face. +</P> + +<P> +"What, my child?" the mother said, stooping down and kissing his +forehead, while she parted with her fingers the golden hair that +fell in tangled masses over it. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I have a piece of bread, mother?" +</P> + +<P> +Ellen did not reply, but rose slowly and went to the closet, from +which she took part of a loaf, and cutting a slice from it, handed +it to her hungry boy. It was her last loaf, and all their money was +gone. The little fellow took it, and breaking a piece off for his +sister, gave it to her; the two children then sat down side by side, +and ate in silence the morsel that was sweet to them. +</P> + +<P> +With an instinctive feeling, that from nowhere but above could she +look for aid and comfort, did Ellen lift her heart, and pray that +she might not be forsaken in her extremity. And then she thought of +her sister Jane, from whom she had not heard for a long, long time, +and her heart yearned towards her with an eager and yearning desire +to see her face once more. +</P> + +<P> +And now let us look in upon Jane and her family. Her husband, by +saving where Thorne spent in foolish trifles, and working when +Thorne was idle, gradually laid by enough to purchase a little farm, +upon which he had removed, and there industry and frugality brought +its sure rewards. They had three children: little Ellen had grown to +a lively, rosy-cheeked, merry-faced girl of eleven years; and +George, who had followed Ellen, was in his seventh year, and after +him came the baby, now just completing the twelfth month of its +innocent, happy life. It was in the season when the farmers' toil is +rewarded, and William Moreland was among those whose labor had met +an ample return. +</P> + +<P> +How different was the scene, in his well established cottage, full +to the brim of plenty and comfort, to that which was passing at the +same hour of the day, a few weeks before, in the sad abode of Ellen, +herself its saddest inmate. +</P> + +<P> +The table was spread for the evening meal, always eaten before the +sun hid his bright face, and George and Ellen, although the supper +was not yet brought in, had taken their places; and Moreland, too, +had drawn up with the baby on his knee, which he was amusing with an +apple from a well filled basket, the product of his own orchard. +</P> + +<P> +A hesitating rap drew the attention of the tidy maiden who assisted +Mrs. Moreland in her duties. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the poor old blind man," she said, in a tone of compassion, +as she opened the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is a shilling for him, Sally," said Moreland, handing her a +piece of money. "The Lord has blessed us with plenty, and something +to spare for his needy children." +</P> + +<P> +The liberal meal upon the table, the mother sat down with the rest, +and as she looked around upon each happy face, her heart blessed the +hour that she had given her hand to William Moreland. Just as the +meal was finished, a neighbor stopped at the door and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Here's a letter for Mrs. Moreland; I saw it in the post-office, and +brought it over for her, as I was coming this way." +</P> + +<P> +"Come in, come in," said Moreland, with a hearty welcome in his +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I thank you, I can't stop now. Good evening," replied the +neighbor. +</P> + +<P> +"Good evening," responded Moreland, turning from the door, and +handing the letter to Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"It must be from Ellen," Mrs. Moreland remarked, as she broke the +seal. "It is a long time since we heard from then; I wonder how they +are doing." +</P> + +<P> +She soon knew; for on opening the letter she read thus:— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +SAVANNAH, September, 18—. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +MY DEAR SISTER JANE:—Henry has just died. I am left here without a +dollar, and know not where to get bread for myself and two children. +I dare not tell you all I have suffered since I parted from you. +I—— +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +My heart is too full; I cannot write. Heaven only knows what I shall +do! Forgive me, sister, for troubling you; I have not done so +before, because I did not wish to give you pain, and I only do so +now, from an impulse that I cannot resist. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +ELLEN. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Jane handed the letter to her husband, and sat down in a chair, her +senses bewildered, and her heart sick. +</P> + +<P> +"We have enough for Ellen, and her children, too, Jane," said +Moreland, folding the letter after he had read it. "We must send for +them at once. Poor Ellen! I fear she has suffered much." +</P> + +<P> +"You are good, kind and noble-hearted, William!" exclaimed Jane, +bursting into tears. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know that I am any better than anybody else, Jane. But I +can't bear to see others suffering, and never will, if I can afford +relief. And surely, if industry brought no other reward, the power +it gives us to benefit and relieve others, is enough to make us ever +active." +</P> + +<P> +In one month from the time Ellen's letter was received, she, with +her children, were inmates of Moreland's cottage. Gradually the +light returned to her eye, and something of the former glow of +health and contentment to her cheek. Her children in a few weeks, +were as gay and happy as any. The delight that glowed in the heart +of William Moreland, as he saw this pleasing change, was a double +reward for the little he had sacrificed in making them happy. Nor +did Ellen fall, with her children, an entire burden upon her sister +and her husband;—her activity and willingness found enough to do +that needed doing. Jane often used to say to her husband— +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know which is the gainer over the other, I or Ellen; for I +am sure I can't see how we could do without her." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="people"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GOOD-HEARTED PEOPLE. +</H3> + +<P> +THERE are two classes in the world: one acts from impulse, and the +other from reason; one consults the heart, and the other the head. +Persons belonging to the former class are very much liked by the +majority of those who come in contact with them: while those of the +latter class make many enemies in their course through life. Still, +the world owes as much to the latter as to the former—perhaps a +great deal more. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Archibald May belonged to the former class; he was known as a +good-hearted man. He uttered the word "no" with great difficulty; +and was never known to have deliberately said that to another which +he knew would hurt his feelings. If any one about him acted wrong, +he could not find it in his heart to wound him by calling his +attention to the fact. On one occasion, a clerk was detected in +purloining money; but it was all hushed up, and when Mr. May +dismissed him, he gave him a certificate of good character. +</P> + +<P> +"How could you do so?" asked a neighbor, to whom he mentioned the +fact. +</P> + +<P> +"How could I help doing it? The young man had a chance of getting a +good place. It would have been cruel in me to have refused to aid +him. A character was required, and I could do no less than give it. +Poor, silly fellow! I am sure I wish him well. I always liked him." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose he robs his present employer?" +</P> + +<P> +"He won't do that, I'm certain. He is too much ashamed of his +conduct while in my store. It is a lesson to him. And, at any rate, +I do not think a man should be hunted down for a single fault." +</P> + +<P> +"No: of course not. But, when you endorse a man's character, you +lead others to place confidence in him; a confidence that may be +betrayed under very aggravated circumstances." +</P> + +<P> +"Better that many suffer, than that one innocent man should be +condemned and cast off." +</P> + +<P> +"But there is no question about guilt or innocence. It was fully +proved that this young man robbed you." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose it was. No doubt the temptation was very strong. I don't +believe he will ever be guilty of such a thing again." +</P> + +<P> +"You have the best evidence in the world that he will, in the fact +that he has taken your money." +</P> + +<P> +"O no, not at all. It doesn't follow, by any means, that a fault +like this will be repeated. He was terribly mortified about it. That +has cured him, I am certain." +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't trust to it." +</P> + +<P> +"You are too uncharitable," replied Mr. May. "For my part, I always +look upon the best side of a man's character. There is good in every +one. Some have their weaknesses—some are even led astray at times; +but none are altogether bad. If a man falls, help him up, and start +him once more fair in the world—who can say that he will again +trip? Not I. The fact is, we are too hard with each other. If you +brand your fellow with infamy for one little act of indiscretion, +or, say crime, what hope is there for him." +</P> + +<P> +"You go rather too far, Mr. May," the neighbor said, "in your +condemnation of the world. No doubt there are many who are really +uncharitable in their denunciations of their fellow man for a single +fault. But, on the other side, I am inclined to think, that there +are just as many who are equally uncharitable, in loosely passing +by, out of spurious kindness, what should mark a man with just +suspicion, and cause a withholding of confidence. Look at the case +now before us. You feel unwilling to keep a young man about you, +because he has betrayed your trust, and yet, out of kind feelings, +you give him a good character, and enable him to get a situation +where he may seriously wrong an unsuspecting man." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am sure he will not do so." +</P> + +<P> +"But what is your guarantee?" +</P> + +<P> +"The impression that my act has evidently made upon him. If I had, +besides hushing up the whole matter, kept him still in my store, he +might again have been tempted. But the comparatively light +punishment of dismissing him with a good character, will prove a +salutary check upon him." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you believe it." +</P> + +<P> +"I will believe it, until I see evidence to the contrary. You are +too suspicious—too uncharitable, my good friend. I am always +inclined to think the best of every one. Give the poor fellow +another chance for his life, say I." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope it may all turn out right." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure it will," returned Mr. May. "Many and many a young man is +driven to ruin by having all confidence withdrawn from him, after +his first error. Depend upon it, such a course is not right." +</P> + +<P> +"I perfectly agree with you, Mr. May, that we should not utterly +condemn and cast off a man for a single fault. But, it is one thing +to bear with a fault, and encourage a failing brother man to better +courses, and another to give an individual whom we know to be +dishonest, a certificate of good character." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but I am not so sure the young man we are speaking about is +dishonest." +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't he rob you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say rob. That is too hard a word. He did take a little from +me; but it wasn't much, and there were peculiar circumstances." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure that under other peculiar circumstances, he would not +have taken much more from you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe he would." +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't trust him." +</P> + +<P> +"You are too suspicious—too uncharitable, as I have already said. I +can't be so. I always try to think the best of every one." +</P> + +<P> +Finding that it was no use to talk, the neighbor said but little +more on the subject. +</P> + +<P> +About a year afterwards the young man's new employer, who, on the +faith of Mr. May's recommendation, had placed great confidence in +him, discovered that he had been robbed of several thousand dollars. +The robbery was clearly traced to this clerk, who was arrested, +tried, and sentenced to three years imprisonment in the +Penitentiary. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems that all your charity was lost on that young scoundrel, +Blake," said the individual whose conversation with Mr. May has just +been given. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor fellow!" was the pitying reply. "I am most grievously +disappointed in him. I never believed that he would turn out so +badly." +</P> + +<P> +"You might have known it after he had swindled you. A man who will +steal a sheep, needs only to be assured of impunity, to rob the +mail. The principle is the same. A rogue is a rogue, whether it be +for a pin or a pound." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well—people differ in these matters. I never look at the +worst side only. How could Dayton find it in his heart to send that +poor fellow to the State Prison! I wouldn't have done it, if he had +taken all I possess. It was downright vindictiveness in him." +</P> + +<P> +"It was simple justice. He could not have done otherwise. Blake had +not only wronged him, but he had violated the laws and to the laws +he was bound to give him up." +</P> + +<P> +"Give up a poor, erring young man, to the stern, unbending, +unfeeling laws! No one is bound to do that. It is cruel, and no one +is under the necessity of being cruel." +</P> + +<P> +"It is simply just, Mr. May, as I view it. And, further, really more +just to give up the culprit to the law he has knowingly and wilfully +violated, than to let him escape its penalties." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. May shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly cannot see the charity of locking up a young man for +three or four years in prison, and utterly and forever disgracing +him." +</P> + +<P> +"It is great evil to steal?" said the neighbor. +</P> + +<P> +"O, certainly—a great sin." +</P> + +<P> +"And the law made for its punishment is just?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I suppose so." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think that it really injuries a thief to lock him up in +prison, and prevent him from trespassing on the property of his +neighbors?" +</P> + +<P> +"That I suppose depends upon circumstances. If——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, but my friend, we must fix the principle yea or nay. The law +that punishes theft is a good law—you admit that—very well. If the +law is good, it must be because its effect is good. A thief, will, +under such law, he really more benefitted by feeling its force than +in escaping the penalty annexed to its infringement. No distinction +can or ought to be made. The man who, in, a sane mind, deliberately +takes the property of another, should be punished by the law which +forbids stealing. It will have at least one good effect, if none +others and that will be to make him less willing to run similar +risk, and thus leave to his neighbor the peaceable possession of his +goods." +</P> + +<P> +"Punishment, if ever administered, should look to the good of the +offender. But, what good disgracing and imprisoning a young man who +has all along borne a fair character, is going to have, is more than +I can tell. Blake won't be able to hold up his head among +respectable people when his term has expired." +</P> + +<P> +"And will, in consequence, lose his power of injuring the honest and +unsuspecting. He will be viewed in his own true light, and be cast +off as unworthy by a community whose confidence he has most +shamefully abused." +</P> + +<P> +"And so you will give an erring brother no chance for his life?" +</P> + +<P> +"O yes. Every chance. But it would not be kindness to wink at his +errors and leave him free to continue in the practice of them, to +his own and others' injury. Having forfeited his right to the +confidence of this community by trespassing upon it, let him pay the +penalty of that trespass. It will be to him, doubtless, a salutary +lesson. A few years of confinement in a prison will give him time +for reflection and repentance; whereas, impunity in an evil course +could only have strengthened his evil purposes. When he has paid the +just penalty of his crime, let him go into another part of the +country, and among strangers live a virtuous life, the sure reward +of which is peace." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. May shook his head negatively, at these remarks. +</P> + +<P> +"No one errs on the side of kindness," he said, "while too many, by +an opposite course, drive to ruin those whom leniency might have +saved." +</P> + +<P> +A short time after the occurrence of this little interview, Mr. May, +on returning home one evening, found his wife in much apparent +trouble. +</P> + +<P> +"Has anything gone wrong, Ella?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Would you have believed it?" was Mrs. May's quick and excited +answer. "I caught Jane in my drawer to-day, with a ten dollar bill +in her hand which she had just taken out of my pocket book, that was +still open." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Ella!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is too true! I charged it at once upon her, and she burst into +tears, and owned that she was going to take the money and keep it." +</P> + +<P> +"That accounts, then, for the frequency with which you have missed +small sums of money for several months past." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That is all plain enough now. But what shall we do? I cannot +think of keeping Jane any longer." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps she will never attempt such a thing again, now that she has +been discovered." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot trust her. I should never feel safe a moment. To have a +thief about the house! Oh, no, That would never answer. She will +have to go." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Ella, you will have to do what you think best; but you +mustn't be too hard on the poor creature. You mustn't think of +exposing her, and thus blasting her character. It might drive her to +ruin." +</P> + +<P> +"But, is it right for me, knowing what she is, to let her go quietly +into another family? It is a serious matter, husband." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know that you have anything to do with that. The safest +thing, in my opinion, is for you to talk seriously to Jane, and warn +her of the consequences of acts such as she has been guilty of. And +then let her go, trusting that she will reform." +</P> + +<P> +"But there is another fault that I have discovered within a week or +two past. A fault that I suspected, but was not sure about. It is a +very bad one." +</P> + +<P> +"What is that, Ella?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not think she is kind to the baby." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have good reason for believing that she is not kind to our dear +little babe. I partly suspected this for some time. More than once I +have came suddenly upon her, and found our sweet pet sobbing as if +his heart would break. The expression in Jane's face I could not +exactly understand. Light has gradually broken in upon me, and now I +am satisfied that she has abused him shamefully." +</P> + +<P> +"Ella?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is too true. Since my suspicions were fully aroused, I have +asked Hannah about it, and she, unwillingly, has confirmed my own +impressions." +</P> + +<P> +"Unwillingly! It was her duty to have let you know this voluntarily. +Treat my little angel Charley unkindly! The wretch! She doesn't +remain in this house a day longer." +</P> + +<P> +"So I have fully determined. I am afraid that Jane has a wretched +disposition. It is bad enough to steal, but to ill-treat a helpless, +innocent babe, is fiend-like." +</P> + +<P> +Jane was accordingly dismissed. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor creature!" said Mrs. May, after Jane had left the house; "I +feel sorry for her. She is, after all, the worst enemy to herself. I +don't know what will become of her." +</P> + +<P> +"She'll get a place somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I suppose so. But, I hope she won't refer to me for her +character. I don't know what I should say, if she did." +</P> + +<P> +"If I couldn't say any good, I wouldn't say any harm, Ella. It's +rather a serious matter to break down the character of a poor girl." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it is; for that is all they have to depend upon. I shall +have to smooth it over some how, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes: put the best face you can upon it. I have no doubt but she +will do better in another place." +</P> + +<P> +On the next day, sure enough, a lady called to ask about the +character of Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"How long has she been with you?" was one of the first questions +asked. +</P> + +<P> +"About six months," replied Mrs. May. +</P> + +<P> +"In the capacity of nurse, I think she told me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. She was my nurse." +</P> + +<P> +"Was she faithful?" +</P> + +<P> +This was a trying question. But it had to be answered promptly, and +it was so answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I think I may call her quite a faithful nurse. She never +refused to carry my little boy out; and always kept him very clean." +</P> + +<P> +"She kept him nice, did she? Well, that is a recommendation. And I +want somebody who will not be above taking my baby into the street. +But how is her temper?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little warm sometimes. But then, you know, perfection is not to +be attained any where." +</P> + +<P> +"No, that is very true. You think her a very good nurse?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, quite equal to the general run." +</P> + +<P> +"I thank you very kindly," said the lady rising. "I hope I shall +find, in Jane, a nurse to my liking." +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly hope so," replied Mrs. May, as she attended her to the +door. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think?" said Mrs. May to her husband, when he returned +in the evening.—"That Jane had the assurance to send a lady here to +inquire about her character." +</P> + +<P> +"She is a pretty cool piece of goods, I should say. But, I suppose +she trusted to your known kind feelings, not to expose her." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt that was the reason. But, I can tell her that I was +strongly tempted to speak out the plain truth. Indeed, I could +hardly contain myself when the lady told me that she wanted her to +nurse a little infant. I thought of dear Charley, and how she had +neglected and abused him—the wretched creature! But I restrained +myself, and gave her as good a character as I could." +</P> + +<P> +"That was right. We should not let our indignant feelings govern us +in matters of this kind. We can never err on the side of kindness." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I am sure we cannot." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Campbell, the lady who had called upon Mrs. May, felt quite +certain that, in obtaining Jane for a nurse, she had been fortunate. +She gave, confidently, to her care, a babe seven months old. At +first, from a mother's natural instinct, she kept her eye upon Jane; +but every thing going on right, she soon ceased to observe her +closely. This was noted by the nurse, who began to breathe with more +freedom. Up to this time, the child placed in her charge had +received the kindest attentions. Now, however, her natural +indifference led her to neglect him in various little ways, +unnoticed by the mother, but felt by the infant. Temptations were +also thrown in her way by the thoughtless exposure of money and +jewelry. Mrs. Campbell supposed, of course, that she was honest, or +she would have been notified of the fact by Mrs. May, of whom she +had inquired Jane's character; and, therefore, never thought of +being on her guard in this respect. Occasionally he could not help +thinking that there ought to be more money in her purse than there +was. But she did not suffer this thought to rise into a suspicion of +unfair dealing against any one. The loss of a costly breast pin, the +gift of a mother long since passed into the invisible world, next +worried her mind; but, even this did not cause her to suspect that +any thing was wrong with her nurse. +</P> + +<P> +This the time passed on, many little losses of money and valued +articles disturbing and troubling the mind of Mrs. Campbell, until +it became necessary to wean her babe. This duty was assigned to +Jane, who took the infant to sleep with her. On the first night, it +cried for several hours—in fact, did not permit Jane to get more +than a few minutes sleep at a time all night. Her patience was tried +severely. Sometimes she would hold the distressed child with angry +violence to her bosom, while it screamed with renewed energy; and +then, finding that it still continued to cry, toss it from her upon +the bed, and let it lie, still screaming, until fear lest its mother +should be tempted to come to her distressed babe, would cause her +again to take it to her arms. A hard time had that poor child of it +on that first night of its most painful experience in the world. It +was scolded, shaken, and even whipped by the unfeeling nurse, until, +at last, worn out nature yielded, and sleep threw its protecting +mantle over the wearied babe. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you get along with Henry?" was the mother's eager question, +as she entered Jane's room soon after daylight. +</P> + +<P> +"O very well, ma'am," returned Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard him cry dreadfully in the night. Several times I thought I +would come in and take him." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am, he did scream once or twice very hard; but he soon gave +up, and has long slept as soundly as you now see him." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear little fellow!" murmured the mother in a trembling voice. She +stooped down and kissed him tenderly—tears were in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +On the next night, Henry screamed again for several hours. Jane, had +she felt an affection for the child, and, from that affection been +led to soothe it with tenderness, might easily have lulled it into +quiet; but her ill-nature disturbed the child. After worrying with +it a long time, she threw it from her with violence, exclaiming as +she did so— +</P> + +<P> +"I'll fix you to-morrow night! There'll be no more of this. They +needn't think I'm going to worry out my life for their cross-grained +brat." +</P> + +<P> +She stopped. For the babe had suddenly ceased crying. Lifting it up, +quickly, she perceived, by the light of the lamp, that its face was +very white, and its lips blue. In alarm, she picked it up and sprang +from the bed. A little water thrown into its face, soon revived it. +But the child did not cry again, and soon fell away into sleep. For +a long time Jane sat partly up in bed, leaning over on her arm, and +looking into little Henry's face. He breathed freely, and seemed to +be as well as ever. She did not wake until morning. When she did, +she found the mother bending over her, and gazing earnestly down +into the face of her sleeping babe. The incident that had occurred +in the night glanced through her mind, and caused her to rise up and +look anxiously at the child. Its sweet, placid face, at once +reassured her. +</P> + +<P> +"He slept better last night," remarked Mrs. Campbell. +</P> + +<P> +"O, yes. He didn't cry any at all, hardly." +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven bless him!" murmured the mother, bending over and kissing +him softly. +</P> + +<P> +On the next morning, when she awoke, Mrs. Campbell felt a strange +uneasiness about her child. Without waiting to dress herself, she +went softly over to the room where Jane slept. It was only a little +after day-light. She found both the child and nurse asleep. There +was something in the atmosphere of the room that oppressed her +lungs, and something peculiar in its odor. Without disturbing Jane, +she stood for several minutes looking into the face of Henry. +Something about it troubled her. It was not so calm as usual, nor +had his skin that white transparency so peculiar to a babe. +</P> + +<P> +"Jane," she at length said, laying her hand upon the nurse. +</P> + +<P> +Jane roused up. +</P> + +<P> +"How did Henry get along last night, Jane?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, indeed, ma'am; he did not cry at all." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think he looks well?" +</P> + +<P> +Jane turned her eyes to the face of the child, and regarded it for +some time. +</P> + +<P> +"O, yes, ma'am, he looks very well; he has been sleeping sound all +night." +</P> + +<P> +Thus assured, Mrs. Campbell regarded Henry for a few minutes longer, +and then left the room. But her heart was not at ease. There was a +weight upon it, and it labored in its office heavily. +</P> + +<P> +"Still asleep," she said, about an hour after, coming into Jane's +room. "It is not usual for him to sleep so long in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +Jane turned away from the penetrating glance of the mother, and +remarked, indifferently: +</P> + +<P> +"He has been worried out for the last two nights. That is the +reason, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Campbell said no more, but lifted the child in her arms, and +carried it to her own chamber. There she endeavored to awaken it, +but, to her alarm, she found that it still slept heavily in spite of +all her efforts. +</P> + +<P> +Running down into the parlor with it, where her husband sat reading +the morning papers, she exclaimed: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Henry! I'm afraid that Jane has been giving this child +something to make him sleep. See! I cannot awake him. Something is +wrong, depend upon it!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Campbell took the babe and endeavored to arouse him, but without +effect. +</P> + +<P> +"Call her down here," he then said, in a quick, resolute voice. +</P> + +<P> +Jane was called down. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you given this child?" asked Mr. Campbell, peremptorily. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," was the positive answer. "What could I have given him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Call the waiter." +</P> + +<P> +Jane left the room, and in a moment after the waiter entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Go for Doctor B—— as fast as you can, and say to him I must see +him immediately." +</P> + +<P> +The waiter left the house in great haste. In about twenty minutes +Dr. B—— arrived. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there any thing wrong about this child?" Mr. Campbell asked, +placing little Henry in the doctor's arms. +</P> + +<P> +"There is," was replied, after the lapse of about half a minute. +"What have you been giving it." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing. But we are afraid the nurse has." +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody has been giving it a powerful anodyne, that is certain. +This is no natural sleep. Where is the nurse? let me see her." +</P> + +<P> +Jane was sent for, but word was soon brought that she was not to be +found. She had, in fact, bundled up her clothes, and hastily and +quietly left the house. This confirmed the worst fears of both +parents and physician. But, if any doubt remained, a vial of +laudanum and a spoon, found in the washstand drawer in Jane's room, +dispelled it. +</P> + +<P> +Then most prompt and active treatment was resorted to by Doctor +B—— in the hope of saving the child. But his anxious efforts were +in vain. The deadly narcotic had taken entire possession of the +whole system; had, in fact, usurped the seat of life, and was +poisoning its very fountain. At day dawn on the next morning the +flickering lamp went out, and the sad parents looked their last look +upon their living child. +</P> + +<P> +"I have heard most dreadful news," Mrs. May said to her husband, on +his return home that day. +</P> + +<P> +"You have! What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jane has poisoned Mrs. Campbell's child!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ella!" and Mr. May started from his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"It is true. She had it to wean, and gave it such a dose of +laudanum, that it died." +</P> + +<P> +"Dreadful! What have they done with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"She can't be found, I am told." +</P> + +<P> +"You recommended her to Mrs. Campbell." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But I didn't believe she was wicked enough for that." +</P> + +<P> +"Though it is true she ill-treated little Charley, and we knew it. I +don't see how you can ever forgive yourself. I am sure that I don't +feel like ever again looking Mr. Campbell in the face." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Mr. May, you know very well that you didn't want me to say any +thing against Jane to hurt her character." +</P> + +<P> +"True. And it is hard to injure a poor fellow creature by blazoning +her faults about. But I had no idea that Jane was such a wretch!" +</P> + +<P> +"We knew that she would steal, and that she was unkind to children; +and yet, we agreed to recommend her to Mrs. Campbell." +</P> + +<P> +"But it was purely out of kind feelings for the girl, Ella." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But is that genuine kindness? Is it real charity? I fear not." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. May was silent. The questions probed him to the quick. Let every +one who is good-hearted in the sense that Mr. May was, ask seriously +the same questions. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="slow"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SLOW AND SURE. +</H3> + +<P> +"YOU'D better take the whole case. These goods will sell as fast as +they can be measured off." +</P> + +<P> +The young man to whom this was said by the polite and active partner +in a certain jobbing house in Philadelphia, shook his head and +replied firmly— +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mr. Johnson. Three pieces are enough for my sales. If they go +off quickly, I can easily get more." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know about that, Mr. Watson," replied the jobber. "I shall +be greatly mistaken if we have a case of these goods left by the end +of a week. Every one who looks at them, buys. Miller bought two +whole cases this morning. In the original packages, we sell them at +a half cent per yard lower than by the piece." +</P> + +<P> +"If they are gone, I can buy something else," said the cautious +purchaser. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you won't let me sell you a case?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"You buy too cautiously," said Johnson. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think so?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know so. The fact is, I can sell some of your neighbors as much +in an hour as I can sell you in a week. We jobbers would starve if +there were no more active men in the trade than you are, friend +Watson." +</P> + +<P> +Watson smiled in a quiet, self-satisfied way as he replied— +</P> + +<P> +"The number of wholesale dealers might be diminished; but failures +among them would be of less frequent occurrence. Slow and sure, is +my motto." +</P> + +<P> +"Slow and sure don't make much headway in these times. Enterprise is +the word. A man has to be swift-footed to keep up with the general +movement." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't expect to get rich in a day," said Watson. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll hardly be disappointed in your expectation," remarked +Johnson, a little sarcastically. His customer did not notice the +feeling his tones expressed, but went on to select a piece or two of +goods, here and there, from various packages, as the styles happened +to suit him. +</P> + +<P> +"Five per cent. off for cash, I suppose," said Watson, after +completing his purchase. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, certainly," replied the dealer. "Do you wish to cash the bill?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I wish to do a cash business as far as I can. It is rather +slow work at first; but it is safest, and sure to come out right in +the end." +</P> + +<P> +"You're behind the times, Watson," said Johnson, shaking his head. +"Tell me—who can do the most profitable business, a man with a +capital of five thousand dollars, or a man with twenty thousand?" +</P> + +<P> +"The latter, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Don't you understand that credit is capital?" +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't cash capital." +</P> + +<P> +"What is the difference, pray, between the profit on ten thousand +dollars' worth of goods purchased on time or purchased for cash?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just five hundred dollars," said Watson. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you make that out?" The jobber did not see the meaning of +his customer. +</P> + +<P> +"You discount five per cent. for cash, don't you?" replied Watson, +smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"True. But, if you don't happen to have the ten thousand dollars +cash, at the time you wish to make a purchase, don't you see what an +advantage credit gives you? Estimate the profit at twenty per cent. +on a cash purchase, and your credit enables you to make fifteen per +cent. where you would have made nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"All very good theory," said Watson. "It looks beautiful on paper. +Thousands have figured themselves out rich in this way, but, alas! +discovered themselves poor in the end. If all would work just +right—if the thousands of dollars of goods bought on credit would +invariably sell at good profit and in time to meet the purchase +notes, then your credit business would be first rate. But, my little +observation tells me that this isn't always the case—that your +large credit men are forever on the street, money hunting, instead +of in their stores looking after their business. Instead of getting +discounts that add to their profits, they are constantly suffering +discounts of the other kind; and, too often, these, and the +accumulating stock of unsaleable goods—the consequence of credit +temptations in purchasing—reduce the fifteen per cent. you speak of +down to ten, and even five per cent. A large business makes large +store-expenses; and these eat away a serious amount of small profits +on large sales. Better sell twenty thousand dollars' worth of goods +at twenty per cent. profit, than eighty thousand at five per cent. +You can do it with less labor, less anxiety, and at less cost for +rent and clerk hire. At least, Mr. Johnson, this is my mode of +reasoning." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, plod along," replied Johnson. "Little boats keep near the +shore. But, let me tell you, my young friend, your mind is rather +too limited for a merchant of this day. There is Mortimer, who began +business about the time you did. How much do you think he has made +by a good credit?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty thousand dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"And by the next turn of fortune's wheel, may lose it all." +</P> + +<P> +"Not he. Mortimer, though young, is too shrewd a merchant for that. +Do you know that he made ten thousand by the late rise in cotton; +and all without touching a dollar in his business?" +</P> + +<P> +"I heard something of it. But, suppose prices had receded instead of +advancing? What of this good credit, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're too timid—too prudent, Watson," said the merchant, "and +will be left behind in the race for prosperity by men of half your +ability." +</P> + +<P> +"No matter; I will be content," was the reply of Watson. +</P> + +<P> +It happened, a short time after this little interchange of views on +business matters, that Watson met the daughter of Mr. Johnson in a +company where he chanced to be. She was an accomplished and +interesting young woman, and pleased Watson particularly; and it is +but truth to say, that she was equally well pleased with him. +</P> + +<P> +The father, who was present, saw, with a slight feeling of +disapprobation, the lively conversation that passed between the +young man and his daughter; and when an occasion offered, a day or +two afterwards, made it a point to refer to him in a way to give the +impression that he held him in light estimation. Flora, that was the +daughter's name, did not appear to notice his remark. One evening, +not long after this, as the family of Mr. Johnson were about leaving +the tea-table, where they had remained later than usual, a domestic +announced that there was a gentleman in the parlor. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it?" inquired Flora. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Mortimer," was answered. +</P> + +<P> +An expression of dislike came into the face of Flora, as she said— +</P> + +<P> +"He didn't ask for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," was the servant's reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him that I'm engaged, Nancy." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" said Mr. Johnson, quickly. "This would not be right. <I>Are</I> +you engaged?" +</P> + +<P> +"That means, father, that I don't wish to see him; and he will so +understand me." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't wish to see him? Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I don't like him." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't like him?" Mr. Johnson's manner was slightly impatient. +"Perhaps you don't know him." +</P> + +<P> +The way in which her father spoke, rather embarrassed Flora. She +cast down her eye and stood for a few moments. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell Mr. Mortimer that I will see him in a little while," she then +said, and, as the domestic retired to give the answer, she ascended +to her chamber to make some slight additions to her toilet. +</P> + +<P> +To meet the young man by constraint, as it were, was only to +increase in Flora's mind the dislike she had expressed. So coldly +and formally was Mortimer received, that he found his visit rather +unpleasant than agreeable, and retired, after sitting an hour, +somewhat puzzled as to the real estimation in which he was held by +the lady, for whom he felt more than a slight preference. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Johnson was very much inclined to estimate others by a +money-standard of valuation. A man was a man, in his eyes, when he +possessed those qualities of mind that would enable him to make his +way in the world—in other words, to get rich. It was this ability +in Mortimer that elevated him in his regard, and produced a feeling +of pleasure when he saw him inclined to pay attention to his +daughter. And it was the apparent want of this ability in Watson, +that caused him to be lightly esteemed. +</P> + +<P> +Men like Mr. Johnson are never very wise in their estimates of +character; nor do they usually adopt the best means of attaining +their ends when they meet with opposition. This was illustrated in +the present case. Mortimer was frequently referred to in the +presence of Flora, and praised in the highest terms; while the bare +mention of Watson's name was sure to occasion a series of +disparaging remarks. The effect was just the opposite of what was +intended. The more her father said in favor of the thrifty young +merchant, the stronger was the repugnance felt towards him by Flora; +and the more he had to say against Watson, the better she liked him. +This went on until there came a formal application from Mortimer for +the hand of Flora. It was made to Mr. Johnson first, who replied to +the young man that if he could win the maiden's favor, he had his +full approval. But to win the maiden's favor was not so easy a task, +as the young man soon found. His offered hand was firmly declined. +</P> + +<P> +"Am I to consider your present decision as final?" said the young +man, in surprise and disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you to do so, Mr. Mortimer," said Flora. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father approves my suit," said he. "I have his full consent to +make you this offer of my hand." +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot but feel flattered at your preference," returned Flora; +"but, to accept your offer, would not be just either to you or +myself. I, therefore, wish you to understand me as being entirely in +earnest." +</P> + +<P> +This closed the interview and definitely settled the question. When +Mr. Johnson learned that the offer of Mortimer had been declined, he +was very angry with his daughter, and, in the passionate excitement +of his feelings, committed a piece of folly for which he felt an +immediate sense of shame and regret. +</P> + +<P> +The interview between Mr. Mortimer and Flora took place during the +afternoon, and Mr. Johnson learned the result from a note received +from the disappointed young man, just as he was about leaving his +store to return home. Flora did not join the family at the +tea-table, on that evening, for her mind was a good deal disturbed, +and she wished to regain her calmness and self-possession before +meeting her father. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Johnson was sitting in a moody and angry state of mind about an +hour after supper, when a domestic came into the room and said that +Mr. Watson was in the parlor. +</P> + +<P> +"What does he want here?" asked Mr. Johnson, in a rough, excited +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"He asked for Miss Flora," returned the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" +</P> + +<P> +"In her room." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, let her stay there. I'll see him myself." +</P> + +<P> +And without taking time for reflection, Mr. Johnson descended to the +parlor. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Watson," said he, coldly, as the young man arose and advanced +towards him. +</P> + +<P> +His manner caused the visitor to pause, and let the hand he had +extended fall to his side. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what is your wish?" asked Mr. Johnson. He looked with knit +brows into Watson's face. +</P> + +<P> +"I have called to see your daughter Flora," returned the young man, +calmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then, I wish you to understand that your call is not agreeable," +said the father of the young lady, with great rudeness of manner. +</P> + +<P> +"Not agreeable to whom?" asked Watson, manifesting no excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"Not agreeable to me," replied Mr. Johnson. "Nor agreeable to any +one in this house." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you speak for your daughter?" inquired the young man. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a right to speak for her, if any one has," was the evasive +answer. +</P> + +<P> +Watson bowed respectfully, and, without a word more, retired from +the house. +</P> + +<P> +The calm dignity with which he had received the rough treatment of +Mr. Johnson, rebuked the latter, and added a feeling of shame to his +other causes of mental disquietude. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day Flora received a letter from Watson, in part in +these words— +</P> + +<P> +"I called, last evening, but was not so fortunate as to see you. +Your father met me in the parlor, and on learning that my visit was +to you, desired me not to come again. This circumstance makes it +imperative on me to declare what might have been sometime longer +delayed—my sincere regard for you. If you feel towards me as your +father does, then I have not a word more to say; but I do not +believe this, and, therefore, I cannot let his disapproval, in a +matter so intimately concerning my happiness, and it may be yours, +influence me to the formation of a hasty decision. I deeply regret +your father's state of feeling. His full approval of my suit, next +to yours, I feel to be in every way desirable. +</P> + +<P> +"But, why need I multiply words? Again, I declare that I feel for +you a sincere affection. If you can return this, say so with as +little delay as possible; and if you cannot, be equally frank with +me." +</P> + +<P> +Watson did not err in his belief that Flora reciprocated his tender +sentiments; nor was he kept long in suspense. She made an early +reply, avowing her own attachment, but urging him; for her sake, to +do all in his power to overcome her father's prejudices. But this +was no easy task. In the end, however, Mr. Johnson, who saw, too +plainly, that opposition on his part would be of no avail, yielded a +kind of forced consent that the plodding, behind-the-age young +merchant, should lead Flora to the altar. That his daughter should +be content with such a man, was to him a source of deep +mortification. His own expectations in regard to her had been of a +far higher character. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll never set the world on fire;" "A man of no enterprise;" "A +dull plodder;" with similar allusions to his son-in-law, were +overheard by Mr. Johnson on the night of the wedding party, and +added no little to the ill-concealed chagrin from which he suffered. +They were made by individuals who belonged to the new school of +business men, of whom Mortimer was a representative. He, too, was +present. His disappointment in not obtaining the hand of Flora, had +been solaced in the favor of one whose social standing and +money-value was regarded as considerably above that of the maiden +who had declined the offer of his hand. He saw Flora given to +another without a feeling of regret. A few months afterwards, he +married the daughter of a gentleman who considered himself fortunate +in obtaining a son-in-law that promised to be one of the richest men +in the city. +</P> + +<P> +It was with a very poor grace that Mr. Johnson bore his +disappointment; so poor, that he scarcely treated the husband of his +daughter with becoming respect. To add to his uncomfortable feelings +by contrast, Mortimer built himself a splendid dwelling almost +beside the modest residence of Mr. Watson, and after furnishing it +in the most costly and elegant style, gave a grand entertainment. +Invitations to this were not extended to either Mr. Johnson's family +or to that of his son-in-law—an omission that was particularly +galling to the former. +</P> + +<P> +A few weeks subsequent to this, Mr. Johnson stood beside Mr. Watson +in an auction room. To the latter a sample of new goods, just +introduced, was knocked down, and when asked by the auctioneer how +many cases he would take, he replied "Two." +</P> + +<P> +"Say ten," whispered Mr. Johnson in his ear. +</P> + +<P> +"Two cases are enough for my sales," quietly returned the young man. +</P> + +<P> +"But they're a great bargain. You can sell them at an advance," +urged Mr. Johnson. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so. But I'd rather not go out of my regular line of +business." +</P> + +<P> +By this time, the auctioneer's repeated question of "Who'll take +another case?" had been responded to by half a dozen voices, and the +lot of goods was gone. +</P> + +<P> +"You're too prudent," said Mr. Johnson, with some impatience in his +manner. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied the young man, with his usual calm tone and quiet +smile. "Slow and sure—that is my motto. I only buy the quantity of +an article that I am pretty sure will sell. Then I get a certain +profit, and am not troubled with paying for goods that are lying on +my shelves and depreciating in value daily." +</P> + +<P> +"But these wouldn't have lain on your shelves. You could have sold +them at a quarter of a cent advance to-morrow, and thus cleared +sixty or seventy dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"That is mere speculation." +</P> + +<P> +"Call it what you will; it makes no difference. The chance of making +a good operation was before you, and you did not improve it. You +will never get along at your snail's pace." +</P> + +<P> +There was, in the voice of Mr. Johnson, a tone of contempt that +stung Watson more than any previous remark or, action of his +father-in-law. Thrown, for a moment, off his guard, he replied with +some warmth— +</P> + +<P> +"You may be sure of one thing, at least." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"That I shall never embarrass you with any of my fine operations." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. Johnson. +</P> + +<P> +"Time will explain the remark," replied Watson, turning away, and +retiring from the auction room. +</P> + +<P> +A coolness of some months was the consequence of this little +interview. +</P> + +<P> +Time proves all things. At the end of fifteen years, Mortimer, who +had gone on in the way he had begun, was reputed to be worth two +hundred thousand dollars. Every thing he touched turned to money; at +least, so it appeared. His whole conversation was touching handsome +operations in trade; and not a day passed in which he had not some +story of gains to tell. Yet, with all his heavy accumulations, he +was always engaged in money raising, and his line of discounts was +enormous. Such a thing as proper attention to business was almost +out of the question, for nearly his whole time was taken up in +financiering—and some of his financial schemes were on a pretty +grand scale. Watson, on the other hand, had kept plodding along in +the old way, making his regular business purchases, and gradually +extending his operations, as his profits, changing into capital, +enabled him to do so. He was not anxious to get rich fast; at least, +not so anxious as to suffer himself to be tempted from a safe and +prudent course; and was, therefore, content to do well. By this +time, his father-in-law began to understand him a little better than +at first, and to appreciate him more highly. On more than one +occasion, he had been in want of a few thousand dollars in an +emergency, when the check of Watson promptly supplied the pressing +need. +</P> + +<P> +As to the real ability of Watson, few were apprised, for he never +made a display for the sake of establishing a credit. But it was +known to some, that he generally had a comfortable balance in the +bank, and to others that he never exchanged notes, nor asked an +endorser on his business paper. He always purchased for cash, and +thus obtained his goods from five to seven per cent cheaper than his +neighbors; and rarely put his business paper in bank for discount at +a longer date than sixty days. Under this system, his profits were, +usually, ten per cent. more than the profits of many who were +engaged in the same branch of trade. His credit was so good, that +the bank where he kept his account readily gave him all the money he +asked on his regular paper, without requiring other endorsements; +while many of his more dashing neighbors, who were doing half as +much business again, were often obliged to go upon the street to +raise money at from one to two per cent. a month. Moreover, as he +was always to be found at his store, and ready to give his personal +attention to customers, he was able to make his own discriminations +and to form his own estimates of men—and these were generally +correct. The result of this was, that he gradually attracted a class +of dealers who were substantial men; and, in consequence, was little +troubled with bad sales. +</P> + +<P> +Up to this time, there had been but few changes in the external +domestic arrangements of Mr. Watson. He had moved twice, and, each +time, into a larger house. His increasing family made this +necessary. But, while all was comfortable and even elegant in his +dwelling, there was no display whatever. +</P> + +<P> +One day, about this period, as Watson was walking with his +father-in-law, they both paused to look at a handsome house that was +going up in a fashionable part of Walnut street. By the side of it +was a large building lot. +</P> + +<P> +"I have about made up my mind to buy this lot," remarked Watson. +</P> + +<P> +"You?" Mr. Johnson spoke in a tone of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. The price is ten thousand dollars. Rather high; but I like the +location." +</P> + +<P> +"What will you do with it?" inquired Mr. Johnson. +</P> + +<P> +"Build upon it." +</P> + +<P> +"As an investment?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I want a dwelling for myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! I was not aware that you had any such intentions." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. I have always intended to build a house so soon as I felt +able to do it according to my own fancy." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Johnson felt a good deal surprised at this. No more was said, +and the two men walked on. +</P> + +<P> +"How's this? For sale!" said Mr. Johnson. They were opposite the +elegant dwelling of Mr. Mortimer, upon which was posted a hand-bill +setting forth that the property was for sale. +</P> + +<P> +"So it seems," was Watson's quiet answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Why should he sell out?" added Mr. Johnson. "Perhaps he is going to +Europe to make a tour with his family," he suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"It is more probable," said Watson, "that he has got to the end of +his rope." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean by that remark?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is obliged to sell in order to save himself." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no! Mortimer is rich." +</P> + +<P> +"So it is said. But I never call a man rich whose paper is floating +about by thousands on the street seeking purchasers at two per cent. +a month." +</P> + +<P> +Just then the carriage of Mortimer drove up to his door, and Mrs. +Mortimer descended to the pavement and passed into the house. Her +face was pale, and had a look of deep distress. It was several years +since Mr. Johnson remembered to have seen her, and he was almost +startled at the painful change which had taken place. +</P> + +<P> +A little while afterwards he looked upon the cheerful, smiling face +of his daughter Flora, and there arose in his heart, almost +involuntarily, an emotion of thankfulness that she was not the wife +of Mortimer. Could he have seen what passed a few hours afterwards, +in the dwelling of the latter, he would have been more thankful than +ever. +</P> + +<P> +It was after eleven o'clock when Mortimer returned home that night. +He had been away since morning. It was rarely that he dined with his +family, but usually came home early in the evening. Since seven +o'clock, the tea-table had been standing in the floor, awaiting his +return. At eight o'clock, as he was still absent, supper was served +to the children, who, soon after, retired for the night. It was +after eleven o'clock as we have said, before Mortimer returned. His +face was pale and haggard. He entered quietly, by means of his +night-key, and went noiselessly up to his chamber. He found his wife +lying across the bed, where, wearied with watching, she had thrown +herself and fallen asleep. For a few moments he stood looking at +her, with a face in which agony and affection were blended. Then he +clasped his hands suddenly against his temples, and groaned aloud. +That groan penetrated the ears of his sleeping wife, who started up +with an exclamation of alarm, as her eyes saw the gesture and +expression of her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Henry! what is the matter? Where have you been? Why do you look +so?" she eagerly inquired. +</P> + +<P> +Mortimer did not reply; but continued standing like a statue of +despair. +</P> + +<P> +"Henry! Henry!" cried his wife, springing towards him, and laying +her hands upon his arm. "Dear husband! what is the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ruined! Ruined!" now came hoarsely from the lips of Mortimer, and, +with another deep groan, he threw himself on a sofa, and wrung his +hands in uncontrollable anguish. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Henry! speak! What does this mean?" said his wife, the tears +now gushing from her eyes. "Tell me what has happened." +</P> + +<P> +But, "Ruined! Ruined!" was all the wretched man would say for a long +time. At last, however, he made a few vague explanations, to the +effect that he would be compelled to stop payment on the next day. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought," said Mrs. Mortimer, "that the sale of this house was to +afford you all the money you needed." +</P> + +<P> +"It is not sold yet," was all his reply to this. He did not explain +that it was under a heavy mortgage, and that, even if sold, the +amount realized would be a trifle compared with his need on the +following day. During the greater part of the night, Mortimer walked +the floor of his chamber; and, for a portion of the time, his wife +moved like a shadow by his side. But few words passed between them. +</P> + +<P> +When the day broke, Mrs. Mortimer was lying on the bed, asleep. +Tears were on her cheeks. In a crib, beside her, was a fair-haired +child, two years old, breathing sweetly in his innocent slumber; and +over this crib bent the husband and father. His face was now calm, +but very pale, and its expression of sadness, as he gazed upon his +sleeping child, was heart-touching. For many minutes he stood over +the unconscious slumberer; then stooping down, he touched its +forehead lightly with his lips, while a low sigh struggled up from +his bosom. Turning, then, his eyes upon his wife, he gazed at her +for some moments, with a sad, pitying look. He was bending to kiss +her, when a movement, as if she were about to awaken, caused him to +step back, and stand holding his breath, as if he feared the very +sound would disturb her. She did not open her eyes, however, but +turned over, with a low moan of suffering, and an indistinct murmur +of his name. +</P> + +<P> +Mortimer did not again approach the bed-side, but stepped +noiselessly to the chamber door, and passed into the next room, +where three children, who made up the full number of his household +treasures, were buried in tranquil sleep. Long he did not linger +here. A hurried glance was taken of each beloved face, and a kiss +laid lightly upon the lips of each. Then he left the room, moving +down the stairs with a step of fear. A moment or two more, and he +was beyond the threshold of his dwelling. +</P> + +<P> +When Mrs. Mortimer started up from unquiet slumber, as the first +beams of the morning sun fell upon her face, she looked around, +eagerly, for her husband. Not seeing him, she called his name. No +answer was received, and she sprung from the bed. As she did so, a +letter placed conspicuously on the bureau met her eyes. Eagerly +breaking the seal, she read this brief sentence: +</P> + +<P> +"Circumstances make it necessary for me to leave the city by the +earliest conveyance. Say not a word of this to any one—not even to +your father. My safety depends on your silence. I will write to you +in a little while. May Heaven give you strength to bear the trials +through which you are about to pass!" +</P> + +<P> +But for the instant fear for her husband, which this communication +brought into the mind of Mrs. Mortimer, the shock would have +rendered her insensible. He was in danger, and upon her discretion +depended his safety. This gave her strength for the moment. Her +first act was to destroy the note. Next she strove to repress the +wild throbbings of her heart, and to assume a calm exterior. Vain +efforts! She was too weak for the trial; and who can wonder that she +was? +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Johnson was sitting in his store about half past three o'clock +that afternoon, when a man came in and asked him for the payment of +a note of five thousand dollars. He was a Notary. +</P> + +<P> +"A protest!" exclaimed Mr. Johnson, in astonishment. "What does this +mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand this," said he, after a moment or two. "I have +no paper out for that amount falling due to-day. Let me see it?" +</P> + +<P> +The note was handed to him. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a forgery!" said he, promptly. "To whom is it payable?" he +added. "To Mortimer, as I live!" +</P> + +<P> +And he handed it back to the Notary, who departed. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after he saw the father-in-law of Mortimer go hurriedly past +his store. A glimpse of his countenance showed that he was strongly +agitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you heard the news?" asked his son-in-law, coming in, half an +hour afterwards. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mortimer has been detected in a forgery!" +</P> + +<P> +"Upon whom?" +</P> + +<P> +"His father-in-law." +</P> + +<P> +"He has forged my name also." +</P> + +<P> +"He has!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. A note for five thousand dollars was presented to me by the +Notary a little while ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it possible? But this is no loss to you." +</P> + +<P> +"If he has resorted to forgery to sustain himself," replied Mr. +Johnson, looking serious, "his affairs are, of course, in a +desperate condition." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course." +</P> + +<P> +"I am on his paper to at least twenty thousand dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"You!" +</P> + +<P> +"Such, I am sorry to say, is the case. And to meet that paper will +try me severely. Oh, dear! How little I dreamed of this! I thought +him one of the soundest men in the city." +</P> + +<P> +"I am pained to hear that you are so deeply involved," said Mr. +Watson. "But, do not let it trouble you too much. I will defer my +building intentions to another time, and let you have whatever money +you may need." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Johnson made no answer. His eyes were upon the floor and his +thoughts away back to the time when he had suffered the great +disappointment of seeing his daughter marry the slow, plodding +Watson, instead of becoming the wife of the enterprising Mortimer. +</P> + +<P> +"I will try, my son," said he, at length, in a subdued voice, "to +get through without drawing upon you too largely. Ah, me! How blind +I have been." +</P> + +<P> +"You may depend on me for at least twenty thousand dollars," replied +Watson, cheerfully; "and for even more, if it is needed." +</P> + +<P> +It was soon known that Mortimer had committed extensive forgeries +upon various persons, and that he had left the city. Officers were +immediately despatched for his arrest, and in a few days he was +brought back as a criminal. In his ruin, many others were involved. +Among these was his father-in-law, who was stripped of every dollar +in his old age. +</P> + +<P> +"Slow and sure—slow and sure. Yes, Watson was right." Thus mused +Mr. Johnson, a few months afterwards, on hearing that Mortimer was +arraigned before the criminal court, to stand his trial for forgery. +"It is the safest and the best way, and certainly leads to +prosperity. Ah, me! How are we drawn aside into false ways through +our eagerness to obtain wealth by a nearer road than that of patient +industry in legitimate trade. Where one is successful, a dozen are +ruined by this error. Slow and sure! Yes, that is the true doctrine. +Watson was right, as the result has proved. Happy for me that his +was a better experiment than that of the envied Mortimer!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="girl"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SCHOOL GIRL. +</H3> + +<P> +"WHERE now?" said Frederick Williams to his friend Charles Lawson, +on entering his own office and finding the latter, carpet-bag in +hand, awaiting his arrival. +</P> + +<P> +"Off for a day or two on a little business affair," replied Lawson. +</P> + +<P> +"Business! What have you to do with business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not ordinary, vulgar business," returned Lawson with a slight toss +of the head and an expression of contempt. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! It's of a peculiar nature?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is—very peculiar; and, moreover, I want the good offices of a +friend, to enable me the more certainly to accomplish my purposes." +</P> + +<P> +"Come! sit down and explain yourself," said Williams. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't a moment to spare. The boat goes in half an hour." +</P> + +<P> +"What boat?" +</P> + +<P> +"The New Haven boat. So come, go along with me to the slip, and +we'll talk the matter over by the way." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm all attention," said Williams, as the two young men stepped +forth upon the pavement. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you must know," began Lawson, "that I have a first rate love +affair on my hands." +</P> + +<P> +"You!" +</P> + +<P> +"Now don't smile; but hear me." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on—I'm all attention." +</P> + +<P> +"You know old Everett?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thomas Everett, the silk importer?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same." +</P> + +<P> +"I know something about him." +</P> + +<P> +"You know, I presume, that he has a pretty fair looking daughter?" +</P> + +<P> +"And I know," replied Williams, "that when 'pretty fair looking' is +said, pretty much all is said in her favor." +</P> + +<P> +"Not by a great deal," was the decided answer of Lawson. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray what is there beyond this that a man can call attractive?" +</P> + +<P> +"Her father's money." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't think of that." +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. But it would take the saving influence of a pretty large sum to +give her a marriageable merit in my eyes." +</P> + +<P> +"Gold hides a multitude of defects, you know, Fred." +</P> + +<P> +"It does; but it has to be heaped up very high to cover a wife's +defects, if they be as radical as those in Caroline Everett. Why, to +speak out the plain, homespun truth, the girl's a fool!" +</P> + +<P> +"She isn't over bright, Fred, I know," replied Lawson. "But to call +her a fool, is to use rather a broad assertion." +</P> + +<P> +"She certainly hasn't good common sense. I would be ashamed of her +in company a dozen times a day if she were any thing to me." +</P> + +<P> +"She's young, you know, Fred." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, a young and silly girl." +</P> + +<P> +"Just silly enough for my purpose. But, she will grow older and +wiser, you know. Young and silly is a very good fault." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she now?" +</P> + +<P> +"At a boarding school some thirty miles from New Haven. Do you know +why her father sent her there?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"She would meet me on her way to and from school while in the city, +and the old gentleman had, I presume, some objections to me as a +son-in-law." +</P> + +<P> +"And not without reason," replied Williams. +</P> + +<P> +"I could not have asked him to do a thing more consonant with my +wishes," continued Lawson. "Caroline told me where she was going, +and I was not long in making a visit to the neighborhood. Great +attention is paid to physical development in the school, and the +young ladies are required to walk, daily, in the open air, amid the +beautiful, romantic, and secluded scenery by which the place is +surrounded. They walk alone, or in company, as suits their fancies. +Caroline chose to walk alone when I was near at hand; and we met in +a certain retired glen, where the sweet quiet of nature was broken +only by the dreamy murmur of a silvery stream, and there we talked +of love. It is not in the heart of a woman to withstand a scene like +this. I told, in burning words, my passion, and she hearkened and +was won." Lawson paused for some moments; but, as Williams made no +remark, he continued— +</P> + +<P> +"It is hopeless to think of gaining her father's consent to a +marriage. He is pence-proud, and I, as you know, am penniless." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not think he would be likely to fancy you for a son-in-law," +said Williams. +</P> + +<P> +"I have the best of reasons, for knowing that he would not. He has +already spoken of me to his daughter in very severe terms." +</P> + +<P> +"As she has informed you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But, like a sensible girl, she prefers consulting her own +taste in matters of the heart." +</P> + +<P> +"A very sensible girl, certainly!" +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't she! Well, as delays are dangerous, I have made up my mind to +consummate this business as quickly as possible. You know how hard +pressed I am in certain quarters, and how necessary it is that I +should get my pecuniary matters in a more stable position. In a +word, then, my business, on the present occasion, is to remove +Caroline from school, it being my opinion that she has completed her +education." +</P> + +<P> +"Has she consented to this?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; but she won't require any great persuasion. I'll manage all +that. What I want you to do is, first, to engage me rooms at +Howard's, and, second, to meet me at the boat, day after to-morrow, +with a carriage." +</P> + +<P> +"Where will you have the ceremony performed?" +</P> + +<P> +"In this city. I have already engaged the Rev. Mr. B—— to do that +little work for me. He will join us at the hotel immediately on our +arrival, and in your presence, as a witness, the knot will be tied." +</P> + +<P> +"All very nicely arranged," said Williams. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it! And what is more, the whole thing will go off like clock +work. Of course I can depend on you. You will meet us at the boat." +</P> + +<P> +"I will, certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"Then good by." They were by this time at the landing. The two young +men shook hands, and Lawson sprung on board of the boat, while +Williams returned thoughtfully to his office. +</P> + +<P> +Charles Lawson was a young man having neither principle nor +character. A connection with certain families in New York, added to +a good address, polished manners, and an unblushing assurance, had +given him access to society at certain points, and of this facility +he had taken every advantage. Too idle and dissolute for useful +effort in society, he looked with a cold, calculating baseness to +marriage as the means whereby he was to gain the position at which +he aspired. Possessing no attractive virtues—no personal merits of +any kind, his prospects of a connection, such as he wished to form, +through the medium of any honorable advances, were hopeless, and +this he perfectly well understood. But, the conviction did not in +the least abate the ardor of his purpose. And, in a mean and +dastardly spirit, he approached one young school girl after another, +until he found in Caroline Everett one weak enough to be flattered +by his attentions. The father of Caroline, who was a man of some +discrimination and force of mind, understood his daughter's +character, and knowing the danger to which she was exposed, kept +upon her a watchful eye. Caroline's meetings with Lawson were not +continued long before he became aware of the fact, and he at once +removed her to a school at a distance from the city. It would have +been wiser had he taken her home altogether. Lawson could have +desired no better arrangement, so far as his wishes were concerned. +</P> + +<P> +On the day succeeding that on which Lawson left New York, Caroline +was taking her morning walk with two or three companions, when she +noticed a mark on a certain tree, which she knew as a sign that her +lover was in the neighborhood and awaiting her in the secluded glen, +half a mile distant, where they had already met. Feigning to have +forgotten something, she ran back, but as soon as she was out of +sight of her companions, she glided off with rapid steps in the +direction where she expected to find Lawson. And she was not +disappointed. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Caroline!" he exclaimed, with affected tenderness, drawing his +arm about her and kissing her cheek, as he met her. "How happy I am +to see you again! Oh! it has seemed months since I looked upon your +sweet young face." +</P> + +<P> +"And yet it is only a week since you were here," returned Caroline, +looking at him fondly. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot bear this separation. It makes me wretched," said Lawson. +</P> + +<P> +"And I am miserable," responded Caroline, with a sigh, and her eyes +fell to the ground. "Miserable," she repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"I love you, tenderly, devotedly," said Lawson, as he tightly +clasped the hand he had taken: "and it is my most ardent wish to +make you happy. Oh! why should a parent's mistaken will interpose +between us and our dearest wishes?" +</P> + +<P> +Caroline leaned toward the young man, but did not reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there any hope of his being induced to give his consent +to—to—our—union?" +</P> + +<P> +"None, I fear," came from the lips of Caroline in a faint whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he so strongly prejudiced against me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, what are we to do?" +</P> + +<P> +Caroline sighed. +</P> + +<P> +"To meet, hopelessly, is only to make us the more wretched," said +Lawson. "Better part, and forever, than suffer a martyrdom of +affection like this." +</P> + +<P> +Still closer shrunk the weak and foolish girl to the young man's +side. She was like a bird in the magic circle of the charmer. +</P> + +<P> +"Caroline," said Lawson, after another period of silence, and his +voice was low, tender and penetrating—"Are you willing, for my +sake, to brave your father's anger?" +</P> + +<P> +"For your sake, Charles!" replied Caroline, with sudden enthusiasm. +"Yes—yes. His anger would be light to the loss of your affection." +</P> + +<P> +"Bless your true heart!" exclaimed Lawson. "I knew that I had not +trusted it in vain. And now, my dear girl, let me speak freely of +the nature of my present visit. With you, I believe, that all hope +of your father's consent is vain. But, he is a man of tender +feelings, and loves you as the apple of his eye." +</P> + +<P> +Thus urged the tempter, and Caroline listened eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"If," he continued, "we precipitate a union—if we put the marriage +rite between us and his strong opposition, that opposition will grow +weak as a withering leaf. He cannot turn from you. He loves you too +well." +</P> + +<P> +Caroline did not answer; but, it needed no words to tell Lawson that +he was not urging his wishes in vain. +</P> + +<P> +"I am here," at length he said, boldly, "for the purpose of taking +you to New York. Will you go with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"For what end?" she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"To become my wife." +</P> + +<P> +There was no starting, shrinking, nor trembling at this proposal. +Caroline was prepared for it; and, in the blindness of a mistaken +love, ready to do as the tempter wished. Poor lamb! She was to be +led to the slaughter, decked with ribbons and garlands, a victim by +her own consent. +</P> + +<P> +Frederick Williams, the friend of Lawson, was a young attorney, who +had fallen into rather wild company, and strayed to some distance +along the paths of dissipation. But, he had a young and +lovely-minded sister, who possessed much influence over him. The +very sphere of her purity kept him from debasing himself to any +great extent, and ever drew him back from a total abandonment of +himself in the hour of temptation. He had been thrown a good deal +into the society of Lawson, who had many attractive points for young +men about him, and who knew how to adapt himself to the characters +of those with whom he associated. In some things he did not like +Lawson, who, at times, manifested such an entire want of principle, +that he felt shocked. On parting with Lawson at the boat, as we have +seen, he walked thoughtfully away. His mind was far from approving +what he had heard, and the more he reflected upon it, the less +satisfied did he feel. He knew enough of the character of Lawson to +be well satisfied that his marriage with Caroline, who was an +overgrown, weak-minded school girl, would prove the wreck of her +future happiness, and the thought of becoming a party to such a +transaction troubled him. On returning to his office, he found his +sister waiting for him, and, as his eyes rested upon her innocent +young countenance, the idea of her being made the victim of so base +a marriage, flashed with a pang amid his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"I will have no part nor lot in this matter," he said, mentally. And +he was in earnest in this resolution. But not long did his mind rest +easy under his assumed passive relation to a contemplated social +wrong, that one word from him might prevent. From the thought of +betraying Lawson's confidence, his mind shrunk with a certain +instinct of honor; while, at the same time, pressed upon him the +irresistible conviction that a deeper dishonor would attach to him +if he permitted the marriage to take place. +</P> + +<P> +The day passed with him uncomfortably enough. The more he thought +about the matter, the more he felt troubled. In the evening, he met +his sister again, and the sight of her made him more deeply +conscious of the responsibility resting upon him. His oft repeated +mental excuse—"It's none of my business," or, "I can't meddle in +other men's affairs," did not satisfy certain convictions of right +and duty that presented themselves with, to him, a strange +distinctness. The thought of his own sister was instantly associated +with the scheme of some false-hearted wretch, involving her +happiness in the way that the happiness of Caroline Everett was to +be involved; and he felt that the man who knew that another was +plotting against her, and did not apprize him of the fact, was +little less than a villain at heart. +</P> + +<P> +On the next day Williams learned that there was a writ out against +the person of Charles Lawson on a charge of swindling, he having +obtained a sum of money from a broker under circumstances construed +by the laws into crime. This fact determined him to go at once to +Mr. Everett, who, as it might be supposed, was deeply agitated at +the painful intelligence he received. His first thought was to +proceed immediately to New Haven, and there rescue his daughter from +the hands of the young man; but on learning the arrangements that +had been made, he, after much reflecting, concluded that it would be +best to remain in New York, and meet them on their arrival. +</P> + +<P> +In the mean time, the foolish girl, whom Lawson had determined to +sacrifice to his base cupidity, was half wild with delighted +anticipation. Poor child! Passion-wrought romances, written by men +and women who had neither right views of life, nor a purpose in +literature beyond gain or reputation, had bewildered her half-formed +reason, and filled her imagination with unreal pictures. All her +ideas were false or exaggerated. She was a woman, with the mind of +an inexperienced child; if to say this does not savor of +contradiction. Without dreaming that there might be thorns to pierce +her naked feet in the way she was about to enter, she moved forward +with a joyful confidence. +</P> + +<P> +On the day she had agreed to return with Lawson, she met him early +in the afternoon, and started for New Haven, where they spent the +night. On the following day they left in the steamboat for New York. +All his arrangements for the marriage, were fully explained to +Caroline by Lawson, and most of the time that elapsed after leaving +New Haven, was spent in settling their future action in regard to +the family. Caroline was confident that all would be forgiven after +the first outburst of anger on the part of her father, and that they +would be taken home immediately. The cloud would quickly melt in +tears, and then the sky would be purer and brighter than before. +</P> + +<P> +When the boat touched the wharf, Lawson looked eagerly for the +appearance of his friend Williams, and was disappointed, and no +little troubled, at not seeing him. After most of the passengers had +gone on shore, he called a carriage, and was driven to Howard's, +where he ordered a couple of rooms, after first enquiring whether a +friend had not already performed this service for him. His next step +was to write a note to the Rev. Mr. B——, desiring his immediate +attendance, and, also, one to Williams, informing him of his +arrival. Anxiously, and with a nervous fear lest some untoward +circumstance might prevent the marriage he was about effecting with +a silly heiress, did the young man await the response to these +notes, and great was his relief, when informed, after the lapse of +an hour, that the Reverend gentleman, whose attendance he had +desired, was in the house. +</P> + +<P> +A private parlor had been engaged, and in this the ceremony of +marriage was to take place. This parlor adjoined a chamber, in which +Caroline awaited, with a trembling heart, the issue of events. It +was now, for the first time, as she was about taking the final and +irretrievable step, that her resolution began to fail her. Her +father's anger, the grief of her mother, the unknown state upon +which she was about entering, all came pressing upon her thoughts +with a sense of realization such as she had not known before. +</P> + +<P> +Doubts as to the propriety of what she was about doing, came fast +upon her mind. In the nearness of the approaching event, she could +look upon it stripped of its halo of romance. During the two days +that she had been with Lawson, she had seen him in states of absent +thought, when the true quality of his mind wrote itself out upon his +face so distinctly that even a dim-sighted one could read; and more +than once she had felt an inward shrinking from him that was +irrepressible. Weak and foolish as she was, she was yet pure-minded; +and though in the beginning she did not, because her heart was +overlaid with frivolity, perceive the sphere of his impurity, yet +now, as the moment was near at hand when there was to be a +marriage-conjunction, she began to feel this sphere as something +that suffocated her spirit. At length, in the agitation of +contending thoughts and emotions, the heart of the poor girl failed +her, till, in the utter abandonment of feeling, she gave way to a +flood of tears and commenced wringing her hands. At this moment, +having arranged with the clergyman to begin the ceremony forthwith, +Lawson entered her room, and, to his surprise, saw her in tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Charles!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands and extending them +towards him, "Take me home to my father! Oh, take me home to my +father!" +</P> + +<P> +Lawson was confounded at such an unexpected change in Caroline. "You +shall go to your father the moment the ceremony is over," he +replied; "Come! Mr. B—— is all ready." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, no! Take me now! Take me now!" returned the poor girl in an +imploring voice. And she sat before the man who had tempted her from +the path of safety, weeping, and quivering like a leaf in the wind. +</P> + +<P> +"Caroline! What has come over you!" said Lawson, in deep perplexity. +"This is only a weakness. Come! Nerve your heart like a brave, good +girl! Come! It will soon be over." +</P> + +<P> +And he bent down and kissed her wet cheek, while she shrunk from him +with an involuntary dread. But, he drew his arm around her waist, +and almost forced her to rise. +</P> + +<P> +"There now! Dry your tears!" And he placed his handkerchief to her +eyes. "It is but a moment of weakness, Caroline,—of natural +weakness." +</P> + +<P> +As he said this, he was pressing her forward towards the door of the +apartment where the clergyman (such clergymen disgrace their +profession) awaited their appearance. +</P> + +<P> +"Charles?" said Caroline, with a suddenly constrained calmness—"do +you love me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Better than my own life!" was instantly replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Then take me to my father. I am too young—too weak—too +inexperienced for this." +</P> + +<P> +"The moment we are united you shall go home," returned Lawson. "I +will not hold you back an instant." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me go now, Charles! Oh, let me go now!" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you mad, girl!" exclaimed the young man, losing his +self-control. And, with a strong arm, he forced her into the next +room. For a brief period, the clergyman hesitated, on seeing the +distressed bride. Then he opened the book he held in his hand and +began to read the service. As his voice, in tones of solemnity, +filled the apartment, Caroline grew calmer. She felt like one driven +forward by a destiny against which it was vain to contend. All the +responses had been made by Lawson, and now the clergyman addressed +her. Passively she was about uttering her assentation, when the door +of the room was thrown open, and two men entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" was instantly cried in a loud, agitated voice, which +Caroline knew to be that of her father, and never did that voice +come to her ears with a more welcome sound. +</P> + +<P> +Lawson started, and moved from her side. While Caroline yet stood +trembling and doubting, the man who had come in with Mr. Everett +approached Lawson, and laying his hand upon him, said—"I arrest you +on a charge of swindling!" +</P> + +<P> +With a low cry of distress, Caroline sprung towards her father; but +he held his hands out towards her as if to keep her off, saying, at +the same time— +</P> + +<P> +"Are you his wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, thank Heaven!" fell from her lips. +</P> + +<P> +In the next moment she was in her father's arms, and both were +weeping. +</P> + +<P> +Narrow indeed was the escape made by Caroline Everett; an escape +which she did not fully comprehend until a few months afterwards, +when the trial of Lawson took place, during which revelations of +villany were made, the recital of which caused her heart to shudder. +Yes, narrow had been her escape! Had her father been delayed a few +moments longer, she would have become the wife of a man soon after +condemned to expiate his crimes against society in the felon's cell! +</P> + +<P> +May a vivid realization of what Caroline Everett escaped, warn other +young girls, who bear a similar relation to society, of the danger +that lurks in their way. Not once in a hundred instances, is a +school girl approached with lover-like attentions, except by a man +who is void of principle; and not once in a hundred instances do +marriages entered upon clandestinely by such persons, prove other +than an introduction to years of wretchedness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="pledges"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +UNREDEEMED PLEDGES. +</H3> + +<P> +TWO men were walking along a public thoroughfare in New York. One of +them was a young merchant—the other a man past the prime of life, +and belonging to the community of Friends. They were in +conversation, and the manner of the former, earnest and emphatic, +was in marked contrast with the quiet and thoughtful air of the +other. +</P> + +<P> +"There is so much idleness and imposture among the poor," said the +merchant, "that you never know when your alms are going to do harm +or good. The beggar we just passed is able to work; and that woman +sitting at the corner with a sick child in her arms, would be far +better off in the almshouse. No man is more willing to give than I +am, if I only knew where and when to give." +</P> + +<P> +"If we look around us carefully, Mr. Edwards," returned the Quaker, +"we need be at no loss on this subject. Objects enough will present +themselves. Virtuous want is, in most cases, unobtrusive, and will +suffer rather than extend a hand for relief. We must seek for +objects of benevolence in by-places. We must turn aside into +untrodden walks." +</P> + +<P> +"But even then," objected Mr. Edwards, "we cannot be certain that +idleness and vice are not at the basis of the destitution we find. I +have had my doubts whether any who exercise the abilities which God +has given them, need want for the ordinary comforts of life in this +country. In all cases of destitution, there is something wrong, you +may depend upon it." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps there is," said the Quaker. "Evil of some kind is ever the +cause of destitution and wretchedness. Such bitter waters as these +cannot flow from a sweet fountain. Still, many are brought to +suffering through the evil ways of others; and many whose own wrong +doings have reacted upon them in unhappy consequences, deeply repent +of the past, and earnestly desire to live better lives in future. +Both need kindness, encouragement, and, it may be, assistance; and +it is the duty of those who have enough and to spare, to stretch +forth their hands to aid, comfort and sustain them." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. That is true. But, how are we to know who are the real objects +of our benevolence?" +</P> + +<P> +"We have but to open our eyes and see, Mr. Edwards," said the +Quaker. "The objects of benevolence are all around us." +</P> + +<P> +"Show me a worthy object, and you will find me ready to relieve it," +returned the merchant. "I am not so selfish as to be indifferent to +human suffering. But I think it wrong to encourage idleness and +vice; and for this reason, I never give unless I am certain that the +object who presents himself is worthy." +</P> + +<P> +"True benevolence does not always require us to give alms," said the +Friend. "We may do much to aid, comfort and help on with their +burdens our fellow travellers, and yet not bestow upon them what is +called charity. Mere alms-giving, as thee has intimated, but too +often encourages vice and idleness. But thee desires to find a +worthy object of benevolence. Let us see if we cannot find one, What +have we here?" And as the Quaker said this he paused before a +building, from the door of which protruded a red flag, containing +the words, "Auction this day." On a large card just beneath the flag +was the announcement, "Positive sale of unredeemed pledges." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us turn in here," said the Quaker. "No doubt we shall find +enough to excite our sympathies." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Edwards thought this a strange proposal; but he felt a little +curious, and followed his companion without hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +The sale had already begun, and there was a small company assembled. +Among them, the merchant noticed a young woman whose face was +partially veiled. She was sitting a little apart from the rest, and +did not appear to take any interest in the bidding. But he noticed +that, after an article was knocked off, she was all attention until +the next was put up, and then, the moment it was named, relapsed +into a sort of listlessness or abstraction. +</P> + +<P> +The articles sold embraced a great variety of things useful and +ornamental. In the main they were made up of watches, silver plate, +jewellery and wearing apparel. There were garments of every kind, +quality and condition, upon which money to about a fourth of their +real value had been loaned; and not having been redeemed, they were +now to be sold for the benefit of the pawnbroker. +</P> + +<P> +The company bid with animation, and article after article was sold +off. The interest at first awakened by the scene, new to the young +merchant, wore off in a little while, and turning to his companion +he said—"I don't see that much is to be gained by staying here." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a little longer, and perhaps thee will think differently," +returned the Quaker, glancing towards the young woman who has been +mentioned, as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +The words had scarcely passed his lips, when the auctioneer took up +a small gold locket containing a miniature, and holding it up, asked +for a bid. +</P> + +<P> +"How much for this? How much for this beautiful gold locket and +miniature? Give me a bid. Ten dollars! Eight dollars! Five dollars! +Four dollars—why, gentlemen, it never cost less than fifty! Four +dollars! Four dollars! Will no one give four dollars for this +beautiful gold locket and miniature? It's thrown away at that +price." +</P> + +<P> +At the mention of the locket, the young woman came forward and +looked up anxiously at the auctioneer. Mr. Edwards could see enough +of her face to ascertain that it was an interesting and intelligent +one, though very sad. +</P> + +<P> +"Three dollars!" continued the auctioneer. But there was no bid. +"Two dollars! One dollar!" +</P> + +<P> +"One dollar," was the response from a man who stood just in front of +the woman. Mr. Edwards, whose eyes were upon the latter, noticed +that she became much agitated the moment this bid was made. +</P> + +<P> +"One dollar we have! One dollar! Only one dollar!" cried the +auctioneer. "Only one dollar for a gold locket and miniature worth +forty. One dollar!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nine shillings," said the young woman in a low, timid voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Nine shillings bid! Nine shillings! Nine shillings!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ten shillings," said the first bidder. +</P> + +<P> +"Ten shillings it is! Ten shillings, and thrown away. Ten +shillings!" +</P> + +<P> +"Eleven shillings," said the girl, beginning to grow excited. Mr. +Edwards, who could not keep his eyes off of her face, from which the +veil had entirely fallen, saw that she was trembling with eagerness +and anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"Eleven shillings!" repeated the auctioneer, glancing at the first +bidder, a coarse-looking man, and the only one who seemed disposed +to bid against the young woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Twelve shillings," said the man resolutely. +</P> + +<P> +A paleness went over the face of the other bidder, and a quick +tremor passed through her frame. +</P> + +<P> +"Twelve shillings is bid. Twelve shillings is bid. Twelve +shillings!" And the auctioneer now looked towards the young woman +who, in a faint voice, said— +</P> + +<P> +"Thirteen shillings." +</P> + +<P> +By this time the merchant began to understand the meaning of what +was passing before him. The miniature was that of a middle-aged +lady; and it required no great strength of imagination to determine +that the original was the mother of the young woman who seemed so +anxious to possess the locket. +</P> + +<P> +"But how came it here?" was the involuntary suggestion to the mind +of Mr. Edwards. "Who pawned it? Did she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fourteen shillings," said the man who was bidding, breaking in upon +the reflections of Mr. Edwards. +</P> + +<P> +The veil that had been drawn aside, fell instantly over the face of +the young woman, and she shrunk back from her prominent position, +yet still remained in the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Fourteen shillings is bid. Fourteen shillings! Are you all done? +Fourteen shillings for a gold locket and miniature. Fourteen! +Once!—-" +</P> + +<P> +The companion of Mr. Edwards glanced towards him with a meaning +look. The merchants for a moment bewildered, found his mind clear +again. +</P> + +<P> +"Twice!" screamed the auctioneer. "Once! Twice! Three——" +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty shillings," dropped from the lips of Mr. Edwards. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty shillings! Twenty shillings!" cried the auctioneer with +renewed animation. The man who had been bidding against the girl +turned quickly to see what bold bidder was in the field: and most of +the company turned with him. The young woman at the same time drew +aside her veil and looked anxiously towards Mr. Edwards, who, as he +obtained a fuller view of her face, was struck with it as familiar. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty-one shillings," was bid in opposition. +</P> + +<P> +"Twenty-five," said the merchant, promptly. +</P> + +<P> +The first bidder, seeing that Mr. Edwards was determined to run +against him, and being a little afraid that he might be left with a +ruinous bid on his hands, declined advancing, and the locket was +assigned to the young merchant, who, as soon as he had received it, +turned and presented it to the young woman, saying as he did so— +</P> + +<P> +"It is yours." +</P> + +<P> +The young woman caught hold of it with an eager gesture, and after +gazing on it for a few moments, pressed it to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I have not the money to pay for it," she said in a low sad voice, +recovering herself in a few moments; and seeking to return the +miniature. +</P> + +<P> +"It is yours!" replied Mr. Edwards. Then thrusting back the hand she +had extended, and speaking with some emotion, he said—"Keep +it—keep it, in Heaven's name!" +</P> + +<P> +And saying this he hastily retired, for he became conscious that +many eyes were upon him; and he felt half ashamed to have betrayed +his weakness before a coarse, unfeeling crowd. For a few moments he +lingered in the street; but his companion not appearing, he went on +his way, musing on the singular adventure he had encountered. The +more distinctly he recalled the young woman's face, the more +strangely familiar did it seem. +</P> + +<P> +About an hour afterwards, as Mr. Edwards sat reading a letter, the +Quaker entered his store. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, how do you do? I am glad to see you," said the merchant, his +manner more than usually earnest. "Did you see anything more of that +young woman?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied the Quaker. "I could not leave one like her without +knowing something of her past life and present circumstances. I +think even you will hardly be disposed to regard her as an object +unworthy of interest." +</P> + +<P> +"No, certainly I will not. Her appearance, and the circumstances +under which we found her, are all in her favor." +</P> + +<P> +"But we turned aside from the beaten path. We looked into a by-place +to us; or we would not have discovered her. She was not obtrusive. +She asked no aid; but, with the last few shillings that remained to +her in the world, had gone to recover, if possible, an unredeemed +pledge—the miniature of her mother, on which she had obtained a +small advance of money to buy food and medicine for the dying +original. This is but one of the thousand cases of real distress +that are all around us. We could see them if we did but turn aside +for a moment into ways unfamiliar to our feet." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you learn who she was, and anything of her condition?" asked +Mr. Edwards. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. To do so was but a common dictate of humanity. I would have +felt it as a stain upon my conscience to have left one like her +uncared for in the circumstances under which we found her." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you accompany her home?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I went with her to the place she called her home—a room in +which there was scarcely an article of comfort—and there learned +the history of her past life and present condition. Does thee +remember Belgrave, who carried on a large business in Maiden Lane +some years ago?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. But, surely this girl is not Mary Belgrave?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It was Mary Belgrave whom we met at the pawnbroker's sale." +</P> + +<P> +"Mary Belgrave! Can it be possible? I knew the family had become +poor; but not so poor as this!" +</P> + +<P> +And Mr. Edwards, much disturbed in mind, walked uneasily about the +floor. But soon pausing, he said— +</P> + +<P> +"And so her mother is dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Her father died two years ago and her mother, who has been +sick ever since, died last week in abject poverty, leaving Mary +friendless, in a world where the poor and needy are but little +regarded. The miniature which Mary had secretly pawned in order to +supply the last earthly need of her mother, she sought by her labor +to redeem; but ere she had been able to save up enough for the +purpose, the time for which the pledge had been taken, expired, and +the pawn broker refused to renew it. Under the faint hope that she +might be able to buy it in with the little pittance of money she had +saved, she attended the sale where we found her." +</P> + +<P> +The merchant had resumed his seat, and although he had listened +attentively to the Quaker's brief history, he did not make any +reply, but soon became lost in thought. From this he was interrupted +by his visitor, who said, as he moved towards the door— +</P> + +<P> +"I will bid thee good morning, friend Edwards." +</P> + +<P> +"One moment, if you please," said the merchant, arousing himself, +and speaking earnestly, "Where does Mary Belgrave live?" +</P> + +<P> +The Friend answered the question, and, as Mr. Edwards did not seem +inclined to ask any more, and besides fell back again into an +abstract state, he wished him good morning and retired. +</P> + +<P> +The poor girl was sitting alone in her room sewing, late in the +afternoon of the day on which the incident at the auction room +occurred, musing, as she had mused for hours, upon the unexpected +adventure. She did not, in the excitement of the moment, know Mr. +Edwards when he first tendered her the miniature; but when he said +with peculiar emphasis and earnestness, turning away as he +spoke—"Keep it, in Heaven's name!" she recognized him fully. Since +that moment, she had not been able to keep the thought of him from +her mind. They had been intimate friends at one time; but this was +while they were both very young. Then he had professed for her a +boyish passion; and she had loved him with the childish fondness of +a young school-girl. As they grew older, circumstances separated +them more; and though no hearts were broken in consequence, both +often thought of the early days of innocence and affection with +pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +Mary sat sewing, as we have said, late in the afternoon of the day +on which the incident at the auction room occurred, when there was a +tap at her door. On opening it, Mr. Edwards stood before her. She +stepped back a pace or two in instant surprise and confusion, and he +advanced into the desolate room. In a moment, however, Mary +recovered herself, and with as much self-possession as, under the +circumstances, she could assume, asked her unexpected visitor to +take a chair, which she offered him. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Edwards sat down, feeling much oppressed. Mary was so changed in +everything, except in the purity and beauty of her countenance, +since he had seen her years before, that his feelings were +completely borne down. But he soon recovered himself enough to speak +to her of what was in his mind. He had an old aunt, who had been a +friend of Mary's mother, and from her he brought a message and an +offer of a home. Her carriage was at the door—it had been sent for +her—and he urged her to go with him immediately. Mary had no good +reason for declining so kind an offer. It was a home that she most +of all needed; and she could not refuse one like this. +</P> + +<P> +"There is another unredeemed pledge," said Mr. Edwards, +significantly, as he sat conversing with Mary about a year after she +had found a home in the house of his aunt. Allusion had been made to +the miniature of Mary's mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" was the simple response. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Don't you remember," and he took Mary's unresisting hand—"the +pledge of this hand which you made me, I cannot tell how many years +ago?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was a mere girlish pledge," ventured Mary, with drooping eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"But one that the woman will redeem," said Edwards confidently, +raising the hand to his lips at the same time, and kissing it. +</P> + +<P> +Mary leaned involuntarily towards him; and he, perceiving the +movement, drew his arm around her, and pressed his lips to her +cheek. +</P> + +<P> +It was no very long time afterwards before the pledge was redeemed. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="mention"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DON'T MENTION IT. +</H3> + +<P> +"DON'T mention it again for your life." +</P> + +<P> +"No, of course not. The least said about such things the better." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't for the world. I have told you in perfect confidence, and you +are the only one to whom I have breathed it. I wouldn't have it get +out for any consideration." +</P> + +<P> +"Give yourself no uneasiness. I shall not allude to the subject." +</P> + +<P> +"I merely told you because I knew you were a friend, and would let +it go no farther. But would you have thought it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly am very much surprised." +</P> + +<P> +"So am I. But when things pass right before your eyes and ears, +there is no gainsaying them." +</P> + +<P> +"No. Seeing is said to be believing." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it is." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Mrs. Grimes, are you very sure that you heard aright?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am positive, Mrs. Raynor. It occurred only an hour ago, and the +whole thing is distinctly remembered. I called in to see Mrs. +Comegys, and while I was there, the bundle of goods came home. I was +present when she opened it, and she showed me the lawn dress it +contained. There were twelve yards in it. 'I must see if there is +good measure,' she said, and she got a yard-stick and measured it +off. There were fifteen yards instead of twelve. 'How is this?' she +remarked. 'I am sure I paid for only twelve yards, and here are +fifteen.' The yard-stick was applied again. There was no mistake; +the lawn measured fifteen yards. 'What are you going to do with the +surplus?' I asked. 'Keep it, of course,' said Mrs. Comegys. 'There +is just enough to make little Julia a frock. Won't she look sweet in +it?,' I was so confounded that I couldn't say a word. Indeed, I +could hardly look her in the face. At first I thought of calling her +attention to the dishonesty of the act; but then I reflected that, +as it was none of my business, I might get her ill-will for meddling +in what didn't concern me." +</P> + +<P> +"And you really think, then, that she meant to keep the three yards +without paying for them? +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, certainly! But then I wouldn't say anything about it for the +world. I wouldn't name it, on any consideration. Of course you will +not repeat it." +</P> + +<P> +"No. If I cannot find any good to tell of my friends, I try to +refrain from saying anything evil." +</P> + +<P> +"A most excellent rule, Mrs. Raynor, and one that I always follow. I +never speak evil of my friends, for it always does more harm than +good. No one can say that I ever tried to injure another." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope Mrs. Comegys thought better of the matter, upon reflection," +said Mrs. Raynor. +</P> + +<P> +"So do I. But I am afraid not. Two or three little things occur to +me now, that I have seen in my intercourse with her, which go to +satisfy my mind that her moral perceptions are not the best in the +world. Mrs. Comegys is a pleasant friend, and much esteemed by every +one. It could do no good to spread this matter abroad, but harm." +</P> + +<P> +After repeating over and over again her injunction to Mrs. Raynor +not to repeat a word of what she had told her, Mrs. Grimes bade this +lady, upon whom she had called, good morning, and went on her way. +Ten minutes after, she was in the parlor of an acquaintance, named +Mrs. Florence, entertaining her with the gossip she had picked up +since their last meeting. She had not been there long, before, +lowering her voice, she said in a confidential way— +</P> + +<P> +"I was at Mrs. Comegys' to-day, and saw something that amazed me +beyond every thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. You will be astonished when you hear it. Suppose you had +purchased a dress and paid for a certain number of yards; and when +the dress was sent home, you should find that the storekeeper had +made a mistake and sent you three or four yards more than you had +settled for. What would you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Send it back, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, so say I. To act differently would not be honest. Do you +think so?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would not be honest for me." +</P> + +<P> +"No, nor for any one. Now, would you have believed it? Mrs. Comegys +not only thinks but acts differently." +</P> + +<P> +"You must be mistaken, certainly, Mrs. Grimes." +</P> + +<P> +"Seeing is believing, Mrs. Florence." +</P> + +<P> +"So it is said, but I could hardly believe my eyes against Mrs. +Comegys' integrity of character. I think I ought to know her well, +for we have been very intimate for years." +</P> + +<P> +"And I thought I knew her, too. But it seems that I was mistaken." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Grimes then repeated the story of the lawn dress. +</P> + +<P> +"Gracious me! Can it be possible?" exclaimed Mrs. Florence. "I can +hardly credit it." +</P> + +<P> +"It occurred just as I tell you. But Mrs. Florence, you mustn't tell +it again for the world. I have mentioned it to you in the strictest +confidence. But I need hardly say this to you, for I know how +discreet you are." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not mention it." +</P> + +<P> +"It could do no good." +</P> + +<P> +"None in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it surprising, that a woman who is so well off in the world +as Mrs. Comegys, should stoop to a petty act like this?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is, certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps there is something wrong here," and Mrs. Grimes placed her +finger to her forehead and looked sober. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you mean?" asked the friend. +</P> + +<P> +"You've heard of people's having a dishonest monomania. Don't you +remember the case of Mrs. Y——?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well." +</P> + +<P> +"She had every thing that heart could desire. Her husband was rich, +and let her have as much money as she wanted. I wish we could all +say that, Mrs. Florence, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would be very pleasant, certainly, to have as much money as we +wanted." +</P> + +<P> +"But, notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Y—— had such a propensity to +take things not her own, that she never went into a dry goods store +without purloining something, and rarely took tea with a friend +without slipping a teaspoon into her pocket. Mr. Y—— had a great +deal of trouble with her, and, in several cases, paid handsomely to +induce parties disposed to prosecute her for theft, to let the +matter drop. Now do you know that it has occurred to me that, +perhaps, Mrs. Comegys is afflicted in this way? I shouldn't at all +wonder if it were so." +</P> + +<P> +"Hardly." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid it is as I suspect. A number of suspicious circumstances +have happened when she has been about, that this would explain. But +for your life, Mrs. Florence, don't repeat this to any mortal!" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall certainly not speak of it, Mrs. Grimes. It is too serious a +matter. I wish I had not heard of it, for I can never feel toward +Mrs. Comegys as I have done. She is a very pleasant woman, and one +with whom it is always agreeable and profitable to spend an hour." +</P> + +<P> +"It is a little matter, after all," remarked Mrs. Grimes, "and, +perhaps, we treat it too seriously." +</P> + +<P> +"We should never think lightly of dishonest practices, Mrs. Grimes. +Whoever is dishonest in little things, will be dishonest in great +things, if a good opportunity offer. Mrs. Comegys can never be to me +what she has been. That is impossible." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you will not speak of it again." +</P> + +<P> +"You need have no fear of that." +</P> + +<P> +A few days after, Mrs. Raynor made a call upon a friend, who said to +her, +</P> + +<P> +"Have you heard about Mrs. Comegys?" +</P> + +<P> +"What about her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I supposed you knew it. <I>I've</I> heard it from half a dozen persons. +It is said that Perkins, through a mistake of one of his clerks, +sent her home some fifteen or twenty yards of lawn more than she had +paid for, and that, instead of sending it back, she kept it and made +it up for her children. Did you ever hear of such a trick for an +honest woman?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think any honest woman would be guilty of such an act. Yes, +I heard of it a few days ago as a great secret, and have not +mentioned it to a living soul." +</P> + +<P> +"Secret? bless me! it is no secret. It is in every one's mouth." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it possible? I must say that Mrs. Grimes has been very +indiscreet." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Grimes! Did it come from her in the first place?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. She told me that she was present when the lawn came home, and +saw Mrs. Comegys measure it, and heard her say that she meant to +keep it." +</P> + +<P> +"Which she has done. For I saw her in the street, yesterday, with a +beautiful new lawn, and her little Julia was with her, wearing one +precisely like it." +</P> + +<P> +"How any woman can do so is more than I can understand." +</P> + +<P> +"So it is, Mrs. Raynor. Just to think of dressing your child up in a +frock as good as stolen! Isn't it dreadful?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is, indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Comegys is not an honest woman. That is clear. I am told that +this is not the first trick of the kind of which she has been +guilty. They say that she has a natural propensity to take things +that are not her own." +</P> + +<P> +"I can hardly believe that." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor can I. But it's no harder to believe this than to believe that +she would cheat Perkins out of fifteen of twenty yards of lawn. It's +a pity; for Mrs. Comegys, in every thing else, is certainly a very +nice woman. In fact, I don't know any one I visit with so much +pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +Thus the circle of detraction widened, until there was scarcely a +friend or acquaintance of Mrs. Comegys, near or remote, who had not +heard of her having cheated a dry goods dealer out of several yards +of lawn. Three, it had first been alleged; but the most common +version of the story made it fifteen or twenty. Meantime, Mrs. +Comegys remained in entire ignorance of what was alleged against +her, although she noticed in two or three of her acquaintances, a +trifling coldness that struck her as rather singular. +</P> + +<P> +One day her husband, seeing that she looked quite sober, said— +</P> + +<P> +"You seem quite dull to-day, dear. Don't you feel well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I feel as well as usual, in body." +</P> + +<P> +"But not in mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not feel quite comfortable in mind, certainly, though I don't +know that I have any serious cause of uneasiness." +</P> + +<P> +"Though a slight cause exists. May I ask what it is?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is nothing more nor less than that I was coolly <I>cut</I> by an old +friend to-day, whom I met in a store on Chesnut street. And as she +is a woman that I highly esteem, both for the excellence of her +character, and the agreeable qualities, as a friend, that she +possesses. I cannot but feel a little bad about it. If she were one +of that capricious class who get offended with you, once a month, +for no just cause whatever, I should not care a fig. But Mrs. Markle +is a woman of character, good sense and good feeling, whose +friendship I have always prized." +</P> + +<P> +"Was it Mrs. Markle?" said the husband, with some surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What can possibly be the cause?" +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot tell." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you thought over every thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I have turned and turned the matter in my mind, but can +imagine no reason why she, of all others, could treat me coolly." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you never spoken of her in a way to have your words +misinterpreted by some evil-minded person—Mrs. Grimes, for +instance—whose memory, or moral sense, one or the other, is very +dull?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have never spoken of her to any one, except in terms of praise. I +could not do otherwise, for I look upon her as one of the most +faultless women I know." +</P> + +<P> +"She has at least shown that she possesses one fault." +</P> + +<P> +"What is that?" +</P> + +<P> +"If she has heard any thing against you of a character so serious as +to make her wish to give up your acquaintance, she should at least +have afforded you the chance of defending yourself before condemning +you." +</P> + +<P> +"I think that, myself." +</P> + +<P> +"It may be that she did not see you," Mr. Comegys suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"She looked me in the face, and nodded with cold formality." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps her mind was abstracted." +</P> + +<P> +"It might have been so. Mine would have been very abstracted, +indeed, to keep me from a more cordial recognition of a friend." +</P> + +<P> +"How would it do to call and see her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have been thinking of that. But my feelings naturally oppose it. +I am not conscious of having done any thing to merit a withdrawal of +the friendly sentiments she has held towards me; still, if she +wishes to withdraw them, my pride says, let her do so." +</P> + +<P> +"But pride, you know, is not always the best adviser." +</P> + +<P> +"No. Perhaps the less regard we pay to its promptings, the better." +</P> + +<P> +"I think so." +</P> + +<P> +"It is rather awkward to go to a person and ask why you have been +treated coldly." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it is. But in a choice of evils, is it not always wisest to +choose the least?" +</P> + +<P> +"But is any one's bad opinion of you, if it be not correctly formed, +an evil?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly it is." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I have a kind of independence about me which says, +'Let people think what they please, so you are conscious of no +wrong.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Indifference to the world's good or bad opinion is all very well," +replied the husband, "if the world will misjudge us. Still, as any +thing that prejudices the minds of people against us, tends to +destroy our usefulness, it is our duty to take all proper care of +our reputations, even to the sacrifice of a little feeling in doing +so." +</P> + +<P> +Thus argued with by her husband, Mrs. Comegys, after turning the +matter over in her mind, finally concluded to go and see Mrs. +Markle. It was a pretty hard trial for her, but urged on by a sense +of right, she called upon her two or three days after having been +treated so coldly. She sent up her name by the servant. In about +five minutes, Mrs. Markle descended to the parlor, where her visitor +was awaiting her, and met her in a reserved and formal manner, that +was altogether unlike her former cordiality. It was as much as Mrs. +Comegys could do to keep from retiring instantly, and without a +word, from the house. But she compelled herself to go through with +what she had begun. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Markle did, indeed, offer her hand; or rather the tips of her +fingers; which Mrs. Comegys, in mere reciprocation of the formality, +accepted. Then came an embarrassing pause, after which the latter +said— +</P> + +<P> +"I see that I was not mistaken in supposing that there was a marked +coldness in your manner at our last meeting." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Markle inclined her head slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course there is a cause for this. May I, in justice to myself as +well as others, inquire what it is?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not suppose you would press an inquiry on the subject," +replied Mrs. Markle. "But as you have done so, you are, of course, +entitled to an answer." +</P> + +<P> +There came another pause, after which, with a disturbed voice, Mrs. +Markle said— +</P> + +<P> +"For some time, I have heard a rumor in regard to you, that I could +not credit. Of late it has been so often repeated that I felt it to +be my duty to ascertain its truth or falsehood. On tracing, with +some labor, the report to its origin, I am grieved to find that it +is too true." +</P> + +<P> +"Please say what it is," said Mrs. Comegys, in a firm voice. +</P> + +<P> +"It is said that you bought a dress at a dry goods store in this +city, and that on its being sent home, there proved to be some yards +more in the piece of goods than you paid for and that instead of +returning what was not your own, you kept it and had it made up for +one of your children." +</P> + +<P> +The face of Mrs. Comegys instantly became like crimson; and she +turned her head away to hide the confusion into which this +unexpected allegation had thrown her. As soon as she could command +her voice, she said— +</P> + +<P> +"You will, of course, give me the author of this charge." +</P> + +<P> +"You are entitled to know, I suppose," replied Mrs. Markle. "The +person who originated this report is Mrs. Grimes. And she says that +she was present when the dress was sent home. That you measured it +in her presence, and that, finding there were several yards over, +you declared your intention to keep it and make of it a frock for +your little girl. And, moreover, that she saw Julia wearing a frock +afterwards, exactly like the pattern of the one you had, which she +well remembers. This seems to me pretty conclusive evidence. At +least it was so to my mind, and I acted accordingly." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Comegys sat for the full space of a minute with her eyes upon +the floor, without speaking. When she looked up, the flush that had +covered her face had gone. It was very pale, instead. Rising from +her chair, she bowed formally, and without saying a word, withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah me! Isn't it sad?" murmured Mrs. Markle, as she heard the street +door close upon her visitor. "So much that is agreeable and +excellent, all dimmed by the want of principle. It seems hardly +credible that a woman, with every thing she needs, could act +dishonestly for so small a matter. A few yards of lawn against +integrity and character! What a price to set upon virtue!" +</P> + +<P> +Not more than half an hour after the departure of Mrs. Comegys, Mrs. +Grimes called in to see Mrs. Markle. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope," she said, shortly after she was seated, "that you won't +say a word about what I told you a few days ago; I shouldn't have +opened my lips on the subject if you hadn't asked me about it. I +only mentioned it in the first place to a friend in whom I had the +greatest confidence in the world. She has told some one, very +improperly, for it was imparted to her as a secret, and in that way +it has been spread abroad. I regret it exceedingly, for I would be +the last person in the world to say a word to injure any one. I am +particularly guarded in this." +</P> + +<P> +"If it's the truth, Mrs. Grimes, I don't see that you need be so +anxious about keeping it a secret," returned Mrs. Markle. +</P> + +<P> +"The truth! Do you think I would utter a word that was not true?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not mean to infer that you would. I believe that what you +said in regard to Mrs. Comegys was the fact." +</P> + +<P> +"It certainly was. But then, it will do no good to make a +disturbance about it. What has made me call in to see you is this; +some one told me that, in consequence of this matter, you had +dropped the acquaintance of Mrs. Comegys." +</P> + +<P> +"It is true; I cannot associate on intimate terms with a woman who +lacks honest principles." +</P> + +<P> +"But don't you see that this will bring matters to a head, and that +I shall be placed in a very awkward position?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are ready to adhere to your statement in regard to Mrs. +Comegys?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, certainly; I have told nothing but the truth. But still, you +can see that it will make me feel exceedingly unpleasant." +</P> + +<P> +"Things of this kind are never very agreeable, I know, Mrs. Grimes. +Still we must act as we think right, let what will follow. Mrs. +Comegys has already called upon me to ask an explanation of my +conduct wards her." +</P> + +<P> +"She has!" Mrs. Grimes seemed sadly distressed. "What did you say to +her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I told her just what I had heard." +</P> + +<P> +"Did she ask your author?" Mrs. Grimes was most pale with suspense. +</P> + +<P> +"She did." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you did not mention my name." +</P> + +<P> +"She asked the author of the charge, and I named you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh dear, Mrs. Markle! I wish you hadn't done that. I shall be +involved in a world of trouble, and the reputation of a tattler and +mischief-maker. What did she say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not one word." +</P> + +<P> +"She didn't deny it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course she could not. Well, that is some satisfaction at least. +She might have denied it, and tried make me out a liar, and there +would have been plenty to believe her word against mine. I am glad +she didn't deny it. She didn't say a word?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Did she look guilty?" +</P> + +<P> +"You would have thought so, if you had seen her." +</P> + +<P> +"What did she do?" +</P> + +<P> +"She sat with her eyes upon the floor for some time, and then rose +up, and without uttering a word, left the house." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish she had said something. It would have been a satisfaction to +know what she thought. But I suppose the poor woman was so +confounded, that she didn't know what to say." +</P> + +<P> +"So it appeared to me. She was completely stunned. I really pitied +her from my heart. But want of principle should never be +countenanced. If we are to have social integrity, we must mark with +appropriate condemnation all deviations therefrom. It was +exceedingly painful, but the path of duty was before me, and I +walked in it without faltering." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Grimes was neither so clear-sighted, nor so well satisfied with +what she had done, as all this. She left the house of Mrs. Markle +feeling very unhappy. Although she had been using her little unruly +member against Mrs. Comegys with due industry, she was all the while +on the most friendly terms with her, visiting at her house and being +visited. It was only a few days, before that she had taken tea and +spent an evening with her. Not that Mrs. Grimes was deliberately +hypocritical, but she had a free tongue, and, like too many in +society, more cautious about what they said than she, much better +pleased to see evil than good in a neighbour. There are very few of +us, perhaps, who have not something of this fault—an exceedingly +bad fault, by the way. It seems to arise from a consciousness of our +own imperfections and the pleasure we feel in making the discovery +that others are as bad, if not worse than we are. +</P> + +<P> +Two days after Mrs. Comegys had called on Mrs. Markle to ask for +explanations, the latter received a note in the following words: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MADAM.—I have no doubt you have acted according to your own views +of right in dropping as suddenly as you have done, the acquaintance +of an old friend. Perhaps, if you had called upon me and asked +explanations, you might have acted a little differently. My present +object in addressing you is to ask, as a matter of justice, that you +will call at my house to-morrow at twelve o'clock. I think that I am +entitled to speak a word in my own defense. After you have heard +that I shall not complain of any course you may think it right to +pursue. +<BR><BR> +"ANNA COMEGYS." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mrs. Markle, could do no less than call as she had been desired to. +At twelve o'clock she rang the bell at Mrs. Comegys' door, and was +shown into the parlor, where, to her no small surprise, she found +about twenty ladies, most of them acquaintances, assembled, Mrs. +Grimes among the number. In about ten minutes Mrs. Comegys came into +the room, her countenance wearing a calm but sober aspect. She bowed +slightly, but was not cordial toward, or familiar with, any one +present. Without a pause she said— +</P> + +<P> +"Ladies, I have learned within a few days, very greatly to my +surprise and grief, that there is a report circulated among my +friends, injurious to my character as a woman of honest principles. +I have taken some pains to ascertain those with whom the report is +familiar, and have invited all such to be here to-day. I learn from +several sources, that the report originated with Mrs. Grimes, and +that she has been very industrious in circulating it to my injury." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you wrong Mrs. Grimes there," spoke up Mrs. Markle. "She +did not mention it to me until I inquired of her if the report was +true. And then she told me that she had never told it but to a +single person, in confidence, and that she had inadvertently alluded +to it, and thus it became a common report. So I think that Mrs. +Grimes cannot justly be charged with having sought to circulate the +matter to your injury." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, we will see how far that statement is correct," said +Mrs. Comegys. "Did she mention the subject to you, Mrs. Raynor?" +</P> + +<P> +"She did," replied Mrs. Raynor. "But in strict confidence, and +enjoining it upon me not to mention it to any one, as she had no +wish to injure you." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you tell it to any one?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. It was but a little while afterward that it was told to me by +some one else." +</P> + +<P> +"Was it mentioned to you, Mrs. Florence?" proceeded Mrs. Comegys, +turning to another of the ladies present. +</P> + +<P> +"It was, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +"By Mrs. Grimes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +"In confidence, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was requested to say nothing about it, for fear that it might +create an unfavorable impression in regard to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; there are two already. How was it in your case, Mrs. +Wheeler?" +</P> + +<P> +This lady answered as the others had done. The question was then put +to each lady in the room, when it appeared that out of the twenty, +fifteen had received their information on the subject from Mrs. +Grimes, and that upon every one secrecy had been enjoined, although +not in every case maintained. +</P> + +<P> +"So it seems, Mrs. Markle," said Mrs. Comegys, after she had +finished her inquiries, "that Mrs. Grimes has, as I alleged, +industriously circulated this matter to my injury." +</P> + +<P> +"It certainly appears so," returned Mrs. Markle, coldly. +</P> + +<P> +Thus brought into a corner, Mrs. Grimes bristled up like certain +animals, which are good at running and skulking, but which, when +fairly trapped, fight desperately. +</P> + +<P> +"Telling it to a thousand is not half as bad as doing it, Mrs. +Comegys," she said, angrily. "You needn't try to screen yourself +from the consequences of your wrong doings, by raising a hue and cry +against me. Go to the fact, madam! Go to the fact, and stand +alongside of what you have done." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no hesitation about doing that, Mrs. Grimes. Pray, what have +I done?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is very strange that you should ask, madam." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am charged, I learn, with having committed a crime against +society; and you are the author of the charge. What is the crime?" +</P> + +<P> +"If it is any satisfaction to you, I will tell you. I was at your +house when the pattern of the lawn dress you now have on was sent +home. You measured it in my presence, and there were several yards +in it more than you had bought and paid for"— +</P> + +<P> +"How many?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Grimes looked confused, and stammered out, "I do not now +exactly remember." +</P> + +<P> +"How many did she tell you, Mrs. Raynor?" +</P> + +<P> +"She said there were three yards." +</P> + +<P> +"And you, Mrs. Fisher?" +</P> + +<P> +"Six yards." +</P> + +<P> +"And you, Mrs. Florence?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fifteen yards, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, Mrs. Florence; you are entirely mistaken. You misunderstood +me," said Mrs. Grimes, in extreme perturbation. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so. But that is my present impression," replied Mrs. +Florence. +</P> + +<P> +"That will do," said Mrs. Comegys. "Mrs. Grimes can now go on with +her answer to my inquiry. I will remark, however, that the overplus +was just two yards." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you admit that the lawn overran what you had paid for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I do. It overran just two yards." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. One yard or a dozen, the principle is just the same. I +asked you what you meant to do with it, and you replied, 'keep it, +of course.' Do you deny that?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. It is very likely that I did say so, for it was my intention to +keep it." +</P> + +<P> +"Without paying for it?" asked Mrs. Markle. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Comegys looked steadily into the face of her interrogator for +some moments, a flush upon her cheek, an indignant light in her eye. +Then, without replying to the question, she stepped to the wall and +rang the parlor bell. In a few moments a servant came in. +</P> + +<P> +"Ask the gentleman in the dining-room if he will be kind enough to +step here." In a little while a step was heard along the passage, +and then a young man entered. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a clerk in Mr. Perkins' store?" said Mrs. Comegys. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +"You remember my buying this lawn dress at your store?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, ma'am. I should forget a good many incidents before I +forgot that." +</P> + +<P> +"What impressed it upon your memory?" +</P> + +<P> +"This circumstance. I was very much hurried at the time when you +bought it, and in measuring it off, made a mistake against myself of +two yards. There should have been four dresses in the piece. One had +been sold previous to yours. Not long after your dress had been sent +home, two ladies came into the store and chose each a dress from the +pattern. On measuring the piece, I discovered that it was two yards +short, and lost the sale of the dresses in consequence, as the +ladies wished them alike. An hour afterward you called to say that I +had made a mistake and sent you home two yards more than you had +paid for; but that as you liked the pattern very much, you would +keep it and buy two yards more for a dress for your little girl." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; that is exactly the truth in regard to the dress. I am obliged +to you, Mr. S——, for the trouble I have given you. I will not keep +you any longer." +</P> + +<P> +The young man bowed and withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +The ladies immediately gathered around Mrs. Comegys, with a thousand +apologies for having for a moment entertained the idea that she had +been guilty of wrong, while Mrs. Grimes took refuge in a flood of +tears. +</P> + +<P> +"I have but one cause of complaint against you all," said the +injured lady, "and it is this. A charge of so serious a nature +should never have been made a subject of common report without my +being offered a chance to defend myself. As for Mrs. Grimes, I can't +readily understand how she fell into the error she did. But she +never would have fallen into it if she had not been more willing to +think evil than good of her friends. I do not say this to hurt her; +but to state a truth that it may be well for her, and perhaps some +of the rest of us, to lay to heart. It is a serious thing to speak +evil of another, and should never be done except on the most +unequivocal evidence. It never occurred to me to say to Mrs. Grimes +that I would pay for the lawn; that I supposed she or any one else +would have inferred, when I said I would keep it." +</P> + +<P> +A great deal was said by all parties, and many apologies were made. +Mrs. Grimes was particularly humble, and begged all present to +forgive and forget what was past. She knew, she said, that she was +apt to talk; it was a failing with her which she would try to +correct. But that she didn't mean to do any one harm. +</P> + +<P> +As to the latter averment, it can be believed or not as suits every +one's fancy. All concerned in this affair felt that they had +received a lesson they would not soon forget. And we doubt not, that +some of our readers might lay it to heart with great advantage to +themselves and benefit to others. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="heiress"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE HEIRESS. +</H3> + +<P> +KATE DARLINGTON was a belle and a beauty; and had, as might be +supposed, not a few admirers. Some were attracted by her person; +some by her winning manners, and not a few by the wealth of her +family. But though sweet Kate was both a belle and a beauty, she was +a shrewd, clear-seeing girl, and had far more penetration into +character than belles and beauties are generally thought to possess. +For the whole tribe of American dandies, with their disfiguring +moustaches and imperials, she had a most hearty contempt. Hair never +made up, with her, for the lack of brains. +</P> + +<P> +But, as she was an heiress in expectancy, and moved in the most +fashionable society, and was, with all, a gay and sprightly girl, +Kate, as a natural consequence, drew around her the gilded moths of +society, not a few of whom got their wings scorched, on approaching +too near. +</P> + +<P> +Many aspired to be lovers, and some, more ardent than the rest, +boldly pressed forward and claimed her hand. But Kate did not +believe in the doctrine that love begets love in all cases. Were +this so, it was clear that she would have to love half a dozen, for +at least that number came kneeling to her with their hearts in their +hands. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Darlington was a merchant. Among his clerks was the son of an +old friend, who, in dying some years before, had earnestly solicited +him to have some care over the lad, who at his death would become +friendless. In accordance with this last request, Mr. Darlington +took the boy into his counting-room; and, in order that he might, +with more fidelity, redeem his promise to the dying father, also +received him into his family. +</P> + +<P> +Edwin Lee proved himself not ungrateful for the kindness. In a few +years he became one of Mr. Darlington's most active, trustworthy and +intelligent clerks; while his kind, modest, gentlemanly deportment +at home, won the favor and confidence of all the family. With Edwin, +Kate grew up as with a brother. Their intercourse was of the most +frank and confiding character. +</P> + +<P> +But there came, at last, a change. Kate from a graceful +sweet-tempered, affectionate girl, stepped forth, almost in a day, +it seemed to Edwin, a full-grown, lovely woman, into whose eyes he +could not look as steadily as before, and on whose beautiful face he +could no longer gaze with the calmness of feeling he had until now +enjoyed. +</P> + +<P> +For awhile, Edwin could not understand the reason of this change. +Kate was the same to him; and yet not the same. There was no +distance—no reserve on her part; and yet, when he came into her +presence, he felt his heart beat more quickly; and when she looked +him steadily in the face, his eyes would droop, involuntarily, +beneath her gaze. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, Edwin awoke to a full realization of the fact that Kate +was to him more than a gentle friend or a sweet sister. From that +moment, he became reserved in his intercourse with her; and, after a +short time, firmly made up his mind that it was his duty to retire +from the family of his benefactor. The thought of endeavoring to win +the heart of the beautiful girl, whom he had always loved as a +sister, and now almost worshipped, was not, for a moment +entertained. To him there would have been so much of ingratitude in +this, and so much that involved a base violation of Mr. Darlington's +confidence, that he would have suffered anything rather than be +guilty of such an act. +</P> + +<P> +But he could not leave the home where he had been so kindly regarded +for years, without offering some reason that would be satisfactory. +The true reason, he could not, of course, give. After looking at the +subject in various lights, and debating it for a long time, Edwin +could see no way in which he could withdraw from the family of Mr. +Darlington, without betraying his secret, unless he were to leave +the city at the same time. He, therefore, sought and obtained the +situation of supercargo in a vessel loading for Valparaiso. +</P> + +<P> +When Edwin announced this fact to Mr. Darlington, the merchant was +greatly surprised, and appeared hurt that the young man should take +such a step without a word of consultation with him. Edwin tried to +explain; but, as he had to conceal the real truth, his explanation +rather tended to make things appear worse than better. +</P> + +<P> +Kate heard the announcement with no less surprise than her father. +The thing was so sudden, so unlooked for, and, moreover, so uncalled +for, that she could not understand it. In order to take away any +pecuniary reason for the step he was about to take, Mr. Darlington, +after holding a long conversation with Edwin, made him offers far +more advantageous than his proposed expedition could be to him, +viewed in any light. But he made them in vain. Edwin acknowledged +the kindness, in the warmest terms, but remained firm in his purpose +to sail with the vessel. +</P> + +<P> +"Why will you go away and leave us, Edwin?" said Kate, one evening +when they happened to be alone, about two weeks before his expected +departure. "I do think it very strange!" +</P> + +<P> +Edwin had avoided, as much as possible, being alone with Kate, a +fact which the observant maiden had not failed to notice. Their +being alone now was from accident rather than design on his part. +</P> + +<P> +"I think it right for me to go, Kate," the young man replied, as +calmly as it was possible for him to speak under the circumstances. +"And when I think it right to do a thing, I never hesitate or look +back." +</P> + +<P> +"You have a reason, for going, of course. Why, then, not tell it +frankly? Are we not all your friends?" +</P> + +<P> +Edwin was silent, and his eyes rested upon the floor, while a deeper +flush than usual was upon his face. Kate looked at him fixedly. +Suddenly a new thought flashed through her mind, and the color on +her own cheeks grew warmer. Her voice from that moment was lower and +more tender; and her eyes, as she conversed with the young man, were +never a moment from his face. As for him, his embarrassment in her +presence was never more complete, and he betrayed the secret that +was in his heart even while he felt the most earnest to conceal it. +Conscious of this, he excused himself and retired as soon as it was +possible to do so. +</P> + +<P> +Kate sat thoughtful for some time after he had left. Then rising up, +she went, with a firm step to her father's room. +</P> + +<P> +"I have found out," she said, speaking with great self-composure, +"the reason why Edwin persists in going away." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! what is the reason, Kate? I would give much to know." +</P> + +<P> +"He is in love," replied Kate, promptly. +</P> + +<P> +"In love! How do you know that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I made the discovery to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Love should keep him at home, not drive him away," said Mr. +Darlington. +</P> + +<P> +"But he loves hopelessly," returned the maiden. "He is poor, and the +object of his regard belongs to a wealthy family." +</P> + +<P> +"And her friends will have nothing to do with him." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not so sure of that. But he formed an acquaintance with the +young lady under circumstances that would make it mean, in his eyes, +to urge any claims upon her regard." +</P> + +<P> +"Then honor as well as love takes him away." +</P> + +<P> +"Honor in fact; not love. Love would make him stay," replied the +maiden with a sparkling eye, and something of proud elevation in the +tones of her voice. +</P> + +<P> +A faint suspicion of the truth now came stealing on the mind of Mr. +Darlington. +</P> + +<P> +"Does the lady know of his preference for her?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Not through any word or act of his, designed to communicate a +knowledge of the fact," replied Kate, her eyes falling under the +earnest look bent upon her by Mr. Darlington. +</P> + +<P> +"Has he made you his confidante?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir. I doubt if the secret has ever passed his lips." Kate's +face was beginning to crimson, but she drove back the tell-tale +blood with a strong effort of the will. +</P> + +<P> +"Then how came you possessed of it," inquired the father. +</P> + +<P> +The blood came back to her face with a rush, and she bent her head +so that her dark glossy curls fell over and partly concealed it. In +a moment or two she had regained her self-possession, and looking up +she answered, +</P> + +<P> +"Secrets like this do not always need oral or written language to +make them known. Enough, father, that I have discovered the fact +that his heart is deeply imbued with a passion for one who knows +well his virtues—his pure, true heart—his manly sense of honor; +with a passion for one who has looked upon him till now as a +brother, but who henceforth must regard him with a different and +higher feeling." +</P> + +<P> +Kate's voice trembled. As she uttered the last few words, she lost +control of herself, and bent forward, and hid her face upon her +father's arm. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Darlington, as might well be supposed, was taken altogether by +surprise at so unexpected an announcement. The language used by his +daughter needed no interpretation. She was the maiden beloved by his +clerk. +</P> + +<P> +"Kate," said he, after a moment or two of hurried reflection, "this +is a very serious matter. Edwin is only a poor clerk, and you—" +</P> + +<P> +"And I," said Kate, rising up, and taking the words from her father, +"and I am the daughter of a man who can appreciate what is excellent +in even those who are humblest in the eyes of the world. Father, is +not Edwin far superior to the artificial men who flutter around +every young lady who now makes her appearance in the circle where we +move? Knowing him as you do, I am sure you will say yes." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Kate——" +</P> + +<P> +"Father, don't let us argue this point. Do you want Edwin to go +away?" And the young girl laid her hand upon her parent, and looked +him in the face with unresisting affection. +</P> + +<P> +"No dear; I certainly don't wish him to go." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor do I," returned the maiden, as she leaned forward again, and +laid her face upon his arm. In a little while she arose, and, with +her countenance turned partly away, said— +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him not to go, father——" +</P> + +<P> +And with these words she retired from the room. +</P> + +<P> +On the next evening, as Edwin was sitting alone in one of the +drawing-rooms, thinking on the long night of absence that awaited +him, Mr. Darlington came in, accompanied by Kate. They seated +themselves near the young man, who showed some sense of +embarrassment. There was no suspense, however, for Mr. Darlington +said— +</P> + +<P> +"Edwin, we none of us wish you to go away. You know that I have +urged every consideration in my power, and now I have consented to +unite with Kate in renewing a request for you to remain. Up to this +time you have declined giving a satisfactory reason for your sudden +resolution to leave; but a reason is due to us—to me in +particular—and I now most earnestly conjure you to give it." +</P> + +<P> +The young man, at this became greatly agitated, but did not venture +to make a reply. +</P> + +<P> +"You are still silent on the subject," said Mr. Darlington. +</P> + +<P> +"He will not go, father," said Kate, in a tender, appealing voice. +"I know he will not go. We cannot let him go. Kinder friends he will +not find anywhere than he has here. And we shall miss him from our +home circle. There will be a vacant place at our board. Will you be +happier away, Edwin?" +</P> + +<P> +The last sentence was uttered in a tone of sisterly affection. +</P> + +<P> +"Happier!" exclaimed the young man, thrown off his guard. "Happier! +I shall be wretched while away." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why go?" returned Kate, tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +At this stage of affairs, Mr. Darlington got up, and retired; and we +think we had as well retire with the reader. +</P> + +<P> +The good ship "Leonora" sailed in about ten days. She had a +supercargo on board; but his name was not Edwin Lee. +</P> + +<P> +Fashionable people were greatly surprised when the beautiful Kate +Darlington married her father's clerk; and moustached dandies curled +their lip, but it mattered not to Kate. She had married a man in +whose worth, affection, and manliness of character, she could repose +a rational confidence. If not a fashionable, she was a happy wife. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures, by T. S. 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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: Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures + +Author: T. S. Arthur + +Posting Date: August 14, 2009 [EBook #4595] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: February 12, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEART-HISTORIES AND LIFE-PICTURES *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +HEART-HISTORIES AND LIFE-PICTURES. + + +BY + +T. S. ARTHUR. + + + +NEW YORK: + +1853. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +So interested are we all in our every-day pursuits; so given up, +body and mind, to the attainment of our own ends; so absorbed by our +own hopes, joys, fears and disappointments, that we think rarely, if +at all, of the heart-histories of others--of the bright and sombre +life-pictures their eyes may look upon. And yet, every heart has its +history: how sad and painful many of these histories are, let the +dreamy eyes, the sober faces, the subdued, often mournful tones, of +many that daily cross our paths, testify. An occasional remembrance +of these things will cause a more kindly feeling towards others; and +this will do us good, in withdrawing our minds from too exclusive +thoughts of self. + +Whatever tends to awaken our sympathies towards others, to interest +us in humanity, is, therefore, an individual benefit as well as a +common good. In all that we have written, we have endeavored to +create this sympathy and awaken this interest; and so direct has +ever been our purpose, that we have given less thought to those +elegancies of style on which a literary reputation is often founded, +than to the truthfulness of our many life-pictures. In the +preparation of this volume, the same end has been kept in view, and +its chief merit will be found, we trust, in its power to do good. + +T. S. A. + +PHILADELPHIA, December, 1852. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + THE BOOK OF MEMORY, + THE BRILLIANT AND THE COMMON-PLACE, + JENNY LAWSON, + SHADOWS, + THE THANKLESS OFFICE, + GOING TO THE SPRINGS, + THE WIFE, + NOT GREAT BUT HAPPY, + THE MARRIED SISTERS, + GOOD-HEARTED PEOPLE, + SLOW AND SURE, + THE SCHOOL GIRL, + UNREDEEMED PLEDGES, + DON'T MENTION IT, + THE HEIRESS, + + + + + +THE BOOK OF MEMORY. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +"THERE is a book of record in your mind, Edwin," said an old man to +his young friend, "a book of record, in which every act of your life +is noted down. Each morning a blank page is turned, on which the +day's history is written in lines that cannot be effaced. This book +of record is your memory; and, according to what it bears, will your +future life be happy or miserable. An act done, is done forever; +for, the time in which it is done, in passing, passes to return no +more. The history is written and sealed up. Nothing can ever blot it +out. You may repent of evil, and put away the purpose of evil from +your heart; but you cannot, by any repentance, bring back the time +that is gone, nor alter the writing on the page of memory. Ah! my +young friend, if I could only erase some pages in the book of my +memory, that almost daily open themselves before the eyes of my +mind, how thankful I would be! But this I cannot do. There are acts +of my life for which repentance only avails as a process of +purification and preparation for a better state in the future; it in +no way repairs wrong done to others. Keep the pages of your memory +free from blots, Edwin. Guard the hand writing there as you value +your best and highest interests!" + +Edwin Florence listened, but only half comprehended what was said by +his aged friend. An hour afterwards he was sitting by the side of a +maiden, her hand in his, and her eyes looking tenderly upon his +face. She was not beautiful in the sense that the world regards +beauty. Yet, no one could be with her an hour without perceiving the +higher and truer beauty of a pure and lovely spirit. It was this +real beauty of character which had attracted Edwin Florence; and the +young girl's heart had gone forth to meet the tender of affection +with an impulse of gladness. + +"You love me, Edith?" said Edwin, in a low voice, as he bent nearer, +and touched her pure forehead with his lips. + +"As my life," replied the maiden, and her eyes were full of love as +she spoke. + +Again the young man kissed her. + +In low voices, leaning towards each other until the breath of each +was warm on the other's cheek, they sat conversing for a long time. +Then they separated; and both were happy. How sweet were the +maiden's dreams that night, for, in every picture that wandering +fancy drew, was the image of her lover! + +Daily thus they met for a long time. Then there was a change in +Edwin Florence. His visits were less frequent, and when he met the +young girl, whose very life was bound up in his, his manner had in +it a reserve that chilled her heart as if an icy hand had been laid +upon it. She asked for no explanation of the change; but, as he grew +colder, she shrunk more and more into herself, like a flower folding +its withering leaves when touched by autumn's frosty fingers. + +One day he called on Edith. He was not as cold as he had been, but +he was, from some cause, evidently embarrassed. + +"Edith," said he, taking her hand--it was weeks since he had touched +her hand except in meeting and parting--"I need not say how highly I +regard you. How tenderly I love you, even as I could love a pure and +gentle sister. But--" + +He paused, for he saw that Edith's face had become very pale; and +that she rather gasped for air than breathed. + +"Are you sick?" he asked, in a voice of anxiety. + +Edith was recovering herself. + +"No," she replied, faintly. + +A deep silence, lasting for the space of nearly half a minute, +followed. By this time the maiden, through a forced effort, had +regained the command of her feelings. Perceiving this, Edwin +resumed-- + +"As I said, Edith, I love you as I could love a pure and gentle +sister. Will you accept this love? Will you be to me a friend--a +sister?" + +Again there passed upon the countenance of Edith a deadly pallor; +while her lips quivered, and her eyes had a strange expression. This +soon passed away, and again something of its former repose was in +her face. At the first few words of Florence, Edith withdrew the +hand he had taken. He now sought it again, but she avoided the +contact. + +"You do not answer me, Edith," said the young man. + +"Do you wish an answer?" This was uttered in a scarcely audible +voice. + +"I do, Edith," was the earnest reply. "Let there be no separation +between us. You are to me what you have ever been, a dearly prized +friend. I never meet you that my heart does not know an impulse for +good--I never think of you but--" + +"Let us be as strangers!" said Edith, rising abruptly. And turning +away, she fled from the room. + +Slowly did the young man leave the apartment in which they were +sitting, and without seeing any member of the family, departed from +the house. There was a record on his memory that time would have no +power to efface. It was engraved too deeply for the dust of years to +obliterate. As he went, musing away, the pale face of Edith was +before him; and the anguish of her voice, as she said, "Let us be as +strangers," was in his ears. He tried not to see the one, nor hear +the other. But that was impossible. They had impressed themselves +into the very substance of his mind. + +Edwin Florence had an engagement for that very evening. It was with +one of the most brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating women he had +ever met. A few months before, she had crossed his path, and from +that time he was changed towards Edith. Her name was Catharine +Linmore. The earnest attentions of Florence pleased her, and as she +let the pleasure she felt be seen, she was not long in winning his +heart entirely from his first love. In this, she was innocent; for +she knew nothing of the former state of his affections towards +Edith. + +After parting with Edith, Edwin had no heart to fulfill his +engagement with Miss Linmore. He could think of nothing but the +maiden he had so cruelly deserted; and more than half repented of +what he had done. When the hour for the appointment came, his mind +struggled awhile in the effort to obtain a consent to go, and then +decided against meeting, at least on that occasion, the woman whose +charms had led him to do so great a wrong to a loving and confiding +heart. No excuse but that of indisposition could be made, under the +circumstances; and, attempting to screen himself, in his own +estimation, from falsehood, he assumed, in his own thoughts, a +mental indisposition, while, in the billet he dispatched, he gave +the idea of bodily indisposition. The night that followed was, +perhaps, the most unhappy one the young man had ever spent. Days +passed, and he heard nothing from Edith. He could not call to see +her, for she had interdicted that. Henceforth they must be as +strangers. The effect produced by his words had been far more +painful than was anticipated; and he felt troubled when he thought +about what might be their ultimate effects. + +On the fifth day, as the young man was walking with Catharine +Linmore, he came suddenly face to face with Edith. There was a +change in her that startled him. She looked at him, in passing, but +gave no signs of recognition. + +"Wasn't that Miss Walter?" inquired the companion of Edwin, in a +tone of surprise. + +"Yes," replied Florence. + +"What's the matter with her? Has she been sick? How dreadful she +looks!" + +"I never saw her look so bad," remarked the young man. As they +walked along, Miss Linmore kept alluding to Edith, whose changed +appearance had excited her sympathies. + +"I've met her only a few times," said she, "but I have seen enough +of her to give me a most exalted opinion of her character. Some one +called her very plain; but I have not thought so. There is something +so good about her, that you cannot be with her long without +perceiving a real beauty in the play of her countenance." + +"No one can know her well, without loving her for the goodness of +which you have just spoken," said Edwin. + +"You are intimate with her?" + +"Yes. She has been long to me as a sister." There was a roughness in +the voice of Florence as he said this. + +"She passed without recognizing you," said Miss Linmore. + +"So I observed." + +"And yet I noticed that she looked you in the face, though with a +cold, stony, absent look. It is strange! What can have happened to +her?" + +"I have observed a change in her for some time past," Florence +ventured to say; "but nothing like this. There is something wrong." + +When the time to part, with his companion came, Edwin Florence felt +a sense of relief. Weeks now passed without his seeing or hearing +any thing from Edith. During the time he met Miss Linmore +frequently; and encouraged to approach, he at length ventured to +speak to her of what was in his heart. The young lady heard with +pleasure, and, though she did not accept the offered hand, by no +means repulsed the ardent suitor. She had not thought of marriage, +she said, and asked a short time for reflection. + +Edwin saw enough in her manner to satisfy him that the result would +be in his favor. This would have made him supremely happy, could he +have blotted out all recollection of Edith and his conduct towards +her. But, that was impossible. Her form and face, as he had last +seen them, were almost constantly before his eyes. As he walked the +streets, he feared lest he should meet her; and never felt pleasant +in any company until certain that she was not there. + +A few days after Mr. Florence had made an offer of his hand to Miss +Linmore, and at a time when she was about making a favorable +decision, that young lady happened to hear some allusion made to +Edith Walter, in a tone that attracted her attention. She +immediately asked some questions in regard to her, when one of the +persons conversing said-- + +"Why, don't you know about Edith?" + +"I know that there is a great change in her. But the reason of it I +have not heard." + +"Indeed! I thought it was pretty well known that her affections had +been trifled with." + +"Who could trifle with the affections of so sweet, so good a girl," +said Miss Linmore, indignantly. "The man who could turn from her, +has no true appreciation of what is really excellent and exalted in +woman's character. I have seen her only a few times; but, often +enough to make me estimate her as one among the loveliest of our +sex." + +"Edwin Florence is the man," was replied. "He won her heart, and +then turned from her; leaving the waters of affection that had +flowed at his touch to lose themselves in the sands at his feet. +There must be something base in the heart of a man who could trifle +thus with such a woman." + +It required a strong effort on the part of Miss Linmore to conceal +the instant turbulence of feeling that succeeded so unexpected a +declaration. But she had, naturally, great self-control, and this +came to her aid. + +"Edwin Florence!" said she, after a brief silence, speaking in a +tone of surprise. + +"Yes, he is the man. Ah, me! What a ruin has been wrought! I never +saw such a change in any one as Edith exhibits. The very inspiration +of her life is gone. The love she bore towards Florence seems to +have been almost the mainspring of her existence; for in touching +that the whole circle of motion has grown feeble, and will, I fear, +soon cease for ever." + +"Dreadful! The falsehood of her lover has broken her heart." + +"I fear that it is even so." + +"Is she ill? I have not seen her for a long time," said Miss +Linmore. + +"Not ill, as one sick of a bodily disease; but drooping about as one +whose spirits are broken, and who finds no sustaining arm to lean +upon. When you meet her, she strives to be cheerful, and appear into +rested. But the effort deceives no one." + +"Why did Mr. Florence act towards her as he has done?" asked Miss +Linmore. + +"A handsomer face and more brilliant exterior were the attractions, +I am told." + +The young lady asked no more questions. Those who observed her +closely, saw the warm tints that made beautiful her cheeks grow +fainter and fainter, until they had almost entirely faded. Soon +after, she retired from the company. + +In the ardor of his pursuit of a new object of affection, Edwin +Florence scarcely thought of the old one. The image of Edith was +hidden by the interposing form of Miss Linmore. The suspense +occasioned by a wish for time to consider the offer he had made, +grew more and more painful the longer it was continued. On the +possession of the lovely girl as his wife, depended, so he felt, his +future happiness. Were she to decline his offer he would be +wretched. In this state of mind, he called one day upon Miss +Linmore, hoping and fearing, yet resolved to know his fate. The +moment he entered her presence he observed a change. She did not +smile; and there was something chilling in the steady glance of her +large dark eyes. + +"Have I offended you?" he asked, as she declined taking his offered +hand. + +"Yes," was the firm reply, while the young lady assumed a dignified +air. + +"In what?" asked Florence. + +"In proving false to her in whose ears you first breathed words of +affection." + +The young man started as if stung by a serpent. + +"The man," resumed Miss Linmore, "who has been false to Edith +Walter, never can be true to me. I wouldn't have the affection that +could turn from one like her. I hold it to be light as the +thistle-down. Go! heal the heart you have almost broken, if, +perchance, it be not yet too late. As for me, think of me as if we +had all our lives been strangers--such, henceforth, we must ever +remain." + +And saying this, Catharine Linmore turned from the rebuked and +astonished young man, and left the room. He immediately retired. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +EVENING, with its passionless influences, was stealing softly down, +and leaving on all things its hues of quiet and repose. The heart of +nature was beating with calm and even pulses. Not so the heart of +Edwin Florence. It had a wilder throb; and the face of nature was +not reflected in the mirror of his feelings, He was alone in his +room, where he had been during the few hours that had elapsed since +his interview with Miss Linmore. In those few hours, Memory had +turned over many leaves of the Book of his Life. He would fain have +averted his eyes from the pages, but he could not. The record was +before him, and he had read it. And, as he read, the eyes of Edith +looked into his own; at first they were loving and tender, as of +old; and then, they were full of tears. Her hand lay, now, +confidingly in his; and now it was slowly withdrawn. She sat by his +side, and leaned upon him--his lips were upon her lips; his cheek +touching her cheek; their breaths were mingling. Another moment and +he had turned from her coldly, and she was drooping towards the +earth like a tender vine bereft of the support to which it had held +by its clinging tendrils. Ah! If he could only have shut out these +images! If he could have erased the record so that Memory could not +read it! How eagerly would he have drunk of Lethe's waters, could he +have found the fabled stream! + +More than all this. The rebuke of Miss Linmore almost maddened him. +In turning from Edith, he had let his heart go out towards the other +with a passionate devotion. Pride in her beauty and brilliant +accomplishments had filled his regard with a selfishness that could +ill bear the shock of a sudden repulse. Sleepless was the night that +followed; and when the morning, long looked for, broke at last, it +brought no light for his darkened spirit. Yet he had grown calmer, +and a gentle feeling pervaded his bosom. Thrown off by Miss Linmore, +his thoughts now turned by a natural impulse, as the needle, long +held by opposing attraction, turns to its polar point, again towards +Edith Walter. As he thought of her longer and longer, tenderer +emotions began to tremble in his heart. The beauty of her character +was again seen; and his better nature bowed before it once more in a +genuine worship. + +"How have I been infatuated! What syren spell has been on me!" Such +were the words that fell from his lips, marking the change in his +feelings. + +Days went by, and still the change went on, until the old affection +had come back; the old tender, true affection. But, he had turned +from its object--basely turned away. A more glaring light had +dazzled his eyes so that he could see, for a time, no beauty, no +attraction, in his first love. Could he turn to her again? Would she +receive him? Would she let him dip healing leaves in the waters he +had dashed with bitterness? His heart trembled as he asked these +questions, for there was no confident answer. + +At last Edwin Florence resolved that he would see Edith once more, +and seek to repair the wrong done both to her and to himself. It was +three months after his rejection by Miss Linmore when he came to +this resolution. And then, some weeks elapsed before he could force +himself to act upon it. In all that time he had not met the young +girl, nor had he once heard of her. To the house of her aunt, where +she resided, Florence took his way one evening in early autumn, his +heart disturbed by many conflicting emotions. His love for Edith had +come back in full force; and his spirit was longing for the old +communion. + +"Can I see Miss Walter!" he asked, on arriving at her place of +residence. + +"Walk in," returned the servant who had answered his summons. + +Florence entered the little parlor where he had spent so many +never-to-be-forgotten hours with Edith--hours unspeakably happy in +passing, but, in remembrance, burdened with pain--and looking around +on each familiar object with strange emotions. Soon a light step was +heard descending the stairs, and moving along the passage. The door +opened, and Edith--no, her aunt--entered. The young man had risen in +the breathlessness of expectation. + +"Mr. Florence," said the aunt, coldly. He extended his hand; but she +did not take it. + +"How is Edith?" was half stammered. + +"She is sinking rapidly," replied the aunt. + +Edwin staggered back into a chair. + +"Is she ill?" he inquired, with a quivering lip. + +"Ill! She is dying!" There was something of indignation in the way +this was said. + +"Dying!" The young man clasped his hands together with a gesture of +despair. + +"How long has she been sick?" he next ventured to ask. + +"For months she has been dying daily," said the aunt. There was a +meaning in her tones that the young man fully comprehended. He had +not dreamed of this. + +"Can I see her?" + +The aunt shook her head, as she answered, + +"Let her spirit depart in peace." + +"I will not disturb, but calm her spirit," said the young man, +earnestly. "Oh, let me see her, that I may call her back to life!" + +"It is too late," replied the aunt. "The oil is exhausted, and light +is just departing." + +Edwin started to his feet, exclaiming passionately--"Let me see her! +Let me see her!" + +"To see her thus, would be to blow the breath that would extinguish +the flickering light," said the aunt. "Go home, young man! It is too +late! Do not seek to agitate the waters long troubled by your hand, +but now subsiding into calmness. Let her spirit depart in peace." + +Florence sunk again into his chair, and, hiding his face with his +hands, sat for some moments in a state of a mental paralysis. + +In the chamber above lay the pale, almost pulseless form of Edith. A +young girl, who had been as her sister for many years, sat holding +her thin white hand. The face of the invalid was turned to the wall. +Her eyes were closed; and she breathed so quietly that the motions +of respiration could hardly be seen. Nearly ten minutes had elapsed +from the time a servant whispered to the aunt that there was some +one in the parlor, when Edith turned, and said to her companion, in +a low, calm voice-- + +"Mr. Florence has come." + +The girl started, and a flush of surprise went over her face. + +"He is in the parlor now. Won't you ask him to come up?" added the +dying maiden, still speaking with the utmost composure. + +Her friend stood surprised and hesitating for some moments, and then +turning away, glided from the chamber. She found the aunt and Mr. +Florence in the passage below, the latter pleading with the former +for the privilege of seeing Edith, which was resolutely denied. + +"Edith wants to see Mr. Florence," said the girl, as she joined +them. + +"Who told her that he was here?" quickly asked the aunt. + +"No one. I did not know it myself." + +"Her heart told her that I was here," exclaimed Mr. Florence--and, +as he spoke, he glided past the aunt, and, with hurried steps, +ascended to the chamber where the dying one lay. The eyes of Edith +were turned towards the door as he entered; but no sign of emotion +passed over her countenance. Overcome by his feelings, at the sight +of the shadowy remnant of one so loved and so wronged, the young man +sunk into a chair by her side, as nerveless as a child; and, as his +lips were pressed upon her lips and cheeks, her face was wet with +his tears. + +Coming in quickly after, the aunt took firmly hold of his arm and +sought to draw him away, but, in a steady voice, the invalid said-- + +"No--no. I was waiting for him. I have expected him for days. I knew +he would come; and he is here now." + +All was silence for many minutes; and during this time Edwin +Florence sat with his face covered, struggling to command his +feelings. At a motion from the dying girl, the aunt and friend +retired, and she was alone with the lover who had been false to his +vows. As the door closed behind them, Edwin looked up. He had grown +calm. With a voice of inexpressible tenderness, he said-- + +"Live for me, Edith." + +"Not here," was answered. "The silver chord will soon be loosened +and the golden bowl broken." + +"Oh, say not that! Let me call you back to life. Turn to me again as +I have turned to you with my whole heart. The world is still +beautiful; and in it we will be happy together." + +"No, Edwin," replied the dying maiden. "The history of my days here +is written, and the angel is about sealing the record. I am going +where the heart will never feel the touch of sorrow. I wished to see +you once more before I died; and you are here. I have, once more, +felt your breath upon my cheek; once more held your hand in mine. +For this my heart is grateful. You had become the sun of my life, +and when your face was turned away, the flower that spread itself +joyfully in the light, drooped and faded. And now, the light has +come back again; but it cannot warm into freshness and beauty the +withered blossom." + +"Oh, my Edith! Say not so! Live for me! I have no thoughts, no +affection that is not for you. The drooping flower will lift itself +again in the sunshine when the clouds have passed away." + +As the young man said this, Edith raised herself up suddenly, and, +with a fond gesture, flung herself forward upon his bosom. For a few +moments her form quivered in his arms. Then all became still, and he +felt her lying heavier and heavier against him. In a little while he +was conscious that he clasped to his heart only the earthly +semblance of one who had passed away forever. + +Replacing the light and faded form of her who, a little while +before, had been in the vigor of health, upon the bed, Edwin gazed +upon the sunken features for a few moments, and then, leaving a last +kiss upon her cold lips, hurried aware. + +Another page in his Book of Life was written, There was another +record there from which memory, in after life, could read. And such +a record! What would he not have given to erase that page! + +When the body of Edith Walter was borne to its last resting-place, +Florence was among the mourners. After looking his last look upon +the coffin that contained the body, he went away, sadder in heart +than he had ever been in his life. He was not only a prey to +sadness, but to painful self-accusation. In his perfidy lay the +cause of her death. He had broken the heart that confided in him, +and only repented of his error when it was too late to repair the +ruin. + +As to what was thought or said of him by others, Edwin Florence +cared but little. There was enough of pain in his own +self-consciousness. He withdrew himself from the social circle, and, +for several years, lived a kind of hermit-life in the midst of +society. But, he was far from being happy in his solitude; for +Memory was with him, and almost daily, from the Book of his Life, +read to him some darkly written page. + +One day, it was three years from the time he parted with Edith in +the chamber of death, and when he was beginning to rise in a measure +above the depressing influences attendant upon that event,--he +received an invitation to make one of a social party on the next +evening. The desire to go back again in society had been gaining +strength with him for some time; and, as it had gained strength, +reason had pointed out the error of his voluntary seclusion as +unavailing to alter the past. + +"The past is past," he said to himself, as he mused with the +invitation in his hand. "I cannot recall it--I cannot change it. If +repentance can in any way atone for error, surely I have made +atonement; for my repentance has been long and sincere. If Edith can +see my heart, her spirit must be satisfied. Even she could not wish +for this living burial. It is better for me to mingle in society as +of old." + +Acting on this view, Florence made one on the next evening, in a +social party. He felt strangely, for his mind was invaded by old +influences, and touched by old impressions. He saw, in many a light +and airy form, as it glanced before him, the image of one long since +passed away; and heard, in the voices that filled the rooms, many a +tone that it seemed must have come from the lips of Edith. How busy +was Memory again with the past. In vain he sought to shut out the +images that arose in his mind. The page was open before him, and +what was impressed thereon he could not but see and read. + +This passed, in some degree, away as the evening progressed, and he +came nearer, so to speak, to some of those who made up the happy +company. Among those present was a young lady from a neighboring +city, who attracted much attention both from her manners and person. +She fixed the eyes of Mr. Florence soon after he entered the room, +and, half unconsciously to himself, his observation was frequently +directed towards her. + +"Who is that lady?" he asked of a friend, an hour after his arrival. + +"Her name is Miss Welden. She is from Albany." + +"She has a very interesting face," said Florence. + +"And quite as interesting a mind. Miss Weldon is a charming girl." + +Not long after, the two were thrown near together, when an +introduction took place. The conversation of the young lady +interested Florence, and in her society he passed half an hour most +pleasantly. While talking with more than usual animation, in lifting +his eyes he saw that some one on, the opposite side of the room was +observing him attentively. For the moment this did not produce any +effect. But, in looking up again, he saw the same eyes upon him, and +felt their expression as unpleasant. He now, for the first time, +became aware that the aunt of Edith Walter was present. She it was +who had been regarding him so attentively. From that instant his +heart sunk in his bosom. Memory's magic mirror was before him, and +in it he saw pictured the whole scene of that last meeting with +Edith. + +A little while afterward, and Edwin Florence was missed from the +pleasant company. Where was he? Alone in the solitude of his own +chamber, with his thoughts upon the past. Again he had been reading +over those pages of his Book of Life in which was written the +history of his intimacy with and desertion of Edith; and the record +seemed as fresh as if made but the day before. It was in vain that +he sought to close or avert his eyes. There seemed a spell upon him; +and he could only look and read. + +"Fatal error!" he murmured to himself, as he struggled to free +himself from his thraldom to the past. "Fatal error! How a single +act will curse a man through life. Oh! if I could but extinguish the +whole of this memory! If I could wipe out the hand-writing. Sorrow, +repentance, is of no avail. The past is gone for ever. Why then +should I thus continue to be unhappy over what I cannot alter? It +avails nothing to Edith. She is happy--far happier than if she had +remained on this troublesome earth." + +But, even while he uttered these words, there came into his mind +such a realizing sense of what the poor girl must have suffered, +when she found her love thrown back upon her, crushing her heart by +its weight, that he bowed his head upon his bosom and in bitter +self-upbraidings passed the hours until midnight, when sleep locked +up his senses, and calmed the turbulence of his feelings. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +MONTHS elapsed before Edwin Florence ventured again into company. + +"Why will you shut yourself up after this fashion?" said an +acquaintance to him one day. "It isn't just to your friends. I've +heard half a dozen persons asking for you lately. This hermit life +you are leading is, let me tell you, a very foolish life." + +The friend who thus spoke knew nothing of the young man's heart +history. + +"No one really misses me," said Florence, in reply. + +"In that you are mistaken," returned the friend. "You are missed. I +have heard one young lady, at least, ask for you of late, more than +a dozen times." + +"Indeed! A _young_ lady?" + +"Yes; and a very beautiful young lady at that." + +"In whose eyes can I have found such favor?" + +"You have met Miss Clara Weldon?" + +"Only once." + +"But once!" + +"That is all." + +"Then it must be a case of love at first sight--at least on the +lady's part--for Miss Weldon has asked for you, to my knowledge, not +less than a dozen times." + +"I am certainly flattered at the interest she takes in me." + +"Well you may be. I know more than one young man who would sacrifice +a good deal to find equal favor in her eyes. Now see what you have +lost by this hiding of your countenance. And you are not the only +loser." + +Florence, who was more pleased at what he heard than he would like +to have acknowledged, promised to come forth from his hiding place +and meet the world in a better spirit. And he did so; being really +drawn back into the social circle by the attraction of Miss Weldon. +At his second meeting with this young lady he was still more charmed +with her than at first; and she was equally well pleased with him. A +few more interviews, and both their hearts were deeply interested. + +Now there came a new cause of disquietude to Edwin; or, it might be +said, the old cause renewed. The going out of his affections towards +Miss Weldon revived the whole memory of the past; and, for a time he +found it almost impossible to thrust it from his mind. While sitting +by her side and listening to her voice, the tones of Edith would be +in his ears; and, often, when he looked into her face he would see +only the fading countenance of her who had passed away. This was the +first state, and it was exceedingly painful while it lasted. But, it +gradually changed into one more pleasant, yet not entirely free from +the unwelcome intrusion of the past. + +The oftener Florence and Miss Weldon met, the more strongly were +their hearts drawn toward each other; and, at length, the former was +encouraged to make an offer of his hand. In coming to this +resolutions, it was not without passing through a painful conflict. +As his mind dwelt upon the subject, there was a reproduction of old +states. Most vividly did he recall the time when he breathed into +the ears of Edith vows to which he had proved faithless. He had, it +is true, returned to his first allegiance. He had laid his heart +again at her feet; but, to how little purpose! While in this state +of agitation, the young man resolved, more than once, to abandon his +suit for the hand of Miss Weldon, and shrink back again into the +seclusion from which he had come forth. But, his affection for the +lovely girl was too genuine to admit of this. When he thought of +giving her up, his mind was still more deeply disturbed. + +"Oh, that I could forget!" he exclaimed, while this struggle was in +progress. "Of what avail is this turning over of the leaves of a +long passed history? I erred--sadly erred! But repentance is now too +late. Why, then should my whole existence be cursed for a single +error? Ah, me! thou not satisfied, departed one? Is it, indeed, from +the presence of thy spirit that I am troubled? My heart sinks at the +thought. But no, no! Thou wert too good to visit pain upon any; much +less upon one who, thou false to thee, thou didst so tenderly love." + +But, upon this state there came a natural re-action. A peaceful calm +succeeded the storm. Memory deposited her records in the mind's +dimly lighted chambers. To the present was restored its better +influences. + +"I am free again," was the almost audible utterance, of the young +man, so strong was his sense of relief. + +An offer of marriage was then made to Miss Weldon. Her heart +trembled with joy when she received it. But confiding implicitly in +her uncle, who had been for the space of ten years her friend and +guardian, she could not give an affirmative reply until his approval +was gained. She, therefore, asked time for reflection and +consultation with her friend. + +Far different from what Florence had expected, was the reception of +his offer. To him, Miss Weldon seemed instantly to grow cold and +reserved. Vividly was now recalled his rejection by Miss Linmore, as +well as the ground of her rejection. + +"Is this to be gone over again?" he sighed to himself, when alone +once more, "Is that one false step never to be forgotten nor +forgiven? Am I to be followed, through life, by this shadow of +evil?" + +To no other cause than this could the mind of Florence attribute the +apparent change and hesitation in Clara Weldon. + +Immediately on receiving an offer of marriage, Miss Weldon returned +to Albany. Before leaving, she dropped Florence a note, to the +effect, that he should hear from her in a few days. A week passed, +but the promised word came not. It was, now plain that the friends +of the young lady had been making inquiries about him, and were in +possession of certain facts in his life, which, if known, would +almost certainly blast his hopes of favor in her eyes. While in this +state of uncertainty, he met the aunt of Edith, and the way she +looked at him, satisfied his mind that his conjectures were true. A +little while after a friend remarked to him casually-- + +"I saw Colonel Richards in town to-day." + +"Colonel Richards! Miss Weldon's uncle?" + +"Yes. Have you seen him?" + +"No. I have not the pleasure of an acquaintance." + +"Indeed! I thought you knew him. I heard him mention your name this +morning." + +"My name!" + +"Yes." + +"What had he to say of me?" + +"Let me think. Oh! He asked me if I knew you." + +"Well?" + +"I said that I did, of course and that you were a pretty clever +fellow; though you had been a sad boy in your time." + +The face of Florence instantly reddened. + +"Why, what's the matter? Oh I understand now! That little niece of +his is one of your flames. But come! Don't take it so to heart. Your +chances are one in ten, I have no doubt. By the way, I haven't seen +Clara for a week. What has become of her? Gone back to Albany, I +suppose. I hope you haven't frightened her with an offer. By the +way, let me whisper a word of comfort in your ear. I heard her say +that she didn't believe in any thing but first love; and, as you are +known to have had half a dozen sweethearts, more or less, and to +have broken the hearts of two or three young ladies, the probability +is, that you won't be able to add her to tie number of your lady +loves." + +All this was mere jesting; but the words, though uttered in jest, +fell upon the ears of Edwin Florence with all the force of truth. + +"Guilty, on your own acknowledgment," said the friend, seeing the +effect of his words. "Better always to act fairly in these matters +of the heart, Florence. If we sow the wind, we will be pretty sure +to reap the whirlwind. But come; let me take you down to the +Tremont, and introduce you to Colonel Richards. I know he will be +glad to make your acquaintance, and will, most probably, give you an +invitation to go home with him and spend a week. You can then make +all fair with his pretty niece." + +"I have no wish to make his acquaintance just at this time," +returned Florence; "nor do I suppose he cares about making mine, +particularly after the high opinion you gave him of my character." + +"Nonsense, Edwin! You don't suppose I said that to him. Can't you +take a joke?" + +"Oh, yes; I can take a joke." + +"Take that as one, then. Colonel Richards did ask for you, however; +and said that he would like to meet you. He was serious. So come +along, and let me introduce you." + +"No; I would prefer not meeting with him at this time." + +"You are a strange individual." + +The young men parted; Florence to feel more disquieted than ever. +Colonel Richards had been inquiring about him, and, in prosecuting +his inquiries, would, most likely, find some one inclined to relate +the story of Edith Walter. What was more natural? That story once in +the ears of Clara, and he felt that she must turn from him with a +feeling of repulsion. + +Three or four days longer he was in suspense. He heard of Col. +Richards from several quarters, and, in each case when he was +mentioned, he was alluded to as making inquiries about him. + +"I hear that the beautiful Miss Weldon is to be married," was said +to Florence at a time when he was almost mad with the excitement of +suspense. + +"Ah!" he replied, with forced calmness, "I hope she will be +successful in securing a good husband." + +"So do I; for she is indeed a sweet girl. I was more than half +inclined to fall in love with her myself; and would leave done so, +if I had believed there was any chance for me." + +"Who is the favored one?" asked Florence. + +"I have not been able to find out. She received three or four +offers, and went back to Albany to consider them and make her +election. This she has done, I hear; and already, the happy +recipient of her favor is rejoicing over his good fortune. May they +live a thousand years to be happy with each other!" + +Here was another drop of bitterness in the cup that was at the lips +of Edwin Florence. He went to his office immediately, and, setting +down, wrote thus to Clara: + +"I do not wrongly interpret, I presume, a silence continued far +beyond the time agreed upon when we parted. You have rejected my +suit. Well, be it so; and may you be happy with him who has found +favor in your eyes. I do not think he can love you more sincerely +than I do, or be more devoted to your happiness than I should have +been. It would have relieved the pain I cannot but feel, if you had +deemed my offer worthy a frank refusal. But, to feel that one I have +so truly loved does not think me even deserving of this attention, +is humiliating in the extreme. But, I will not upbraid you. +Farewell! May you be happy." + +Sealing Up his epistle, the young man, scarcely pausing even for +hurried reflection, threw it into the post office. This done, he +sunk into a gloomy state of mind, in which mortification and +disappointment struggled alternately for the predominance. + +Only a few hours elapsed after the adoption of this hasty course, +before doubts of its propriety began to steal across his mind. It +was possible, it occurred to him, that he might have acted too +precipitately. There might be reasons for the silence of Miss Weldon +entirely separate from those he had been too ready to assume; and, +if so, how strange would his letter appear. It was too late now to +recall the act, for already the mail that bore his letter was half +way from New York to Albany. A restless night succeeded to this day. +Early on the next morning he received a letter. It was in these +words-- + + +"MY DEAR MR. FLORENCE:--I have been very ill, and to-day am able to +sit up just long enough to write a line or two. My uncle was in New +York some days ago, but did not meet with you. Will you not come up +and see me? + +"Ever Yours, CLARA WELDON." + + +Florence was on board the next boat that left New York for Albany. +The letter of Clara was, of course, written before the receipt of +his hasty epistle. What troubled him now was the effect of this +epistle on her mind. He had not only wrongly interpreted her +silence, but had assumed the acceptance of another lover as +confidently as if he knew to an certainty that such was the case. +This was a serious matter and might result in the very thing he had +been so ready to assume--the rejection of his suit. + +Arriving at length, in Albany, Mr. Florence sought out the residence +of Miss Weldon. + +"Is Colonel Richards at home?" he inquired. + +On being answered in the affirmative he sent up his name, with a +request to see him. The colonel made his appearance in short time. +He was a tall, thoughtful looking man, and bowed with a dignified +air as he came into the room. + +"How is Miss Weldon?" asked Florence, with an eagerness he could not +restrain. + +"Not so well this morning," replied the guardian. "She had a bad +night." + +"No wonder," thought the young man, "after receiving that letter." + +"She has been sleeping, however since daylight," added Colonel +Richards, "and that is much in her favor." + +"She received my letter, I presume," said Florence, in a hesitating +voice. + +"A letter came for her yesterday," was replied; "but as she was more +indisposed than usual, we did not give it to her." + +"It is as well," said the young man, experiencing a sense of relief. + +An hour afterwards he was permitted to enter the chamber, where she +lay supported by pillows. One glance at her face dispelled from his +mind every lingering doubt. He had suffered from imaginary fears, +awakened by the whispers of a troubled conscience. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +IN a few days Clara was well enough to leave her room, and was soon +entirely recovered from her sudden illness. That little matter of +the heart had been settled within three minutes of their meeting, +and they were now as happy as lovers usually are under such +favorable circumstances. + +When Edwin Florence went back to New York, it was with a sense of +interior pleasure more perfect than he had experienced for years; +and this would have remained, could he have shut out the past; or, +so much of it as came like an unwelcome intruder. But, alas! this +was not to be. Even while he was bending, in spirit, over the +beautiful image of his last beloved, there would come between his +eyes and that image a pale sad face, in which reproof was stronger +than affection, It was all in vain that he sought to turn from that +face. For a time it would remain present, and then fade slowly away, +leaving his heart oppressed. + +"Is it to be ever thus!" he would exclaim, in these seasons of +darkness. "Will nothing satisfy this accusing spirit? Edith! Dear +Edith! Art thou not among the blessed ones? Is not thy heart happy +beyond mortal conception? Then why come to me thus with those +tearful eyes, that shadowy face, those looks of reproof? Have I not +suffered enough for purification! Am I never to be forgiven?" + +And then, with an effort, he would turn his eyes from the page laid +open by Memory, and seek to forget what was written there. But it +seemed as if every thing conspired to freshen his remembrance of the +past, the nearer the time approached, when by a marriage union with +one truly beloved, he was to weaken the bonds it had thrown around +him. The marriage of Miss Linmore took place a few weeks after his +engagement with Clara, and as an intimate friend led her to the +altar, he could not decline making one of the number that graced the +nuptial festivities. In meeting the young bride, he endeavored to +push from his mind all thoughts of their former relations. But she +had not done this, and her thought determined his. Her mind recurred +to the former time, the moment he came into her presence, and, of +necessity his went back also. They met, therefore, with a certain +reserve, that was to him most unpleasant, particularly as it stirred +a hundred sleeping memories. + +By a strong effort, Florence was able to conceal from other eyes +much of what he felt. In doing this, a certain over action was the +consequence; and he was gayer than usual. Several times he +endeavored to be lightly familiar with the bride; but, in every +instance that he approached her, he perceived a kind of instinctive +shrinking; and, if she was in a laughing mood, when he drew near she +became serious and reserved. All this was too plain to be mistaken; +and like the repeated strokes of a hammer upon glowing iron, +gradually bent his feelings from the buoyant form they had been +endeavoring to assume. The effect was not wholly to be resisted. +More than an hour before the happy assemblage broke up, Florence was +not to be found in the brilliantly lighted rooms. Unable longer to +conceal what he felt, he had retired. + +For many days after this, the young man felt sober. "Why haven't you +called to see me?" asked the friend who had married Miss Linmore, a +week or two after the celebration of the nuptials. + +Florence excused himself as best he could, and promised to call in a +few days. Two weeks went by without the fulfillment of his promise. + +"No doubt, we shall see you next week," said the friend, meeting him +one day about this time; "though I am not so sure we will receive +your visits then." + +"Why not?" + +"A certain young lady with whom, I believe, you have some +acquaintance, is to spend a short time with us." + +"Who?" asked Florence, quickly. + +"A young lady from Albany." + +"Miss Weldon?" + +"The same." + +"I was not aware that she was on terms of intimacy with your wife." + +"She's an old friend of mine; and, in that sense a friend of +Kate's." + +"Then they have not met." + +"Oh, yes; frequently. And are warmly attached. We look for a +pleasant visit. But, of course, we shall not expect to see you. That +is understood." + +"I rather think you will; that is, if your wife will admit me on +friendly terms." + +"Why do you say that?" inquired the friend, appearing a little +surprised. + +"I thought, on the night of your wedding, that she felt my presence +as unwelcome to her." + +"And is this the reason why you have not called to see us." + +"I frankly own that it is." + +"Edwin! I am surprised at you. It is all a piece of imagination. +What could have put such a thing into your head?" + +"It may have been all imagination. But I couldn't help feelings as I +did. However, you may expect to see me, and that, too, before Miss +Weldon's arrival." + +"If you don't present yourself before, I am not so sure that we will +let you come afterwards," said the friend, smiling. + +On the next evening the young man called. Mrs. Hartley, the bride of +his friend, endeavored to forget the past, and to receive him with +all the external signs of forgetfulness. But, in this she did not +fully succeed, and, of course, the visit of Florence was painfully +embarrassing, at least, to himself. From that time until the arrival +of Miss Weldon, he felt concerned and unhappy. That Mrs. Hartley +would fully communicate or covertly hint to Clara certain events of +his former life, he had too much reason to fear; and, were this +done, he felt that all his fond hopes would be scattered to the +winds. In due time, Miss Weldon arrived. In meeting her, Florence +was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment, never before +experienced in her presence. He understood clearly why this was so. +At each successive visit his embarrassment increased; and, the more +so, from the fact that he perceived a change in Clara ere she had +been in the city a week. As to the cause of this change, he had no +doubts. It was evident that Mrs. Hartley had communicated certain +matters touching his previous history. + +Thus it went on day after day, for two or three weeks, by which time +the lovers met under the influence of a most chilling constraint. +Both were exceedingly unhappy. + +One day, in calling as usual, Mr. Florence was surprised to learn +that Clara had gone back to Albany. + +"She said, nothing of this last night," remarked the young man to +Mrs. Hartley. + +"Her resolution was taken after you went away," was replied. + +"And you, no doubt, advised the step," said Mr. Florence, with +ill-concealed bitterness. + +"Why do you say that?" was quickly asked. + +"How can I draw any other inference?" said the young man, looking at +her with knit brows. + +"Explain yourself, Mr. Florence!" + +"Do my words need explanation?" + +"Undoubtedly! For, I cannot understand them." + +"There are events in my past life--I will not say how bitterly +repented--of which only you could have informed her." + +"What events?" calmly asked the lady. + +"Why lacerate my feelings by such a question?" said Florence, while +a shadow of pain flitted over his face, as Memory presented a record +of the past. + +"I ask it with no such intention. I only wish to understand you," +replied Mrs. Hartley. "You have brought against me a vague +accusation. I wish it distinct, that I may affirm or deny it." + +"Edith Walter," said Edwin Florence, in a low, unsteady voice, after +he had been silent for nearly a minute. + +Mrs. Hartley looked earnestly into his face. Every muscle was +quivering. + +"What of her?" she inquired, in tones quite as low as those in which +the young man had spoken. + +"You know the history." + +"Well?" + +"And, regardless of my suffering and repentance, made known to Clara +the blasting secret." + +"No! By my hopes of heaven, no!" quickly exclaimed Mrs. Hartley. + +"No?" A quiver ran through the young man's frame. + +"No, Mr. Florence! That rested as silently in my own bosom as in +yours." + +"Who, then, informed her?" + +"No one." + +"Has she not heard of it?" + +"No." + +"Why, then, did she change towards me?" + +"You changed, first, towards her." + +"Me!" + +"Yes. From the day of her arrival in New York, she perceived in you +a certain coldness and reserve, that increased with each repeated +interview." + +"Oh, no!" + +"It is true. I saw it myself." + +Florence clasped his hands together, and bent his eyes in doubt and +wonder upon the floor. + +"Did she complain of coldness and change in me?" he inquired. + +"Yes, often. And returned, last night, to leave you free, doubting +not that you had ceased to love her." + +"Ceased to love her! While this sad work has been going on, I have +loved her with the agony of one who is about losing earth's most +precious thing. Oh! write to her for me, and explain all. How +strange has been my infatuation. Will you write for me?" + +"Yes." + +"Say that my heart has not turned from her an instant. That her +imagined coldness has made me of all men most wretched." + +"I will do so. But why not write yourself?" + +"It will be better to come from you. Ask her to return. I would +rather meet her here than in her uncle's house. Urge her to come +back." + +Mrs. Hartley promised to do so, according to the wish of Mr. +Florence. Two days passed, and there was no answer. On the morning +of the third day, the young man, in a state of agitation from +suspense called at the house of his friend. After sending up his +name, he sat anxiously awaiting the appearance of Mrs. Hartley. The +door at length opened, and, to his surprise and joy, Clara entered. +She came forward with a smile upon her face, extending her hand as +she did so. Edwin sprang to meet her, and catching her hand, pressed +it eagerly to his lips. + +"Strange that we should have so erred in regard to each other," said +Clara, as they sat communing tenderly. "I trust no such error will +come in the future to which I look forward with so many pleasing +hopes." + +"Heaven forbid!" replied the young man, seriously. + +"But we are in a world of error. Ah! if we could only pass through +life without a mistake. If the heavy weight of repentance did not +lie so often and so long upon our hearts--this would be a far +pleasanter world than it is." + +"Do not look so serious," remarked Clara, as she bent forward and +gazed affectionately into the young man's face. "To err is human. No +one here is perfect. How often, for hours, have I mourned over +errors; yet grief was of no avail, except to make my future more +guarded." + +"And that was much gained," said Florence, breathing deeply with a +sense of relief. "If we cannot recall and correct the past, we can +at least be more guarded in the future. This is the effect of my own +experience. Ah! if we properly considered the action of our present +upon the future, how guarded would we be. All actions are in the +present, and the moment they are done the present becomes the past, +over which Memory presides. What is past is fixed. Nothing can +change it. The record is in marble, to be seen in all future time." + +The serious character of the interview soon changed, and the young +lovers forgot every thing in the joy of their reconciliation. +Nothing arose to mar their intercourse until the appointed time for +the nuptial ceremonies arrived, when they were united in holy +wedlock. But, Edwin Florence did not pass on to this time without +another visit from the rebuking Angel of the past. He was not +permitted to take the hand of Clara in his, and utter the words that +bound him to her forever, without a visit from the one whose heart +he had broken years before. She came to him in the dark and silent +midnight, as he tossed sleeplessly upon his bed, and stood and +looked at him with her pale face and despairing eyes, until he was +driven almost to madness. She was with him when the light of morning +dawned; she moved by his side as he went forth to meet and claim his +betrothed; and was near him, invisible to all eyes but his own, when +he stood at the altar ready to give utterance to the solemn words +that bound him to his bride. And not until these words were said, +did the vision fade away. + +No wonder the face of the bridegroom wore a solemn aspect as he +presented himself to the minister, and breathed the vows of eternal +fidelity to the living, while before him, as distinct as if in +bodily form, was the presence of one long since sleeping ill her +grave, who had gone down to her shadowy resting place through his +infidelity. + +From this time there was a thicker veil drawn over the past. The +memory of that one event grew less and less distinct; though it was +not obliterated, for nothing that is written in the Book of Life is +ever blotted out. There were reasons, even in long years after his +marriage, when the record stood suddenly before him, as if written +in words of light; and he would turn from it with a feeling of pain. + +Thus it is that our present blesses or curses our future. Every act +of our lives affects the coming time for good or evil. We make our +own destiny, and make it always in the present. The past is gone, +the future is yet to come. The present only is ours, and, according +to what we do in the present, will be the records of the past and +its influence on the future. They are only wise who wisely regard +their actions in the present. + + + + +THE BRILLIANT AND THE COMMONPLACE. + + +DAY after day I worked at my life-task, and worked in an earnest +spirit. Not much did I seem to accomplish; yet the little that was +done had on it the impress of good. Still, I was dissatisfied, +because my gifts were less dazzling than those of which many around +me could boast. When I thought of the brilliant ones sparkling in +the firmament of literature, and filling the eyes of admiring +thousands, something like the evil spirit of envy came into my heart +and threw a shadow upon my feelings. I was troubled because I had +not their gifts. I wished to shine with a stronger light. To dazzle, +as well as to warm and vivify. + +Not long ago, there came among us one whom nature had richly +endowed. His mind possessed exceeding brilliancy. Flashes of +thought, like lightning from summer cloud, were ever filling the air +around him. There was a stateliness in the movement of his +intellect, and an evidence of power, that oppressed you at times +with wonder. + +Around him gathered the lesser lights in the hemisphere of thought, +and veiled their feeble rays beneath his excessive brightness. He +seemed conscious of his superior gifts and displayed them more like +a giant beating the air to excite wonder, than putting forth his +strength to accomplish a good and noble work. Still, I was oppressed +and paralyzed by the sphere of his presence. I felt puny and weak +beside him, and unhappy because I was not gifted with equal power. + +It so happened that a work of mine, upon which the maker's name was +not stamped--work done with a purpose of good--was spoken of and +praised by one who did not know me as the handicraftsman. + +"It is tame, dull, and commonplace," said the brilliant one, in a +tone of contempt; and there were many present to agree with him. + +Like the strokes of a hammer upon my heart, came these words of +condemnation. "Tame, dull, and commonplace!" And was it, indeed, so? +Yes; I felt that what he uttered was true. That my powers were +exceedingly limited, and my gifts few. Oh, what would I not have +then given for brilliant endowments like those possessed by him from +whom had fallen the words of condemnation? + +"You will admit," said one--I thought it strange at the time that +there should be even one to speak a word in favor of my poor +performance--"that it will do good?" + +"Good!" was answered, in a tone slightly touched by contempt. "Oh, +yes; it will do good!" and the brilliant one tossed his head. +"Anybody can do good!" + +I went home with a perturbed spirit. I had work to do; but I could +not do it. I sat down and tried to forget what I had heard. I tried +to think about the tasks that were before me. "Tame, dull, and +commonplace!" Into no other form would my thoughts come. + +Exhausted, at last, by this inward struggle, I threw myself upon my +bed, and soon passed into the land of dreams. + +Dream-land! Thou art thought by many to be _only_ a land of fantasy +and of shadows. But it is not so. Dreams, for the most part, _are_ +fantastic; but all are not so. Nearer are we to the world of +spirits, in sleep; and, at times, angels come to us with lessons of +wisdom, darkly veiled under similitude, or written in characters of +light. + +I passed into dream-land; but my thoughts went on in the same +current. "Tame, dull, and commonplace!" I felt the condemnation more +strongly than before. + +I was out in the open air, and around me were mountains, trees, +green fields, and running waters; and above all bent the sky in its +azure beauty. The sun was just unveiling his face in the east, and +his rays were lighting up the dew-gems on a thousand blades of +grass, and making the leaves glitter as if studded with diamonds. + +"How calm and beautiful!" said a voice near me. I turned, and one +whose days were in the "sear and yellow leaf," stood by my side. + +"But all is tame and commonplace," I answered. "We have this over +and over again, day after day, month after month, and year after +year. Give me something brilliant and startling, if it be in the +fiery comet or the rushing storm. I am sick of the commonplace!" + +"And yet to the commonplace the world is indebted for every great +work and great blessing. For everything good, and true, and +beautiful!" + +I looked earnestly into the face of the old man. He went on. + +"The truly good and great is the useful; for in that is the Divine +image. Softly and unobtrusively has the dew fallen, as it falls +night after night. Silently it distilled, while the vagrant meteors +threw their lines of dazzling light across the sky, and men looked +up at them in wonder and admiration. And now the soft grass, the +green leaves, and the sweet flowers, that drooped beneath the +fervent heat of yesterday, are fresh again and full of beauty, ready +to receive the light and warmth of the risen sun, and expand with, a +new vigor. All this may be tame, and commonplace; but is it not a +great and a good work that has been going on? + +"The tiller of the soil is going forth again to his work. Do not +turn your eyes from him, and let a feeling of impatience stir in +your heart because he is not a soldier rushing to battle, or a +brilliant orator holding thousands enchained by the power of a +fervid eloquence that is born not so much of good desires for his +fellow-men as from the heat of his own self-love. Day after day, as +now, patient, and hopeful, the husbandman enters upon the work that +lies before him, and, hand in hand with God's blessed sunshine, +dews, and rain, a loving and earnest co-laborer, brings forth from +earth's treasure-house of blessings good gifts for his fellow-men. +Is all this commonplace? How great and good is the commonplace!" + +I turned to answer the old man, but he was gone. I was standing on a +high mountain, and beneath me, as far as the eye could reach, were +stretched broad and richly cultivated fields; and from a hundred +farm-houses went up the curling smoke from the fires of industry. +Fields were waving with golden grain, and trees bending with their +treasures of fruit. Suddenly, the bright sun was veiled in clouds, +that came whirling up from the horizon in dark and broken masses, +and throwing a deep shadow over the landscape just before bathed in +light. Calmly had I surveyed the peaceful scene spread out before +me. I was charmed with its quiet beauty. But now, stronger emotions +stirred within me. + +"Oh, this is sublime!" I murmured, as I gazed upon the cloudy hosts +moving across the heavens in battle array. + +A gleam of lightning sprang forth from a dark cavern in the sky, and +then, far off, rattled and jarred the echoing thunder. Next came the +rushing and roaring wind, bending the giant-limbed oaks as if they +were but wands of willow, and tearing up lesser trees as a child +tears up from its roots a weed or flower. + +In this war of elements I stood, with my head bared, and clinging to +a rock, mad with a strange and wild delight. + +"Brilliant! Sublime! Grand beyond the power of descriptions," I said, +as the storm deepened in intensity. + +"An hour like this is worth all the commonplace, dull events of a +lifetime." + +There came a stunning crash in the midst of a dazzling glare. For +some moments I was blinded. When sight was restored, I saw, below +me, the flames curling upward from a dwelling upon which the fierce +lightning had fallen. + +"What majesty! what awful sublimity!" said I, aloud. I thought not +of the pain, and terror, and death that reigned in the human +habitation upon which the bolt of destruction had fallen, but of the +sublime power displayed in the strife of the elements. + +There was another change. I no longer stood on the mountain, with +the lightning and tempest around me; but was in the valley below, +down upon which the storm had swept with devastating fury. Fields of +grain were level with the earth; houses destroyed; and the trophies +of industry marred in a hundred ways. + +"How sublime are the works of the tempest!" said a voice near me. I +turned, and the old man was again at my side. + +But I did not respond to his words. + +"What majesty! What awful sublimity and power!" continued the old +man. "But," he added, in a changed voice, "there is a higher power +in the gentle rain than lies in the rushing tempest. The power to +destroy is an evil power, and has bounds beyond which it cannot go. +But the gentle rain that falls noiselessly to the earth, is the +power of restoration and recreation. See!" + +I looked, and a mall lay upon the ground apparently lifeless. He had +been struck down by the lightning. His pale face was upturned to the +sky, and the rain shaken free from the cloudy skirts of the retiring +storm, was falling upon it. I continued to gaze upon the force of +the prostrate man, until there came into it a flush of life. Then +his limbs quivered; he threw his arms about. A groan issued from his +constricted chest. In a little while, he arose. + +"Which is best? Which is most to be loved and admired?" said the old +Man. "The wild, fierce, brilliant tempest, or the quiet rain that +restores the image of life and beauty which the tempest has +destroyed? See! The gentle breezes are beginning to move over the +fields, and, hand in hand with the uplifting sunlight, to raise the +rain that has been trodden beneath the crushing heel of the tempest, +whose false sublimity you so much admired. There is nothing +startling and brilliant in this work; but it is a good and a great +work, and it will go on silently and efficiently until not a trace +of the desolating storm can be found. In the still atmosphere, +unseen, but all-potent, lies a power ever busy in the work of +creating and restoring; or, in other words, in the commonplace work +of doing good. Which office would you like best to assume--which is +the most noble--the office of the destroyer or the restorer?" + +I lifted my eyes again, and saw men busily engaged in blotting out +the traces of the storm, and in restoring all to its former use and +beauty. + +Builders were at work upon the house which had been struck by +lightning, and men engaged in repairing fences, barns, and other +objects upon which had been spent the fury of the excited elements. +Soon every vestige of the destroyer was gone. + +"Commonplace work, that of nailing on boards and shingles," said the +old man; "of repairing broken fences; of filling up the deep +foot-prints of the passing storm; but is it not a noble work? Yes; +for it is ennobled by its end. Far nobler than the work of the +brilliant tempest, which moved but to destroy." + +The scene changed once more. I was back again from the land of +dreams and similitudes. It was midnight, and the moon was shining in +a cloudless sky. I arose, and going to the window, sat and looked +forth, musing upon my dream. All was hushed as if I were out in the +fields, instead of in the heart of a populous city. Soon came the +sound of footsteps, heavy and measured, and the watchman passed on +his round of duty. An humble man was he, forced by necessity into +his position, and rarely thought of and little regarded by the many. +There was nothing brilliant about him to attract the eye and extort +admiration. The man and his calling were commonplace. He passed on; +and, as his form left my eye, the thought of him passed from my +mind. Not long after, unheralded by the sound of footsteps, came one +with a stealthy, crouching air; pausing now, and listening; and now +looking warily from side to side. It was plain that he was on no +errand of good to his fellowmen. He, too, passed on, and was lost to +my vision. + +Many minutes went by, and I still remained at the window, musing +upon the subject of my dream, when I was startled by a cry of terror +issuing from a house not far away. It was the cry of a woman. +Obeying the instinct of my feelings, I ran into the street and made +my way hurriedly towards the spot from which the cry came. + +"Help! help! murder!" shrieked a woman from the open window. + +I tried the street door of the house, but it was fastened. I threw +myself against it with all my strength, and it yielded to the +concussion. As I entered the dark passage, I found myself suddenly +grappled by a strong man, who threw me down and held me by the +throat. I struggled to free myself, but in vain. His grip tightened. +In a few moments I would have been lifeless. But, just at the +instant when consciousness was about leaving me, the guardian of the +night appeared. With a single stroke of his heavy mace, he laid the +midnight robber and assassin senseless upon the floor. + +How instantly was that humble watchman ennobled in my eyes! How high +and important was his use in society! I looked at him from a new +standpoint, and saw him in a new relation. + +"Commonplace!" said I, on regaining my own room in my own house, +panting from the excitement and danger to which I had been +subjected. "Commonplace! Thank God for the commonplace and the +useful!" + +Again I passed into the land of dreams, where I found myself walking +in a pleasant way, pondering the theme which had taken such entire +possession of my thoughts. As I moved along, I met the gifted one +who had called my work dull and commonplace; that work was a simple +picture of human life; drawn for the purpose of inspiring the reader +with trust in God and love towards his fellow-man. He addressed me +with the air of one who felt that he was superior, and led off the +conversation by a brilliant display of words that half concealed, +instead of making clear, his ideas. Though I perceived this, I was +yet affected with admiration. My eyes were dazzled as by a glare of +light. + +"Yes, yes," I sighed to myself; "I am dull, tame, and commonplace +beside these children of genius. How poor and mean is the work that +comes from my hands!" + +"Not so!" said my companion. I turned to look at him; but the gifted +being stood not by my side. In his place was the ancient one who had +before spoken to me in the voice of wisdom. + +"Not so!" he continued. "Nothing that is useful is poor and mean. +Look up! In the fruit of our labor is the proof of its quality." + +I was in the midst of a small company, and the gifted being whose +powers I had envied was there, the centre of attraction and the +observed of all observers. He read to those assembled from a book; +and what he read flashed with a brightness that was dazzling. All +listened in the most rapt attention, and, by the power of what the +gifted one read, soared now, in thought, among the stars, spread +their wings among the swift-moving tempest, or descended into the +unknown depths of the earth. As for myself, my mind seemed endowed +with new faculties, and to rise almost into the power of the +infinite. + +"Glorious! Divine! Godlike!" Such were the admiring words that fell +from the lips of all. + +And then the company dispersed. As we went forth from the room in +which we had assembled, we met numbers who were needy, and sick, and +suffering; mourners, who sighed for kind words from the comforter: +little children, who had none to love and care for them; the faint +and weary, who needed kind hands to help them on their toilsome +journey. But no human sympathies were stirring in our hearts. We had +been raised, by the power of the genius we so much admired, far +above the world and its commonplace sympathies. The wings of our +spirits were still beating the air, far away in the upper regions of +transcendant thought. + +Another change came. I saw a woman reading from the same book from +which the gifted one had read. Ever and anon she paused, and gave +utterance to words of admiration. + +"Beautiful! beautiful!" fell, ever and anon, from her lips; and she +would lift her eyes, and muse upon what she was reading. As she sat +thus, a little child entered the room. He was crying. + +"Mother! mother!" said the child, "I want--" + +But the mother's thoughts were far above the regions of the +commonplace. Her mind was in a world of ideal beauty. Disturbed by +the interruption, a slight frown contracted on her beautiful brows +as she arose and took her child by the arm to thrust it from the +room. + +A slight shudder went through my frame as I marked the touching +distress that overspread the countenance of the child as it looked +up into its mother's face and saw nothing there but an angry frown. + +"Every thought is born of affection," said the old man, as this +scene faded away, "and has in it the quality of the life that gave +it birth; and when that thought is reproduced in the mind of +another, it awakens its appropriate affection. If there had been a +true love of his neighbor in the mind of the gifted one when he +wrote the book from which the mother read, and if his purpose had +been to inspire with human emotions--and none but these are +God-like--the souls of men, his work would have filled the heart of +that mother with a deeper love of her child, instead of freezing in +her bosom the surface of love's celestial fountain. To have +hearkened to the grief of that dear child, and to have ministered to +its comfort, would have been a commonplace act, but, how truly noble +and divine! And now, look again, and let what passes before you give +strength to your wavering spirits." + +I lifted my eyes, and saw a man reading, and I knew that he read +that work of mine which the gifted one had condemned as dull, and +tame, and commonplace. And, moreover, I knew that he was in trouble +so deep as to be almost hopeless of the future, and just ready to +give up his life-struggle, and let his hands fall listless and +despairing by his side. Around him were gathered his wife and his +little ones, and they were looking to him, but in vain, for the help +they needed. + +As the man read, I saw a light come suddenly into his face. He +paused, and seemed musing for a time; and his eyes gleamed quickly +upwards, and as his lips parted, these words came forth: "Yes, yes; +it must be so. God is merciful as he is wise, and will not forsake +his creatures. He tries us in the fires of adversity but to consume +the evil of our hearts. I will trust him, and again go forth, with +my eyes turned confidingly upwards." And the man went forth in the +spirit of confidence in Heaven, inspired by what I had written. + +"Look again," said the one by my side. + +I looked, and saw the same man in the midst of a smiling family. His +countenance was full of life and happiness, for his trust had not +been in vain. As I had written, so he had found it. God is good, and +lets no one feel the fires of adversity longer than is necessary for +his purification from evil. + +"Look again!" came like tones of music to my ear. + +I looked, and saw one lying upon a bed. By the lines upon his brow, +and the compression of his lips, it was evident that he was in +bodily suffering. A book lay near him; it was written by the gifted +one, and was full of bright thoughts and beautiful images. He took +it, and tried to forget his pain in these thoughts and images. But +in this he did not succeed, and soon laid it aside with a groan of +anguish. Then there was handed to him my poor and commonplace work; +and he opened the pages and began to read. I soon perceived that an +interest was awakened in his mind. Gradually the contraction of his +brow grew less severe, and, in a little while, he had forgotten his +pain. + +"I will be more patient," said he, in a calm voice, after he had +read for a long time with a deep interest. "There are many with pain +worse than mine to bear, who have none of the comforts and blessings +so freely scattered along my way through life." + +And then he gave directions to have relief sent to one and another +whom he now remembered to be in need. + +"It is a good work that prompts to good in others," said the old +man. "What if it be dull and tame--commonplace to the few--it is a +good gift to the world, and thousands will bless the giver. Look +again!" + +An angry mother, impatient and fretted by the conduct of a froward +child, had driven her boy from her presence, when, if she had +controlled her own feelings, she might have drawn him to her side +and subdued him by the power of affection. She was unhappy, and her +boy had received an injury. + +The mother was alone. Before her was a table covered with books, and +she took up one to read. I knew the volume; it was written by one +whose genius had a deep power of fascination. Soon the mother became +lost in its exciting pages, and remained buried in them for hours. +At length, after turning the last page, she closed the book; and +then came the thought of her wayward boy. But, her feelings toward +him had undergone no change; she was still angry, because of his +disobedience. + +Another book lay upon the table; a book of no pretensions, and +written with the simple purpose of doing good. It was commonplace, +because it dealt with things in the common life around us. The +mother took this up, opened to the title-page, turned a few leaves, +and then laid it down again; sat thoughtful for some moments, and +then sighed. Again she lifted the book, opened it, and commenced +reading. In a little while she was all attention, and ere long I saw +a tear stealing forth upon her cheeks. Suddenly she closed the book, +evincing strong emotion as she did so, and, rising up, went from the +room. Ascending to a chamber above, she entered, and there found the +boy at play. He looked towards her, and, remembering her anger, a +shadow flitted across his face. But his mother smiled and looked +kindly towards him. Instantly the boy dropped his playthings, and +sprung to her side. She stooped and kissed him. + +"Oh, mother! I do love you, and I will try to be good!" + +Blinding tears came to my eyes, and I saw this scene no longer. I +was out among the works of nature, and my instructor was by my side. + +"Despise not again the humble and the commonplace," said he, "for +upon these rest the happiness and well-being of the world. Few can +enter into and appreciate the startling and the brilliant, but +thousands and tens of thousands can feel and love the commonplace +that comes to their daily wants, and inspires them with a mutual +sympathy. Go on in your work. Think it rot low and mean to speak +humble, yet true and fitting words for the humble; to lift up the +bowed and grieving spirit; to pour the oil and wine of consolation +for the poor and afflicted. It is a great and a good work--the very +work in which God's angels delight. Yea, in doing this work, you are +brought nearer in spirit to Him who is goodness and greatness +itself, for all his acts are done with the end of blessing his +creatures." + +There was another change. I was awake. It was broad daylight, and +the sun had come in and awakened me with a kiss. Again I resumed my +work, content to meet the common want in my labors, and let the more +gifted and brilliant ones around me enjoy the honors and fame that +gathered in cloudy incense around them. + +It is better to be loved by the many, than admired by the few. + + + + +JENNY LAWSON. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +MARK CLIFFORD had come up from New York to spend a few weeks with +his maternal grandfather, Mr. Lofton, who lived almost alone on his +beautiful estate a few miles from the Hudson, amid the rich valleys +of Orange county. Mr. Lofton belonged to one of the oldest families +in the country, and retained a large portion of that aristocratic +pride for which they were distinguished. The marriage of his +daughter to Mr. Clifford, a merchant of New York, had been strongly +opposed on the ground that the alliance was degrading--Mr. Clifford +not being able to boast of an ancestor who was anything more than an +honest man and a useful citizen. A closer acquaintance with his +son-in-law, after the marriage took place, reconciled Mr. Lofton in +a good measure to the union; for he found Mr. Clifford to be a man +of fine intelligence, gentlemanly feeling, and withal, tenderly +attached to his daughter. The marriage was a happy one--and this is +rarely the case when the external and selfish desire to make a good +family connection is regarded above the mental and moral qualities +on which a true union only can be based. + +A few years previous to the time at which our story opens, Mrs. +Clifford died, leaving one son and two daughters. Mark, the oldest +of the children, was in his seventeenth year at the time the sad +bereavement occurred--the girls were quite young. He had always been +an active boy--ever disposed to get beyond the judicious restraints +which his parents wisely sought to throw around him. After his +mother's death, he attained a wider liberty. He was still at college +when this melancholy event occurred, and continued there for two +years; but no longer in correspondence with, and therefore not under +the influence of one whose love for him sought ever to hold him back +from evil, his natural temperament led him into the indulgence of a +liberty that too often went beyond the bounds of propriety. + +On leaving college Mr. Clifford conferred with his son touching the +profession he wished to adopt, and to his surprise found him bent on +entering the navy. All efforts to discourage the idea were of no +avail. The young man was for the navy and nothing else. Yielding at +last to the desire of his son, Mr. Clifford entered the usual form +of application at the Navy Yard in Washington, but, at the same +time, in a private letter to the Secretary, intimated his wish that +the application might not be favorably considered. + +Time passed on, but Mark did not receive the anxiously looked for +appointment. Many reasons were conjectured by the young man, who, at +last, resolved on pushing through his application, if personal +efforts could be of any avail. To this end, he repaired to the seat +of government, and waited on the Secretary. In his interviews with +this functionary, some expressions were dropped that caused a +suspicion of the truth to pass through his mind. A series of rapidly +recurring questions addressed to the Secretary were answered in a +way that fully confirmed this suspicion. The effect of this upon the +excitable and impulsive young man will appear as our story +progresses. + +It was while Mark's application was pending, and a short time before +his visit to Washington, that he came up to Fairview, the residence +of his grandfather. Mark had always been a favorite with the old +gentleman, who rather encouraged his desire to enter the navy. + +"The boy will distinguish himself," Mr. Lofton would say, as he +thought over the matter. And the idea of distinction in the army or +navy, was grateful to his aristocratic feelings. "There is some of +the right blood in his veins for all." + +One afternoon, some two or three days after the young man came up to +Fairview, he was returning from a ramble in the woods with his gun, +when he met a beautiful young girl, simply attired, and bearing on +her head a light bundle of grain which she had gleaned in a +neighboring field. She was tripping lightly along, singing as gaily +as a bird, when she came suddenly upon the young man, over whose +face there passed an instant glow of admiration. Mark bowed and +smiled, the maiden dropped a bashful courtesy, and then each passed +on; but neither to forget the other. When Mark turned, after a few +steps, to gaze after the sweet wild flower he had met so +unexpectedly, he saw the face again, for she had turned also. He did +not go home on that evening, until he had seen the lovely being who +glanced before him in her native beauty, enter a neat little cottage +that stood half a mile from Fairview, nearly hidden by vines, and +overshadowed by two tall sycamores. + +On the next morning Mark took his way toward the cottage with his +gun. As he drew near, the sweet voice he had heard on the day before +was warbling tenderly an old song his mother had sung when he was +but a child; and with the air and words so well remembered, came a +gentleness of feeling, and a love of what was pure and innocent, +such as he had not experienced for many years. In this state of mind +he entered the little porch, and stood listening for several minutes +to the voice that still flung itself plaintively or joyfully upon +the air, according to the sentiment breathed in the words that were +clothed in music; then as the voice became silent, he rapped gently +at the door, which, in a few moments, was opened by the one whose +attractions had drawn him thither. + +A warm color mantled the young girl's face as her eyes fell upon so +unexpected a visitor. She remembered him as the young man she had +met on the evening before; about whom she had dreamed all night, and +thought much since the early morning. Mark bowed, and, as an excuse +for calling, asked if her mother were at home. + +"My mother died when I was but a child," replied the girl, shrinking +back a step or two; for Mark was gazing earnestly into her face. + +"Ah! Then you are living with your--your--" + +"Mrs. Lee has been a mother to me since then," said she, dropping +her eyes to the floor. + +"Then I will see the good woman who has taken your mother's place." +Mark stepped in as he spoke, and took a chair in the neat little +sitting room into which the door opened. + +"She has gone over to Mr. Lofton's," said the girl, in reply, "and +won't be back for an hour." + +"Has she, indeed? Then you know Mr. Lofton?" + +"Oh, yes. We know him very well. He owns our little cottage." + +"Does he! No doubt you find him a good landlord." + +"He's a kind man," said the girl, earnestly. + +"He is, as I have good reason to know," remarked the young man. "Mr. +Lofton is my grandfather." + +The girl seemed much surprised at this avowal, and appeared less at +ease than before. + +"And now, having told you who I am," said Mark, "I think I may be +bold enough to ask your name." + +"My name is Jenny Lawson," replied the girl. + +"A pretty name, that--Jenny--I always liked the sound of it. My +mother's name was Jenny. Did you ever see my mother? But don't +tremble so! Sit down, and tell your fluttering heart to be still." + +Jenny sunk into a chair, her bosom heaving, and the crimson flush +still glowing on her cheeks, while Mark gazed into her face with +undisguised admiration. + +"Who would have thought," said he to himself, "that so sweet a wild +flower grew in this out of the way place." + +"Did you ever see my mother, Jenny?" asked the young man, after she +was a little composed. + +"Mrs. Clifford?" + +"Yes." + +"Often." + +"Then we will be friends from this moment, Jenny. If you knew my +mother then, you must have loved her. She has been dead now over +three years." + +There was a shade of sadness in the young man's voice as he said +this. + +"When did you see her last?" he resumed. + +"The summer before she died she came up from New York and spent two +or three weeks here. I saw her then, almost every day." + +"And you loved my mother? Say you did!" + +The young man spoke with a rising emotion that he could not +restrain. + +"Every body loved her," replied Jenny, simply and earnestly. + +For a few moments Mark concealed his face with his hands, to hide +the signs of feeling that were playing over it; then looking up +again, he said-- + +"Jenny, because you knew my mother and loved her, we must be +friends. It was a great loss to me when she died. The greatest loss +I ever had, or, it may be, ever will have. I have been worse since +then. Ah me! If she had only lived!" + +Again Mark covered his face with his hands, and, this time, he could +not keep the dimness from his eyes. + +It was a strange sight to Jenny to see the young man thus moved. Her +innocent heart was drawn toward him with a pitying interest, and she +yearned to speak words of comfort, but knew not what to say. + +After Mark grew composed again, he asked Jenny a great many +questions touching her knowledge of his mother; and listened with +deep interest and emotion to many little incidents of Jenny's +intercourse with her, which were related with all the artlessness +and force of truth. In the midst of this singular interview, Mrs. +Lee came in and surprised the young couple, who, forgetting all +reserve, were conversing with an interest in their manner, the +ground of which she might well misunderstand. Jenny started and +looked confused, but, quickly recovering herself, introduced Mark as +the grandson of Mr. Lofton. + +The old lady did not respond to this with the cordiality that either +of the young folks had expected. No, not by any means. A flush of +angry suspicion came into her face, and she said to Jenny as she +handed her the bonnet she hurriedly removed-- + +"Here--take this into the other room and put it away." + +The moment Jenny retired, Mrs. Lee turned to Mark, and after looking +at him somewhat sternly for a moment, surprised him with this +speech-- + +"If I ever find you here again, young man, I'll complain to your +grandfather." + +"Will you, indeed!" returned Mark, elevating his person, and looking +at the old lady with flashing eyes. "And pray, what will you say to +the old gentleman?" + +"Fine doings, indeed, for the likes o' you to come creeping into a +decent woman's house when she is away!" resumed Mrs. Lee. "Jenny's +not the kind you're looking after, let me tell you. What would your +poor dear mother, who is in heaven, God bless her! think, if she +knew of this?" + +The respectful and even affectionate reference to his mother, +softened the feelings of Mark, who was growing very angry. + +"Good morning, old lady," said he, as he turned away; "you don't +know what you're talking about!" and springing from the door, he +hurried off with rapid steps. On reaching a wood that lay at some +distance off, Mark sought a retired spot, near where a quiet stream +went stealing noiselessly along amid its alder and willow-fringed +banks, and sitting down upon a grassy spot, gave himself up to +meditation. Little inclined was he now for sport. The birds sung in +the trees above him, fluttered from branch to branch, and even +dipped their wings in the calm waters of the stream, but he heeded +them not. He had other thoughts. Greatly had old Mrs. Lee, in the +blindness of her suddenly aroused fears, wronged the young man. If +the sphere of innocence that was around the beautiful girl had not +been all powerful to subdue evil thoughts and passions in his +breast, the reference to his mother would have been effectual to +that end. + +For half an hour had Mark remained seated alone, busy, with thoughts +and feelings of a less wandering and adventurous character than +usually occupied his mind, when, to his surprise, he saw Jenny +Lawson advancing along a path that led through a portion of the +woods, with a basket on her arm. She did not observe him until she +had approached within some fifteen or twenty paces; when he arose to +his feet, and she, seeing him, stopped suddenly, and looked pale and +alarmed. + +"I am glad to meet you again, Jenny," said Mark, going quickly +toward her, and taking her hand, which she yielded without +resistance. "Don't be frightened. Mrs. Lee did me wrong. Heaven +knows I would not hurt a hair of your head! Come and sit down with +me in this quiet place, and let us talk about my mother. You say you +knew her and loved her. Let her memory make us friends." + +Mark's voice trembled with feeling. There was something about the +girl that made the thought of his mother a holier and tenderer +thing. He had loved his mother intensely, and since her death, had +felt her loss as the saddest calamity that had, or possibly ever +could, befall him. Afloat on the stormy sea of human life, he had +seemed like a mariner without helm or compass. Strangely enough, +since meeting with Jenny at the cottage a little while before, the +thought of her appeared to bring his mother nearer to him; and when, +so unexpectedly, he saw her approaching him in the woods, he felt +momentarily, that it was his mother's spirit guiding her thither. + +Urged by so strong an appeal, Jenny suffered herself to be led to +the retired spot where Mark had been reclining, half wondering, half +fearful--yet impelled by a certain feeling that she could not well +resist. In fact, each exercised a power over the other, a power not +arising from any determination of will, but from a certain spiritual +affinity that neither comprehended. Some have called this "destiny," +but it has a better name. + +"Jenny," said Mark, after they were seated--he still retained her +hand in his, and felt it tremble--"tell me something about my +mother. It will do me good to hear of her from your lips." + +The girl tried to make some answer, but found no utterance. Her lips +trembled so that she could not speak. But she grew more composed +after a time, and then in reply to many questions of Mark, related +incident after incident, in which his mother's goodness of character +stood prominent. The young man listened intently, sometimes with his +eyes upon the ground, and sometimes gazing admiringly into the sweet +face of the young speaker. + +Time passed more rapidly than either Mark or Jenny imagined. For +full an hour had they been engaged in earnest conversation, when +both were painfully surprised by the appearance of Mrs. Lee, who had +sent Jenny on an errand, and expected her early return. A suspicion +that she might encounter young Clifford having flashed through the +old woman's mind, she had come forth to learn if possible the cause +of Jenny's long absence. To her grief and anger, she discovered them +sitting together engaged in earnest conversation. + +"Now, Mark Clifford!" she exclaimed as she advanced, "this is too +bad! And Jenny, you weak and foolish girl! are you madly bent on +seeking the fowler's snare? Child! child! is it thus you repay me +for my love and care over you!" + +Both Mark and Jenny started to their feet, the face of the former +flushed with instant anger, and that of the other pale from alarm. + +"Come!" and Mrs. Lee caught hold of Jenny's arm and drew her away. +As they moved off, the former, glancing back at Mark, and shaking +her finger towards him, said-- + +"I'll see your grandfather, young man!" + +Fretted by this second disturbance of an interview with Jenny, and +angry at an unjust imputation of motive, Mark dashed into the woods, +with his gun in his hand, and walked rapidly, but aimlessly, for +nearly an hour, when he found himself at the summit of a high +mountain, from which, far down and away towards the east, he could +see the silvery Hudson winding along like a vein of silver. Here, +wearied with his walk, and faint in spirit from over excitement, he +sat down to rest and to compose his thoughts. Scarcely intelligible +to himself were his feelings. The meeting with Jenny, and the effect +upon him, were things that he did not clearly understand. Her +influence over him was a mystery. In fact, what had passed so +hurriedly, was to him more like a dream than a reality. + +No further idea of sport entered the mind of the young man on that +day. He remained until after the sun had passed the meridian in this +retired place, and then went slowly back, passing the cottage of +Mrs. Lee on his return. He did not see Jenny as he had hoped. On +meeting Mr. Lofton, Mark became aware of a change in the old man's +feelings towards him, and he guessed at once rightly as to the +cause. If he had experienced any doubts, they would have been +quickly removed. + +"Mark!" said the old gentleman, sternly, almost the moment the +grandson came into his presence, "I wish you to go back to New York +to-morrow. I presume I need hardly explain my reason for this wish, +when I tell you that I have just had a visit from old Mrs. Lee." + +The fiery spirit of Mark was stung into madness by this further +reaction on him in a matter that involved nothing of criminal +intent. Impulsive in his feelings, and quick to act from them, he +replied with a calmness and even sadness in his voice that Mr. +Lofton did not expect--the calmness was from a strong effort: the +sadness expressed his real feelings: + +"I will not trouble you with my presence an hour longer. If evil +arise from this trampling of good impulse out of my heart, the sin +rest on your own head. I never was and never can be patient under a +false judgment. Farewell, grandfather! We may never meet again. If +you hear of evil befalling me, think of it as having some connection +with this hour." + +With these words Mark turned away and left the house. The old man, +in grief and alarm at the effect of his words, called after him, but +he heeded him not. + +"Run after him, and tell him to come back," he cried to a servant +who stood near and had listened to what had passed between them. The +order was obeyed, but it was of no avail. Mark returned a bitter +answer to the message he brought him, and continued on his way. As +he was hurrying along, suddenly he encountered Jenny. It was strange +that he should meet her so often. There was something in it more +than accident, and he felt that it was so. + +"God bless you, Jenny!" he exclaimed with much feeling, catching +hold of her hand and kissing it. "We may never meet again. They +thought I meant you harm, and have driven me away. But, Heaven knows +how little of evil purpose was in my heart! Farewell! Sometimes, +when you are kneeling to say your nightly prayers, think of me, and +breathe my name in your petitions. I will need the prayers of the +innocent. Farewell!" + +And under the impulse of the moment, Mark bent forward and pressed +his lips fervently upon her pure forehead; then, springing away, +left her bewildered and in tears. + +Mark hurried on towards the nearest landing place on the river, some +three miles distant, which he reached just as a steamboat was +passing. Waving his handkerchief, as a signal, the boat rounded to, +and touching at the rude pier, took him on board. He arrived in New +York that evening, and on the next morning started for Washington to +see after his application for a midshipman's appointment in the +navy. It was on this occasion that the young man became aware of the +secret influence of his father against the application which had +been made. His mind, already feverishly excited, lost its balance +under this new disturbing cause. + +"He will repent of this!" said he, bitterly, as he left the room of +the Secretary of the Navy, "and repent it until the day of his +death. Make a fixture of me in a counting room! Shut me up in a +lawyer's office! Lock me down in a medicine chest! Mark Clifford +never will submit! If I cannot enter the service in one way I will +in another." + +Without pausing to weigh the consequences of his act, Mark, in a +spirit of revenge towards his father, went, while the fever was on +him, to the Navy Yard, and there entered the United States service +as a common sailor, under the name of Edward James. On the day +following, the ship on board of which he had enlisted was gliding +down the Potomac, and, in a week after, left Hampton Roads and went +to sea. + +From Norfolk, Mr. Clifford received a brief note written by his son, +upbraiding him for having defeated the application to the +department, and avowing the fact that he had gone to sea in the +government service, as a common sailor. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +IT was impossible for such passionate interviews, brief though they +were, to take place without leaving on the heart of a simple minded +girl like Jenny Lawson, a deep impression. New impulses were given +to her feelings, and a new direction to her thoughts. Nature told +her that Mark Clifford loved her; and nothing but his cold disavowal +of the fact could possibly have affected this belief. He had met +her, it was true, only three or four times; but their interviews +during these meetings had been of a character to leave no ordinary +effect behind. So long as her eyes, dimmed by overflowing tears, +could follow Mark's retiring form, she gazed eagerly after him; and +when he was at length hidden from her view, she sat down to pour out +her heart in passionate weeping. + +Old Mrs. Lee, while she tenderly loved the sweet flower that had +grown up under her care, was not, in all things, a wise and discreet +woman; nor deeply versed in the workings of the human heart. + +Rumor of Mark's wildness had found its way to the neighborhood of +Fairview, and made an unfavorable impression. Mrs. Lee firmly +believed that he was moving with swift feet in the way to +destruction, and rolling evil under his tongue as a sweet morsel. +When she heard of his arrival at his grandfather's, a fear came upon +her lest he should cast his eyes upon Jenny. No wonder that she met +the young man with such a quick repulse, when, to her alarm, she +found that he had invaded her home, and was already charming the ear +of the innocent child she so tenderly loved and cared for. To find +them sitting alone in the woods, only a little while afterwards, +almost maddened her; and so soon as she took Jenny home, she hurried +over to Mr. Lofton, and in a confused, exaggerated, and intemperate +manner, complained of the conduct of Mark. + +"Together alone in the woods!" exclaimed the old gentleman, greatly +excited. "What does the girl mean?" + +"What does he mean, thus to entice away my innocent child?" said +Mrs. Lee, equally excited. "Oh, Mr. Lofton! for goodness' sake, send +him back to New York! If he remain here a day longer, all may be +lost! Jenny is bewitched with him. She cried as if her heart would +break when I took her back home, and said that I had done wrong to +Mark in what I had said to him." + +"Weak and foolish child! How little does she know of the world--how +little of the subtle human heart! Yes--yes, Mrs. Lee, Mark shall go +back at once. He shall not remain here a day longer to breathe his +blighting breath on so sweet a flower. Jenny is too good a girl to +be exposed to such an influence." + +The mind of Mr. Lofton remained excited for hours after this +interview; and when Mark appeared, he met him as has already been +seen. The manner in which the young man received the angry words of +his grandfather, was a little different from what had been +anticipated. Mr. Lofton expected some explanation by which he could +understand more clearly what was in the young man's thoughts. When, +therefore, Mark abruptly turned from him with such strange language +on his tongue, Mr. Lofton's anger cooled, and he felt that he had +suffered himself to be misled by a hasty judgment. That no evil had +been in the young man's mind he was sure. It was this change that +had prompted him to make an effort to recall him. But, the effort +was fruitless. + +On Jenny's return home, after her last interview with Mark, she +found a servant there with a summons from Mr. Lofton. With much +reluctance she repaired to the mansion house. On meeting with the +old gentleman he received her in a kind but subdued manner; but, as +for Jenny herself, she stood in his presence weeping and trembling. + +"Jenny," said Mr. Lofton, after the girl had grown more composed, +"when did you first meet my grandson?" + +Jenny mentioned the accidental meeting on the day before, and the +call at the cottage in the morning. + +"And you saw him first only yesterday?" + +"Yes." + +"What did he say when he called this morning?" + +"He asked for my mother." + +"Your mother?" + +"Yes. I told him that my mother was dead, and that I lived with Mrs. +Lee. He then wanted to see her; but I said that she had gone over to +your house." + +"What did he say then?" + +"He spoke of you, and said you were a good man, and that we no doubt +found you a good landlord. I had mentioned that you owned our +cottage." + +Mr. Lofton appeared affected at this. + +"What then?" he continued. + +"He told me who he was, and then asked me my name. When I told him +that it was Jenny, he said, it was a good name, and that he always +liked the sound of it, for his mother's name was Jenny. Then he +asked me, if I had known his mother, and when I said yes, he wanted +to know if I loved her. I said yes--for you know we all loved her. +Then he covered his face with his hands, and I saw the tears coming +through his fingers. 'Because you know my mother, and loved her, +Jenny,' said he, 'we will be friends.' Afterwards he asked me a +great many questions about her, and listened with the tears in his +eyes, when I told him of many things she had said and done the last +time she was up here. We were talking together about his mother, +when Mrs. Lee came in. She spoke cross to him, and threatened to +complain to you, if he came there any more. He went away angry. But +I'm sure he meant nothing wrong, sir. How could he and talk as he +did about his mother in heaven?" + +"But, how came you to meet him, in the woods, Jenny?" said Mr. +Lofton. "Did he tell you that he would wait there for you?" + +"Oh, no, sir. The meeting was accidental. I was sent over to Mrs. +Jasper's on an errand, and, in passing through the woods, saw him +sitting alone and looking very unhappy. I was frightened; but he +told me that he wouldn't hurt a hair of my head. Then he made me sit +down upon the grass beside him, and talk to him about his mother. He +asked me a great many questions, and I told him all that I could +remember about her. Sometimes the tears would steal over his cheeks; +and sometimes he would say--'Ah! if my mother had not died. Her +death was a great loss to me, Jenny--a great loss--and I have been +worse for it.'" + +"And was this all you talked about, Jenny," asked Mr. Lofton, who +was much, affected by the artless narrative of the girl. + +"It was all about his mother," replied Jenny. "He said that I not +only bore her name, but that I looked like her, and that it seemed +to him, while with me, that she was present." + +"He said that, did he!" Mr. Lofton spoke more earnestly, and looked +intently upon Jenny's face. "Yes--yes--it is so. She does look like +dear Jenny," he murmured to himself. "I never saw this before. Dear +boy! We have done him wrong. These hasty conclusions--ah, me! To how +much evil do they lead!" + +"And you were talking thus, when Mrs. Lee found you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What did she say?" + +"I can hardly tell what she said, I was so frightened. But I know +she spoke angrily to him and to me, and threatened to see you." + +Mr. Lofton sighed deeply, then added, as if the remark were casual-- + +"And that is the last you have seen of him." + +"No, sir; I met him a little while ago, as he was hurrying away from +your house." + +"You did!" Mr. Lofton started at Jenny's unexpected reply. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Did he speak to you?" + +"Yes; he stopped and caught hold of my hand, saying, 'God bless you, +Jenny! We may never meet again. They have driven me away, because +they thought I meant to harm you.' But he said nothing wrong was in +his heart, and asked me to pray for him, as he would need my +prayers." + +At this part of her narrative, Jenny wept bitterly, and her +auditor's eyes became dim also. + +Satisfied that Jenny's story was true in every particular, Mr. +Lofton spoke kindly to her and sent her home. + +A week after Mark Clifford left Fairview, word came that he had +enlisted in the United States' service and gone to sea as a common +sailor; accompanying this intelligence was an indignant avowal of +his father that he would have nothing more to do with him. To old +Mr. Lofton this was a serious blow. In Mark he had hoped to see +realized some of his ambitious desires. His daughter Jenny had been +happy in her marriage, but the union never gave him much +satisfaction. She was to have been the wife of one more +distinguished than a mere plodding money-making merchant. + +Painful was the shock that accompanied the prostration of old Mr. +Lofton's ambitious hopes touching his grandson, of whom he had +always been exceedingly fond. To him he had intended leaving the +bulk of his property when he died. But now anger and resentment +arose in his mind against him as unworthy such a preference, and in +the warmth of a moment's impulse, he corrected his will and cut him +off with a dollar. This was no sooner done than better emotions +stirred in the old man's bosom, and he regretted the hasty act; but +pride of consistency prevented his recalling it. + +From that time old Mr. Lofton broke down rapidly. In six months he +seemed to have added ten years to his life. During that period no +news had come from Mark; who was not only angry with both his father +and grandfather, but felt that in doing what he had done, he had +offended them beyond the hope of forgiveness. He, therefore, having +taken a rash step, moved on in the way he had chosen, in a spirit of +recklessness and defiance. The ties of blood which had bound him to +his home were broken; the world was all before him, and he must make +his way in it alone. The life of a common sailor in a government +ship he found to be something different from what he had imagined, +when, acting under a momentary excitement, he was so mad as to +enlist in the service. Unused to work or ready obedience, he soon +discovered that his life was to be one not only of bodily toil, +pushed sometimes to the extreme of fatigue, but one of the most +perfect subordination to the will of others, under pain of corporeal +punishment. The first insolent word of authority passed to him by a +new fledged midshipman, his junior by at least three years, stung +him so deeply that it was only by a most violent effort that he +could master the impulse that prompted him to seize and throw him +overboard. He did not regret this successful effort at self-control, +when, a few hours afterwards, he was compelled to witness the +punishment of the cat inflicted on a sailor for the offence of +insolence to an officer. The sight of the poor man, writhing under +tile brutality of the lash, made an impression on him that nothing +could efface. It absorbed his mind and brought it into a healthier +state of reflection than it had yet been. + +"I have placed myself in this position by a rash act," he said to +himself, as he turned, sick at heart, away from the painful and +disgusting sight. "And all rebellion against the authority around me +will but make plainer my own weakness. I have degraded myself; but +there is a lower degradation still, and that I must avoid. Drag me +to the gangway, and I am lost!" + +Strict obedience and submission was from that time self-compelled on +the part of Mark Clifford. It was not without a strong effort, +however, that he kept down the fiery spirit within him. A word of +insolent command--and certain of the young midshipmen on board could +not speak to a senior even if he were old as their father, except in +a tone of insult--would send the blood boiling through his veins. + +It was only by the narrowest chances that Mark escaped punishment +during the first six months of the cruise, which was in the Pacific. +If he succeeded in bridling his tongue, and restraining his hands +from violence he could not hide the indignant flash of his eyes, nor +school the muscles of his face into submission. They revealed the +wild spirit of rebellion that was in his heart. Intelligent +promptness in duty saved him. + +This was seen by his superior officers, and it was so much in his +favor when complaints came from the petty tyrants of the ship who +sometimes shrunk from the fierce glance that in a moment of +struggling passion would be cast upon them. After a trying ordeal of +six months, he was favored by one of the officers who saw deeper +than the rest; and gathered from him a few hints as to his true +character. In pitying him, he made use of his influence to save him +from some of the worst consequences of his position. + +Jenny Lawson was a changed girl after her brief meeting with Mark +Clifford. Before, she had been as light hearted and gay as a bird. +But, her voice was no longer heard pouring forth the sweet melodies +born of a happy heart. Much of her time she sought to be alone; and +when alone, she usually sat in a state of dreamy absent-mindedness. +As for her thoughts, they were most of the time on Clifford. His +hand had stirred the waters of affection in her gentle bosom; and +they knew no rest. Mr. Lofton frequently sent for her to come over +to the mansion house. He never spoke to her of Mark; nor did she +mention his name--though both thought of him whenever they were +together. The oftener Mr. Lofton saw Jenny, and the more he was with +her, the more did she remind him of his own lost child--his Jenny, +the mother of Mark--now in heaven. The incident of meeting with +young Clifford had helped to develop Jenny's character, and give it +a stronger type than otherwise would have been the case. Thus, she +became to Mr. Lofton companionable; and, ere a year had elapsed from +the time Mark went away, Mrs. Lee, having passed to her account, she +was taken into his house, and he had her constantly with him. As he +continued to fail, he leaned upon the affectionate girl more and +more heavily; and was never contented when she was away from him. + +It would be difficult to represent clearly Jenny's state of feeling +during this period. A simple minded, innocent, true-hearted girl, in +whose bosom scarce beat a single selfish impulse, she found herself +suddenly approached by one in station far above her, in a way that +left her heart unguarded. He had stooped to her, and leaned upon +her, and she, obeying an impulse of her nature, had stood firmer to +support him as he leaned. Their tender, confiding, and delightful +intercourse, continued only for a brief season, and was then rudely +broken in upon; forced separation was followed by painful +consequences to the young man. When Jenny thought of how Mark had +been driven away on her account, she felt that in order to save him +from the evils that must be impending over him, she would devote +even her life in his service. But, what could she do? This desire to +serve him had also another origin. A deep feeling of love had been +awakened; and, though she felt it to be hopeless, she kept the flame +brightly burning. + +Intense feelings produced more active thoughts, and the mind of +Jenny took a higher development. A constant association with Mr. +Lofton, who required her to read to him sometimes for hours each +day, filled her thoughts with higher ideas than any she had known, +and gradually widened the sphere of her intelligence. Thus she grew +more and more companionable to the old man, who, in turn, perceiving +that her mind was expanding, took pains to give it a right +direction, so far as external knowledge were concerned. + +Soon after Mark went to sea, Jenny took pains to inform herself +accurately as to the position and duties of a common sailor on board +of a United States' vessel. She was more troubled about Mark after +this, for she understood how unfitted he was for the hard service he +entered upon so blindly. + +One day, it was over a year from the time that Mark left Fairview, +Mr. Lofton sent for Jenny, and, on her coming into his room, handed +her a sealed letter, but without making any remark. On it was +superscribed her name; and it bore, besides, the word "Ship" in red +printed letters, "Valparaiso," also, was written upon it. Jenny +looked at the letter wonderingly, for a moment or two, and then, +with her heart throbbing wildly, left the room. On breaking the +seal, she found the letter to be from Mark. It was as follows: + + +"U. S. SHIP ----, Valparaiso, September 4, 18--, + +"MY GENTLE FRIEND.--A year has passed since our brief meeting and +unhappy parting. I do not think you have forgotten me in that time; +you may be sure I have not forgotten you. The memory of one about +whom we conversed, alone would keep your image green in my thoughts. +Of the rash step I took you have no doubt heard. In anger at unjust +treatment both from my father and grandfather, I was weak enough to +enter the United States' service as a sailor. Having committed this +folly, and being unwilling to humble myself, and appeal to friends +who had wronged me for their interest to get me released, I have +looked the hardship and degradation before me in the face, and +sought to encounter it manfully. The ordeal has been thus far most +severe, and I have yet two years of trial before me. As I am where I +am by my own act, I will not complain, and yet, I have felt it hard +to be cut off from all the sympathy and kind interest of my +friends--to have no word from home--to feel that none cares for me. +I know that I have offended both my father and grandfather past +forgiveness, and my mind is made up to seek for no reconciliation +with them. I cannot stoop to that. I have too much of the blood of +the Loftons in my veins. + +"But why write this to you, Jenny? You will hardly understand how +such feelings can govern any heart--your own is so gentle and +innocent in all of its impulses. I have other things to say to you! +Since our meeting I have never ceased to think of you! I need no +picture of your face, for I see it ever before me as distinctly as +if sketched by the painter's art. I sometimes ask myself +wonderingly, how it is that you, a simple country maiden, could, in +one or two brief meetings, have made so strong an impression upon +me? But, you bore my mother's name, and your face was like her dear +face. Moreover, the beauty of goodness was in your countenance, and +a sphere of innocence around you; and I had not strayed so far from +virtue's paths as to be insensible to these. Since we parted, Jenny, +you have seemed ever present with me, as an angel of peace and +protection. In the moment when passion was about overmastering me, +you stood by my side, and I seemed to hear your voice speaking to +the rising storm, and hushing all into calmness. When my feet have +been ready to step aside, you instantly approached and pointed to +the better way. Last night I had a dream, and it is because of that +dream that I now write to you. I have often felt like writing +before; now I write because I cannot help it. I am moved to do so by +something that I cannot resist. + +"Yesterday I had a difficulty with an officer who has shewn a +disposition to domineer over me ever since the cruise commenced. He +complained to the commander, who has, in more than one instance +shown me kindness. The commander said that I must make certain +concessions to the officer, which I felt as humiliating; that good +discipline required this, and that unless I did so, he would be +reluctantly compelled to order me to the gangway. Thus far I had +avoided punishment by a strict obedience to duty. No lash had ever +touched me. That degradation I felt would be my ruin; and in fear of +the result I bore much, rather than give any petty officer the power +to have me punished. 'Let me sleep over it, Captain,' said I, so +earnestly, that my request was granted. + +"Troubled dreams haunted me as I lay in my hammock that night. At +last I seemed to be afloat on the wide ocean, on a single plank, +tossing about with the hot sun shining fiercely upon me, and +monsters of the great deep gathering around, eager for their prey. I +was weak, faint, and despairing. In vain did my eyes sweep the +horizon, there was neither vessel nor land in sight. At length the +sun went down, and the darkness drew nearer and nearer. Then I could +see nothing but the stars shining above me. In this moment, when +hope seemed about leaving my heart forever, a light came suddenly +around me. On looking up I saw a boat approaching. In the bow stood +my mother, and you sat guiding the helm! She took my hand, and I +stepped into the boat with a thrill of joy at my deliverance. As I +did so, she kissed me, looked tenderly towards you, and faded from +my sight. Then I awoke. + +"The effect of all this was to subdue my haughty spirit. As soon as +an opportunity offered, I made every desired concession for my +fault, and was forgiven. And now I am writing to you, I feel as if +there was something in that dream, Jenny. Ah! Shall I ever see your +face again? Heaven only knows! + +"I send this letter to you in care of my grandfather. I know that he +will not retain it or seek to know its contents. Unless he should +ask after me, do not speak to him or any one of what I have written +to you. Farewell! Do not forget me in your prayers. + +"MARK CLIFFORD." + + +The effect of this letter upon Jenny, was to interest her intensely. +The swell of emotion went deeper, and the activity of her mind took +a still higher character. It was plain to her, when she next came +into Mr. Lofton's presence, that his thoughts had been busy about +the letter she had received. But he asked her no questions, and, +faithful to the expressed wish of Mark, she made no reference to the +subject whatever. + +One part of Jenny's service to the failing old man, had been to read +to him daily from the newspapers. This made her familiar with what +was passing in the world, gave her food for thought, and helped her +to develop and strengthen her mind. Often had she pored over the +papers for some news of Mark, but never having heard the name of the +vessel in which he had gone to sea, she had possessed no clue to +find what she sought for. But now, whenever a paper was opened, her +first search was for naval intelligence. + +With what a throb of interest did she one day, about a week after +Mark's letter came to hand, read an announcement that the ship ---- +had been ordered home, and might be expected to arrive daily at +Norfolk. + +A woman thinks quickly to a conclusion; or, rather, arrives there by +a process quicker than thought; especially where her conclusions are +to affect a beloved object. In an hour after Jenny had read the fact +just stated, she said to Mr. Lofton, who had now come to be much +attached to her-- + +"Will you grant me a favor?" + +"Ask what you will, my child," replied Mr. Lofton, with more than +usual affection in his tones. + +"Let me have fifty dollars." + +"Certainly. I know you will use it for a good purpose." + +Two days after this Jenny was in Washington. She made the journey +alone, but without timidity or fear. Her purpose made her +self-possessed and courageous. On arriving at the seat of +government, Jenny inquired for the Secretary of the Navy. When she +arrived at the Department over which he presided, and obtained an +interview, she said to him, as soon as she could compose herself-- + +"The ship ---- has been ordered home from the Pacific?" + +"She arrived at Norfolk last night, and is now hourly expected at +the Navy Yard," replied the Secretary. + +At this intelligence, Jenny was so much affected that it was some +time before she could trust herself to speak. + +"You have a brother on board?" said the Secretary. + +"There is a young man on board," replied Jenny, in a tremulous +voice, "for whose discharge I have come to ask." + +The Secretary looked grave. + +"At whose instance do you come?" he inquired. + +"Solely at my own." + +"Who is the young man?" + +"Do you know Marshal Lofton?" + +"I do, by reputation, well. He belongs to a distinguished family in +New York, to which the country owes much for service rendered in +trying times." + +"The discharge I ask, is for his grandson." + +"Young Clifford, do you mean?" The Secretary looked surprised as he +spoke. "He is not in the service." + +"He is on board the ship ---- as a common sailor." + +"Impossible!" + +"It is too true. In a moment of angry disappointment he took the +rash step. And, since then, no communication has passed between him +and his friends." + +The Secretary turned to the table near which he was sitting, and, +after writing a few lines on a piece of paper, rung a small +hand-bell for the messenger, who came in immediately. + +"Take this to Mr J----, and bring me an answer immediately." + +The messenger left the room, and the Secretary said to Jenny-- + +"Wait a moment or two, if you please." + +In a little while the messenger came back and handed the Secretary a +memorandum from the clerk to whom he had sent for information. + +"There is no such person as Clifford on board the ship ----, nor, in +fact, in the service as a common sailor," said the Secretary, +addressing Jenny, after glancing at the memorandum he had received. + +"Oh, yes, there is; there must be," exclaimed the now agitated girl. +"I received a letter from him at Valparaiso, dated on board of this +ship. And, besides, he wrote home to his father, at the time he +sailed, declaring what he had done." + +"Strange. His name doesn't appear in the Department as attached to +the service. Hark! There's a gun. It announces, in all probability, +the arrival of the ship ---- at the Navy Yard." + +Jenny instantly became pale. + +"Perhaps," suggested the Secretary, "your best way will be to take a +carriage and drive down, at once, to the Navy Yard. Shall I direct +the messenger to call a carriage for you?" + +"I will thank you to do so," replied Jenny, faintly. + +The carriage was soon at the door. Jenny was much agitated when she +arrived at the Navy Yard. To her question as to whether the ship +---- had arrived, she was pointed to a large vessel which lay moored +at the dock. How she mounted its side she hardly knew; but, in what +seemed scarcely an instant of time, she was standing on the deck. To +an officer who met her, as she stepped on board, she asked for Mark +Clifford. + +"What is he? A sailor or marine?" + +"A sailor." + +"There is no such person on board, I believe," said the officer. + +Poor Jenny staggered back a few paces, while a deadly paleness +overspread her face. As she leaned against the side of the vessel +for support, a young man, dressed as a sailor, ascended from the +lower deck. Their eyes met, and both sprung towards each other. + +"Jenny! Jenny! is it you!" fell passionately from his lips, as he +caught her in his arms, and kissed her fervently. "Bless you! Bless +you, Jenny! This is more than I had hoped for," he added, as he +gazed fondly into her beautiful young face. + +"They said you were not here," murmured Jenny, "and my heart was in +despair." + +"You asked for Mark Clifford?" + +"Yes." + +"I am not known in the service by that name. I entered it as Edward +James." + +This meeting, occurring as it did, with many spectators around, and +they of the ruder class, was so earnest and tender, yet with all, so +mutually respectful and decorous, that even the rough sailors were +touched by the manner and sentiment of the interview; and mole than +one eye grew dim. + +Not long did Jenny linger on the deck of the ----. Now that she had +found Mark, her next thought was to secure his discharge. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +IT was little more than half an hour after the Secretary of the Navy +parted with Jenny, ere she entered his office again; but now with +her beautiful face flushed and eager. + +"I have found him!" she exclaimed; "I knew he was on board this +ship!" + +The Secretary's interest had been awakened by the former brief +interview with Jenny, and when she came in with the announcement, he +was not only affected with pleasure, but his feelings were touched +by her manner. "How is it, then," he inquired, "that his name is not +to be found in the list of her crew?" + +"He entered the service under the name of Edward James." + +"Ah! that explains it." + +"And now, sir," said Jenny, in a voice so earnest and appealing, +that her auditor felt like granting her desire without a moment's +reflection: "I have come to entreat you to give me his release." + +"On what ground do you make this request?" inquired the Secretary, +gazing into the sweet young face of Jenny, with a feeling of respect +blended with admiration. + +"On the ground of humanity," was the simple yet earnestly spoken +reply. + +"How can you put it on that ground?" + +"A young man of his education and abilities can serve society better +in another position." + +"But he has chosen the place he is in." + +"Not deliberately. In a moment of disappointment and blind passion +he took a false step. Severely has he suffered for this act. Let it +not be prolonged, lest it destroy him. One of his spirit can +scarcely pass through so severe an ordeal without fainting." + +"Does Mr. Lofton, his grandfather, desire what you ask?" + +"Mr. Lofton is a proud man. He entertained high hopes for Mark, who +has, in this act, so bitterly disappointed them, that he has not +been known to utter his name since the news of his enlistment was +received." + +"And his father?" + +Jenny shook her head, sighing-- + +"I don't know anything about him. He was angry, and, I believe, cast +him off." + +"And you, then, are his only advocate?" + +Jenny's eyes dropped to the floor, and a deeper tinge overspread her +countenance. + +"What is your relation to him, and to his friends?" asked the +Secretary, his manner becoming more serious. + +It was some moments before Jenny replied. Then she said, in a more +subdued voice: + +"I am living with Mr. Lofton. But--" + +She hesitated, and then became silent and embarrassed. + +"Does Mr. Lofton know of your journey to Washington?" + +Jenny shook her head. + +"Where did you tell him you were going?" + +"I said nothing to him, but came away the moment I heard the ship +was expected to arrive at Norfolk." + +"Suppose I release him from the service?" + +"I will persuade him to go back with me to Fairview, and then I know +that all will be forgiven between him and his grandfather. You don't +know how Mr. Lofton has failed since Mark went away," added Jenny in +a tone meant to reach the feelings of her auditor. + +"He looks many years older. Ah, sir, if you would only grant my +request!" + +"Will the young man return to his family! Have you spoken to him +about it?" + +"No; I wished not to create hopes that might fail. But give me his +release, and I will have a claim on him." + +"And you will require him to go home in acknowledgment of that +claim." + +"I will not leave him till he goes back," said Jenny. + +"Is he not satisfied in the service?" + +"How could he be satisfied with it?" Jenny spoke with a quick +impulse, and with something like rebuke in her voice. "No! It is +crushing out his very life. Think of your own son in such a +position!" + +There was something in this appeal, and in the way it was uttered, +that decided the Secretary's mind. A man of acute observation, and +humane feelings, he not only understood pretty clearly the relation +that Jenny bore to Mark and his family, but sympathised with the +young man and resolved to grant the maiden's request. Leaving her +for a few minutes, he went into an adjoining room. When he returned, +he had a sealed letter in his hand directed to the commander of the +ship ----. + +"This will procure his dismissal from the service," said he, as he +reached it towards Jenny. + +"May heaven reward you!" fell from the lips of the young girl, as +she received the letter. Then, with the tears glistening in her +eyes, she hurriedly left the apartment. + +While old Mr. Lofton was yet wondering what Jenny could want with +fifty dollars, a servant came and told him that she had just heard +from a neighbor who came up a little while before from the landing, +that he had seen Jenny go on board of a steamboat that was on its +way to New York. + +"It can't be so," quickly answered Mr. Lofton. + +"Mr. Jones said, positively, that it was her." + +"Tell Henry to go to Mr. Jones and ask him, as a favor, to step over +and see me." + +In due time Mr. Jones came. + +"Are you certain that you saw Jenny Lawson go on board the steamboat +for New York to-day?" asked Mr. Lofton, when the neighbor appeared. + +"Oh, yes, sir; it was her," replied the man. + +"Did you speak to her?" + +"I was going to, but she hurried past me without looking in my +face." + +"Had she anything with her?" + +"There was a small bundle in her hand." + +"Strange--strange--very strange," murmured the old man to himself. +"What does it mean? Where can she have gone?" + +"Did she say nothing about going away?" + +"Nothing--nothing!" + +Mr. Lofton's eyes fell to the floor, and he sat thinking for some +moments. + +"Mr. Jones," said he, at length, "can you go to New York for me?" + +"I suppose so," replied Mr. Jones. + +"When will the morning boat from Albany pass here?" + +"In about two hours." + +"Then get yourself ready, if you please, and come over to me. I do +not like this of Jenny, and must find out where she has gone." + +Mr. Jones promised to do as was desired, and went to make all +necessary preparations. Before he returned, a domestic brought Mr. +Lofton a sealed note bearing his address, which she had found in +Jenny's chamber. It was as follows: + +"Do not be alarmed at my telling you that, when you receive this, I +will be on a journey of two or three hundred miles in extent, and +may not return for weeks. Believe me, that my purpose is a good one. +I hope to be back much sooner than I have said. When I do get home, +I know you will approve of what I have done. My errand is one of +Mercy. + +"Humbly and faithfully yours, JENNY." + +It was some time before Mr. Lofton's mind grew calm and clear, after +reading this note. That Jenny's absence was, in some way, connected +with Mark, was a thought that soon presented itself. But, in what +way, he could not make out; for he had never heard the name of the +ship in which his grandson sailed, and knew nothing of her expected +arrival home. + +By the time Mr. Jones appeared, ready to start on the proposed +mission to New York, Mr. Lofton had made up his mind not to attempt +to follow Jenny, but to wait for some word from her. Not until this +sudden separation took place did Mr. Lofton understand how necessary +to his happiness the affectionate girl had become. So troubled was +he at her absence, and so anxious for her safety, that when night +came he found himself unable to sleep. In thinking about the dangers +that would gather around one so ignorant of the world, his +imagination magnified the trials and temptations to which, alone as +she was, she would be exposed. Such thoughts kept him tossing +anxiously upon his pillow, or restlessly pacing the chamber floor +until day dawn. Then, from over-excitement and loss of rest, he was +seriously indisposed--so much so, that his physician had to be +called in during the day. He found him with a good deal of fever, +and deemed it necessary to resort to depletion, as well as to the +application of other remedies to allay the over-action of his vital +system. These prostrated him at once--so much so, that he was unable +to sit up. Before night he was so seriously ill that the physician +had to be sent for again. The fever had returned with great +violence, and the pressure on his brain was so great that he had +become slightly delirious. + +During the second night, this active stage of the disease continued; +but all the worst symptoms subsided towards morning. Daylight found +him sleeping quietly, with a cool moist skin, and a low, regular +pulse. Towards mid-day he awoke; but the anxiety that came with +thought brought back many of the unfavorable symptoms, and he was +worse again towards evening. On the third day he was again better, +but so weak as to be unable to sit up. + +How greatly did old Mr. Lofton miss the gentle girl, who had become +almost as dear to him as a child, during this brief illness, brought +on by her strange absence. No hand could smooth his pillow like +hers. No presence could supply her place by his side. He was +companionless, now that she was away; and his heart reached vainly +around for something to lean upon for support. + +On the fourth day he was better, and sat up a little. But his +anxiety for Jenny was increasing. Where could she be? He read her +brief letter over and over again. + +"May not return for weeks," he said, as he held the letter in his +hand. "Where can she have gone? Foolish child! Why did she not +consult with me? I would have advised her for the best." + +Late on the afternoon of that day, Jenny, in company with Mark, the +latter in the dress of a seaman in the United States service, passed +from a steamboat at the landing near Fairview, and took their way +towards the mansion of Mr. Lofton. They had not proceeded far, +before the young man began to linger, while Jenny showed every +disposition to press on rapidly. At length Mark stopped. + +"Jenny," said he, while a cloud settled on his face, "you've had +your own way up to this moment. I've been passive in your hands. But +I can't go on with you any further." + +"Don't say that," returned Jenny, her voice almost imploring in its +tones. And in the earnestness of her desire to bring Mark back to +his grandfather, she seized one of his hands, and, by a gentle +force, drew him a few paces in the direction they had been going. +But he resisted that force, and they stood still again. + +"I don't think I can go back, Jenny," said Mark, in a subdued voice: +"I have some pride left, much as has been crushed out of me during +the period of my absence, and this rises higher and higher in my +heart the nearer I approach my grandfather. How can I meet him!" + +"Only come into his presence, Mark," urged Jenny, speaking tenderly +and familiarly. She had addressed him as Mr. Clifford, but he had +forbidden that, saying-- + +"To you my name is Mark--let none other pass your lips!" + +"Only come into his presence. You need not speak to him, nor look +towards him. This is all I ask." + +"But, the humiliation of going back after my resentment of his +former treatment," said Mark. "I can bear anything but this bending +of my pride--this humbling of myself to others." + +"Don't think of yourself, Mark," replied Jenny. "Think of your +grandfather, on whom your absence has wrought so sad a change. Think +of what he must have suffered to break down so in less than two +years. In pity to him, then, come back. Be guided by me, Mark, and I +will lead you right. Think of that strange dream!" + +At this appeal, Mark moved quickly forward by the side of the +beautiful girl, who had so improved in every way--mind and body +having developed wonderfully since he parted with her--that he was +filled all the while by wonder, respect and admiration. He moved by +her side as if influenced by a spell that subdued his own will. + +In silence they walked along, side by side, the pressure of thought +and feeling on each mind being so strong as to take away the desire +to speak, until the old mansion house of Mr. Lofton appeared in +view. Here Mark stopped again; but the tenderly uttered "Come," and +the tearful glance of Jenny, effectually controlled the promptings +of an unbroken will. Together, in a few minutes afterwards, they +approached the house and entered. + +"Where is Mr. Lofton?" asked Jenny of a servant who met them in the +great hall. + +"He's been very ill," replied the servant. + +"Ill!" Jenny became pale. + +"Yes, very ill. But he is better now." + +"Where is he?" + +"In his own chamber." + +For a moment Jenny hesitated whether to go up alone, or in company +with Mark. She would have preferred going alone; but fearing that, +if she parted even thus briefly from Mark, her strong influence over +him, by means of which she had brought him, almost as a struggling +prisoner, thus far, would be weakened, and be tempted to turn from +the house, she resolved to venture upon the experiment of entering +Mr. Lofton's sick chamber, in company with his grandson. + +"Is he sitting up?" she asked of the servant. + +"He's been sitting up a good deal to-day, but is lying down now." + +"He's much better?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Come," said Jenny, turning to Mark, and moving towards the +stairway. Mark followed passively. On entering the chamber of Mr. +Lofton, they found him sleeping. + +Both silently approached, and looked upon his venerable face, +composed in deep slumber. Tears came to the eyes of Mark as he gazed +at the countenance of his grandfather, and his heart became soft as +the heart of a child. While they yet stood looking at him, his lips +moved, and he uttered both their names. Then he seemed disturbed, +and moaned, as if in pain. + +"Grandfather!" said Mark, taking the old man's hand, and bending +over him. + +Quickly his eyes opened. For a few moments he gazed earnestly upon +Mark, and then tightened his hand upon that of the young man, closed +his eyes again, and murmured in a voice that deeply touched the +returning wanderer-- + +"My poor boy! My poor boy! Why did you do so? Why did you break my +heart? But, God be thanked, you are back again! God be thanked!" + +"Jenny!" said the old man, quickly, as he felt her take his other +hand and press it to her lips. "And it was for this you left me! +Dear child, I forgive you!" + +As he spoke, he drew her hand over towards the one that grasped that +of Mark, and uniting them together, murmured-- + +"If you love each other, it is all right. My blessing shall go with +you." + +How mild and delicious was the thrill that ran through each of the +hearts of his auditors. This was more than they expected. Mark +tightly grasped the hand that was placed within his own, and that +hand gave back an answering pressure. Thus was the past reconciled +with the present; while a vista was opened toward a bright future. + +Little more than a year has passed since this joyful event took +place. Mark Clifford, with the entire approval of his grandfather, +who furnished a handsome capital for the purpose, entered, during +the time, into the mercantile house of his father as a partner, and +is now actively engaged in business, well sobered by his severe +experience. He has taken a lovely bride, who is the charm of all +circles into which she is introduced; and her name is Jenny. But few +who meet her dream that she once grew, a beautiful wild flower, near +the banks of the Hudson. + +Old Mr. Lofton could not be separated from Jenny; and, as he could +not separate her from her husband, he has removed to the city, where +he has an elegant residence, in which her voice is the music and her +smiles the ever present sunshine. + + + + +SHADOWS. + + +A HAPPY-HEARTED child was Madeline Henry, for the glad sunshine ever +lay upon the threshold of her early home. Her father, a cheerful, +unselfish man, left the world and its business cares behind him when +he placed his hand upon the door of entrance to his household +treasures. Like other men, he had his anxieties, his hopes and +losses, his disappointments and troubles; but he wisely and humanely +strove to banish these from his thoughts, when he entered the +home-sanctuary, lest his presence should bring a shadow instead of +sunshine. + +Madeline was just twenty years of age, when, as the wife of Edward +Leslie, she left this warm down-covered nest, and was borne to a new +and more elegant home. + +Mr. Leslie was her senior by eight or nine years. He began his +business life at the age of twenty-two, as partner in a well +established mercantile house, and, as he was able to place ten +thousand dollars in the concern, his position, in the matter of +profits, was good from the beginning. Yet, for all this, +notwithstanding more than one loving-hearted girl, in whose eyes he +might have found favor, crossed his path, he resolutely turned his +thoughts away, lest the fascination should be too strong for him. He +resolved not to marry until he felt able to maintain a certain style +of living. + +Thus were the heart's impulses checked; thus were the first tender +leaves of affection frozen in the cold breath of mere calculation. +He wronged himself in this; yet, in his worldliness and ignorance, +did he feel proud of being above, what he called, the weaknesses of +other men. + +It was but natural that Mr. Leslie should become, in a measure, +reserved towards others. Should assume a statelier step, and more +set forms of speech. Should repress, more and more, his heart's +impulses. + +In Leslie, the love of money was strong; yet there was in his +character a firmly laid basis of integrity. Though shrewd in his +dealings, he never stooped to a system of overreaching. He was not +long, therefore, in establishing a good reputation among business +men. In social circles, where he occasionally appeared, almost as a +matter of course he became an object of interest. + +Observation, as it regards character, is, by far, too superficial. +With most persons, merely what strikes the eye is sufficient ground +for an opinion; and this opinion is freely and positively expressed. +Thus, a good reputation comes, as a natural consequence, to a man +who lives in the practice of most of the apparent social virtues, +while he may possess no real kindness of heart, may be selfish to an +extreme degree. + +Thus it was with Mr. Leslie. He was generally regarded as a model of +a man; and when he, at length, approached Madeline Henry as a lover, +the friends of the young lady regarded her as particularly +fortunate. + +As for Madeline, she rather shrunk, at first, from his advances. +There was a coldness in his sphere that chilled her; a rigid +propriety of speech and action that inspired too much respect and +deference. Gradually, however, love for the maiden, (if by such a +term it might be called) fused his hard exterior, and his manner +became so softened, gentle and affectionate, that she yielded up to +him a most precious treasure--the love of her young and trusting +heart. + +Just twenty years old, as we have said, was Madeline when she +passed, as the bride of Mr. Leslie, from the warm home-nest in which +she had reposed so happily, to become the mistress of an elegant +mansion. Though in age a woman, she was, in many things, but a child +in feelings. Tenderly cared for and petted by her father, her spirit +had been, in a measure, sustained by love as an aliment. + +One like Madeline is not fit to be the wife of such a man as Edward +Leslie. For him, a cold, calculating woman of the world were a +better companion. One who has her own selfish ends to gain; and who +can find, in fashion, gaiety, or personal indulgence, full +compensation for a husband's love. + +Madeline was scarcely the bride of a week, ere shadows began to fall +upon her heart; and the form that interposed itself between her and +the sunlight, was the form of her husband. As a daughter, love had +ever gone forth in lavish expression. This had been encouraged by +all the associations of home. But, from the beginning of her wedded +life, she felt the manner of her husband like the weight of a hand +on her bosom, repressing her heart's outgushing impulses. + +It was on the fifth evening of their marriage, about the early +twilight hour, and Madeline, alone, almost for the first time since +morning, sat awaiting the return of her husband. Full of pleasant +thoughts was her mind, and warm with love her heart. A few hours of +separation from Edward had made her impatient to meet him again. +When, at length, she heard him enter, she sprang to meet him, and, +with an exclamation of delight, threw her arms about his neck. + +There was a cold dignity in the way this act was received by Edward +Leslie, that chilled the feelings of his wife. Quickly disengaging +her arms, she assumed a more guarded exterior; yet, trying all the +while, to be cheerful in manner. We say "trying;" for a shadow had +fallen on her young heart--and, to seem cheerful was from an effort. +They sat down, side by side, in the pensive twilight close to the +windows, through which came fragrant airs; and Madeline laid her +hand upon that of her husband. Checked in the first gush of +feelings, she now remained silent, yet with her yearning spirit +intently listening for words of tenderness and endearment. + +"I have been greatly vexed to-day." + +These were the very words he uttered. How chilly they fell upon the +ears of his expectant wife. + +"What has happened?" she asked, in a voice of concern. + +"Oh, nothing in reality more than usual. Men in business are exposed +to a thousand annoyances. If all the world were honest, trade would +be pleasant enough. But you have to watch every one you deal with as +closely as if he were a rogue. A man, whom I had confided in and +befriended, tried to overreach me today, and it has hurt me a good +deal. I couldn't have believed it of him." + +Nothing more was said on either side for several minutes. Leslie, +absorbed in thoughts of business, so far forgot the presence of his +wife, as to withdraw the hand upon which her's was laid. How +palpable to her was the coldness of his heart! She felt it as an +atmosphere around him. + +After tea, Leslie remarked, as he arose from the table, that he +wished to see a friend on some matter of business; but would be home +early. Not even a kiss did he leave with Madeline to cheer her +during his absence. His selfish dignity could not stoop to such +childishness. + +The young bride passed the evening with no companionship but her +tears. When Leslie came home, and looked upon her sober face, he was +not struck with its aspect as being unusual. It did not enter his +imagination that she could be otherwise than happy. Was she not +_his_ wife? And had she not, around her, every thing to make the +heart satisfied? He verily believed that she had. He spoke to her +kindly, yet, as she felt, indifferently, while her heart was pining +for words of warm affection. + +This was the first shadow that fell, darkly, across the young wife's +path. For hours after her husband's senses were locked in slumber, +she lay wakeful and weeping. He understood not, if he remarked the +fact, why her cheeks had less color and her eyes less brightness on +the morning that succeeded to this, on Madeline's part, never +forgotten evening. + +We need not present a scene from the sixth, the seventh, or even the +twentieth day of Madeline's married life. All moved on with a kind +of even tenor. Order--we might almost say, mercantile order--reigned +throughout the household. And yet, shadows were filling more and +more heavily over the young wife's feelings. To be loved, was an +element of her existence--to be loved with expression. But, +expressive fondness was not one of the cold, dignified Mr. Leslie's +weaknesses. He loved Madeline--as much as he was capable of loving +anything out of himself. And he had given her the highest possible +evidence of this love, by making her his wife.--What more could she +ask? It never occurred to his unsentimental thought, that words and +acts of endearment were absolutely essential to her happiness. That +her world of interest was a world of affections, and that without +his companionship in this world, her heart would feel an aching +void. + +Who will wonder that, as weeks and months went by, shadows were more +apparent on the sunny face of Madeline? Yet, such shadows, when they +became visible to casual eyes, did excite wonder. What was there to +break the play of sunshine on her countenance? + +"The more some people have, the more dissatisfied they are," +remarked one superficial observer to another, in reply to some +communication touching Mrs. Leslie's want of spirits. + +"Yes," was answered. "Nothing but _real_ trouble ever brings such +persons to their senses." + +Ah! Is not heart-trouble the most real of all with which we are +visited? There comes to it, so rarely, a balm of healing. To those +external evils which merely affect the personal comfort, the mind +quickly accommodates itself. We may find happiness in either +prosperity or adversity. But, what true happiness is there for a +loving heart, if, from the only source of reciprocation, there is +but an imperfect response? A strong mind may accommodate itself, in +the exercise of a firm religious philosophy, to even these +circumstances, and like the wisely discriminating bee, extract honey +from even the most unpromising flower. But, it is hard--nay, almost +impossible--for one like Madeline, reared as she was in so warm an +atmosphere of love, to fall back upon and find a sustaining power, +in such a philosophy. Her spirit first must droop. There must be a +passing through the fire, with painful purification. Alas! How many +perish in the ordeal!--How many gentle, loving ones, unequally +mated, die, daily, around us; moving on to the grave, so far as the +world knows, by the way of some fatal bodily ailment; yet, in truth, +failing by a heart-sickness that has dried up the fountains of life. + +And so it was with the wife of Edward Leslie. Greatly her husband +wondered at the shadows which fell, more and more heavily, on +Madeline--wondered as time wore on, at the paleness of her +cheeks--the sadness which, often, she could not repress when he was +by; the variableness of her spirits--all tending to destroy the +balance of her nervous system, and, finally, ending in confirmed +ill-health, that demanded, imperiously, the diversion of his +thoughts from business and worldly schemes to the means of +prolonging her life. + +Alas! What a sad picture to look upon, would it be, were we to +sketch, even in outline, the passing events of the ten years that +preceded this conviction on the part of Mr. Leslie. To Madeline, his +cold, hard, impatient, and, too frequently, cruel re-actions upon +what he thought her unreasonable, captious, dissatisfied states of +mind, having no ground but in her imagination, were heavy +heart-strokes--or, as a discordant hand dashed among her +life-chords, putting them forever out of tune. Oh! The wretchedness, +struggling with patience and concealment, of those weary years. The +days and days, during which her husband maintained towards her a +moody silence, that it seemed would kill her. And yet, so far as the +world went, Mr. Leslie was among the best of husbands. How little +does the world, so called, look beneath the surface of things! + +With the weakness of failing health, came, to Madeline, the loss of +mental energy. She had less and less self-control. A brooding +melancholy settled upon her feelings; and she often spent days in +her chamber, refusing to see any one except members of her own +family, and weeping if she were spoken to. + +"You will die, Madeline. You will kill yourself!" said her husband, +repeating, one day, the form of speech so often used when he found +his wife in these states of abandonment. He spoke with more than his +usual tenderness, for, to his unimaginative mind had come a quickly +passing, but vivid realization, of what he would lose if she were +taken from him. + +"The loss will scarcely be felt," was her murmured answer. + +"Your children will, at least, feel it," said Mr. Leslie, in a more +captious and meaning tone than, upon reflection, he would have used. +He felt her words as expressing indifference for himself, and his +quick retort involved, palpably, the same impression in regard to +his wife. + +Madeline answered not farther, but her husband's words were not +forgotten--"My children will feel my loss." This thought became so +present to her mind, that none other could, for a space, come into +manifest perception. The mother's heart began quickening into life a +sense of the mother's duty. Thus it was, when her oldest +child--named for herself, and with as loving and dependent a +nature--opened the chamber door, and coming up to her father, made +some request that he did not approve. To the mother's mind, her +desire was one that ought to have been granted; and, she felt, in an +instant, that the manner, as well as the fact of the father's +denial, were both unkind, and that Madeline's heart would be almost +broken. She did not err in this. The child went sobbing from the +room. + +How distinctly came before the mind of Mrs. Leslie a picture of the +past. She was, for a time, back in her father's house; and she felt, +for a time, the ever-present, considerate, loving kindness of one +who had made all sunshine in that early home. Slowly came back the +mind of Mrs. Leslie to the present, and she said to herself, not +passively, like one borne on the current of a down-rushing stream, +but resolutely, as one with a purpose to struggle--to suffer, and +yet be strong-- + +"Yes; my children will feel my loss. I could pass away and be at +rest. I could lie me down and sleep sweetly in the grave. But, is +all my work done? Can I leave these little ones to his tender mer--" + +She checked herself in the mental utterance of this sentiment, which +referred to her husband. But, the feeling was in her heart; and it +inspired her with a new purpose. Her thought, turned from herself, +and fixed, with a yearning love upon her children, gave to the blood +a quicker motion through the veins, and to her mind a new activity. +She could no longer remain passive, as she had been for hours, +brooding over her own unhappy state, but arose and left her chamber. +In another room she found her unhappy child, who had gone off to +brood alone over her disappointment, and to weep where none could +see her. + +"Madeline, dear!" said the mother, in a loving, sympathetic voice. + +Instantly the child flung herself into her arms, and laid her face, +sobbing, upon her bosom. + +Gently, yet wisely--for there came, in that moment, to Mrs. Leslie, +a clear perception of all her duty--did the mother seek to soften +Madeline's disappointment, and to inspire her with fortitude to +bear. Beyond her own expectation came success in this effort. The +reason she invented or imagined, for the father's refusal, satisfied +the child; and soon the clouded brow was lit up by the heart's +sunshine. + +From that hour, Mrs. Leslie was changed. From that hour, a new +purpose filled her heart. She could not leave her children, nor +could she take them with her if she passed away; and so, she +resolved to live for them, to forget her own suffering, in the +tenderness of maternal care. The mother had risen superior to the +unhappy, unappreciated wife. + +All marked the change; yet in none did it awaken more surprise than +in Mr. Leslie. He never fully understood its meaning; and, no +wonder, for he had never understood her from the beginning. He was +too cold and selfish to be able fully to appreciate her character or +relation to him as a wife. + +Yet, for all this change--though the long drooping form of Mrs. +Leslie regained something of its erectness, and her exhausted system +a degree of tension--the shadow passed not from her heart or brow; +nor did her cheeks grow warm again with the glow of health. The +delight of her life had failed; and now, she lived only for the +children whom God had given her. + +A man of Mr. Leslie's stamp of character too rarely grows wiser in +the true sense. Himself the centre of his world, it is but seldom +that he is able to think enough out of himself to scan the effect of +his daily actions upon others. If collisions take place, he thinks +only of the pain he feels, not of the pain he gives. He is ever +censuring; but rarely takes blame. During the earlier portions of +his married life, Mr. Leslie's mind had chafed a good deal at what +seemed to him Madeline's unreasonable and unwomanly conduct; the +soreness of this was felt even after the change in her exterior that +we have noticed, and he often indulged in the habit of mentally +writing bitter things against her. He had well nigh broken her +heart; and was yet impatient because she gave signs indicative of +pain. + +And so, as years wore on, the distance grew wider instead of +becoming less and less. The husband had many things to draw him +forth into the busy world, where he established various interests, +and sought pleasure in their pursuits, while the wife, seldom seen +abroad, buried herself at home, and gave her very life for her +children. + +But, even maternal love could not feed for very many years the flame +of her life. The oil was too nearly exhausted when that new supply +came. For a time, the light burned clearly; then it began to fail, +and ere the mother's tasks were half done, it went out in darkness. + +How heavy the shadows which then fell upon the household and upon +the heart of Edward Leslie! As he stood, alone, in the chamber of +death, with his eyes fixed upon the pale, wasted countenance, no +more to quicken with life, and felt on his neck the clinging arms +that were thrown around it a few moments before the last sigh of +mortality was breathed; and still heard the eager, "Kiss me, Edward, +once, before I die!"--a new light broke upon him,--and he was +suddenly stung by sharp and self-reproaching thoughts. Had he not +killed her, and, by the slowest and most agonizing process by which +murder can be committed? There was in his mind a startling +perception that such was the awful crime of which he had been +guilty. + +Yes, there were shadows on the heart of Edward Leslie; shadows that +never entirely passed away. + + + + +THE THANKLESS OFFICE. + + +"AN object of real charity," said Andrew Lyon to his wife, as a poor +woman withdrew from the room in which they were seated. + +"If ever there was a worthy object, she is one," returned Mrs. Lyon. +"A widow, with health so feeble that even ordinary exertion is too +much for her; yet obliged to support, with the labor of her own +hands, not only herself, but three young children. I do not wonder +that she is behind with her rent." + +"Nor I," said Mr. Lyon in a voice of sympathy. "How much did she say +was due to her landlord?" + +"Ten dollars." + +"She will not be able to pay it." + +"I fear not. How can she? I give her all my extra sewing, and have +obtained work for her from several ladies; but, with her best +efforts she can barely obtain food and decent clothing for herself +and babes." + +"Does it not seem hard," remarked Mr. Lyon, "that one like Mrs. +Arnold, who is so earnest in her efforts to take care of herself and +family, should not receive a helping hand from some one of the many +who could help her without feeling the effort? If I didn't find it +so hard to make both ends meet, I would pay off her arrears of rent +for her, and feel happy in so doing." + +"Ah!" exclaimed the kind-hearted wife, "how much I wish that we were +able to do this. But we are not." + +"I'll tell you what we can do," said Mr. Lyon, in a cheerful +voice--"or, rather what I can do. It will be a very light matter +for, say ten persons, to give a dollar a-piece, in order to relieve +Mrs. Arnold from her present trouble. There are plenty who would +cheerfully contribute for this good purpose; all that is wanted is +some one to take upon himself the business of making the +collections. That task shall be mine." + +"How glad, James, to hear you say so," smilingly replied Mrs. Lyon. +"Oh! what a relief it will be to poor Mrs. Arnold. It will make her +heart as light as a feather. That rent has troubled her sadly. Old +Links, her landlord, has been worrying her about it a good deal, +and, only a week ago, threatened to put her things in the street if +she didn't pay up." + +"I should have thought of this before," remarked Andrew Lyon. "There +are hundreds of people who are willing enough to give if they were +only certain in regard to the object. Here is one worthy enough in +every way. Be it my business to present her claims to benevolent +consideration. Let me see. To whom shall I go? There are Jones, and +Green, and Tompkins. I can get a dollar from each of them. That will +be three dollars--and one from myself, will make four. Who else is +there? Oh! Malcolm! I'm sure of a dollar from him; and, also, from +Smith, Todd, and Perry." + +Confident in the success of his benevolent scheme, Mr. Lyon started +forth, early on the very next day, for the purpose of obtaining, by +subscription, the poor widow's rent. The first person he called on +was Malcolm. + +"Ah, friend Lyon," said Malcolm, smiling blandly. "Good morning! +What can I do for you to-day?" + +"Nothing for me, but something for a poor widow, who is behind with +her rent," replied Andrew Lyon. "I want just one dollar from you, +and as much more from some eight or nine as benevolent as yourself." + +At the words "poor widow," the countenance of Malcolm fell, and when +his visiter ceased, he replied in a changed and husky voice, +clearing his throat two or three times as he spoke, + +"Are you sure she is deserving, Mr. Lyon?" The man's manner had +become exceedingly grave. + +"None more so," was the prompt answer. "She is in poor health, and +has three children to support with the product of her needle. If any +one needs assistance it is Mrs. Arnold." + +"Oh! ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold." + +"The same," replied Andrew Lyon. + +Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm +benevolence. But, he turned slowly away, and opening his +money-drawer, _very slowly_, toyed with his fingers amid its +contents. At length he took therefrom a dollar bill, and said, as he +presented it to Lyon,--sighing involuntarily as he did so-- + +"I suppose I must do my part. But, we are called upon so often." + +The ardor of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at +this unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the +glow of a pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment +his errand was made known. + +"I thank you in the widow's name," said he, as he took the dollar. +When he turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on +his feelings, as if he had asked the coldly-given favor for himself. + +It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call +upon Mr. Green, considered the "next best man" on his list. But he +entered his place of business with far less confidence than he had +felt when calling upon Malcolm. His story told, Green without a word +or smile, drew two half dollars from his pocket, and presented them. + +"Thank you," said Lyon. + +"Welcome," returned Green. + +Oppressed with a feeling of embarrassment, Lyon stood for a few +moments. Then bowing, he said-- + +"Good morning." + +"Good morning," was coldly and formally responded. + +And thus the alms-seeker and alms-giver parted. + +"Better be at his shop, attending to his work," muttered Green to +himself, as his visitor retired. "Men ain't very apt to get along +too well in the world who spend their time in begging for every +object of charity that happens to turn up. And there are plenty of +such, dear knows. He's got a dollar out of me; may it do him, or the +poor widow he talked so glibly about, much good." + +Cold water had been poured upon the feelings of Andrew Lyon. He had +raised two dollars for the poor widow, but, at what a sacrifice for +one so sensitive as himself. Instead of keeping on in his work of +benevolence, he went to his shop, and entered upon the day's +employment. How disappointed he felt;--and this disappointment was +mingled with a certain sense of humiliation, as if he had been +asking alms for himself. + +"Catch me at this work again!" he said, half aloud, as his thoughts +dwelt upon what had so recently occurred. "But this is not right," +he added, quickly. "It is a weakness in me to feel so. Poor Mrs. +Arnold must be relieved; and it is my duty to see that she gets +relief. I had no thought of a reception like this. People can talk +of benevolence; but putting the hand in the pocket is another affair +altogether. I never dreamed that such men as Malcolm and Green could +be insensible to an appeal like the one I made." + +"I've got two dollars towards paying Mrs. Arnold's rent," he said to +himself, in a more cheerful tone, sometime afterwards; "and it will +go hard if I don't raise the whole amount for her. All are not like +Green and Malcolm. Jones is a kind-hearted man, and will instantly +respond to the call of humanity. I'll go and see him." + +So, off Andrew Lyon started to see this individual. + +"I've come begging, Mr. Jones," said he, on meeting him. And he +spoke in a frank, pleasant manner. + +"Then you've come to the wrong shop; that's all I have to say," was +the blunt answer. + +"Don't say that, Mr. Jones. Hear my story, first." + +"I do say it, and I'm in earnest," returned Jones. "I feel as poor +as Job's turkey, to-day." + +"I only want a dollar to help a poor widow pay her rent," said Lyon. + +"Oh, hang all the poor widows! If that's your game, you'll get +nothing here. I've got my hands full to pay my own rent. A nice time +I'd have in handing out a dollar to every poor widow in town to help +pay her rent! No, no, my friend, you can't get anything here." + +"Just as you feel about it," said Andrew Lyon. "There's no +compulsion in the matter." + +"No, I presume not," was rather coldly replied. + +Lyon returned to his shop, still more disheartened than before. He +had undertaken a thankless office. + +Nearly two hours elapsed before his resolution to persevere in the +good work he had begun came back with sufficient force to prompt to +another effort. Then he dropped in upon his neighbor Tompkins, to +whom he made known his errand. + +"Why, yes, I suppose I must do something in a case like this," said +Tompkins, with the tone and air of a man who was cornered. "But, +there are so many calls for charity, that we are naturally enough +led to hold on pretty tightly to our purse strings. Poor woman! I +feel sorry for her. How much do you want?" + +"I am trying to get ten persons, including myself, to give a dollar +each." + +"Well, here's my dollar." And Tompkins forced a smile to his face as +he handed over his contribution--but the smile did not conceal an +expression which said very plainly-- + +"I hope you will not trouble me again in this way." + +"You may be sure I will not," muttered Lyon, as he went away. He +fully understood the meaning of the expression. + +Only one more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was +successful; but, there was something in the manner of the individual +who gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke. + +"And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of +rent paid off," says some one who has felt an interest in her favor. + +Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more +from his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to +undertake the thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent +for a fellow creature in need. He has learned that a great many who +refuse alms on the plea that the object presented is not worthy, are +but little more inclined to charitable deeds, when on this point +there is no question. + +How many who read this can sympathise with Andrew Lyon. Few men who +have hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time +in their lives, to seek aid for a fellow-creature in need. That +their office was a thankless one, they have too soon become aware. +Even those who responded to their call most liberally, in too many +instances gave in a way that left an unpleasant impression behind. +How quickly has the first glow of generous feeling, that sought to +extend itself to others, that they might share the pleasure of +humanity, been chilled; and, instead of finding the task an easy +one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, humiliating! Alas, +that this should be! That men should shut their hearts so +instinctively at the voice of charity. + +We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the +benevolent; but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see +themselves. At best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow-men +aid for the suffering and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all +sacrifice on his part, and the least that can be done is to honor +his disinterested regard for others in distress, and treat him with +delicacy and consideration. + + + + +GOING TO THE SPRINGS; OR, VULGAR PEOPLE. + + +"I SUPPOSE you will all be off to Saratoga, in a week or two," said +Uncle Joseph Garland to his three nieces, as he sat chatting with +them and their mother, one hot day, about the first of July. + +"We're not going to Saratoga this year," replied Emily, the eldest, +with a toss of her head. + +"Indeed! And why not, Emily?" + +"Everybody goes to Saratoga, now." + +"Who do you mean by everybody, Emily?" + +"Why, I mean merchants, shop-keepers, and tradesmen, with their +wives and daughters, all mixed up together, into a kind of +hodge-podge. It used to be a fashionable place of resort--but people +that think any thing of themselves, don't go there now." + +"Bless me, child!" ejaculated old Uncle Joseph, in surprise. "This +is all new to me. But you were there last year." + +"I know. And that cured us all. There was not a day in which we were +not crowded down to the table among the most vulgar kind of people." + +"How, vulgar, Emily?" + +"Why, there was Mr. Jones, the watchmaker, with his wife and two +daughters. I need not explain what I mean by vulgar, when I give you +that information." + +"I cannot say that I have any clearer idea of what you mean, Emily." + +"You talk strangely, uncle! You do not suppose that we are going to +associate with the Joneses?" + +"I did not say that I did. Still, I am in the dark as to what you +mean by the most vulgar kind of people." + +"Why, common people, brother," said Mrs. Ludlow, coming up to the +aid of her daughter. "Mr. Jones is only a watchmaker, and therefore +has no business to push himself and family into the company of +genteel people." + +"Saratoga is a place of public resort," was the quiet reply. + +"Well, genteel people will have to stay away, then, that's all. I, +at least, for one, am not going to be annoyed as I have been for the +last two or three seasons at Saratoga, by being thrown amongst all +sorts of people." + +"They never troubled me any," spoke up Florence Ludlow, the youngest +of the three sisters. "For my part, I liked Mary Jones very much. +She was----" + +"You are too much of a child to be able to judge in matters of this +kind," said the mother, interrupting Florence. + +Florence was fifteen; light-hearted and innocent. She had never been +able, thus far in life, to appreciate the exclusive principles upon +which her mother and sisters acted, and had, in consequence, +frequently fallen under their censure. Purity of heart, and the +genuine graces flowing from a truly feminine spirit, always +attracted her, no matter what the station of the individual in whose +society she happened to be thrown. The remark of her mother silenced +her, for the time, for experience had taught her that no good ever +resulted from a repetition of her opinions on a subject of this +kind. + +"And I trust she will ever remain the child she is, in these +matters," said Uncle Joseph, with emphasis. "It is the duty of every +one, sister, to do all that he can to set aside the false ideas of +distinction prevailing in the social world, and to build up on a +broader and truer foundation, a right estimate of men and things. +Florence, I have observed, discriminates according to the quality of +the person's mind into whose society she is thrown, and estimates +accordingly. But you, and Emily, and Adeline, judge of people +according to their rank in society--that is according to the +position to which wealth alone has raised them. In this way, and in +no other, can you be thrown so into association with 'all kinds of +people,' as to be really affected by them. For, the result of my +observation is, that in any circle where a mere external sign is the +passport to association, 'all sorts of people,' the good, the bad, +and the indifferent, are mingled. It is not a very hard thing for a +bad man to get rich, sister; but for a man of evil principles to +rise above them, is very hard, indeed; and is an occurrence that too +rarely happens. The consequence is, that they who are rich, are not +always the ones whom we should most desire to mingle with." + +"I don't see that there is any use in our talking about these +things, brother," replied Mrs. Ludlow. "You know that you and I +never did agree in matters of this kind. As I have often told you, I +think you incline to be rather low in your social views." + +"How can that be a low view which regards the quality of another, +and estimates him accordingly?" was the reply. + +"I don't pretend to argue with you, on these subjects, brother; so +you will oblige me by dropping them," said Mrs. Ludlow, coloring, +and speaking in an offended tone. + +"Well, well, never mind," Uncle Joseph replied, soothingly. "We will +drop them." + +Then turning to Emily, he continued-- + +"And so your minds are made up not to go to Saratoga?" + +"Yes, indeed." + +"Well, where do you intend spending the summer months?" + +"I hardly know yet. But, if I have my say, we will take a trip in +one of the steamers. A flying visit to London would be delightful." + +"What does your father say to that?" + +"Why, he won't listen to it. But I'll do my best to bring him +round--and so will Adeline. As for Florence, I believe I will ask +father to let her go to Saratoga with the Joneses." + +"I shall have no very decided objections," was the quiet reply of +Florence. A half angry and reproving glance from her mother, warned +her to be more discreet in the declaration of her sentiments. + +"A young lady should never attempt to influence her father," said +Uncle Joseph. "She should trust to his judgment in all matters, and +be willing to deny herself any pleasure to which he objected. If +your father will not listen to your proposition to go to London, be +sure that he has some good reason for it." + +"Well, I don't know that he has such very good reasons, beyond his +reluctance to go away from business," Emily replied, tossing her +head. + +"And should not you, as his daughter, consider this a most +conclusive reason? Ought not your father's wishes and feelings be +considered first?" + +"You may see it so, Uncle; but I cannot say that I do." + +"Emily," and Uncle Joseph spoke in an excited tone of voice, "If you +hold these sentiments, you are unworthy of such a man as your +father!" + +"Brother, you must not speak to the girls in that way," said Mrs. +Ludlow. + +"I shall always speak my thoughts in your house Margaret," was the +reply; "at least to you and the girls. As far as Mr. Ludlow is +concerned, I have rarely occasion to differ with him." + +A long silence followed, broken at last by an allusion to some other +subject; when a better understanding among all parties ensued. + +On that evening, Mr. Ludlow seemed graver than usual when he came +in. After tea, Emily said, breaking in upon a conversation that had +become somewhat interesting to Mr. Ludlow-- + +"I'm not going to let you have a moment's peace, Pa, until you +consent to go to England with us this season." + +"I'm afraid it will be a long time before I shall have any peace, +then, Emily," replied the father, with an effort to smile, but +evidently worried by the remark. This, Florence, who was sitting +close by him, perceived instantly, and said-- + +"Well, I can tell you, for one, Pa, that I don't wish to go. I'd +rather stay at home a hundred times." + +"It's no particular difference, I presume, what you like," remarked +Emily, ill-naturedly. "If you don't wish to go, I suppose no one +will quarrel with you for staying at home." + +"You are wrong to talk so, Emily," said Mr. Ludlow, calmly but +firmly, "and I cannot permit such remarks in my presence." + +Emily looked rebuked, and Mr. Ludlow proceeded. + +"As to going to London, that is altogether out of the question. The +reasons why it is so, are various, and I cannot now make you +acquainted with all of them. One is, that I cannot leave my business +so long as such a journey would require. Another is, that I do not +think it altogether right for me to indulge you in such views and +feelings as you and Adeline are beginning to entertain. You wish to +go to London, because you don't want to go to Saratoga, or to any +other of our watering places; and you don't want to go there, +because certain others, whom you esteem below you in rank, can +afford to enjoy themselves, and recruit their health at the same +places of public resort. All this I, do not approve, and cannot +encourage." + +"You certainly cannot wish us to associate with every one," said +Emily, in a tone less arrogant. + +"Of course not, Emily," replied Mr. Ludlow; "but I do most decidedly +condemn the spirit from which you are now acting. It would exclude +others, many of whom, in moral character, are far superior to +yourself from enjoying the pleasant, health-imparting recreation of +a visit to the Springs, because it hurts your self-importance to be +brought into brief contact with them." + +"I can't understand what you mean by speaking of these kind of +people as superior in moral character to us," Mrs. Ludlow remarked. + +"I said some of them. And, in this, I mean what I say. Wealth and +station in society do not give moral tone. They are altogether +extraneous, and too frequently exercise a deteriorating influence +upon the character. There is Thomas, the porter in my store--a +plain, poor man, of limited education; yet possessing high moral +qualities, that I would give much to call my own. This man's +character I esteem far above that of many in society to whom no one +thinks of objecting. There are hundreds and thousands of humble and +unassuming persons like him, far superior in the high moral +qualities of mind to the mass of self-esteeming exclusives, who +think the very air around them tainted by their breath. Do you +suppose that I would enjoy less the pleasures of a few weeks at +Saratoga, because Thomas was there? I would, rather, be gratified to +see him enjoying a brief relaxation, if his duties at the store +could be remitted in my absence." + +There was so much of the appearance of truth in what Mr. Ludlow +said, combined with a decided tone and manner, that neither his wife +or daughters ventured a reply. But they had no affection for the +truth he uttered, and of course it made no salutary impression on +their minds. + +"What shall we do, Ma?" asked Adeline, as they sat with their +mother, on the next afternoon. "We must go somewhere this summer, +and Pa seems in earnest about not letting us visit London." + +"I don't know, I am sure, child," was the reply. + +"I can't think of going to Saratoga," said Emily, in a positive +tone. + +"The Emmersons are going," Adeline remarked. + +"How do you know?" asked Emily, in a tone of surprise. + +"Victorine told me so this morning." + +"She did!" + +"Yes. I met her at Mrs. Lemmington's and she said that they were all +going next week." + +"I don't understand that," said Emily, musingly. + +"It was only last week that Victorine told me that they were done +going to Saratoga; that the place had become too common. It had been +settled, she said, that they were to go out in the next steamer." + +"Mr. Emmerson, I believe, would not consent, and so, rather than not +go anywhere, they concluded to visit Saratoga, especially as the +Lesters, and Milfords, and Luptons are going." + +"Are they all going?" asked Emily, in renewed surprise. + +"So Victorine said." + +"Well, I declare! there is no kind of dependence to be placed in +people now-a-days. They all told me that they could not think of +going to such a vulgar place as Saratoga again." + +Then, after a pause, Emily resumed, + +"As it will never do to stay at home, we will have to go somewhere. +What do you think of the Virginia Springs, Ma?" + +"I think that I am not going there, to be jolted half to death in a +stage coach by the way." + +"Where, then, shall we go?" + +"I don't know, unless to Saratoga." + +"Victorine said," remarked Adeline, "that a large number of +distinguished visiters were to be there, and that it was thought the +season would be the gayest spent for some time." + +"I suppose we will have to go, then," said Emily. + +"I am ready," responded Adeline. + +"And so am I," said Florence. + +That evening Mr. Ludlow was graver and more silent than usual. After +tea, as he felt no inclination to join in the general conversation +about the sayings and doings of distinguished and fashionable +individuals, he took a newspaper, and endeavored to become +interested in its contents. But he tried in vain. There was +something upon his mind that absorbed his attention at the same time +that it oppressed his feelings. From a deep reverie he was at length +roused by Emily, who said-- + +"So, Pa, you are determined not to let us go out in the next +steamer?" + +"Don't talk to me on that subject any more, if you please," replied +Mr. Ludlow, much worried at the remark. + +"Well, that's all given up now," continued Emily, "and we've made up +our minds to go to Saratoga. How soon will you be able to go with +us?" + +"Not just now," was the brief, evasive reply. + +"We don't want to go until next week." + +"I am not sure that I can go even then." + +"O, but we must go then, Pa." + +"You cannot go without me," said Mr. Ludlow, in a grave tone. + +"Of course not," replied Emily and Adeline at the same moment. + +"Suppose, then, I cannot leave the city next week?" + +"But you can surely." + +"I am afraid not. Business matters press upon me, and will, I fear, +engage my exclusive attention for several weeks to come." + +"O, but indeed you must lay aside business," said Mrs. Ludlow. "It +will never do for us to stay at home, you knows during the season +when everybody is away." + +"I shall be very sorry if circumstances arise to prevent you having +your regular summer recreation," was replied, in a serious, even sad +tone. "But, I trust my wife and daughters will acquiesce with +cheerfulness." + +"Indeed, indeed, Pa! We never can stay at home," said Emily, with a +distressed look. "How would it appear? What would people say if we +were to remain in the city during all the summer?" + +"I don't know, Emily, that you should consider that as having any +relation to the matter. What have other people to do with matters +which concerns us alone?" + +"You talk very strangely of late, Mr. Ludlow," said his wife. + +"Perhaps I have reason for so doing," he responded, a shadow +flitting across his face. + +An embarrassing silence ensued, which was broken, at last, by Mr. +Ludlow. + +"Perhaps," he began, "there may occur no better time than the +present, to apprise you all of a matter that must, sooner or later, +become known to you. We will have to make an effort to reduce our +expenses--and it seems to me that this matter of going to the +Springs, which will cost some three or four hundred dollars, might +as well be dispensed with. Business is in a worse condition than I +have ever known it; and I am sustaining, almost daily, losses that +are becoming alarming. Within the last six weeks I have lost, beyond +hope, at least twenty thousand dollars. How much more will go I am +unable to say. But there are large sums due me that may follow the +course of that already gone. Under these circumstances, I am driven +to the necessity of prudence in all my expenditures." + +"But three or four hundred are not much, Pa," Emily urged, in a +husky voice, and with dimmed eyes. For the fear of not being able to +go somewhere, was terrible to her. None but vulgar people staid at +home during the summer season. + +"It is too large a sum to throw away now. So I think you had all +better conclude at once not to go from home this summer," said Mr. +Ludlow. + +A gush of tears from Emily and Adeline followed this annunciation, +accompanied by a look of decided disapprobation from the mother. Mr. +Ludlow felt deeply tried, and for some moments his resolution +wavered; but reason came to his aid, and he remained firm. He was +accounted a very rich merchant. In good times, he had entered into +business, and prosecuted it with great energy. The consequence was, +that he had accumulated money rapidly. The social elevation +consequent upon this, was too much for his wife. Her good sense +could not survive it. She not only became impressed with the idea, +that, because she was richer, she was better than others, but that +only such customs were to be tolerated in "good society," as were +different from prevalent usages in the mass. Into this idea her two +eldest daughters were thoroughly inducted. Mr. Ludlow, immersed in +business, thought little about such matters, and suffered himself to +be led into almost anything that his wife and daughters proposed. +But Mrs. Ludlow's brother--Uncle Joseph, as he was called--a +bachelor, and a man of strong common sense, steadily opposed his +sister in her false notions, but with little good effect. Necessity +at last called into proper activity the good sense of Mr. Ludlow, +and he commenced the opposition that has just been noticed. After +reflecting some time upon the matter, he resolved not to assent to +his family leaving home at all during the summer. + +All except Florence were exceedingly distressed at this. She +acquiesced with gentleness and patience, although she had much +desired to spend a few weeks at Saratoga. But Mrs. Ludlow, Emily, +and Adeline, closed up the front part of the house, and gave +directions to the servants not to answer the door bell, nor to do +anything that would give the least suspicion that the family were in +town. Then ensconcing themselves in the back buildings of their +dwelling, they waited in gloomy indolence for the "out of the city" +season to pass away; consoling themselves with the idea, that if +they were not permitted to join the fashionables at the Springs, it +would at lest be supposed that they had gone some where into the +country, and thus they hoped to escape the terrible penalty of +losing _caste_ for not conforming to an indispensable rule of high +life. + +Mr. Ludlow was compelled to submit to all this, and he did so +without much opposition; but it all determined him to commence a +steady opposition to the false principles which prompted such absurd +observances. As to Uncle Joseph, he was indignant, and failing to +gain admittance by way of the front door after one or two trials, +determined not to go near his sister and nieces, a promise which he +kept for a few weeks, at least. + +Meantime, every thing was passing off pleasantly at Saratoga. Among +the distinguished and undistinguished visitors there, was Mary +Jones, and her father, a man of both wealth and worth, +notwithstanding he was only a watchmaker and jeweller. Mary was a +girl of no ordinary character. With beauty of person far exceeding +that of the Misses Ludlow, she had a well cultivated mind, and was +far more really and truly accomplished than they were. Necessarily, +therefore, she attracted attention at the Springs; and this had been +one cause of Emily's objection to her. + +A day or two after her arrival at Saratoga, she was sitting near a +window of the public parlor of one of the hotels, when a young man, +named Armand, whom she had seen there several times before, during +the watering season, in company with Emily Ludlow, with whose family +he appeared to be on intimate terms came up to her and introduced +himself. + +"Pardon me, Miss Jones," said he, "but not seeing any of the Miss +Ludlows here, I presumed that you might be able to inform me whether +they intend visiting Saratoga or not, this season, and, therefore, I +have broken through all formalities in addressing you. You are well +acquainted with Florence, I believe?" + +"Very well, sir," Mary replied. + +"Then perhaps you can answer my question?" + +"I believe I can, sir. I saw Florence several times within the last +week or two; and she says that they shall not visit any of the +Springs this season." + +"Indeed! And how comes that?" + +"I believe the reason is no secret," Mary replied, utterly +unconscious that any one could be ashamed of a right motive, and +that an economical one. "Florence tells me that her father has met +with many heavy losses in business; and that they think it best not +to incur any unnecessary expenses. I admire such a course in them." + +"And so do I, most sincerely," replied Mr. Armand. Then, after +thinking for a moment, he added-- + +"I will return to the city in the next boat. All of their friends +being away, they must feel exceedingly lonesome." + +"It will certainly be a kind act, Mr. Armand, and one, the motive +for which they cannot but highly appreciate," said Mary, with an +inward glow of admiration. + +It was about eleven o'clock on the next day that Mr. Armand pulled +the bell at the door of Mr. Ludlow's beautiful dwelling, and then +waited with a feeling of impatience for the servant to answer the +summons. But he waited in vain. No servant came. He rang again, and +again waited long enough for a servant to come half a dozen times. +Then he looked up at the house and saw that all the shutters were +closed; and down upon the marble steps, and perceived that they were +covered with dust and dirt; and on the bell-handle, and noted its +loss of brightness. + +"Miss Jones must have been mistaken," he said to himself, as he gave +the bell a third pull, and then waited, but in vain, for the +hall-door to be swung open. + +"Who can it be?" asked Emily, a good deal disturbed, as the bell +rang violently for the third time, and in company with Adeline, went +softly into the parlor to take a peep through one of the shutters. + +"Mr. Armand, as I live!" she ejaculated, in a low, husky whisper, +turning pale. "I would not have _him_ know that we are in town for +the world!" + +And then she stole away quietly, with her heart leaping and +fluttering in her bosom, lest he should instinctively perceive her +presence. + +Finding that admission was not to be obtained, Mr. Armand concluded +that the family had gone to some other watering place, and turned +away irresolute as to his future course. As he was passing down +Broadway, he met Uncle Joseph. + +"So the Ludlows are all out of town," he said. + +"So they are not!" replied Uncle Joseph, rather crustily, for he had +just been thinking over their strange conduct, and it irritated him. + +"Why, I have been ringing there for a quarter of an hour, and no one +came to the door; and the house is all shut up." + +"Yes; and if you had ringing for a quarter of a century, it would +all have been the same." + +"I can't understand you," said Mr. Armand. + +"Why, the truth is, Mr. Ludlow cannot go to the Springs with them +this season, and they are so afraid that it will become known that +they are burying themselves in the back part of the house, and +denying all visiters." + +"Why so? I cannot comprehend it." + +"All fashionable people, you know, are expected to go to the +sea-shore or the Springs; and my sister and her two eldest daughters +are so silly, as to fear that they will lose _caste_, if it is known +that they could not go this season. Do you understand now?" + +"Perfectly." + +"Well, that's the plain A B C of the case. But it provokes me out of +all patience with them." + +"It's a strange idea, certainly," said Mr. Armand, in momentary +abstraction of thought; and then bidding Uncle Joseph good morning, +he walked hastily along, his mind in a state of fermentation. + +The truth was, Mr. Armand had become much attached to Emily Ludlow, +for she was a girl of imposing appearance and winning manners. But +this staggered him. If she were such a slave to fashion and +observance, she was not the woman for his wife. As he reflected upon +the matter, and reviewed his intercourse with her, he could remember +many things in her conversation and conduct that he did not like. He +could distinctly detect a degree of self-estimation consequent upon +her station in society, that did not meet his approbation--because +it indicated a weakness of mind that he had no wish to have in a +wife. The wealth of her father he had not regarded, nor did now +regard, for he was himself possessor of an independence. + +Two days after, he was again at Saratoga. The brief interview that +had passed between him and Mary Jones was a sufficient introduction +for him; and, taking advantage of it, he threw himself in her way +frequently, and the more he saw of her, the more did he admire her +winning gentleness, sweet temper, and good sense. When he returned +to New York, he was more than half in love with her. + +"Mr. Armand has not been to see us once this fall," said Adeline, +one evening in October. They were sitting in a handsomely furnished +parlor in a neat dwelling, comfortable and commodious, but not so +splendid as the one they had occupied a few months previous. Mr. +Ludlow's affairs had become so embarrassed, that he determined, in +spite of the opposition of his family, to reduce his expenses. This +resolution he carried out amid tears and remonstrances--for he could +not do it in any other way. + +"Who could expect him to come _here?_" Emily replied, to the remark +of her sister. "Not I, certainly." + +"I don't believe that would make any difference with him," Florence +ventured to say, for it was little that she could say, that did not +meet with opposition. + +"Why don't you?" asked Adeline. + +"Because Mary Jones--" + +"Mary Jones again!" ejaculated Emily. "I believe you don't think of +anybody but Mary Jones. I'm surprised that Ma lets you visit that +girl!" + +"As good people as I am visit her," replied Florence. "I've seen +those there who would be welcome here." + +"What do you mean?" + +"If you had waited until I had finished my sentence, you would have +known before now. Mary Jones lives in a house no better than this, +and Mr. Armand goes to see her." + +"I don't believe it!" said Emily, with emphasis. + +"Just as you like about that. Seeing is believing, they say, and as +I have seen him there, I can do no less than believe he was there." + +"When did you see him there?" Emily now asked with eager interest, +while her face grew pale. + +"I saw him there last evening--and he sat conversing with Mary in a +way that showed them to be no strangers to each other." + +A long, embarrassed, and painful silence followed this announcement. +At last, Emily got up and went off to her chamber, where she threw +herself upon her bed and burst into tears. After these ceased to +flow, and her mind had become, in some degree, tranquillized, her +thoughts became busy. She remembered that Mr. Armand had called, +while they were hiding away in fear lest it should be known that +they were not on a fashionable visit to some watering place--how he +had rung and rung repeatedly, as if under the idea that they were +there, and how his countenance expressed disappointment as she +caught a glimpse of it through the closed shutters. With all this +came, also, the idea that he might have discovered that they were at +home, and have despised the principle from which they acted, in thus +shutting themselves up, and denying all visiters. This thought was +exceedingly painful. It was evident to her, that it was not their +changed circumstances that kept him away--for had he not visited +Mary Jones? + +Uncle Joseph came in a few evenings afterwards, and during his visit +the following conversation took place. + +"Mr. Armand visits Mary Jones, I am told," Adeline remarked, as an +opportunity for saying so occurred. + +"He does? Well, she is a good girl--one in a thousand," replied +Uncle Joseph. + +"She is only a watchmaker's daughter," said Emily, with an +ill-concealed sneer. + +"And you are only a merchant's daughter. Pray, what is the +difference?" + +"Why, a good deal of difference!" + +"Well state it." + +"Mr. Jones is nothing but a mechanic." + +"Well?" + +"Who thinks of associating with mechanics?" + +"There may be some who refuse to do so; but upon what grounds do +they assume a superiority?" + +"Because they are really above them." + +"But in what respect?" + +"They are better and more esteemed in society." + +"As to their being better, that is only an assumption. But I see I +must bring the matter right home. Would you be really any worse, +were your father a mechanic?" + +"The question is not a fair one. You suppose an impossible case." + +"Not so impossible as you might imagine. You are the daughter of a +mechanic." + +"Brother, why will you talk so? I am out of all patience with you!" +said Mrs. Ludlow, angrily. + +"And yet, no one knows better than you, that I speak only the truth. +No one knows better than you, that Mr. Ludlow served many years at +the trade of a shoemaker. And that, consequently, these high-minded +young ladies, who sneer at mechanics, are themselves a shoemaker's +daughters--a fact that is just as well known abroad as anything else +relating to the family. And now, Misses Emily and Adeline, I hope +you will hereafter find it in your hearts to be a little more +tolerant of mechanics daughters." + +And thus saying, Uncle Joseph rose, and bidding them good night, +left them to their own reflections, which were not of the most +pleasant character, especially as the mother could not deny the +allegation he had made. + +During the next summer, Mr. Ludlow, whose business was no longer +embarrassed, and who had become satisfied that, although he should +sink a large proportion of a handsome fortune, he would still have a +competence left, and that well secured--proposed to visit Saratoga, +as usual. There was not a dissenting voice--no objecting on the +score of meeting vulgar people there. The painful fact disclosed by +Uncle Joseph, of their plebeian origin, and the marriage of Mr. +Armand--whose station in society was not to be questioned--with Mary +Jones, the watchmaker's daughter, had softened and subdued their +tone of feeling, and caused them to set up a new standard of +estimation. The old one would not do, for, judged by that, they +would have to hide their diminished heads. Their conduct at the +Springs was far less objectionable than it had been heretofore, +partaking of the modest and retiring in deportment, rather than the +assuming, the arrogant, and the self-sufficient. Mrs. Armand was +there, with her sister, moving in the first circles; and Emily +Ludlow and her sister Adeline felt honored rather than humiliated by +an association with them. It is to be hoped they will yet make +sensible women. + + + + +THE WIFE. + + +"I AM hopeless!" said the young man, in a voice that was painfully +desponding. "Utterly hopeless! Heaven knows I have tried hard to get +employment! But no one has need of my service. The pittance doled +out by your father, and which comes with a sense of humiliation that +is absolutely heart-crushing, is scarcely sufficient to provide this +miserable abode, and keep hunger from our door. But for your sake, I +would not touch a shilling of his money if I starved." + +"Hush, dear Edward!" returned the gentle girl, who had left father, +mother, and a pleasant home, to share the lot of him she loved; and +she laid a finger on his lips, while she drew her arm around him. + +"Agnes," said the young man, "I cannot endure this life much longer. +The native independence of my character revolts at our present +condition. Months have elapsed, and yet the ability I possess finds +no employment. In this country every avenue is crowded." + +The room in which they were overlooked the sea. + +"But there is another land, where, if what we hear be true, ability +finds employment and talent a sure reward." And, as Agnes said this, +in a voice of encouragement, she pointed from the window towards the +expansive waters that stretched far away towards the south and west. + +"America!" The word was uttered in a quick, earnest voice. + +"Yes." + +"Agnes, I thank you for this suggestion! Return to the pleasant home +you left for one who cannot procure for you even the plainest +comforts of life, and I will cross the ocean to seek a better +fortune in that land of promise. The separation, painful to both, +will not, I trust, be long." + +"Edward," replied the young wife with enthusiasm, as she drew her +arm more tightly about his neck, "I will never leave thee nor +forsake thee! Where thou goest I will go, and where thou liest I +will lie. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." + +"Would you forsake all," said Edward, in surprise, "and go far away +with me into a strange land?" + +"It will be no stranger to me than it will be to you, Edward." + +"No, no, Agnes! I will not think of that," said Edward Marvel, in a +positive, voice. "If I go to that land of promise, it must first be +alone." + +"Alone!" A shadow fell over the face of Agnes. "Alone! It cannot--it +must not be!" + +"But think, Agnes. If I go alone, it will cost me but a small sum to +live until I find some business, which may not be for weeks, or even +months after I arrive in the New World." + +"What if you were to be sick?" The frame of Agnes slightly quivered +as she made this suggestion. + +"We will not think of that." + +"I cannot help thinking of it, Edward. Therefore entreat me not to +leave thee, nor to return from following after thee. Where thou +goest, I will go." + +Marvel's countenance became more serious. + +"Agnes," said the young man, after he had reflected for some time, +"let us think no more about this. I cannot take you far away to this +strange country. We will go back to London. Perhaps another trial +there may be more successful." + +After a feeble opposition on the part of Agnes, it was finally +agreed that Edward should go once more to London, while she made a +brief visit to her parents. If he found employment, she was to join +him immediately; if not successful, they were then to talk further +of the journey to America. + +With painful reluctance, Agnes went back to her father's house, the +door of which ever stood open to receive her; and she went back +alone. The pride of her husband would not permit him to cross the +threshold of a dwelling where his presence was not a welcome one. In +eager suspense, she waited for a whole week ere a letter came from +Edward. The tone of this letter was as cheerful and as hopeful as it +was possible for the young man to write. But, as yet, he had found +no employment. A week elapsed before another came. It opened in +these words:-- + +"MY DEAR, DEAR AGNES! Hopeless of doing anything here, I have turned +my thoughts once more to the land of promise; and, when you receive +this, I will be on my journey thitherward. Brief, very brief, I +trust, will be our separation. The moment I obtain employment, I +will send for you, and then our re-union will take place with a +fulness of delight such as we have not yet experienced." + +Long, tender, and hopeful was the letter; but it brought a burden of +grief and heart-sickness to the tender young creature, who felt +almost as if she had been deserted by the one who was dear to her as +her own life. + +Only a few days had Edward Marvel been at sea, when he became +seriously indisposed, and, for the remaining part of the voyage, was +so ill as to be unable to rise from his berth. He had embarked in a +packet ship from Liverpool bound for New York, where he arrived, at +the expiration of five weeks. Then he was removed to the sick wards +of the hospital on Staten Island, and it was the opinion of the +physicians there that he would die. + +"Have you friends in this country?" inquired a nurse who was +attending the young man. This question was asked on the day after he +had become an inmate of the hospital. + +"None," was the feebly uttered reply. + +"You are very ill," said the nurse. + +The sick man looked anxiously into the face of his attendant. + +"You have friends in England?" + +"Yes." + +"Have you any communication to make to them?" + +Marvel closed his eyes, and remained for some time silent. + +"If you will get me a pen and some paper, I will write a few lines," +said he at length. + +"I'm afraid you are too weak for the effort," replied the nurse. + +"Let me try," was briefly answered. + +The attendant left the room. + +"Is there any one in your part of the house named Marvel?" asked a +physician, meeting the nurse soon after she had left the sick man's +room. "There's a young woman down in the office inquiring for a +person of that name." + +"Marvel--Marvel?" the nurse shook her head. + +"Are you certain?" remarked the physician. + +"I'm certain there is no one by that name for whom any here would +make inquiries. There's a young Englishman who came over in the last +packet, whose name is something like that you mention. But he has no +friends in this country." + +The physician passed on without further remark. + +Soon after, the nurse returned to Marvel with the writing materials +for which he had asked. She drew a table to the side of his bed, and +supported him as he leaned over and tried, with an unsteady hand, to +write. + +"Have you a wife at home?" asked the nurse; her eyes had rested on +the first words he wrote. + +"Yes," sighed the young man, as the pen dropped from his fingers, +and he leaned back heavily, exhausted by even the slight effort he +had made. + +"Your name is Marvel?" + +"Yes." + +"A young woman was here just now inquiring if we had a patient by +that name." + +"By my name?" There was a slight indication of surprise. + +"Yes." + +Marvel closed his eyes, and did not speak for some moments. + +"Did you see her?" he asked at length, evincing some interest. + +"Yes." + +"Did she find the one for whom she was seeking?" + +"There is no person here, except yourself, whose name came near to +the one she mentioned. As you said you had no friends in this +country, we did not suppose that you were meant." + +"No, no." And the sick man shook his head slowly. "There is none to +ask for me. Did you say it was a young woman?" he inquired, soon +after. His mind dwelt on the occurrence. + +"Yes. A young woman with a fair complexion and deep blue eyes." + +Marvel looked up quickly into the face of the attendant, while a +flush came into his cheeks. + +"She was a slender young girl, with light hair, and her face was +pale, as from trouble." + +"Agnes! Agnes!" exclaimed Marvel, rising up. "But, no, no," he +added, mournfully, sinking back again upon the bed; "that cannot be. +I left her far away over the wide ocean." + +"Will you write?" said the nurse after some moments. + +The invalid, without unclosing his eyes, slowly shook his head. A +little while the attendant lingered in his room, and then retired. + +"Dear, dear Agnes!" murmured Edward Marvel, closing his eyes, and +letting his thoughts go, swift-winged, across the billow sea. "Shall +I never look on your sweet face again? Never feel your light arms +about my neck, or your breath warm on my cheek? Oh, that I had never +left you! Heaven give thee strength to bear the trouble in store!" + +For many minutes he lay thus, alone, with his eyes closed, in sad +self-communion. Then he heard the door open and close softly; but he +did not look up. His thoughts were far, far away. Light feet +approached quickly; but he scarcely heeded them. A form bent over +him; but his eyes remained shut, nor did he open them until warm +lips were pressed against his own, and a low voice, thrilling +through his whole being, said-- + +"Edward!" + +"Agnes!" was his quick response, while his arms were thrown eagerly +around the neck of his wife, "Agnes! Agnes! Have I awakened from a +fearful dream?" + +Yes, it was indeed her of whom he had been thinking. The moment she +received his letter, informing her that he had left for the United +States, she resolved to follow him in the next steamer that sailed. +This purpose she immediately avowed to her parents. At first, they +would not listen to her; but, finding that she would, most probably, +elude their vigilance, and get away in spite of all efforts to +prevent her, they deemed it more wise and prudent to provide her +with everything necessary for the voyage, and to place her in the +care of the captain of the steamship in which she was to go. In New +York they had friends, to whom they gave her letters fully +explanatory of her mission, and earnestly commending her to their +care and protection. + +Two weeks before the ship in which Edward Marvel sailed reached her +destination, Agnes was in New York. Before her departure, she had +sought, but in vain, to discover the name of the vessel in which her +husband had embarked. On arriving in the New World, she was +therefore uncertain whether he had preceded her in a steamer, or was +still lingering on the way. + +The friends to whom Agnes brought letters received her with great +kindness, and gave her all the advice and assistance needed under +the circumstances. But two weeks went by without a word of +intelligence on the one subject that absorbed all her thoughts. +Sadly was her health beginning to suffer. Sunken eyes and pale +cheeks attested the weight of suffering that was on her. + +One day it was announced that a Liverpool packet had arrived with +the ship fever on board, and that several of the passengers had been +removed to the hospital. + +A thrill of fear went through the heart of the anxious wife. It was +soon ascertained that Marvel had been a passenger on board of this +vessel; but, from some cause, nothing in regard to him beyond this +fact could she learn. Against all persuasion, she started for the +hospital, her heart oppressed with a fearful presentiment that he +was either dead or struggling in the grasp of a fatal malady. On +making inquiry at the hospital, she was told the one she sought was +not there, and she was about returning to the city, when the truth +reached her ears. + +"Is he very ill?" she asked, struggling to compose herself. + +"Yes, he is extremely ill," was the reply. "And it might not be well +for you, under the circumstances, to see him at present." + +"Not well for his wife to see him?" returned Agnes. Tears sprung to +her eyes at the thought of not being permitted to come near in his +extremity. "Do not say that. Oh, take me to him! I will save his +life." + +"You must be very calm," said the nurse; for it was with her she was +talking. "The least excitement may be fatal." + +"Oh, I will be calm and prudent." Yet, even while she spoke, her +frame quivered with excitement. + +But she controlled herself when the moment of meeting came, and, +though her unexpected appearance produced a shock, it was salutary +rather than injurious. + +"My dear, dear Agnes!" said Edward Marvel, a month from this time, +as they sat alone in the chamber of a pleasant house in New York, "I +owe you my life. But for your prompt resolution to follow me across +the sea, I would, in all probability, now be sleeping the sleep of +death. Oh, what would I not suffer for your sake!" + +As Marvel uttered the last sentence, a troubled expression flitted +over his countenance. Agnes gazed tenderly into his face, and +asked-- + +"Why this look of doubt and anxiety?" + +"Need I answer the question?" returned the young man. "It is, thus +far, no better with me than when we left our old home. Though health +is coming back through every fibre, and my heart is filled with an +eager desire to relieve these kind friends of the burden of our +support, yet no prospect opens." + +No cloud came stealing darkly over the face of the young wife. The +sunshine, so far from being dimmed, was brighter. + +"Let not your heart be troubled," said she, with a beautiful smile. +"All will come out right." + +"Right, Agnes? It is not right for me thus to depend on strangers." + +"You need depend but a little while longer. I have already made warm +friends here, and, through them, secured for you employment. A good +place awaits you so soon as strength to fill it comes back to your +weakened frame." + +"Angel!" exclaimed the young man, overcome with emotion at so +unexpected a declaration. + +"No, not an angel," calmly replied Agnes, "only a wife. And now, +dear Edward," she added, "never again, in any extremity, think for a +moment of meeting trials or enduring privations alone. Having taken +a wife, you cannot move safely on your journey unless she moves by +your side." + +"Angel! Yes, you are my good angel," repeated Edward. + +"Call me what you will," said Agnes, with a sweet smile, as she +brushed, with her delicate hand, the hair from his temples; "but let +me be your wife. I ask no better name, no higher station." + + + + +NOT GREAT, BUT HAPPY. + + +How pure and sweet is the love of young hearts! How little does it +contain of earth--how much of heaven! No selfish passions mar its +beauty. Its tenderness, its pathos, its devotion, who does not +remember, even when the sere leaves of autumn are rustling beneath +his feet? How little does it regard the cold and calculating +objections of worldly-mindedness. They are heard but as a passing +murmur. The deep, unswerving confidence of young love, what a +blessed thing it is! Heart answers to heart without an unequal +throb. The world around is bright and beautiful: the atmosphere is +filled with spring's most delicious perfumes. + +From this dream--why should we call it a dream?--Is it not a blessed +reality?--Is not young, fervent love, true love? Alas! this is an +evil world, and man's heart is evil. From this dream there is too +often a tearful awaking. Often, too often, hearts are suddenly torn +asunder, and wounds are made that never heal, or, healing, leave +hard, disfiguring scars. But this is not always so. Pure love +sometimes finds its own sweet reward. I will relate one precious +instance. + +The Baron Holbein, after having passed ten years of active life in a +large metropolitan city of Europe, retired to his estate in a +beautiful and fertile valley, far away from the gay circle of +fashion--far away from the sounds of political rancor with which he +had been too long familiar--far away from the strife of selfish men +and contending interests. He had an only child, Nina, just fifteen +years of age. For her sake, as well as to indulge his love of quiet +and nature, he had retired from the world. Her mother had been with +the angels for some years. Without her wise counsels and watchful +care, the father feared to leave his innocent-minded child exposed +to the temptations that must gather around her in a large city. + +For a time Nina missed her young companions, and pined to be with +them. The old castle was lonely, and the villagers did not interest +her. Her father urged her to go among the peasantry, and, as an +inducement, placed a considerable sum of money at her command, to be +used as she might see best in works of benevolence. Nina's heart was +warm, and her impulses generous. The idea pleased her, and she acted +upon it. She soon found employment enough both for her time and the +money placed at her disposal. Among the villagers was a woman named +Blanche Delebarre, a widow, whose only son had been from home since +his tenth year, under the care of an uncle, who had offered to +educate him, and fit him for a life of higher usefulness than that +of a mere peasant. There was a gentleness about this woman, and +something that marked her as superior to her class. Yet she was an +humble villager, dependent upon the labor of her own hands, and +claimed no higher station. + +Nina became acquainted with Blanche soon after the commencement of +her residence at the castle. When she communicated to her the wishes +of her father, and mentioned the money that had been placed at her +disposal, the woman took her hand and said, while a beautiful light +beamed from her countenance-- + +"It is more blessed to give than to receive, my child. Happy are +they who have the power to confer benefits, and who do so with +willing hearts. I fear, however, that you will find your task a +difficult one. Everywhere are the idle and undeserving, and these +are more apt to force themselves forward as objects of benevolence +than the truly needy and meritorious. As I know every one in the +village, perhaps I may be able to guide you to such objects as +deserve attention." + +"My good mother," replied Nina, "I will confide in your judgment. I +will make you my almoner." + +"No, my dear young lady, it will be better for you to dispense with +your own hands. I will merely aid you to make a wise dispensation." + +"I am ready to begin. Show me but the way." + +"Do you see that company of children on the green?" said Blanche. + +"Yes. And a wild company they are." + +"For hours each day they assemble as you see them, and spend their +time in idle sports. Sometimes they disagree and quarrel. That is +worse than idleness. Now, come here. Do you see that little cottage +yonder on the hill-side, with vines clustering around the door?" + +"Yes." + +"An aged mother and her daughter reside there. The labor of the +daughter's hands provides food and raiment for both. These children +need instruction, and Jennet Fleury is fully qualified to impart it. +Their parents cannot, or will not, pay to send them to school, and +Jennet must receive some return for her labors, whatever they be." + +"I see it all," cried Nina with animation. "There must be a school +in the village. Jennet shall be the teacher." + +"If this can be done, it will be a great blessing," said Blanche. + +"It shall be done. Let us go over to that sweet little cottage at +once and see Jennet." + +The good Blanche Delebarre made no objection. In a little while they +entered the cottage. Every thing was homely, but neat and clean. +Jennet was busy at her reel when they entered. She knew the lady of +Castle Holbein, and arose up quickly and in some confusion. But she +soon recovered herself, and welcomed, with a low courtesy, the +visitors who had come to grace her humble abode. When the object of +this visit was made known, Jennet replied that the condition of the +village children had often pained her, and that she had more than +once prayed that some way would open by which they could receive +instruction. She readily accepted the proposal of Nina to become +their teacher, and wished to receive no more for the service than +what she could now earn by reeling silk. + +It did not take long to get the proposed school in operation. The +parents were willing to send their children, the teacher was willing +to receive them, and the young lady patroness was willing to meet +the expenses. + +Nina said nothing to her father of what she was doing. She wished to +surprise him some day, after every thing was going on prosperously. +But a matter of so much interest to the neighborhood could not +remain a secret. The school had not been in operation two days +before the baron heard all about it. But he said nothing to his +daughter. He wished to leave her the pleasure which he knew she +desired, that of telling him herself. + +At the end of a month Nina presented her father with an account of +what she had done with the money he had placed in her hands. The +expenditure had been moderate enough, but the good done was far +beyond the baron's anticipations. Thirty children were receiving +daily instructions; nurses had been employed, and medicines bought +for the sick; needy persons, who had no employment, were set to work +in making up clothing for children, who, for want of such as was +suitable, could not attend the school. Besides, many other things +had been done. The account was looked over by the Baron Holbein, and +each item noted with sincere pleasure. He warmly commended Nina for +what she had done; he praised the prudence with which she had +managed what she had undertaken; and begged her to persevere in the +good work. + +For the space of more than a year did Nina submit to her father, for +approval, every month an accurate statement of what she had done, +with a minute account of all the moneys expended. But after that +time she failed to render this account, although she received the +usual supply, and was as actively engaged as before in works of +benevolence among the poor peasantry. The father often wondered at +this, but did not inquire the cause. He had never asked an account: +to render it had been a voluntary act, and he could not, therefore, +ask why it was withheld. He noticed, however, a change in Nina. She +was more thoughtful, and conversed less openly than before. If he +looked at her intently, her eyes would sink to the floor, and the +color deepen on her cheek. She remained longer in her own room, +alone, than she had done since their removal to the castle. Every +day she went out, and almost always took the direction of Blanche +Delebarre's cottage, where she spent several hours. + +Intelligence of his daughter's good deeds did not, so often as +before, reach the old baron's ears; and yet Nina drew as much money +as before, and had twice asked to have the sum doubled. The father +could not understand the meaning of all this. He did not believe +that any thing was wrong--he had too much confidence in Nina--but he +was puzzled. We will briefly apprise the reader of the cause of this +change. + +One day--it was nearly a year from the time Nina had become a +constant visitor at Blanche Delebarre's--the young lady sat reading +a book in the matron's cottage. She was alone--Blanche having gone +out to visit a sick neighbor at Nina's request. A form suddenly +darkened the door, and some one entered hurriedly. Nina raised her +eyes, and met the gaze of a youthful strange, who had paused and +stood looking at her with surprise and admiration. With more +confusion, but with not less of wonder and admiration, did Nina +return the stranger's gaze. + +"Is not this the cottage of Blanche Delebarre?" asked he, after a +moment's pause. His voice was low and musical. + +"It is," replied Nina. "She has gone to visit a sick neighbor, but +will return shortly." + +"Is my mother well?" asked the youth. + +Nina rose to her feet. This, then, was Pierre Delebarre, of whom his +mother had so often spoke. The heart of the maiden fluttered. + +"The good Blanche is well," was her simple reply. "I will go and say +to her that her son has come home. It will make her heart glad." + +"My dear young lady, no!" said Pierre. "Do not disturb my mother in +her good work. Let her come home and meet me here--the surprise will +add to the pleasure. Sit down again. Pardon my rudeness--but are not +you the young lady from the castle, of whom my mother so often +writes to me as the good angel of the village? I am sure you must +be, or you would not be alone in my mother's cottage." + +Nina's blushes deepened, but she answered without disguise that she +was from the castle. + +A full half hour passed before Blanche returned. The young and +artless couple did not talk of love with their lips during that +time, but their eyes beamed with a mutual passion. When the mother +entered, so much were they interested in each other, that they did +not hear her approaching footstep. She surprised them leaning toward +each other in earnest conversation. + +The joy of the mother's heart was great on meeting her son. He was +wonderfully improved since she last saw him--had grown several +inches, and had about him the air of one born of gentle blood, +rather than the air of a peasant. Nina staid only a very short time +after Blanche returned, and then hurried away from the cottage. + +The brief interview held with young Pierre sealed the maiden's fate. +She knew nothing of love before the beautiful youth stood before +her--her heart was as pure as an infant's--she was artlessness +itself. She had heard him so often spoken of by his mother, that she +had learned to think of Pierre as the kindest and best of youths. +She saw him, for the first time, as one to love. His face, his +tones, the air of refinement and intelligence that was about him, +all conspired to win her young affections. But of the true nature of +her feelings, Nina was as yet ignorant. She did not think of love. +She did not, therefore, hesitate as to the propriety of continuing +her visits at the cottage of Blanche Delebarre, nor did she feel any +reserve in the presence of Pierre. Not until the enamored youth +presumed to whisper the passion her presence had awakened in his +bosom, did she fully understand the cause of the delight she always +felt while by his side. + +After Pierre had been home a few weeks, he ventured to explain to +his mother the cause of his unexpected and unannounced return. He +had disagreed with his uncle, who, in a passion, had reminded him +of his dependence. This the high-spirited youth could not bear, +and he left his uncle's house within twenty-four hours, with a fixed +resolution never to return. He had come back to the village, resolved, +he said, to lead a peasant's life of toil, rather than live with a relative +who could so far forget himself as to remind him of his dependence. +Poor Blanche was deeply grieved. All her fond hopes for her son were +at an end. She looked at his small, delicate hands and slender +pro-portions, and wept when she thought of a peasant's life of hard +labor. + +A very long time did not pass before Nina made a proposition to +Blanche, that relieved, in some measure, the painful depression +under which she labored. It was this. Pierre had, from a child, +exhibited a decided talent for painting. This talent had been +cultivated by the uncle, and Pierre was, already, quite a +respectable artist. But he needed at least a year's study of the old +masters, and more accurate instruction than he had yet received, +before he would be able to adopt the painter's calling as one by +which he could take an independent position in society as a man. +Understanding this fully, Nina said that Pierre must go to Florence, +and remain there a year, in order to perfect himself in the art, and +that she would claim the privilege of bearing all the expense. For a +time, the young man's proud spirit shrunk from an acceptance of this +generous offer; but Nina and the mother overruled all his +objections, and almost forced him to go. + +It may readily be understood, now, why Nina ceased to render +accurate accounts of her charitable expenditures to her father. The +baron entertained not the slightest suspicion of the real state of +affairs, until about a year afterward, when a fine looking youth +presented himself one day, and boldly preferred a claim to his +daughter's hand. The old man was astounded. + +"Who, pray, are you," he said, "that presume to make such a demand?" + +"I am the son of a peasant," replied Pierre, bowing, and casting his +eyes to the ground, "and you may think it presumption, indeed, for +me to aspire to the hand of your noble daughter. But a peasant's +love is as pure as the love of a prince; and a peasant's heart may +beat with as high emotions." + +"Young man," returned the baron, angrily, "your assurance deserves +punishment. But go--never dare cross my threshold again! You ask an +impossibility. When my daughter weds, she will not think of stooping +to a presumptuous peasant. Go, sir!" + +Pierre retired, overwhelmed with confusion. He had been weak enough +to hope that the Baron Holbein would at least consider his suit, and +give him some chance of showing himself worthy of his daughter's +hand. But this repulse dashed every hope the earth. + +As soon as he parted with the young man, the father sent a servant +for Nina. She was not in her chamber--nor in the house. It was +nearly two hours before she came home. When she entered the presence +of her father, he saw, by her countenance, that all was not right +with her. + +"Who was the youth that came here some hours ago?" he asked, +abruptly. + +Nina looked up with a frightened air, but did not answer. + +"Did you know that he was coming?" said the father. + +The maiden's eyes drooped to the ground, and her lips remained +sealed. + +"A base-born peasant! to dare--" + +"Oh, father! he is not base! His heart is noble," replied Nina, +speaking from a sudden impulse. + +"He confessed himself the son of a peasant! Who is he?" + +"He is the son of Blanche Delebarre," returned Nina, timidly. "He +has just returned from Florence, an artist of high merit. There is +nothing base about him, father!" + +"The son of a peasant, and an artist, to dare approach me and claim +the hand of my child! And worse, that child to so far forget her +birth and position as to favor the suit! Madness! And this is your +good Blanche!--your guide in all works of benevolence! She shall be +punished for this base betrayal of the confidence I have reposed in +her." + +Nina fell upon her knees before her father, and with tears and +earnest entreaties pleaded for the mother of Pierre; but the old man +was wild and mad with anger. He uttered passionate maledictions on +the head of Blanche and her presumptuous son, and positively forbade +Nina again leaving the castle on any pretext whatever, under the +penalty of never being permitted to return. + +Had so broad an interdiction not been made, there would have been +some glimmer of light in Nina's dark horizon; she would have hoped +for some change--would have, at least, been blessed with short, even +if stolen, interviews with Pierre. But not to leave the castle on +any pretext--not to see Pierre again! This was robbing life of every +charm. For more than a year she had loved the young man with an +affection to which every day added tenderness and fervor. Could this +be blotted out in an instant by a word of command? No! That love +must burn on the same. + +The Baron Holbein loved his daughter; she was the bright spot in +life. To make her happy, he would sacrifice almost anything. A +residence of many years in the world had shown him its pretensions, +its heartlessness, the worth of all its titles and distinctions. He +did not value them too highly. But, when a peasant approached and +asked the hand of his daughter, the old man's pride, that was +smouldering in the ashes, burned up with a sudden blaze. He could +hardly find words to express his indignation. It took but a few days +for this indignation to burn low. Not that he felt more favorable to +the peasant--but, less angry with his daughter. It is not certain +that time would not have done something favorable for the lovers in +the baron's mind. But they could not wait for time. Nina, from the +violence and decision displayed by her father, felt hopeless of any +change, and sought an early opportunity to steal away from the +castle and meet Pierre, notwithstanding the positive commands that +had been issued on the subject. The young man, in the thoughtless +enthusiasm of youth, urged their flight. + +"I am master of my art," he said, with a proud air. "We can live in +Florence, where I have many friends." + +The youth did not find it hard to bring the confiding, artless girl +into his wishes. In less than a month the baron missed his child. A +letter explained all. She had been wedded to the young peasant, and +they had left for Florence. The letter contained this clause, signed +by both Pierre and Nina:-- + +"When our father will forgive us, and permit our return, we shall be +truly happy--but not till then." + +The indignant old man saw nothing but impertinent assurance in this. +He tore up the letter, and trampled it under his feet, in a rage. He +swore to renounce his child forever! + +For the Baron Holbein, the next twelve months were the saddest of +his life. Too deeply was the image of his child impressed upon his +heart, for passion to efface it. As the first ebullitions subsided, +and the atmosphere of his mind grew clear again, the sweet face of +his child was before him, and her tender eyes looking into his own. +As the months passed away, he grew more and more restless and +unhappy. There was an aching void in bosom. Night after night he +would dream of his child, and awake in the morning and sigh that the +dream was not reality. But pride was strong--he would not +countenance her disobedience. + +More than a year had passed away, and not one word had come from his +absent one, who grew dearer to his heart every day. Once or twice he +had seen the name of Pierre Delebarre in the journals, as a young +artist residing Florence, who was destined, to become eminent. The +pleasure these announcements gave him was greater than he would +confess, even to himself. + +One day he was sitting in his library endeavoring to banish the +images that haunted him too continually, when two of his servants +entered, bearing a large square box in their arms, marked for the +Baron Holbein. When the box was opened, it was found to contain a +large picture, enveloped in a cloth. This was removed and placed +against the wall, and the servants retired with the box. The baron, +with unsteady hands, and a heart beating rapidly, commenced removing +the cloth that still held the picture from view. In a few moments a +family group was before him. There sat Nina, his lovely, loving and +beloved child, as perfect, almost, as if the blood were glowing in +her veins. Her eyes were bent fondly upon a sleeping cherub that lay +in her arms. By her side sat Pierre, gazing upon her face in silent +joy. For only a single instant did the old man gaze upon this scene, +before the tears were gushing over his cheeks and falling to the +floor like rain. This wild storm of feeling soon subsided, and, in +the sweet calm that followed, the father gazed with unspeakable +tenderness for a long time upon the face of his lovely child, and +with a new and sweeter feeling upon the babe that lay, the +impersonation of innocence, in her arms. While in this state of +mind, he saw, for the first time, written on the bottom of the +picture--"NOT GREAT, BUT HAPPY." + +A week from the day on which the picture was received, the Baron +Holbein entered Florence. On inquiring for Pierre Delebarre, he +found that every one knew the young artist. + +"Come," said one, "let me go with you to the exhibition, and show +you his picture that has taken the prize. It is a noble production. +All Florence is alive with its praise." + +The baron went to the exhibition. The first picture that met his +eyes on entering the door was a counterpart of the one he had +received, but larger, and, in the admirable lights in which it was +arranged, looked even more like life. + +"Isn't it a grand production?" said the baron's conductor. + +"My sweet, sweet child!" murmured the old man, in a low thrilling +voice. Then turning, he said, abruptly-- + +"Show me where I can find this Pierre Delebarre." + +"With pleasure. His house is near at hand," said his companion. + +A few minutes walk brought them to the artist's dwelling. + +"That is an humble roof," said the man, pointing to where Pierre +lived, "but it contains a noble man." He turned away, and the baron +entered alone. He did not pause to summon any one, but walked in +through the open door. All was silent. Through a neat vestibule, in +which were rare flowers, and pictures upon the wall, he passed into +a small apartment, and through that to the door of an inner chamber +It was half open. He looked in. Was it another picture? No, it was +in very truth his child; and her babe lay in her arms, as he had +just seen it, and Pierre sat before her looking tenderly in her +face. He could restrain himself no longer. Opening the door, he +stepped hurriedly forward, and, throwing his arms around the group, +said in broken voice--"God bless you, my children!" + +The tears that were shed; the smiles that beamed from glad faces; +the tender words that were spoken, and repeated again and again; why +need we tell of all these? Or why relate how happy the old man was +when the dove that had flown from her nest came back with her mate +by her side The dark year had passed, and there was sunshine again +in his dwelling, brighter sunshine than before. Pierre never painted +so good a picture again as the one that took the prize--that was his +masterpiece. + +The Young Baron Holbein has an immense picture gallery, and is a +munificent patron of the arts. There is one composition on his +walls he prizes above all the rest. The wealth of India could not +purchase it. It is the same that took the prize when he was but a +babe and lay in his mother's arms. The mother who held him so +tenderly, and the father who gazed so lovingly upon her pure young +brow have passed away, but they live before him daily, and he feels +their gentle presence ever about him for good. + + + + +THE MARRIED SISTERS. + + +"COME, William, a single day, out of three hundred and sixty-five, +is not much." + +"True, Henry Thorne. Nor is the single drop of water, that first +finds its way through the dyke, much; and yet, the first drop but +makes room for a small stream to follow, and then comes a flood. No, +no, Henry, I cannot go with you, to-day; and if you will be governed +by a friend's advice, you will not neglect your work for the fancied +pleasures of a sporting party." + +"All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy, We were not made to be +delving forever with tools in close rooms. The fresh air is good for +us. Come, William, you will feel better for a little recreation. You +look pale from confinement. Come; I cannot go without you." + +"Henry Thorne," said his friend, William Moreland, with an air more +serious than that at first assumed, "let me in turn urge you to +stay." + +"It is in vain, William," his friend said, interrupting him. + +"I trust not, Henry. Surely, my early friend and companion is not +deaf to reason." + +"No, not to right reason." + +"Well, listen to me. As I said at first, it is not the loss of a +simple day, though even this is a serious waste of time, that I now +take into consideration. It is the danger of forming a habit of +idleness. It is a mistake, that a day of idle pleasure recreates the +mind and body, and makes us return and necessary employments with +renewed delight. My own experience is, that a day thus spent, causes +us to resume our labors with reluctance, and makes irksome what +before was pleasant. Is it not your own?" + +"Well, I don't know; I can't altogether say that it is; indeed, I +never thought about it." + +"Henry, the worst of all kinds of deception is self-deception. +Don't, let me, beg of you, attempt to deceive yourself in a matter +so important. I am sure you have experienced this reluctance to +resuming work after a day of pleasure. It is a universal experience. +And now that we are on this subject, I will add, that I have +observed in you an increasing desire to get away from work. You make +many excuses and they seem to you to be good ones. Can you tell me +how many days you have been out of the shop in the last three +months?" + +"No, I cannot," was the reply, made in a tone indicating a slight +degree of irritation. + +"Well, I can, Henry." + +"How many is it, then?" + +"Ten days." + +"Never!" + +"It is true, for I kept the count." + +"Indeed, then, you are mistaken. I was only out a gunning three +times, and a fishing twice." + +"And that makes five times. But don't you remember the day you were +made sick by fatigue?" + +"Yes, true, but that is only six." + +"And the day you went up the mountain with the party?" + +"Yes." + +"And the twice you staid away because it stormed?" + +"But, William, that has nothing to do with the matter. If it stormed +so violently that I couldn't come to the shop, that surely is not to +be set down to the account of pleasure-taking." + +"And yet, Henry, I was here, and so were all the workmen but +yourself. If there had not been in your mind a reluctance to coming +to the shop, I am sure the storm would not have kept you away. I am +plain with you, because I am your friend, and you know it. Now, it +is this increasing reluctance on your part, that alarms me. Do not, +then, add fuel to a flame, that, if thus nourished, will consume +you." + +"But, William----" + +"Don't make excuses, Henry. Think of the aggregate of ten lost days. +You can earn a dollar and a half a day, easily, and do earn it +whenever you work steadily. Ten days in three months is fifteen +dollars. All last winter, Ellen went without a cloak, because you +could not afford to buy one for her; now the money that you could +have earned in the time wasted in the last three months, would have +bought her a very comfortable one--and you know that it is already +October, and winter will soon be again upon us. Sixty dollars a year +buys a great many comforts for a poor man." + +Henry Thorne remained silent for some moments. He felt the force of +William Moreland's reasoning; but his own inclinations were stronger +than his friend's arguments. He wanted to go with two or three +companions a gunning, and even the vision of his young wife +shrinking in the keen winter wind, was not sufficient to conquer +this desire. + +"I will go this once, William," said he, at length, with a long +inspiration; "and then I will quit it. I see and acknowledge the +force of what you say; I never viewed the matter so seriously +before." + +"This once may confirm a habit now too strongly fixed," urged his +companion. "Stop now, while your mind is rationally convinced that +it is wrong to waste your time, when it is so much needed for the +sake of making comfortable and happy one who loves you, and has cast +her lot in life with yours. Think of Ellen, and be a man." + +"Come, Harry!" said a loud, cheerful voice at the shop door; "we are +waiting for you!" + +"Ay, ay," responded Henry Thorne. "Good morning, William! I am +pledged for to-day. But after this, I will swear off!" And so +saying, he hurried away. + +Henry Thorne and William Moreland were workmen in a large +manufacturing establishment in one of our thriving inland towns. +They had married sisters, and thus a friendship that had long +existed, was confirmed by closer ties of interest. + +They had been married about two years, at the time of their +introduction to the reader, and, already, Moreland could perceive +that his earnings brought many more comforts for his little family +than did Henry's. The difference was not to be accounted for in the +days the other spent in pleasure taking, although their aggregate +loss was no mean item to be taken from a poor man's purse. It was to +be found, mainly, in a disposition to spend, rather than to save; to +pay away for trifles that were not really needed, very small sums, +whose united amounts in a few weeks would rise to dollars. But, when +there was added to this constant check upon his prosperity the +frequent recurrence of a lost day, no wonder that Ellen had less of +good and comfortable clothing than her sister Jane, and that her +house was far less neatly furnished. + +All this had been observed, with pain, by William Moreland and his +wife, but, until the conversation recorded in the opening of this +story, no word or remonstrance or warning had been ventured upon by +the former. The spirit in which Moreland's words were received, +encouraged him to hope that he might exercise a salutary control +over Henry, if he persevered, and he resolved that he would extend +thus far towards him the offices of a true friend. + +After dinner on the day during which her husband was absent, Ellen +called in to see Jane, and sit the afternoon with her. They were +only sisters, and had always loved each other much. During their +conversation, Jane said, in allusion to the season: + +"It begins to feel a little chilly to-day, as if winter were coming. +And, by the way, you are going to get a cloak this fall, Ellen, are +you not?" + +"Indeed, I can hardly tell, Jane," Ellen replied, in a serious tone; +"Henry's earnings, somehow or other, don't seem to go far with us; +and yet I try to be as prudent as I can. We have but a few dollars +laid by, and both of us want warm underclothing. Henry must have a +coat and pair of pantaloons to look decent this winter; so I must +try and do without the cloak, I suppose." + +"I am sorry for that. But keep a good heart about it, sister. Next +fall, you will surely be able to get a comfortable one; and you +shall have mine as often as you want it, this winter. I can't go out +much, you know; our dear little Ellen, your namesake, is too young +to leave often." + +"You are very kind, Jane," said Ellen, and her voice slightly +trembled. + +A silence of some moments ensued, and then the subject of +conversation was changed to one more cheerful. + +That evening, just about nightfall, Henry Thorne came home, much +fatigued, bringing with him half a dozen squirrels and a single wild +pigeon. + +"There, Ellen, is something to make a nice pie for us to-morrow," +said he, tossing his game bag upon the table. + +"You look tired, Henry," said his wife, tenderly; "I wouldn't go out +any more this fall, if I were you." + +"I don't intend going out any more, Ellen," was replied, "I'm sick +of it." + +"You don't know how glad I am to hear you say so! Somehow, I always +feel troubled and uneasy when you are out gunning or fishing, as if +you were not doing right." + +"You shall not feel so any more, Ellen," said Thorne: "I've been +thinking all the afternoon about your cloak. Cold weather is coming, +and we haven't a dollar laid by for anything. How I am to get the +cloak, I do not see, and yet I cannot bear the thought of your going +all this winter again without one." + +"O, never mind that, dear," said Ellen, in a cheerful tone, her face +brightening up. "We can't afford it this fall, and so that's +settled. But I can have Jane's whenever I want it, she says; and you +know she is so kind and willing to lend me anything that she has. I +don't like to wear her things; but then I shall not want the cloak +often." + +Henry Thorne sighed at the thoughts his wife's words stirred in his +mind. + +"I don't know how it is," he at length said, despondingly; "William +can't work any faster than I can, nor earn more a week, and yet he +and Jane have every thing comfortable, and are saving money into the +bargain, while we want many things that they have, and are not a +dollar ahead." + +One of the reasons for this, to her husband so unaccountable, +trembled on Ellen's tongue, but she could not make up her mind to +reprove him; and so bore in silence, and with some pain, what she +felt as a reflection upon her want of frugality in managing +household affairs. + +Let us advance the characters we have introduced, a year in their +life's pilgrimage, and see if there are any fruits of these good +resolutions. + +"Where is Thorne, this morning?" asked the owner of the shop, +speaking to Moreland, one morning, an hour after all the workmen had +come in. + +"I do not know, really," replied Moreland. "I saw him yesterday, +when he was well." + +"He's off gunning, I suppose, again. If so, it is the tenth day he +has lost in idleness during the last two months. I am afraid I shall +have to get a hand in his place, upon whom I can place more +dependence. I shall be sorry to do this for your sake, and for the +sake of his wife. But I do not like such an example to the workmen +and apprentices; and besides being away from the shop often +disappoints a job." + +"I could not blame you, sir," Moreland said; "and yet, I do hope you +will bear with him for the sake of Ellen. I think if you would talk +with him it would do him good." + +"But, why don't you talk to him, William?" + +"I have talked to him frequently, but he has got so that he won't +bear it any longer from me." + +"Nor would he bear it from me, either, I fear, William." + +Just at that moment the subject of the conversation came in. + +"You are late this morning, Henry," said the owner of the shop to +him, in the presence of the other workmen. + +"It's only a few minutes past the time," was replied, moodily. + +"It's more than an hour past." + +"Well, if it is, I can make it up." + +"That is not the right way, Henry. Lost time is never made up." + +Thorne did not understand the general truth intended to be +expressed, but supposed, at once, that the master of the shop meant +to intimate that he would wrong him out of the lost hour, +notwithstanding he had promised to make it up. He therefore turned +an angry look upon him, and said-- + +"Do you mean to say that I would cheat you, sir?" + +The employer was a hasty man, and tenacious of his dignity as a +master. He invariably discharged a journeyman who was in the least +degree disrespectful in his language or manner towards him before +the other workmen. Acting under the impulse that at once prompted +him, he said: + +"You are discharged;" and instantly turned away. + +As quickly did Henry Thorne turn and leave the shop. He took his way +homeward, but he paused and lingered as he drew nearer and nearer +his little cottage, for troubled thoughts had now taken the place of +angry feelings. At length he was at the door, and lifting slowly the +latch, he entered. + +"Henry!" said Ellen, with a look and tone of surprise. Her face was +paler and more care-worn than it was a year before; and its calm +expression had changed into a troubled one. She had a babe upon her +lap, her first and only one. The room in which she sat, so far from +indicating circumstances improved by the passage of a year, was far +less tidy and comfortable; and her own attire, though neat, was +faded and unseasonable. Her husband replied not to her inquiring +look, and surprised ejaculation, but seated himself in a chair, and +burying his face in his hands, remained silent, until, unable to +endure the suspense, Ellen went to him, and taking his hand, asked, +so earnestly, and so tenderly, what it was that troubled him, that +he could not resist her appeal. + +"I am discharged!" said he, with bitter emphasis. "And there is no +other establishment in the town, nor within fifty miles!" + +"O, Henry! how did that happen?" + +"I hardly know myself, Ellen, for it all seems like a dream. When I +left home this morning, I did not go directly to the shop; I wanted +to see a man at the upper end of the town, and when I got back it +was an hour later than usual. Old Ballard took me to task before all +the shop, and intimated that I was not disposed to act honestly +towards him. This I cannot bear from any one; I answered him in +anger, and was discharged on the spot. And now, what we are to do, +heaven only knows! Winter is almost upon us, and we have not five +dollars in the world." + +"But something will turn up for us, Henry, I know it will," said +Ellen, trying to smile encouragingly, although her heart was heavy +in her bosom. + +Her husband shook his head, doubtingly, and then all was gloomy and +oppressive silence. For nearly an hour, no word was spoken by +either. Each mind was busy with painful thoughts, and one with +fearful forebodings of evil. At the end of that time, the husband +took up his hat and went out. For a long, long time after, Ellen sat +in dreamy, sad abstraction, holding her babe to her breast. From +this state, a sense of duty roused her, and laying her infant on the +bed,--for they had not yet been able to spare money for a +cradle,--she began to busy herself in her domestic duties. This +brought some little relief. + +About eleven o'clock Jane came in with her usual cheerful, almost +happy face, bringing in her hand a stout bundle. Her countenance +changed in its expression to one of concern, the moment her eyes +rested upon her sister's face, and she laid her bundle on a chair +quickly, as if she half desired to keep it out of Ellen's sight. + +"What is the matter, Ellen?" she asked, with tender concern, the +moment she had closed the door. + +Ellen could not reply; her heart was too full. But she leaned her +head upon her sister's shoulder, and, for the first time since she +had heard the sad news of the morning, burst into tears. Jane was +surprised, and filled with anxious concern. She waited until this +ebullition of feeling in some degree abated, and then said, in a +tone still more tender than that in which she had first spoken,-- + +"Ellen, dear sister! tell me what has happened?" + +"I am foolish, sister," at length, said Ellen, looking up, and +endeavoring to dry her tears. "But I cannot help it. Henry was +discharged from the shop this morning; and now, what are we to do? +We have nothing ahead, and I am afraid he will not be able to get +anything to do here, or within many miles of the village." + +"That is bad, Ellen," replied Jane, while a shadow fell upon her +face, but a few moments before so glowing and happy. And that was +nearly all she could say; for she did not wish to offer false +consolation, and she could think of no genuine words of comfort. +After a while, each grew more composed and less reserved; and then +the whole matter was talked over, and all that Jane could say, that +seemed likely to soothe and give hope to Ellen's mind, was said with +earnestness and affection. + +"What have you there?" at length asked Ellen, glancing towards the +chair upon which Jane had laid her bundle. + +Jane paused a moment, as if in self-communion, and then said-- + +"Only a pair of blankets, and a couple of calico dresses that I have +been out buying." + +"Let me look at them," said Ellen, in as cheerful a voice as she +could assume. + +A large heavy pair of blankets, for which Jane had paid five +dollars, were now unrolled, and a couple of handsome chintz dresses, +of dark rich colors, suitable for the winter season, displayed. It +was with difficulty that Ellen could restrain a sigh, as she looked +at these comfortable things, and thought of how much she needed, and +of how little she had to hope for. Jane felt that such thoughts must +pass through her sister's mind, and she also felt much pained that +she had undesignedly thus added, by contrast, to Ellen's unhappy +feelings. When she returned home, she put away her new dresses and +her blankets. She had no heart to look at them, no heart to enjoy +her own good things, while the sister she so much loved was denied +like present comforts, and, worse than all, weighed down with a +heart-sickening dread of the future. + +We will not linger to contrast, in a series of domestic pictures, +the effects of industry and idleness on the two married sisters and +their families,--effects, the causes of which, neither aided +materially in producing. Such contrasts, though useful, cannot but +be painful to the mind, and we would, a thousand times, rather give +pleasure than pain. But one more striking contrast we will give, as +requisite to show the tendency of good or bad principles, united +with good or bad habits. + +Unable to get any employment in the village, Thorne, hearing that +steady work could be obtained in Charleston, South Carolina, sold +off a portion of his scanty effects, by which he received money +enough to remove there with his wife and child. Thus were the +sisters separated; and in that separation, gradually estranged from +the tender and lively affection that presence and constant +intercourse had kept burning with undiminished brightness. Each +became more and more absorbed, every day, in increasing cares and +duties; yet to one those cares and duties were painful, and to the +other full of delight. + +Ten years from the day on which they parted in tears, Ellen sat, +near the close of day, in a meanly furnished room, in one of the +southern cities, watching, with a troubled countenance, the restless +slumber of her husband. Her face was very thin and pale, and it had +a fixed and strongly marked expression of suffering. Two children, a +boy and a girl, the one about six, and the other a little over ten +years of age, were seated listlessly on the floor, which was +uncarpeted. They seemed to have no heart to play. Even the +elasticity of childhood had departed from them. From the appearance +of Thorne, it was plain that he was very sick; and from all the +indications the room in which he lay, afforded, it was plain that +want and suffering were its inmates. The habit of idleness he had +suffered to creep at a slow but steady pace upon him. Idleness +brought intemperance, and intemperance, reacting upon idleness, +completed his ruin, and reduced his family to poverty in its most +appalling form. Now he was sick with a southern fever, and his +miserable dwelling afforded him no cordial, nor his wife and +children the healthy food that nature required. + +"Mother!" said the little boy, getting up from the floor, where he +had been sitting for half an hour, as still as if he were sleeping, +and coming to Ellen's side, he looked up earnestly and imploringly +in her face. + +"What, my child?" the mother said, stooping down and kissing his +forehead, while she parted with her fingers the golden hair that +fell in tangled masses over it. + +"Can't I have a piece of bread, mother?" + +Ellen did not reply, but rose slowly and went to the closet, from +which she took part of a loaf, and cutting a slice from it, handed +it to her hungry boy. It was her last loaf, and all their money was +gone. The little fellow took it, and breaking a piece off for his +sister, gave it to her; the two children then sat down side by side, +and ate in silence the morsel that was sweet to them. + +With an instinctive feeling, that from nowhere but above could she +look for aid and comfort, did Ellen lift her heart, and pray that +she might not be forsaken in her extremity. And then she thought of +her sister Jane, from whom she had not heard for a long, long time, +and her heart yearned towards her with an eager and yearning desire +to see her face once more. + +And now let us look in upon Jane and her family. Her husband, by +saving where Thorne spent in foolish trifles, and working when +Thorne was idle, gradually laid by enough to purchase a little farm, +upon which he had removed, and there industry and frugality brought +its sure rewards. They had three children: little Ellen had grown to +a lively, rosy-cheeked, merry-faced girl of eleven years; and +George, who had followed Ellen, was in his seventh year, and after +him came the baby, now just completing the twelfth month of its +innocent, happy life. It was in the season when the farmers' toil is +rewarded, and William Moreland was among those whose labor had met +an ample return. + +How different was the scene, in his well established cottage, full +to the brim of plenty and comfort, to that which was passing at the +same hour of the day, a few weeks before, in the sad abode of Ellen, +herself its saddest inmate. + +The table was spread for the evening meal, always eaten before the +sun hid his bright face, and George and Ellen, although the supper +was not yet brought in, had taken their places; and Moreland, too, +had drawn up with the baby on his knee, which he was amusing with an +apple from a well filled basket, the product of his own orchard. + +A hesitating rap drew the attention of the tidy maiden who assisted +Mrs. Moreland in her duties. + +"It is the poor old blind man," she said, in a tone of compassion, +as she opened the door. + +"Here is a shilling for him, Sally," said Moreland, handing her a +piece of money. "The Lord has blessed us with plenty, and something +to spare for his needy children." + +The liberal meal upon the table, the mother sat down with the rest, +and as she looked around upon each happy face, her heart blessed the +hour that she had given her hand to William Moreland. Just as the +meal was finished, a neighbor stopped at the door and said: + +"Here's a letter for Mrs. Moreland; I saw it in the post-office, and +brought it over for her, as I was coming this way." + +"Come in, come in," said Moreland, with a hearty welcome in his +voice. + +"No, I thank you, I can't stop now. Good evening," replied the +neighbor. + +"Good evening," responded Moreland, turning from the door, and +handing the letter to Jane. + +"It must be from Ellen," Mrs. Moreland remarked, as she broke the +seal. "It is a long time since we heard from then; I wonder how they +are doing." + +She soon knew; for on opening the letter she read thus:-- + + +SAVANNAH, September, 18--. + +MY DEAR SISTER JANE:--Henry has just died. I am left here without a +dollar, and know not where to get bread for myself and two children. +I dare not tell you all I have suffered since I parted from you. +I---- + +My heart is too full; I cannot write. Heaven only knows what I shall +do! Forgive me, sister, for troubling you; I have not done so +before, because I did not wish to give you pain, and I only do so +now, from an impulse that I cannot resist. + +ELLEN. + + +Jane handed the letter to her husband, and sat down in a chair, her +senses bewildered, and her heart sick. + +"We have enough for Ellen, and her children, too, Jane," said +Moreland, folding the letter after he had read it. "We must send for +them at once. Poor Ellen! I fear she has suffered much." + +"You are good, kind and noble-hearted, William!" exclaimed Jane, +bursting into tears. + +"I don't know that I am any better than anybody else, Jane. But I +can't bear to see others suffering, and never will, if I can afford +relief. And surely, if industry brought no other reward, the power +it gives us to benefit and relieve others, is enough to make us ever +active." + +In one month from the time Ellen's letter was received, she, with +her children, were inmates of Moreland's cottage. Gradually the +light returned to her eye, and something of the former glow of +health and contentment to her cheek. Her children in a few weeks, +were as gay and happy as any. The delight that glowed in the heart +of William Moreland, as he saw this pleasing change, was a double +reward for the little he had sacrificed in making them happy. Nor +did Ellen fall, with her children, an entire burden upon her sister +and her husband;--her activity and willingness found enough to do +that needed doing. Jane often used to say to her husband-- + +"I don't know which is the gainer over the other, I or Ellen; for I +am sure I can't see how we could do without her." + + + + +GOOD-HEARTED PEOPLE. + + +THERE are two classes in the world: one acts from impulse, and the +other from reason; one consults the heart, and the other the head. +Persons belonging to the former class are very much liked by the +majority of those who come in contact with them: while those of the +latter class make many enemies in their course through life. Still, +the world owes as much to the latter as to the former--perhaps a +great deal more. + +Mr. Archibald May belonged to the former class; he was known as a +good-hearted man. He uttered the word "no" with great difficulty; +and was never known to have deliberately said that to another which +he knew would hurt his feelings. If any one about him acted wrong, +he could not find it in his heart to wound him by calling his +attention to the fact. On one occasion, a clerk was detected in +purloining money; but it was all hushed up, and when Mr. May +dismissed him, he gave him a certificate of good character. + +"How could you do so?" asked a neighbor, to whom he mentioned the +fact. + +"How could I help doing it? The young man had a chance of getting a +good place. It would have been cruel in me to have refused to aid +him. A character was required, and I could do no less than give it. +Poor, silly fellow! I am sure I wish him well. I always liked him." + +"Suppose he robs his present employer?" + +"He won't do that, I'm certain. He is too much ashamed of his +conduct while in my store. It is a lesson to him. And, at any rate, +I do not think a man should be hunted down for a single fault." + +"No: of course not. But, when you endorse a man's character, you +lead others to place confidence in him; a confidence that may be +betrayed under very aggravated circumstances." + +"Better that many suffer, than that one innocent man should be +condemned and cast off." + +"But there is no question about guilt or innocence. It was fully +proved that this young man robbed you." + +"Suppose it was. No doubt the temptation was very strong. I don't +believe he will ever be guilty of such a thing again." + +"You have the best evidence in the world that he will, in the fact +that he has taken your money." + +"O no, not at all. It doesn't follow, by any means, that a fault +like this will be repeated. He was terribly mortified about it. That +has cured him, I am certain." + +"I wouldn't trust to it." + +"You are too uncharitable," replied Mr. May. "For my part, I always +look upon the best side of a man's character. There is good in every +one. Some have their weaknesses--some are even led astray at times; +but none are altogether bad. If a man falls, help him up, and start +him once more fair in the world--who can say that he will again +trip? Not I. The fact is, we are too hard with each other. If you +brand your fellow with infamy for one little act of indiscretion, +or, say crime, what hope is there for him." + +"You go rather too far, Mr. May," the neighbor said, "in your +condemnation of the world. No doubt there are many who are really +uncharitable in their denunciations of their fellow man for a single +fault. But, on the other side, I am inclined to think, that there +are just as many who are equally uncharitable, in loosely passing +by, out of spurious kindness, what should mark a man with just +suspicion, and cause a withholding of confidence. Look at the case +now before us. You feel unwilling to keep a young man about you, +because he has betrayed your trust, and yet, out of kind feelings, +you give him a good character, and enable him to get a situation +where he may seriously wrong an unsuspecting man." + +"But I am sure he will not do so." + +"But what is your guarantee?" + +"The impression that my act has evidently made upon him. If I had, +besides hushing up the whole matter, kept him still in my store, he +might again have been tempted. But the comparatively light +punishment of dismissing him with a good character, will prove a +salutary check upon him." + +"Don't you believe it." + +"I will believe it, until I see evidence to the contrary. You are +too suspicious--too uncharitable, my good friend. I am always +inclined to think the best of every one. Give the poor fellow +another chance for his life, say I." + +"I hope it may all turn out right." + +"I am sure it will," returned Mr. May. "Many and many a young man is +driven to ruin by having all confidence withdrawn from him, after +his first error. Depend upon it, such a course is not right." + +"I perfectly agree with you, Mr. May, that we should not utterly +condemn and cast off a man for a single fault. But, it is one thing +to bear with a fault, and encourage a failing brother man to better +courses, and another to give an individual whom we know to be +dishonest, a certificate of good character." + +"Yes, but I am not so sure the young man we are speaking about is +dishonest." + +"Didn't he rob you?" + +"Don't say rob. That is too hard a word. He did take a little from +me; but it wasn't much, and there were peculiar circumstances." + +"Are you sure that under other peculiar circumstances, he would not +have taken much more from you?" + +"I don't believe he would." + +"I wouldn't trust him." + +"You are too suspicious--too uncharitable, as I have already said. I +can't be so. I always try to think the best of every one." + +Finding that it was no use to talk, the neighbor said but little +more on the subject. + +About a year afterwards the young man's new employer, who, on the +faith of Mr. May's recommendation, had placed great confidence in +him, discovered that he had been robbed of several thousand dollars. +The robbery was clearly traced to this clerk, who was arrested, +tried, and sentenced to three years imprisonment in the +Penitentiary. + +"It seems that all your charity was lost on that young scoundrel, +Blake," said the individual whose conversation with Mr. May has just +been given. + +"Poor fellow!" was the pitying reply. "I am most grievously +disappointed in him. I never believed that he would turn out so +badly." + +"You might have known it after he had swindled you. A man who will +steal a sheep, needs only to be assured of impunity, to rob the +mail. The principle is the same. A rogue is a rogue, whether it be +for a pin or a pound." + +"Well, well--people differ in these matters. I never look at the +worst side only. How could Dayton find it in his heart to send that +poor fellow to the State Prison! I wouldn't have done it, if he had +taken all I possess. It was downright vindictiveness in him." + +"It was simple justice. He could not have done otherwise. Blake had +not only wronged him, but he had violated the laws and to the laws +he was bound to give him up." + +"Give up a poor, erring young man, to the stern, unbending, +unfeeling laws! No one is bound to do that. It is cruel, and no one +is under the necessity of being cruel." + +"It is simply just, Mr. May, as I view it. And, further, really more +just to give up the culprit to the law he has knowingly and wilfully +violated, than to let him escape its penalties." + +Mr. May shook his head. + +"I certainly cannot see the charity of locking up a young man for +three or four years in prison, and utterly and forever disgracing +him." + +"It is great evil to steal?" said the neighbor. + +"O, certainly--a great sin." + +"And the law made for its punishment is just?" + +"Yes, I suppose so." + +"Do you think that it really injuries a thief to lock him up in +prison, and prevent him from trespassing on the property of his +neighbors?" + +"That I suppose depends upon circumstances. If----" + +"No, but my friend, we must fix the principle yea or nay. The law +that punishes theft is a good law--you admit that--very well. If the +law is good, it must be because its effect is good. A thief, will, +under such law, he really more benefitted by feeling its force than +in escaping the penalty annexed to its infringement. No distinction +can or ought to be made. The man who, in, a sane mind, deliberately +takes the property of another, should be punished by the law which +forbids stealing. It will have at least one good effect, if none +others and that will be to make him less willing to run similar +risk, and thus leave to his neighbor the peaceable possession of his +goods." + +"Punishment, if ever administered, should look to the good of the +offender. But, what good disgracing and imprisoning a young man who +has all along borne a fair character, is going to have, is more than +I can tell. Blake won't be able to hold up his head among +respectable people when his term has expired." + +"And will, in consequence, lose his power of injuring the honest and +unsuspecting. He will be viewed in his own true light, and be cast +off as unworthy by a community whose confidence he has most +shamefully abused." + +"And so you will give an erring brother no chance for his life?" + +"O yes. Every chance. But it would not be kindness to wink at his +errors and leave him free to continue in the practice of them, to +his own and others' injury. Having forfeited his right to the +confidence of this community by trespassing upon it, let him pay the +penalty of that trespass. It will be to him, doubtless, a salutary +lesson. A few years of confinement in a prison will give him time +for reflection and repentance; whereas, impunity in an evil course +could only have strengthened his evil purposes. When he has paid the +just penalty of his crime, let him go into another part of the +country, and among strangers live a virtuous life, the sure reward +of which is peace." + +Mr. May shook his head negatively, at these remarks. + +"No one errs on the side of kindness," he said, "while too many, by +an opposite course, drive to ruin those whom leniency might have +saved." + +A short time after the occurrence of this little interview, Mr. May, +on returning home one evening, found his wife in much apparent +trouble. + +"Has anything gone wrong, Ella?" he asked. + +"Would you have believed it?" was Mrs. May's quick and excited +answer. "I caught Jane in my drawer to-day, with a ten dollar bill +in her hand which she had just taken out of my pocket book, that was +still open." + +"Why, Ella!" + +"It is too true! I charged it at once upon her, and she burst into +tears, and owned that she was going to take the money and keep it." + +"That accounts, then, for the frequency with which you have missed +small sums of money for several months past." + +"Yes. That is all plain enough now. But what shall we do? I cannot +think of keeping Jane any longer." + +"Perhaps she will never attempt such a thing again, now that she has +been discovered." + +"I cannot trust her. I should never feel safe a moment. To have a +thief about the house! Oh, no, That would never answer. She will +have to go." + +"Well, Ella, you will have to do what you think best; but you +mustn't be too hard on the poor creature. You mustn't think of +exposing her, and thus blasting her character. It might drive her to +ruin." + +"But, is it right for me, knowing what she is, to let her go quietly +into another family? It is a serious matter, husband." + +"I don't know that you have anything to do with that. The safest +thing, in my opinion, is for you to talk seriously to Jane, and warn +her of the consequences of acts such as she has been guilty of. And +then let her go, trusting that she will reform." + +"But there is another fault that I have discovered within a week or +two past. A fault that I suspected, but was not sure about. It is a +very bad one." + +"What is that, Ella?" + +"I do not think she is kind to the baby." + +"What?" + +"I have good reason for believing that she is not kind to our dear +little babe. I partly suspected this for some time. More than once I +have came suddenly upon her, and found our sweet pet sobbing as if +his heart would break. The expression in Jane's face I could not +exactly understand. Light has gradually broken in upon me, and now I +am satisfied that she has abused him shamefully." + +"Ella?" + +"It is too true. Since my suspicions were fully aroused, I have +asked Hannah about it, and she, unwillingly, has confirmed my own +impressions." + +"Unwillingly! It was her duty to have let you know this voluntarily. +Treat my little angel Charley unkindly! The wretch! She doesn't +remain in this house a day longer." + +"So I have fully determined. I am afraid that Jane has a wretched +disposition. It is bad enough to steal, but to ill-treat a helpless, +innocent babe, is fiend-like." + +Jane was accordingly dismissed. + +"Poor creature!" said Mrs. May, after Jane had left the house; "I +feel sorry for her. She is, after all, the worst enemy to herself. I +don't know what will become of her." + +"She'll get a place somewhere." + +"Yes, I suppose so. But, I hope she won't refer to me for her +character. I don't know what I should say, if she did." + +"If I couldn't say any good, I wouldn't say any harm, Ella. It's +rather a serious matter to break down the character of a poor girl." + +"I know it is; for that is all they have to depend upon. I shall +have to smooth it over some how, I suppose." + +"Yes: put the best face you can upon it. I have no doubt but she +will do better in another place." + +On the next day, sure enough, a lady called to ask about the +character of Jane. + +"How long has she been with you?" was one of the first questions +asked. + +"About six months," replied Mrs. May. + +"In the capacity of nurse, I think she told me?" + +"Yes. She was my nurse." + +"Was she faithful?" + +This was a trying question. But it had to be answered promptly, and +it was so answered. + +"Yes, I think I may call her quite a faithful nurse. She never +refused to carry my little boy out; and always kept him very clean." + +"She kept him nice, did she? Well, that is a recommendation. And I +want somebody who will not be above taking my baby into the street. +But how is her temper?" + +"A little warm sometimes. But then, you know, perfection is not to +be attained any where." + +"No, that is very true. You think her a very good nurse?" + +"Yes, quite equal to the general run." + +"I thank you very kindly," said the lady rising. "I hope I shall +find, in Jane, a nurse to my liking." + +"I certainly hope so," replied Mrs. May, as she attended her to the +door. + +"What do you think?" said Mrs. May to her husband, when he returned +in the evening.--"That Jane had the assurance to send a lady here to +inquire about her character." + +"She is a pretty cool piece of goods, I should say. But, I suppose +she trusted to your known kind feelings, not to expose her." + +"No doubt that was the reason. But, I can tell her that I was +strongly tempted to speak out the plain truth. Indeed, I could +hardly contain myself when the lady told me that she wanted her to +nurse a little infant. I thought of dear Charley, and how she had +neglected and abused him--the wretched creature! But I restrained +myself, and gave her as good a character as I could." + +"That was right. We should not let our indignant feelings govern us +in matters of this kind. We can never err on the side of kindness." + +"No, I am sure we cannot." + +Mrs. Campbell, the lady who had called upon Mrs. May, felt quite +certain that, in obtaining Jane for a nurse, she had been fortunate. +She gave, confidently, to her care, a babe seven months old. At +first, from a mother's natural instinct, she kept her eye upon Jane; +but every thing going on right, she soon ceased to observe her +closely. This was noted by the nurse, who began to breathe with more +freedom. Up to this time, the child placed in her charge had +received the kindest attentions. Now, however, her natural +indifference led her to neglect him in various little ways, +unnoticed by the mother, but felt by the infant. Temptations were +also thrown in her way by the thoughtless exposure of money and +jewelry. Mrs. Campbell supposed, of course, that she was honest, or +she would have been notified of the fact by Mrs. May, of whom she +had inquired Jane's character; and, therefore, never thought of +being on her guard in this respect. Occasionally he could not help +thinking that there ought to be more money in her purse than there +was. But she did not suffer this thought to rise into a suspicion of +unfair dealing against any one. The loss of a costly breast pin, the +gift of a mother long since passed into the invisible world, next +worried her mind; but, even this did not cause her to suspect that +any thing was wrong with her nurse. + +This the time passed on, many little losses of money and valued +articles disturbing and troubling the mind of Mrs. Campbell, until +it became necessary to wean her babe. This duty was assigned to +Jane, who took the infant to sleep with her. On the first night, it +cried for several hours--in fact, did not permit Jane to get more +than a few minutes sleep at a time all night. Her patience was tried +severely. Sometimes she would hold the distressed child with angry +violence to her bosom, while it screamed with renewed energy; and +then, finding that it still continued to cry, toss it from her upon +the bed, and let it lie, still screaming, until fear lest its mother +should be tempted to come to her distressed babe, would cause her +again to take it to her arms. A hard time had that poor child of it +on that first night of its most painful experience in the world. It +was scolded, shaken, and even whipped by the unfeeling nurse, until, +at last, worn out nature yielded, and sleep threw its protecting +mantle over the wearied babe. + +"How did you get along with Henry?" was the mother's eager question, +as she entered Jane's room soon after daylight. + +"O very well, ma'am," returned Jane. + +"I heard him cry dreadfully in the night. Several times I thought I +would come in and take him." + +"Yes, ma'am, he did scream once or twice very hard; but he soon gave +up, and has long slept as soundly as you now see him." + +"Dear little fellow!" murmured the mother in a trembling voice. She +stooped down and kissed him tenderly--tears were in her eyes. + +On the next night, Henry screamed again for several hours. Jane, had +she felt an affection for the child, and, from that affection been +led to soothe it with tenderness, might easily have lulled it into +quiet; but her ill-nature disturbed the child. After worrying with +it a long time, she threw it from her with violence, exclaiming as +she did so-- + +"I'll fix you to-morrow night! There'll be no more of this. They +needn't think I'm going to worry out my life for their cross-grained +brat." + +She stopped. For the babe had suddenly ceased crying. Lifting it up, +quickly, she perceived, by the light of the lamp, that its face was +very white, and its lips blue. In alarm, she picked it up and sprang +from the bed. A little water thrown into its face, soon revived it. +But the child did not cry again, and soon fell away into sleep. For +a long time Jane sat partly up in bed, leaning over on her arm, and +looking into little Henry's face. He breathed freely, and seemed to +be as well as ever. She did not wake until morning. When she did, +she found the mother bending over her, and gazing earnestly down +into the face of her sleeping babe. The incident that had occurred +in the night glanced through her mind, and caused her to rise up and +look anxiously at the child. Its sweet, placid face, at once +reassured her. + +"He slept better last night," remarked Mrs. Campbell. + +"O, yes. He didn't cry any at all, hardly." + +"Heaven bless him!" murmured the mother, bending over and kissing +him softly. + +On the next morning, when she awoke, Mrs. Campbell felt a strange +uneasiness about her child. Without waiting to dress herself, she +went softly over to the room where Jane slept. It was only a little +after day-light. She found both the child and nurse asleep. There +was something in the atmosphere of the room that oppressed her +lungs, and something peculiar in its odor. Without disturbing Jane, +she stood for several minutes looking into the face of Henry. +Something about it troubled her. It was not so calm as usual, nor +had his skin that white transparency so peculiar to a babe. + +"Jane," she at length said, laying her hand upon the nurse. + +Jane roused up. + +"How did Henry get along last night, Jane?" + +"Very well, indeed, ma'am; he did not cry at all." + +"Do you think he looks well?" + +Jane turned her eyes to the face of the child, and regarded it for +some time. + +"O, yes, ma'am, he looks very well; he has been sleeping sound all +night." + +Thus assured, Mrs. Campbell regarded Henry for a few minutes longer, +and then left the room. But her heart was not at ease. There was a +weight upon it, and it labored in its office heavily. + +"Still asleep," she said, about an hour after, coming into Jane's +room. "It is not usual for him to sleep so long in the morning." + +Jane turned away from the penetrating glance of the mother, and +remarked, indifferently: + +"He has been worried out for the last two nights. That is the +reason, I suppose." + +Mrs. Campbell said no more, but lifted the child in her arms, and +carried it to her own chamber. There she endeavored to awaken it, +but, to her alarm, she found that it still slept heavily in spite of +all her efforts. + +Running down into the parlor with it, where her husband sat reading +the morning papers, she exclaimed: + +"Oh, Henry! I'm afraid that Jane has been giving this child +something to make him sleep. See! I cannot awake him. Something is +wrong, depend upon it!" + +Mr. Campbell took the babe and endeavored to arouse him, but without +effect. + +"Call her down here," he then said, in a quick, resolute voice. + +Jane was called down. + +"What have you given this child?" asked Mr. Campbell, peremptorily. + +"Nothing," was the positive answer. "What could I have given him?" + +"Call the waiter." + +Jane left the room, and in a moment after the waiter entered. + +"Go for Doctor B---- as fast as you can, and say to him I must see +him immediately." + +The waiter left the house in great haste. In about twenty minutes +Dr. B---- arrived. + +"Is there any thing wrong about this child?" Mr. Campbell asked, +placing little Henry in the doctor's arms. + +"There is," was replied, after the lapse of about half a minute. +"What have you been giving it." + +"Nothing. But we are afraid the nurse has." + +"Somebody has been giving it a powerful anodyne, that is certain. +This is no natural sleep. Where is the nurse? let me see her." + +Jane was sent for, but word was soon brought that she was not to be +found. She had, in fact, bundled up her clothes, and hastily and +quietly left the house. This confirmed the worst fears of both +parents and physician. But, if any doubt remained, a vial of +laudanum and a spoon, found in the washstand drawer in Jane's room, +dispelled it. + +Then most prompt and active treatment was resorted to by Doctor +B---- in the hope of saving the child. But his anxious efforts were +in vain. The deadly narcotic had taken entire possession of the +whole system; had, in fact, usurped the seat of life, and was +poisoning its very fountain. At day dawn on the next morning the +flickering lamp went out, and the sad parents looked their last look +upon their living child. + +"I have heard most dreadful news," Mrs. May said to her husband, on +his return home that day. + +"You have! What is it?" + +"Jane has poisoned Mrs. Campbell's child!" + +"Ella!" and Mr. May started from his chair. + +"It is true. She had it to wean, and gave it such a dose of +laudanum, that it died." + +"Dreadful! What have they done with her?" + +"She can't be found, I am told." + +"You recommended her to Mrs. Campbell." + +"Yes. But I didn't believe she was wicked enough for that." + +"Though it is true she ill-treated little Charley, and we knew it. I +don't see how you can ever forgive yourself. I am sure that I don't +feel like ever again looking Mr. Campbell in the face." + +"But, Mr. May, you know very well that you didn't want me to say any +thing against Jane to hurt her character." + +"True. And it is hard to injure a poor fellow creature by blazoning +her faults about. But I had no idea that Jane was such a wretch!" + +"We knew that she would steal, and that she was unkind to children; +and yet, we agreed to recommend her to Mrs. Campbell." + +"But it was purely out of kind feelings for the girl, Ella." + +"Yes. But is that genuine kindness? Is it real charity? I fear not." + +Mr. May was silent. The questions probed him to the quick. Let every +one who is good-hearted in the sense that Mr. May was, ask seriously +the same questions. + + + + +SLOW AND SURE. + + +"YOU'D better take the whole case. These goods will sell as fast as +they can be measured off." + +The young man to whom this was said by the polite and active partner +in a certain jobbing house in Philadelphia, shook his head and +replied firmly-- + +"No, Mr. Johnson. Three pieces are enough for my sales. If they go +off quickly, I can easily get more." + +"I don't know about that, Mr. Watson," replied the jobber. "I shall +be greatly mistaken if we have a case of these goods left by the end +of a week. Every one who looks at them, buys. Miller bought two +whole cases this morning. In the original packages, we sell them at +a half cent per yard lower than by the piece." + +"If they are gone, I can buy something else," said the cautious +purchaser. + +"Then you won't let me sell you a case?" + +"No, sir." + +"You buy too cautiously," said Johnson. + +"Do you think so?" + +"I know so. The fact is, I can sell some of your neighbors as much +in an hour as I can sell you in a week. We jobbers would starve if +there were no more active men in the trade than you are, friend +Watson." + +Watson smiled in a quiet, self-satisfied way as he replied-- + +"The number of wholesale dealers might be diminished; but failures +among them would be of less frequent occurrence. Slow and sure, is +my motto." + +"Slow and sure don't make much headway in these times. Enterprise is +the word. A man has to be swift-footed to keep up with the general +movement." + +"I don't expect to get rich in a day," said Watson. + +"You'll hardly be disappointed in your expectation," remarked +Johnson, a little sarcastically. His customer did not notice the +feeling his tones expressed, but went on to select a piece or two of +goods, here and there, from various packages, as the styles happened +to suit him. + +"Five per cent. off for cash, I suppose," said Watson, after +completing his purchase. + +"Oh, certainly," replied the dealer. "Do you wish to cash the bill?" + +"Yes; I wish to do a cash business as far as I can. It is rather +slow work at first; but it is safest, and sure to come out right in +the end." + +"You're behind the times, Watson," said Johnson, shaking his head. +"Tell me--who can do the most profitable business, a man with a +capital of five thousand dollars, or a man with twenty thousand?" + +"The latter, of course." + +"Very well. Don't you understand that credit is capital?" + +"It isn't cash capital." + +"What is the difference, pray, between the profit on ten thousand +dollars' worth of goods purchased on time or purchased for cash?" + +"Just five hundred dollars," said Watson. + +"How do you make that out?" The jobber did not see the meaning of +his customer. + +"You discount five per cent. for cash, don't you?" replied Watson, +smiling. + +"True. But, if you don't happen to have the ten thousand dollars +cash, at the time you wish to make a purchase, don't you see what an +advantage credit gives you? Estimate the profit at twenty per cent. +on a cash purchase, and your credit enables you to make fifteen per +cent. where you would have made nothing." + +"All very good theory," said Watson. "It looks beautiful on paper. +Thousands have figured themselves out rich in this way, but, alas! +discovered themselves poor in the end. If all would work just +right--if the thousands of dollars of goods bought on credit would +invariably sell at good profit and in time to meet the purchase +notes, then your credit business would be first rate. But, my little +observation tells me that this isn't always the case--that your +large credit men are forever on the street, money hunting, instead +of in their stores looking after their business. Instead of getting +discounts that add to their profits, they are constantly suffering +discounts of the other kind; and, too often, these, and the +accumulating stock of unsaleable goods--the consequence of credit +temptations in purchasing--reduce the fifteen per cent. you speak of +down to ten, and even five per cent. A large business makes large +store-expenses; and these eat away a serious amount of small profits +on large sales. Better sell twenty thousand dollars' worth of goods +at twenty per cent. profit, than eighty thousand at five per cent. +You can do it with less labor, less anxiety, and at less cost for +rent and clerk hire. At least, Mr. Johnson, this is my mode of +reasoning." + +"Well, plod along," replied Johnson. "Little boats keep near the +shore. But, let me tell you, my young friend, your mind is rather +too limited for a merchant of this day. There is Mortimer, who began +business about the time you did. How much do you think he has made +by a good credit?" + +"I'm sure I don't know." + +"Fifty thousand dollars." + +"And by the next turn of fortune's wheel, may lose it all." + +"Not he. Mortimer, though young, is too shrewd a merchant for that. +Do you know that he made ten thousand by the late rise in cotton; +and all without touching a dollar in his business?" + +"I heard something of it. But, suppose prices had receded instead of +advancing? What of this good credit, then?" + +"You're too timid--too prudent, Watson," said the merchant, "and +will be left behind in the race for prosperity by men of half your +ability." + +"No matter; I will be content," was the reply of Watson. + +It happened, a short time after this little interchange of views on +business matters, that Watson met the daughter of Mr. Johnson in a +company where he chanced to be. She was an accomplished and +interesting young woman, and pleased Watson particularly; and it is +but truth to say, that she was equally well pleased with him. + +The father, who was present, saw, with a slight feeling of +disapprobation, the lively conversation that passed between the +young man and his daughter; and when an occasion offered, a day or +two afterwards, made it a point to refer to him in a way to give the +impression that he held him in light estimation. Flora, that was the +daughter's name, did not appear to notice his remark. One evening, +not long after this, as the family of Mr. Johnson were about leaving +the tea-table, where they had remained later than usual, a domestic +announced that there was a gentleman in the parlor. + +"Who is it?" inquired Flora. + +"Mr. Mortimer," was answered. + +An expression of dislike came into the face of Flora, as she said-- + +"He didn't ask for me?" + +"Yes," was the servant's reply. + +"Tell him that I'm engaged, Nancy." + +"No, no!" said Mr. Johnson, quickly. "This would not be right. _Are_ +you engaged?" + +"That means, father, that I don't wish to see him; and he will so +understand me." + +"Don't wish to see him? Why not?" + +"Because I don't like him." + +"Don't like him?" Mr. Johnson's manner was slightly impatient. +"Perhaps you don't know him." + +The way in which her father spoke, rather embarrassed Flora. She +cast down her eye and stood for a few moments. + +"Tell Mr. Mortimer that I will see him in a little while," she then +said, and, as the domestic retired to give the answer, she ascended +to her chamber to make some slight additions to her toilet. + +To meet the young man by constraint, as it were, was only to +increase in Flora's mind the dislike she had expressed. So coldly +and formally was Mortimer received, that he found his visit rather +unpleasant than agreeable, and retired, after sitting an hour, +somewhat puzzled as to the real estimation in which he was held by +the lady, for whom he felt more than a slight preference. + +Mr. Johnson was very much inclined to estimate others by a +money-standard of valuation. A man was a man, in his eyes, when he +possessed those qualities of mind that would enable him to make his +way in the world--in other words, to get rich. It was this ability +in Mortimer that elevated him in his regard, and produced a feeling +of pleasure when he saw him inclined to pay attention to his +daughter. And it was the apparent want of this ability in Watson, +that caused him to be lightly esteemed. + +Men like Mr. Johnson are never very wise in their estimates of +character; nor do they usually adopt the best means of attaining +their ends when they meet with opposition. This was illustrated in +the present case. Mortimer was frequently referred to in the +presence of Flora, and praised in the highest terms; while the bare +mention of Watson's name was sure to occasion a series of +disparaging remarks. The effect was just the opposite of what was +intended. The more her father said in favor of the thrifty young +merchant, the stronger was the repugnance felt towards him by Flora; +and the more he had to say against Watson, the better she liked him. +This went on until there came a formal application from Mortimer for +the hand of Flora. It was made to Mr. Johnson first, who replied to +the young man that if he could win the maiden's favor, he had his +full approval. But to win the maiden's favor was not so easy a task, +as the young man soon found. His offered hand was firmly declined. + +"Am I to consider your present decision as final?" said the young +man, in surprise and disappointment. + +"I wish you to do so, Mr. Mortimer," said Flora. + +"Your father approves my suit," said he. "I have his full consent to +make you this offer of my hand." + +"I cannot but feel flattered at your preference," returned Flora; +"but, to accept your offer, would not be just either to you or +myself. I, therefore, wish you to understand me as being entirely in +earnest." + +This closed the interview and definitely settled the question. When +Mr. Johnson learned that the offer of Mortimer had been declined, he +was very angry with his daughter, and, in the passionate excitement +of his feelings, committed a piece of folly for which he felt an +immediate sense of shame and regret. + +The interview between Mr. Mortimer and Flora took place during the +afternoon, and Mr. Johnson learned the result from a note received +from the disappointed young man, just as he was about leaving his +store to return home. Flora did not join the family at the +tea-table, on that evening, for her mind was a good deal disturbed, +and she wished to regain her calmness and self-possession before +meeting her father. + +Mr. Johnson was sitting in a moody and angry state of mind about an +hour after supper, when a domestic came into the room and said that +Mr. Watson was in the parlor. + +"What does he want here?" asked Mr. Johnson, in a rough, excited +voice. + +"He asked for Miss Flora," returned the servant. + +"Where is she?" + +"In her room." + +"Well, let her stay there. I'll see him myself." + +And without taking time for reflection, Mr. Johnson descended to the +parlor. + +"Mr. Watson," said he, coldly, as the young man arose and advanced +towards him. + +His manner caused the visitor to pause, and let the hand he had +extended fall to his side. + +"Well, what is your wish?" asked Mr. Johnson. He looked with knit +brows into Watson's face. + +"I have called to see your daughter Flora," returned the young man, +calmly. + +"Then, I wish you to understand that your call is not agreeable," +said the father of the young lady, with great rudeness of manner. + +"Not agreeable to whom?" asked Watson, manifesting no excitement. + +"Not agreeable to me," replied Mr. Johnson. "Nor agreeable to any +one in this house." + +"Do you speak for your daughter?" inquired the young man. + +"I have a right to speak for her, if any one has," was the evasive +answer. + +Watson bowed respectfully, and, without a word more, retired from +the house. + +The calm dignity with which he had received the rough treatment of +Mr. Johnson, rebuked the latter, and added a feeling of shame to his +other causes of mental disquietude. + +On the next day Flora received a letter from Watson, in part in +these words-- + +"I called, last evening, but was not so fortunate as to see you. +Your father met me in the parlor, and on learning that my visit was +to you, desired me not to come again. This circumstance makes it +imperative on me to declare what might have been sometime longer +delayed--my sincere regard for you. If you feel towards me as your +father does, then I have not a word more to say; but I do not +believe this, and, therefore, I cannot let his disapproval, in a +matter so intimately concerning my happiness, and it may be yours, +influence me to the formation of a hasty decision. I deeply regret +your father's state of feeling. His full approval of my suit, next +to yours, I feel to be in every way desirable. + +"But, why need I multiply words? Again, I declare that I feel for +you a sincere affection. If you can return this, say so with as +little delay as possible; and if you cannot, be equally frank with +me." + +Watson did not err in his belief that Flora reciprocated his tender +sentiments; nor was he kept long in suspense. She made an early +reply, avowing her own attachment, but urging him; for her sake, to +do all in his power to overcome her father's prejudices. But this +was no easy task. In the end, however, Mr. Johnson, who saw, too +plainly, that opposition on his part would be of no avail, yielded a +kind of forced consent that the plodding, behind-the-age young +merchant, should lead Flora to the altar. That his daughter should +be content with such a man, was to him a source of deep +mortification. His own expectations in regard to her had been of a +far higher character. + +"He'll never set the world on fire;" "A man of no enterprise;" "A +dull plodder;" with similar allusions to his son-in-law, were +overheard by Mr. Johnson on the night of the wedding party, and +added no little to the ill-concealed chagrin from which he suffered. +They were made by individuals who belonged to the new school of +business men, of whom Mortimer was a representative. He, too, was +present. His disappointment in not obtaining the hand of Flora, had +been solaced in the favor of one whose social standing and +money-value was regarded as considerably above that of the maiden +who had declined the offer of his hand. He saw Flora given to +another without a feeling of regret. A few months afterwards, he +married the daughter of a gentleman who considered himself fortunate +in obtaining a son-in-law that promised to be one of the richest men +in the city. + +It was with a very poor grace that Mr. Johnson bore his +disappointment; so poor, that he scarcely treated the husband of his +daughter with becoming respect. To add to his uncomfortable feelings +by contrast, Mortimer built himself a splendid dwelling almost +beside the modest residence of Mr. Watson, and after furnishing it +in the most costly and elegant style, gave a grand entertainment. +Invitations to this were not extended to either Mr. Johnson's family +or to that of his son-in-law--an omission that was particularly +galling to the former. + +A few weeks subsequent to this, Mr. Johnson stood beside Mr. Watson +in an auction room. To the latter a sample of new goods, just +introduced, was knocked down, and when asked by the auctioneer how +many cases he would take, he replied "Two." + +"Say ten," whispered Mr. Johnson in his ear. + +"Two cases are enough for my sales," quietly returned the young man. + +"But they're a great bargain. You can sell them at an advance," +urged Mr. Johnson. + +"Perhaps so. But I'd rather not go out of my regular line of +business." + +By this time, the auctioneer's repeated question of "Who'll take +another case?" had been responded to by half a dozen voices, and the +lot of goods was gone. + +"You're too prudent," said Mr. Johnson, with some impatience in his +manner. + +"No," replied the young man, with his usual calm tone and quiet +smile. "Slow and sure--that is my motto. I only buy the quantity of +an article that I am pretty sure will sell. Then I get a certain +profit, and am not troubled with paying for goods that are lying on +my shelves and depreciating in value daily." + +"But these wouldn't have lain on your shelves. You could have sold +them at a quarter of a cent advance to-morrow, and thus cleared +sixty or seventy dollars." + +"That is mere speculation." + +"Call it what you will; it makes no difference. The chance of making +a good operation was before you, and you did not improve it. You +will never get along at your snail's pace." + +There was, in the voice of Mr. Johnson, a tone of contempt that +stung Watson more than any previous remark or, action of his +father-in-law. Thrown, for a moment, off his guard, he replied with +some warmth-- + +"You may be sure of one thing, at least." + +"What?" + +"That I shall never embarrass you with any of my fine operations." + +"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. Johnson. + +"Time will explain the remark," replied Watson, turning away, and +retiring from the auction room. + +A coolness of some months was the consequence of this little +interview. + +Time proves all things. At the end of fifteen years, Mortimer, who +had gone on in the way he had begun, was reputed to be worth two +hundred thousand dollars. Every thing he touched turned to money; at +least, so it appeared. His whole conversation was touching handsome +operations in trade; and not a day passed in which he had not some +story of gains to tell. Yet, with all his heavy accumulations, he +was always engaged in money raising, and his line of discounts was +enormous. Such a thing as proper attention to business was almost +out of the question, for nearly his whole time was taken up in +financiering--and some of his financial schemes were on a pretty +grand scale. Watson, on the other hand, had kept plodding along in +the old way, making his regular business purchases, and gradually +extending his operations, as his profits, changing into capital, +enabled him to do so. He was not anxious to get rich fast; at least, +not so anxious as to suffer himself to be tempted from a safe and +prudent course; and was, therefore, content to do well. By this +time, his father-in-law began to understand him a little better than +at first, and to appreciate him more highly. On more than one +occasion, he had been in want of a few thousand dollars in an +emergency, when the check of Watson promptly supplied the pressing +need. + +As to the real ability of Watson, few were apprised, for he never +made a display for the sake of establishing a credit. But it was +known to some, that he generally had a comfortable balance in the +bank, and to others that he never exchanged notes, nor asked an +endorser on his business paper. He always purchased for cash, and +thus obtained his goods from five to seven per cent cheaper than his +neighbors; and rarely put his business paper in bank for discount at +a longer date than sixty days. Under this system, his profits were, +usually, ten per cent. more than the profits of many who were +engaged in the same branch of trade. His credit was so good, that +the bank where he kept his account readily gave him all the money he +asked on his regular paper, without requiring other endorsements; +while many of his more dashing neighbors, who were doing half as +much business again, were often obliged to go upon the street to +raise money at from one to two per cent. a month. Moreover, as he +was always to be found at his store, and ready to give his personal +attention to customers, he was able to make his own discriminations +and to form his own estimates of men--and these were generally +correct. The result of this was, that he gradually attracted a class +of dealers who were substantial men; and, in consequence, was little +troubled with bad sales. + +Up to this time, there had been but few changes in the external +domestic arrangements of Mr. Watson. He had moved twice, and, each +time, into a larger house. His increasing family made this +necessary. But, while all was comfortable and even elegant in his +dwelling, there was no display whatever. + +One day, about this period, as Watson was walking with his +father-in-law, they both paused to look at a handsome house that was +going up in a fashionable part of Walnut street. By the side of it +was a large building lot. + +"I have about made up my mind to buy this lot," remarked Watson. + +"You?" Mr. Johnson spoke in a tone of surprise. + +"Yes. The price is ten thousand dollars. Rather high; but I like the +location." + +"What will you do with it?" inquired Mr. Johnson. + +"Build upon it." + +"As an investment?" + +"No. I want a dwelling for myself." + +"Indeed! I was not aware that you had any such intentions." + +"Oh, yes. I have always intended to build a house so soon as I felt +able to do it according to my own fancy." + +Mr. Johnson felt a good deal surprised at this. No more was said, +and the two men walked on. + +"How's this? For sale!" said Mr. Johnson. They were opposite the +elegant dwelling of Mr. Mortimer, upon which was posted a hand-bill +setting forth that the property was for sale. + +"So it seems," was Watson's quiet answer. + +"Why should he sell out?" added Mr. Johnson. "Perhaps he is going to +Europe to make a tour with his family," he suggested. + +"It is more probable," said Watson, "that he has got to the end of +his rope." + +"What do you mean by that remark?" + +"Is obliged to sell in order to save himself." + +"Oh, no! Mortimer is rich." + +"So it is said. But I never call a man rich whose paper is floating +about by thousands on the street seeking purchasers at two per cent. +a month." + +Just then the carriage of Mortimer drove up to his door, and Mrs. +Mortimer descended to the pavement and passed into the house. Her +face was pale, and had a look of deep distress. It was several years +since Mr. Johnson remembered to have seen her, and he was almost +startled at the painful change which had taken place. + +A little while afterwards he looked upon the cheerful, smiling face +of his daughter Flora, and there arose in his heart, almost +involuntarily, an emotion of thankfulness that she was not the wife +of Mortimer. Could he have seen what passed a few hours afterwards, +in the dwelling of the latter, he would have been more thankful than +ever. + +It was after eleven o'clock when Mortimer returned home that night. +He had been away since morning. It was rarely that he dined with his +family, but usually came home early in the evening. Since seven +o'clock, the tea-table had been standing in the floor, awaiting his +return. At eight o'clock, as he was still absent, supper was served +to the children, who, soon after, retired for the night. It was +after eleven o'clock as we have said, before Mortimer returned. His +face was pale and haggard. He entered quietly, by means of his +night-key, and went noiselessly up to his chamber. He found his wife +lying across the bed, where, wearied with watching, she had thrown +herself and fallen asleep. For a few moments he stood looking at +her, with a face in which agony and affection were blended. Then he +clasped his hands suddenly against his temples, and groaned aloud. +That groan penetrated the ears of his sleeping wife, who started up +with an exclamation of alarm, as her eyes saw the gesture and +expression of her husband. + +"Oh, Henry! what is the matter? Where have you been? Why do you look +so?" she eagerly inquired. + +Mortimer did not reply; but continued standing like a statue of +despair. + +"Henry! Henry!" cried his wife, springing towards him, and laying +her hands upon his arm. "Dear husband! what is the matter?" + +"Ruined! Ruined!" now came hoarsely from the lips of Mortimer, and, +with another deep groan, he threw himself on a sofa, and wrung his +hands in uncontrollable anguish. + +"Oh, Henry! speak! What does this mean?" said his wife, the tears +now gushing from her eyes. "Tell me what has happened." + +But, "Ruined! Ruined!" was all the wretched man would say for a long +time. At last, however, he made a few vague explanations, to the +effect that he would be compelled to stop payment on the next day. + +"I thought," said Mrs. Mortimer, "that the sale of this house was to +afford you all the money you needed." + +"It is not sold yet," was all his reply to this. He did not explain +that it was under a heavy mortgage, and that, even if sold, the +amount realized would be a trifle compared with his need on the +following day. During the greater part of the night, Mortimer walked +the floor of his chamber; and, for a portion of the time, his wife +moved like a shadow by his side. But few words passed between them. + +When the day broke, Mrs. Mortimer was lying on the bed, asleep. +Tears were on her cheeks. In a crib, beside her, was a fair-haired +child, two years old, breathing sweetly in his innocent slumber; and +over this crib bent the husband and father. His face was now calm, +but very pale, and its expression of sadness, as he gazed upon his +sleeping child, was heart-touching. For many minutes he stood over +the unconscious slumberer; then stooping down, he touched its +forehead lightly with his lips, while a low sigh struggled up from +his bosom. Turning, then, his eyes upon his wife, he gazed at her +for some moments, with a sad, pitying look. He was bending to kiss +her, when a movement, as if she were about to awaken, caused him to +step back, and stand holding his breath, as if he feared the very +sound would disturb her. She did not open her eyes, however, but +turned over, with a low moan of suffering, and an indistinct murmur +of his name. + +Mortimer did not again approach the bed-side, but stepped +noiselessly to the chamber door, and passed into the next room, +where three children, who made up the full number of his household +treasures, were buried in tranquil sleep. Long he did not linger +here. A hurried glance was taken of each beloved face, and a kiss +laid lightly upon the lips of each. Then he left the room, moving +down the stairs with a step of fear. A moment or two more, and he +was beyond the threshold of his dwelling. + +When Mrs. Mortimer started up from unquiet slumber, as the first +beams of the morning sun fell upon her face, she looked around, +eagerly, for her husband. Not seeing him, she called his name. No +answer was received, and she sprung from the bed. As she did so, a +letter placed conspicuously on the bureau met her eyes. Eagerly +breaking the seal, she read this brief sentence: + +"Circumstances make it necessary for me to leave the city by the +earliest conveyance. Say not a word of this to any one--not even to +your father. My safety depends on your silence. I will write to you +in a little while. May Heaven give you strength to bear the trials +through which you are about to pass!" + +But for the instant fear for her husband, which this communication +brought into the mind of Mrs. Mortimer, the shock would have +rendered her insensible. He was in danger, and upon her discretion +depended his safety. This gave her strength for the moment. Her +first act was to destroy the note. Next she strove to repress the +wild throbbings of her heart, and to assume a calm exterior. Vain +efforts! She was too weak for the trial; and who can wonder that she +was? + +Mr. Johnson was sitting in his store about half past three o'clock +that afternoon, when a man came in and asked him for the payment of +a note of five thousand dollars. He was a Notary. + +"A protest!" exclaimed Mr. Johnson, in astonishment. "What does this +mean?" + +"I don't understand this," said he, after a moment or two. "I have +no paper out for that amount falling due to-day. Let me see it?" + +The note was handed to him. + +"It's a forgery!" said he, promptly. "To whom is it payable?" he +added. "To Mortimer, as I live!" + +And he handed it back to the Notary, who departed. + +Soon after he saw the father-in-law of Mortimer go hurriedly past +his store. A glimpse of his countenance showed that he was strongly +agitated. + +"Have you heard the news?" asked his son-in-law, coming in, half an +hour afterwards. + +"What?" + +"Mortimer has been detected in a forgery!" + +"Upon whom?" + +"His father-in-law." + +"He has forged my name also." + +"He has!" + +"Yes. A note for five thousand dollars was presented to me by the +Notary a little while ago." + +"Is it possible? But this is no loss to you." + +"If he has resorted to forgery to sustain himself," replied Mr. +Johnson, looking serious, "his affairs are, of course, in a +desperate condition." + +"Of course." + +"I am on his paper to at least twenty thousand dollars." + +"You!" + +"Such, I am sorry to say, is the case. And to meet that paper will +try me severely. Oh, dear! How little I dreamed of this! I thought +him one of the soundest men in the city." + +"I am pained to hear that you are so deeply involved," said Mr. +Watson. "But, do not let it trouble you too much. I will defer my +building intentions to another time, and let you have whatever money +you may need." + +Mr. Johnson made no answer. His eyes were upon the floor and his +thoughts away back to the time when he had suffered the great +disappointment of seeing his daughter marry the slow, plodding +Watson, instead of becoming the wife of the enterprising Mortimer. + +"I will try, my son," said he, at length, in a subdued voice, "to +get through without drawing upon you too largely. Ah, me! How blind +I have been." + +"You may depend on me for at least twenty thousand dollars," replied +Watson, cheerfully; "and for even more, if it is needed." + +It was soon known that Mortimer had committed extensive forgeries +upon various persons, and that he had left the city. Officers were +immediately despatched for his arrest, and in a few days he was +brought back as a criminal. In his ruin, many others were involved. +Among these was his father-in-law, who was stripped of every dollar +in his old age. + +"Slow and sure--slow and sure. Yes, Watson was right." Thus mused +Mr. Johnson, a few months afterwards, on hearing that Mortimer was +arraigned before the criminal court, to stand his trial for forgery. +"It is the safest and the best way, and certainly leads to +prosperity. Ah, me! How are we drawn aside into false ways through +our eagerness to obtain wealth by a nearer road than that of patient +industry in legitimate trade. Where one is successful, a dozen are +ruined by this error. Slow and sure! Yes, that is the true doctrine. +Watson was right, as the result has proved. Happy for me that his +was a better experiment than that of the envied Mortimer!" + + + + +THE SCHOOL GIRL. + + +"WHERE now?" said Frederick Williams to his friend Charles Lawson, +on entering his own office and finding the latter, carpet-bag in +hand, awaiting his arrival. + +"Off for a day or two on a little business affair," replied Lawson. + +"Business! What have you to do with business?" + +"Not ordinary, vulgar business," returned Lawson with a slight toss +of the head and an expression of contempt. + +"Oh! It's of a peculiar nature?" + +"It is--very peculiar; and, moreover, I want the good offices of a +friend, to enable me the more certainly to accomplish my purposes." + +"Come! sit down and explain yourself," said Williams. + +"Haven't a moment to spare. The boat goes in half an hour." + +"What boat?" + +"The New Haven boat. So come, go along with me to the slip, and +we'll talk the matter over by the way." + +"I'm all attention," said Williams, as the two young men stepped +forth upon the pavement. + +"Well, you must know," began Lawson, "that I have a first rate love +affair on my hands." + +"You!" + +"Now don't smile; but hear me." + +"Go on--I'm all attention." + +"You know old Everett?" + +"Thomas Everett, the silk importer?" + +"The same." + +"I know something about him." + +"You know, I presume, that he has a pretty fair looking daughter?" + +"And I know," replied Williams, "that when 'pretty fair looking' is +said, pretty much all is said in her favor." + +"Not by a great deal," was the decided answer of Lawson. + +"Pray what is there beyond this that a man can call attractive?" + +"Her father's money." + +"I didn't think of that." + +"Didn't you?" + +"No. But it would take the saving influence of a pretty large sum to +give her a marriageable merit in my eyes." + +"Gold hides a multitude of defects, you know, Fred." + +"It does; but it has to be heaped up very high to cover a wife's +defects, if they be as radical as those in Caroline Everett. Why, to +speak out the plain, homespun truth, the girl's a fool!" + +"She isn't over bright, Fred, I know," replied Lawson. "But to call +her a fool, is to use rather a broad assertion." + +"She certainly hasn't good common sense. I would be ashamed of her +in company a dozen times a day if she were any thing to me." + +"She's young, you know, Fred." + +"Yes, a young and silly girl." + +"Just silly enough for my purpose. But, she will grow older and +wiser, you know. Young and silly is a very good fault." + +"Where is she now?" + +"At a boarding school some thirty miles from New Haven. Do you know +why her father sent her there?" + +"No." + +"She would meet me on her way to and from school while in the city, +and the old gentleman had, I presume, some objections to me as a +son-in-law." + +"And not without reason," replied Williams. + +"I could not have asked him to do a thing more consonant with my +wishes," continued Lawson. "Caroline told me where she was going, +and I was not long in making a visit to the neighborhood. Great +attention is paid to physical development in the school, and the +young ladies are required to walk, daily, in the open air, amid the +beautiful, romantic, and secluded scenery by which the place is +surrounded. They walk alone, or in company, as suits their fancies. +Caroline chose to walk alone when I was near at hand; and we met in +a certain retired glen, where the sweet quiet of nature was broken +only by the dreamy murmur of a silvery stream, and there we talked +of love. It is not in the heart of a woman to withstand a scene like +this. I told, in burning words, my passion, and she hearkened and +was won." Lawson paused for some moments; but, as Williams made no +remark, he continued-- + +"It is hopeless to think of gaining her father's consent to a +marriage. He is pence-proud, and I, as you know, am penniless." + +"I do not think he would be likely to fancy you for a son-in-law," +said Williams. + +"I have the best of reasons, for knowing that he would not. He has +already spoken of me to his daughter in very severe terms." + +"As she has informed you?" + +"Yes. But, like a sensible girl, she prefers consulting her own +taste in matters of the heart." + +"A very sensible girl, certainly!" + +"Isn't she! Well, as delays are dangerous, I have made up my mind to +consummate this business as quickly as possible. You know how hard +pressed I am in certain quarters, and how necessary it is that I +should get my pecuniary matters in a more stable position. In a +word, then, my business, on the present occasion, is to remove +Caroline from school, it being my opinion that she has completed her +education." + +"Has she consented to this?" + +"No; but she won't require any great persuasion. I'll manage all +that. What I want you to do is, first, to engage me rooms at +Howard's, and, second, to meet me at the boat, day after to-morrow, +with a carriage." + +"Where will you have the ceremony performed?" + +"In this city. I have already engaged the Rev. Mr. B---- to do that +little work for me. He will join us at the hotel immediately on our +arrival, and in your presence, as a witness, the knot will be tied." + +"All very nicely arranged," said Williams. + +"Isn't it! And what is more, the whole thing will go off like clock +work. Of course I can depend on you. You will meet us at the boat." + +"I will, certainly." + +"Then good by." They were by this time at the landing. The two young +men shook hands, and Lawson sprung on board of the boat, while +Williams returned thoughtfully to his office. + +Charles Lawson was a young man having neither principle nor +character. A connection with certain families in New York, added to +a good address, polished manners, and an unblushing assurance, had +given him access to society at certain points, and of this facility +he had taken every advantage. Too idle and dissolute for useful +effort in society, he looked with a cold, calculating baseness to +marriage as the means whereby he was to gain the position at which +he aspired. Possessing no attractive virtues--no personal merits of +any kind, his prospects of a connection, such as he wished to form, +through the medium of any honorable advances, were hopeless, and +this he perfectly well understood. But, the conviction did not in +the least abate the ardor of his purpose. And, in a mean and +dastardly spirit, he approached one young school girl after another, +until he found in Caroline Everett one weak enough to be flattered +by his attentions. The father of Caroline, who was a man of some +discrimination and force of mind, understood his daughter's +character, and knowing the danger to which she was exposed, kept +upon her a watchful eye. Caroline's meetings with Lawson were not +continued long before he became aware of the fact, and he at once +removed her to a school at a distance from the city. It would have +been wiser had he taken her home altogether. Lawson could have +desired no better arrangement, so far as his wishes were concerned. + +On the day succeeding that on which Lawson left New York, Caroline +was taking her morning walk with two or three companions, when she +noticed a mark on a certain tree, which she knew as a sign that her +lover was in the neighborhood and awaiting her in the secluded glen, +half a mile distant, where they had already met. Feigning to have +forgotten something, she ran back, but as soon as she was out of +sight of her companions, she glided off with rapid steps in the +direction where she expected to find Lawson. And she was not +disappointed. + +"Dear Caroline!" he exclaimed, with affected tenderness, drawing his +arm about her and kissing her cheek, as he met her. "How happy I am +to see you again! Oh! it has seemed months since I looked upon your +sweet young face." + +"And yet it is only a week since you were here," returned Caroline, +looking at him fondly. + +"I cannot bear this separation. It makes me wretched," said Lawson. + +"And I am miserable," responded Caroline, with a sigh, and her eyes +fell to the ground. "Miserable," she repeated. + +"I love you, tenderly, devotedly," said Lawson, as he tightly +clasped the hand he had taken: "and it is my most ardent wish to +make you happy. Oh! why should a parent's mistaken will interpose +between us and our dearest wishes?" + +Caroline leaned toward the young man, but did not reply. + +"Is there any hope of his being induced to give his consent +to--to--our--union?" + +"None, I fear," came from the lips of Caroline in a faint whisper. + +"Is he so strongly prejudiced against me?" + +"Yes." + +"Then, what are we to do?" + +Caroline sighed. + +"To meet, hopelessly, is only to make us the more wretched," said +Lawson. "Better part, and forever, than suffer a martyrdom of +affection like this." + +Still closer shrunk the weak and foolish girl to the young man's +side. She was like a bird in the magic circle of the charmer. + +"Caroline," said Lawson, after another period of silence, and his +voice was low, tender and penetrating--"Are you willing, for my +sake, to brave your father's anger?" + +"For your sake, Charles!" replied Caroline, with sudden enthusiasm. +"Yes--yes. His anger would be light to the loss of your affection." + +"Bless your true heart!" exclaimed Lawson. "I knew that I had not +trusted it in vain. And now, my dear girl, let me speak freely of +the nature of my present visit. With you, I believe, that all hope +of your father's consent is vain. But, he is a man of tender +feelings, and loves you as the apple of his eye." + +Thus urged the tempter, and Caroline listened eagerly. + +"If," he continued, "we precipitate a union--if we put the marriage +rite between us and his strong opposition, that opposition will grow +weak as a withering leaf. He cannot turn from you. He loves you too +well." + +Caroline did not answer; but, it needed no words to tell Lawson that +he was not urging his wishes in vain. + +"I am here," at length he said, boldly, "for the purpose of taking +you to New York. Will you go with me?" + +"For what end?" she whispered. + +"To become my wife." + +There was no starting, shrinking, nor trembling at this proposal. +Caroline was prepared for it; and, in the blindness of a mistaken +love, ready to do as the tempter wished. Poor lamb! She was to be +led to the slaughter, decked with ribbons and garlands, a victim by +her own consent. + +Frederick Williams, the friend of Lawson, was a young attorney, who +had fallen into rather wild company, and strayed to some distance +along the paths of dissipation. But, he had a young and +lovely-minded sister, who possessed much influence over him. The +very sphere of her purity kept him from debasing himself to any +great extent, and ever drew him back from a total abandonment of +himself in the hour of temptation. He had been thrown a good deal +into the society of Lawson, who had many attractive points for young +men about him, and who knew how to adapt himself to the characters +of those with whom he associated. In some things he did not like +Lawson, who, at times, manifested such an entire want of principle, +that he felt shocked. On parting with Lawson at the boat, as we have +seen, he walked thoughtfully away. His mind was far from approving +what he had heard, and the more he reflected upon it, the less +satisfied did he feel. He knew enough of the character of Lawson to +be well satisfied that his marriage with Caroline, who was an +overgrown, weak-minded school girl, would prove the wreck of her +future happiness, and the thought of becoming a party to such a +transaction troubled him. On returning to his office, he found his +sister waiting for him, and, as his eyes rested upon her innocent +young countenance, the idea of her being made the victim of so base +a marriage, flashed with a pang amid his thoughts. + +"I will have no part nor lot in this matter," he said, mentally. And +he was in earnest in this resolution. But not long did his mind rest +easy under his assumed passive relation to a contemplated social +wrong, that one word from him might prevent. From the thought of +betraying Lawson's confidence, his mind shrunk with a certain +instinct of honor; while, at the same time, pressed upon him the +irresistible conviction that a deeper dishonor would attach to him +if he permitted the marriage to take place. + +The day passed with him uncomfortably enough. The more he thought +about the matter, the more he felt troubled. In the evening, he met +his sister again, and the sight of her made him more deeply +conscious of the responsibility resting upon him. His oft repeated +mental excuse--"It's none of my business," or, "I can't meddle in +other men's affairs," did not satisfy certain convictions of right +and duty that presented themselves with, to him, a strange +distinctness. The thought of his own sister was instantly associated +with the scheme of some false-hearted wretch, involving her +happiness in the way that the happiness of Caroline Everett was to +be involved; and he felt that the man who knew that another was +plotting against her, and did not apprize him of the fact, was +little less than a villain at heart. + +On the next day Williams learned that there was a writ out against +the person of Charles Lawson on a charge of swindling, he having +obtained a sum of money from a broker under circumstances construed +by the laws into crime. This fact determined him to go at once to +Mr. Everett, who, as it might be supposed, was deeply agitated at +the painful intelligence he received. His first thought was to +proceed immediately to New Haven, and there rescue his daughter from +the hands of the young man; but on learning the arrangements that +had been made, he, after much reflecting, concluded that it would be +best to remain in New York, and meet them on their arrival. + +In the mean time, the foolish girl, whom Lawson had determined to +sacrifice to his base cupidity, was half wild with delighted +anticipation. Poor child! Passion-wrought romances, written by men +and women who had neither right views of life, nor a purpose in +literature beyond gain or reputation, had bewildered her half-formed +reason, and filled her imagination with unreal pictures. All her +ideas were false or exaggerated. She was a woman, with the mind of +an inexperienced child; if to say this does not savor of +contradiction. Without dreaming that there might be thorns to pierce +her naked feet in the way she was about to enter, she moved forward +with a joyful confidence. + +On the day she had agreed to return with Lawson, she met him early +in the afternoon, and started for New Haven, where they spent the +night. On the following day they left in the steamboat for New York. +All his arrangements for the marriage, were fully explained to +Caroline by Lawson, and most of the time that elapsed after leaving +New Haven, was spent in settling their future action in regard to +the family. Caroline was confident that all would be forgiven after +the first outburst of anger on the part of her father, and that they +would be taken home immediately. The cloud would quickly melt in +tears, and then the sky would be purer and brighter than before. + +When the boat touched the wharf, Lawson looked eagerly for the +appearance of his friend Williams, and was disappointed, and no +little troubled, at not seeing him. After most of the passengers had +gone on shore, he called a carriage, and was driven to Howard's, +where he ordered a couple of rooms, after first enquiring whether a +friend had not already performed this service for him. His next step +was to write a note to the Rev. Mr. B----, desiring his immediate +attendance, and, also, one to Williams, informing him of his +arrival. Anxiously, and with a nervous fear lest some untoward +circumstance might prevent the marriage he was about effecting with +a silly heiress, did the young man await the response to these +notes, and great was his relief, when informed, after the lapse of +an hour, that the Reverend gentleman, whose attendance he had +desired, was in the house. + +A private parlor had been engaged, and in this the ceremony of +marriage was to take place. This parlor adjoined a chamber, in which +Caroline awaited, with a trembling heart, the issue of events. It +was now, for the first time, as she was about taking the final and +irretrievable step, that her resolution began to fail her. Her +father's anger, the grief of her mother, the unknown state upon +which she was about entering, all came pressing upon her thoughts +with a sense of realization such as she had not known before. + +Doubts as to the propriety of what she was about doing, came fast +upon her mind. In the nearness of the approaching event, she could +look upon it stripped of its halo of romance. During the two days +that she had been with Lawson, she had seen him in states of absent +thought, when the true quality of his mind wrote itself out upon his +face so distinctly that even a dim-sighted one could read; and more +than once she had felt an inward shrinking from him that was +irrepressible. Weak and foolish as she was, she was yet pure-minded; +and though in the beginning she did not, because her heart was +overlaid with frivolity, perceive the sphere of his impurity, yet +now, as the moment was near at hand when there was to be a +marriage-conjunction, she began to feel this sphere as something +that suffocated her spirit. At length, in the agitation of +contending thoughts and emotions, the heart of the poor girl failed +her, till, in the utter abandonment of feeling, she gave way to a +flood of tears and commenced wringing her hands. At this moment, +having arranged with the clergyman to begin the ceremony forthwith, +Lawson entered her room, and, to his surprise, saw her in tears. + +"Oh, Charles!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands and extending them +towards him, "Take me home to my father! Oh, take me home to my +father!" + +Lawson was confounded at such an unexpected change in Caroline. "You +shall go to your father the moment the ceremony is over," he +replied; "Come! Mr. B---- is all ready." + +"Oh, no, no! Take me now! Take me now!" returned the poor girl in an +imploring voice. And she sat before the man who had tempted her from +the path of safety, weeping, and quivering like a leaf in the wind. + +"Caroline! What has come over you!" said Lawson, in deep perplexity. +"This is only a weakness. Come! Nerve your heart like a brave, good +girl! Come! It will soon be over." + +And he bent down and kissed her wet cheek, while she shrunk from him +with an involuntary dread. But, he drew his arm around her waist, +and almost forced her to rise. + +"There now! Dry your tears!" And he placed his handkerchief to her +eyes. "It is but a moment of weakness, Caroline,--of natural +weakness." + +As he said this, he was pressing her forward towards the door of the +apartment where the clergyman (such clergymen disgrace their +profession) awaited their appearance. + +"Charles?" said Caroline, with a suddenly constrained calmness--"do +you love me?" + +"Better than my own life!" was instantly replied. + +"Then take me to my father. I am too young--too weak--too +inexperienced for this." + +"The moment we are united you shall go home," returned Lawson. "I +will not hold you back an instant." + +"Let me go now, Charles! Oh, let me go now!" + +"Are you mad, girl!" exclaimed the young man, losing his +self-control. And, with a strong arm, he forced her into the next +room. For a brief period, the clergyman hesitated, on seeing the +distressed bride. Then he opened the book he held in his hand and +began to read the service. As his voice, in tones of solemnity, +filled the apartment, Caroline grew calmer. She felt like one driven +forward by a destiny against which it was vain to contend. All the +responses had been made by Lawson, and now the clergyman addressed +her. Passively she was about uttering her assentation, when the door +of the room was thrown open, and two men entered. + +"Stop!" was instantly cried in a loud, agitated voice, which +Caroline knew to be that of her father, and never did that voice +come to her ears with a more welcome sound. + +Lawson started, and moved from her side. While Caroline yet stood +trembling and doubting, the man who had come in with Mr. Everett +approached Lawson, and laying his hand upon him, said--"I arrest you +on a charge of swindling!" + +With a low cry of distress, Caroline sprung towards her father; but +he held his hands out towards her as if to keep her off, saying, at +the same time-- + +"Are you his wife?" + +"No, thank Heaven!" fell from her lips. + +In the next moment she was in her father's arms, and both were +weeping. + +Narrow indeed was the escape made by Caroline Everett; an escape +which she did not fully comprehend until a few months afterwards, +when the trial of Lawson took place, during which revelations of +villany were made, the recital of which caused her heart to shudder. +Yes, narrow had been her escape! Had her father been delayed a few +moments longer, she would have become the wife of a man soon after +condemned to expiate his crimes against society in the felon's cell! + +May a vivid realization of what Caroline Everett escaped, warn other +young girls, who bear a similar relation to society, of the danger +that lurks in their way. Not once in a hundred instances, is a +school girl approached with lover-like attentions, except by a man +who is void of principle; and not once in a hundred instances do +marriages entered upon clandestinely by such persons, prove other +than an introduction to years of wretchedness. + + + + +UNREDEEMED PLEDGES. + + +TWO men were walking along a public thoroughfare in New York. One of +them was a young merchant--the other a man past the prime of life, +and belonging to the community of Friends. They were in +conversation, and the manner of the former, earnest and emphatic, +was in marked contrast with the quiet and thoughtful air of the +other. + +"There is so much idleness and imposture among the poor," said the +merchant, "that you never know when your alms are going to do harm +or good. The beggar we just passed is able to work; and that woman +sitting at the corner with a sick child in her arms, would be far +better off in the almshouse. No man is more willing to give than I +am, if I only knew where and when to give." + +"If we look around us carefully, Mr. Edwards," returned the Quaker, +"we need be at no loss on this subject. Objects enough will present +themselves. Virtuous want is, in most cases, unobtrusive, and will +suffer rather than extend a hand for relief. We must seek for +objects of benevolence in by-places. We must turn aside into +untrodden walks." + +"But even then," objected Mr. Edwards, "we cannot be certain that +idleness and vice are not at the basis of the destitution we find. I +have had my doubts whether any who exercise the abilities which God +has given them, need want for the ordinary comforts of life in this +country. In all cases of destitution, there is something wrong, you +may depend upon it." + +"Perhaps there is," said the Quaker. "Evil of some kind is ever the +cause of destitution and wretchedness. Such bitter waters as these +cannot flow from a sweet fountain. Still, many are brought to +suffering through the evil ways of others; and many whose own wrong +doings have reacted upon them in unhappy consequences, deeply repent +of the past, and earnestly desire to live better lives in future. +Both need kindness, encouragement, and, it may be, assistance; and +it is the duty of those who have enough and to spare, to stretch +forth their hands to aid, comfort and sustain them." + +"Yes. That is true. But, how are we to know who are the real objects +of our benevolence?" + +"We have but to open our eyes and see, Mr. Edwards," said the +Quaker. "The objects of benevolence are all around us." + +"Show me a worthy object, and you will find me ready to relieve it," +returned the merchant. "I am not so selfish as to be indifferent to +human suffering. But I think it wrong to encourage idleness and +vice; and for this reason, I never give unless I am certain that the +object who presents himself is worthy." + +"True benevolence does not always require us to give alms," said the +Friend. "We may do much to aid, comfort and help on with their +burdens our fellow travellers, and yet not bestow upon them what is +called charity. Mere alms-giving, as thee has intimated, but too +often encourages vice and idleness. But thee desires to find a +worthy object of benevolence. Let us see if we cannot find one, What +have we here?" And as the Quaker said this he paused before a +building, from the door of which protruded a red flag, containing +the words, "Auction this day." On a large card just beneath the flag +was the announcement, "Positive sale of unredeemed pledges." + +"Let us turn in here," said the Quaker. "No doubt we shall find +enough to excite our sympathies." + +Mr. Edwards thought this a strange proposal; but he felt a little +curious, and followed his companion without hesitation. + +The sale had already begun, and there was a small company assembled. +Among them, the merchant noticed a young woman whose face was +partially veiled. She was sitting a little apart from the rest, and +did not appear to take any interest in the bidding. But he noticed +that, after an article was knocked off, she was all attention until +the next was put up, and then, the moment it was named, relapsed +into a sort of listlessness or abstraction. + +The articles sold embraced a great variety of things useful and +ornamental. In the main they were made up of watches, silver plate, +jewellery and wearing apparel. There were garments of every kind, +quality and condition, upon which money to about a fourth of their +real value had been loaned; and not having been redeemed, they were +now to be sold for the benefit of the pawnbroker. + +The company bid with animation, and article after article was sold +off. The interest at first awakened by the scene, new to the young +merchant, wore off in a little while, and turning to his companion +he said--"I don't see that much is to be gained by staying here." + +"Wait a little longer, and perhaps thee will think differently," +returned the Quaker, glancing towards the young woman who has been +mentioned, as he spoke. + +The words had scarcely passed his lips, when the auctioneer took up +a small gold locket containing a miniature, and holding it up, asked +for a bid. + +"How much for this? How much for this beautiful gold locket and +miniature? Give me a bid. Ten dollars! Eight dollars! Five dollars! +Four dollars--why, gentlemen, it never cost less than fifty! Four +dollars! Four dollars! Will no one give four dollars for this +beautiful gold locket and miniature? It's thrown away at that +price." + +At the mention of the locket, the young woman came forward and +looked up anxiously at the auctioneer. Mr. Edwards could see enough +of her face to ascertain that it was an interesting and intelligent +one, though very sad. + +"Three dollars!" continued the auctioneer. But there was no bid. +"Two dollars! One dollar!" + +"One dollar," was the response from a man who stood just in front of +the woman. Mr. Edwards, whose eyes were upon the latter, noticed +that she became much agitated the moment this bid was made. + +"One dollar we have! One dollar! Only one dollar!" cried the +auctioneer. "Only one dollar for a gold locket and miniature worth +forty. One dollar!" + +"Nine shillings," said the young woman in a low, timid voice. + +"Nine shillings bid! Nine shillings! Nine shillings!" + +"Ten shillings," said the first bidder. + +"Ten shillings it is! Ten shillings, and thrown away. Ten +shillings!" + +"Eleven shillings," said the girl, beginning to grow excited. Mr. +Edwards, who could not keep his eyes off of her face, from which the +veil had entirely fallen, saw that she was trembling with eagerness +and anxiety. + +"Eleven shillings!" repeated the auctioneer, glancing at the first +bidder, a coarse-looking man, and the only one who seemed disposed +to bid against the young woman. + +"Twelve shillings," said the man resolutely. + +A paleness went over the face of the other bidder, and a quick +tremor passed through her frame. + +"Twelve shillings is bid. Twelve shillings is bid. Twelve +shillings!" And the auctioneer now looked towards the young woman +who, in a faint voice, said-- + +"Thirteen shillings." + +By this time the merchant began to understand the meaning of what +was passing before him. The miniature was that of a middle-aged +lady; and it required no great strength of imagination to determine +that the original was the mother of the young woman who seemed so +anxious to possess the locket. + +"But how came it here?" was the involuntary suggestion to the mind +of Mr. Edwards. "Who pawned it? Did she?" + +"Fourteen shillings," said the man who was bidding, breaking in upon +the reflections of Mr. Edwards. + +The veil that had been drawn aside, fell instantly over the face of +the young woman, and she shrunk back from her prominent position, +yet still remained in the room. + +"Fourteen shillings is bid. Fourteen shillings! Are you all done? +Fourteen shillings for a gold locket and miniature. Fourteen! +Once!---" + +The companion of Mr. Edwards glanced towards him with a meaning +look. The merchants for a moment bewildered, found his mind clear +again. + +"Twice!" screamed the auctioneer. "Once! Twice! Three----" + +"Twenty shillings," dropped from the lips of Mr. Edwards. + +"Twenty shillings! Twenty shillings!" cried the auctioneer with +renewed animation. The man who had been bidding against the girl +turned quickly to see what bold bidder was in the field: and most of +the company turned with him. The young woman at the same time drew +aside her veil and looked anxiously towards Mr. Edwards, who, as he +obtained a fuller view of her face, was struck with it as familiar. + +"Twenty-one shillings," was bid in opposition. + +"Twenty-five," said the merchant, promptly. + +The first bidder, seeing that Mr. Edwards was determined to run +against him, and being a little afraid that he might be left with a +ruinous bid on his hands, declined advancing, and the locket was +assigned to the young merchant, who, as soon as he had received it, +turned and presented it to the young woman, saying as he did so-- + +"It is yours." + +The young woman caught hold of it with an eager gesture, and after +gazing on it for a few moments, pressed it to her lips. + +"I have not the money to pay for it," she said in a low sad voice, +recovering herself in a few moments; and seeking to return the +miniature. + +"It is yours!" replied Mr. Edwards. Then thrusting back the hand she +had extended, and speaking with some emotion, he said--"Keep +it--keep it, in Heaven's name!" + +And saying this he hastily retired, for he became conscious that +many eyes were upon him; and he felt half ashamed to have betrayed +his weakness before a coarse, unfeeling crowd. For a few moments he +lingered in the street; but his companion not appearing, he went on +his way, musing on the singular adventure he had encountered. The +more distinctly he recalled the young woman's face, the more +strangely familiar did it seem. + +About an hour afterwards, as Mr. Edwards sat reading a letter, the +Quaker entered his store. + +"Ah, how do you do? I am glad to see you," said the merchant, his +manner more than usually earnest. "Did you see anything more of that +young woman?" + +"Yes," replied the Quaker. "I could not leave one like her without +knowing something of her past life and present circumstances. I +think even you will hardly be disposed to regard her as an object +unworthy of interest." + +"No, certainly I will not. Her appearance, and the circumstances +under which we found her, are all in her favor." + +"But we turned aside from the beaten path. We looked into a by-place +to us; or we would not have discovered her. She was not obtrusive. +She asked no aid; but, with the last few shillings that remained to +her in the world, had gone to recover, if possible, an unredeemed +pledge--the miniature of her mother, on which she had obtained a +small advance of money to buy food and medicine for the dying +original. This is but one of the thousand cases of real distress +that are all around us. We could see them if we did but turn aside +for a moment into ways unfamiliar to our feet." + +"Did you learn who she was, and anything of her condition?" asked +Mr. Edwards. + +"Oh yes. To do so was but a common dictate of humanity. I would have +felt it as a stain upon my conscience to have left one like her +uncared for in the circumstances under which we found her." + +"Did you accompany her home?" + +"Yes; I went with her to the place she called her home--a room in +which there was scarcely an article of comfort--and there learned +the history of her past life and present condition. Does thee +remember Belgrave, who carried on a large business in Maiden Lane +some years ago?" + +"Very well. But, surely this girl is not Mary Belgrave?" + +"Yes. It was Mary Belgrave whom we met at the pawnbroker's sale." + +"Mary Belgrave! Can it be possible? I knew the family had become +poor; but not so poor as this!" + +And Mr. Edwards, much disturbed in mind, walked uneasily about the +floor. But soon pausing, he said-- + +"And so her mother is dead!" + +"Yes. Her father died two years ago and her mother, who has been +sick ever since, died last week in abject poverty, leaving Mary +friendless, in a world where the poor and needy are but little +regarded. The miniature which Mary had secretly pawned in order to +supply the last earthly need of her mother, she sought by her labor +to redeem; but ere she had been able to save up enough for the +purpose, the time for which the pledge had been taken, expired, and +the pawn broker refused to renew it. Under the faint hope that she +might be able to buy it in with the little pittance of money she had +saved, she attended the sale where we found her." + +The merchant had resumed his seat, and although he had listened +attentively to the Quaker's brief history, he did not make any +reply, but soon became lost in thought. From this he was interrupted +by his visitor, who said, as he moved towards the door-- + +"I will bid thee good morning, friend Edwards." + +"One moment, if you please," said the merchant, arousing himself, +and speaking earnestly, "Where does Mary Belgrave live?" + +The Friend answered the question, and, as Mr. Edwards did not seem +inclined to ask any more, and besides fell back again into an +abstract state, he wished him good morning and retired. + +The poor girl was sitting alone in her room sewing, late in the +afternoon of the day on which the incident at the auction room +occurred, musing, as she had mused for hours, upon the unexpected +adventure. She did not, in the excitement of the moment, know Mr. +Edwards when he first tendered her the miniature; but when he said +with peculiar emphasis and earnestness, turning away as he +spoke--"Keep it, in Heaven's name!" she recognized him fully. Since +that moment, she had not been able to keep the thought of him from +her mind. They had been intimate friends at one time; but this was +while they were both very young. Then he had professed for her a +boyish passion; and she had loved him with the childish fondness of +a young school-girl. As they grew older, circumstances separated +them more; and though no hearts were broken in consequence, both +often thought of the early days of innocence and affection with +pleasure. + +Mary sat sewing, as we have said, late in the afternoon of the day +on which the incident at the auction room occurred, when there was a +tap at her door. On opening it, Mr. Edwards stood before her. She +stepped back a pace or two in instant surprise and confusion, and he +advanced into the desolate room. In a moment, however, Mary +recovered herself, and with as much self-possession as, under the +circumstances, she could assume, asked her unexpected visitor to +take a chair, which she offered him. + +Mr. Edwards sat down, feeling much oppressed. Mary was so changed in +everything, except in the purity and beauty of her countenance, +since he had seen her years before, that his feelings were +completely borne down. But he soon recovered himself enough to speak +to her of what was in his mind. He had an old aunt, who had been a +friend of Mary's mother, and from her he brought a message and an +offer of a home. Her carriage was at the door--it had been sent for +her--and he urged her to go with him immediately. Mary had no good +reason for declining so kind an offer. It was a home that she most +of all needed; and she could not refuse one like this. + +"There is another unredeemed pledge," said Mr. Edwards, +significantly, as he sat conversing with Mary about a year after she +had found a home in the house of his aunt. Allusion had been made to +the miniature of Mary's mother. + +"Ah!" was the simple response. + +"Yes. Don't you remember," and he took Mary's unresisting hand--"the +pledge of this hand which you made me, I cannot tell how many years +ago?" + +"That was a mere girlish pledge," ventured Mary, with drooping eyes. + +"But one that the woman will redeem," said Edwards confidently, +raising the hand to his lips at the same time, and kissing it. + +Mary leaned involuntarily towards him; and he, perceiving the +movement, drew his arm around her, and pressed his lips to her +cheek. + +It was no very long time afterwards before the pledge was redeemed. + + + + +DON'T MENTION IT. + + +"DON'T mention it again for your life." + +"No, of course not. The least said about such things the better." + +"Don't for the world. I have told you in perfect confidence, and you +are the only one to whom I have breathed it. I wouldn't have it get +out for any consideration." + +"Give yourself no uneasiness. I shall not allude to the subject." + +"I merely told you because I knew you were a friend, and would let +it go no farther. But would you have thought it?" + +"I certainly am very much surprised." + +"So am I. But when things pass right before your eyes and ears, +there is no gainsaying them." + +"No. Seeing is said to be believing." + +"Of course it is." + +"But, Mrs. Grimes, are you very sure that you heard aright?" + +"I am positive, Mrs. Raynor. It occurred only an hour ago, and the +whole thing is distinctly remembered. I called in to see Mrs. +Comegys, and while I was there, the bundle of goods came home. I was +present when she opened it, and she showed me the lawn dress it +contained. There were twelve yards in it. 'I must see if there is +good measure,' she said, and she got a yard-stick and measured it +off. There were fifteen yards instead of twelve. 'How is this?' she +remarked. 'I am sure I paid for only twelve yards, and here are +fifteen.' The yard-stick was applied again. There was no mistake; +the lawn measured fifteen yards. 'What are you going to do with the +surplus?' I asked. 'Keep it, of course,' said Mrs. Comegys. 'There +is just enough to make little Julia a frock. Won't she look sweet in +it?,' I was so confounded that I couldn't say a word. Indeed, I +could hardly look her in the face. At first I thought of calling her +attention to the dishonesty of the act; but then I reflected that, +as it was none of my business, I might get her ill-will for meddling +in what didn't concern me." + +"And you really think, then, that she meant to keep the three yards +without paying for them? + +"Oh, certainly! But then I wouldn't say anything about it for the +world. I wouldn't name it, on any consideration. Of course you will +not repeat it." + +"No. If I cannot find any good to tell of my friends, I try to +refrain from saying anything evil." + +"A most excellent rule, Mrs. Raynor, and one that I always follow. I +never speak evil of my friends, for it always does more harm than +good. No one can say that I ever tried to injure another." + +"I hope Mrs. Comegys thought better of the matter, upon reflection," +said Mrs. Raynor. + +"So do I. But I am afraid not. Two or three little things occur to +me now, that I have seen in my intercourse with her, which go to +satisfy my mind that her moral perceptions are not the best in the +world. Mrs. Comegys is a pleasant friend, and much esteemed by every +one. It could do no good to spread this matter abroad, but harm." + +After repeating over and over again her injunction to Mrs. Raynor +not to repeat a word of what she had told her, Mrs. Grimes bade this +lady, upon whom she had called, good morning, and went on her way. +Ten minutes after, she was in the parlor of an acquaintance, named +Mrs. Florence, entertaining her with the gossip she had picked up +since their last meeting. She had not been there long, before, +lowering her voice, she said in a confidential way-- + +"I was at Mrs. Comegys' to-day, and saw something that amazed me +beyond every thing." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes. You will be astonished when you hear it. Suppose you had +purchased a dress and paid for a certain number of yards; and when +the dress was sent home, you should find that the storekeeper had +made a mistake and sent you three or four yards more than you had +settled for. What would you do?" + +"Send it back, of course." + +"Of course, so say I. To act differently would not be honest. Do you +think so?" + +"It would not be honest for me." + +"No, nor for any one. Now, would you have believed it? Mrs. Comegys +not only thinks but acts differently." + +"You must be mistaken, certainly, Mrs. Grimes." + +"Seeing is believing, Mrs. Florence." + +"So it is said, but I could hardly believe my eyes against Mrs. +Comegys' integrity of character. I think I ought to know her well, +for we have been very intimate for years." + +"And I thought I knew her, too. But it seems that I was mistaken." + +Mrs. Grimes then repeated the story of the lawn dress. + +"Gracious me! Can it be possible?" exclaimed Mrs. Florence. "I can +hardly credit it." + +"It occurred just as I tell you. But Mrs. Florence, you mustn't tell +it again for the world. I have mentioned it to you in the strictest +confidence. But I need hardly say this to you, for I know how +discreet you are." + +"I shall not mention it." + +"It could do no good." + +"None in the world." + +"Isn't it surprising, that a woman who is so well off in the world +as Mrs. Comegys, should stoop to a petty act like this?" + +"It is, certainly." + +"Perhaps there is something wrong here," and Mrs. Grimes placed her +finger to her forehead and looked sober. + +"How do you mean?" asked the friend. + +"You've heard of people's having a dishonest monomania. Don't you +remember the case of Mrs. Y----?" + +"Very well." + +"She had every thing that heart could desire. Her husband was rich, +and let her have as much money as she wanted. I wish we could all +say that, Mrs. Florence, don't you?" + +"It would be very pleasant, certainly, to have as much money as we +wanted." + +"But, notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Y---- had such a propensity to +take things not her own, that she never went into a dry goods store +without purloining something, and rarely took tea with a friend +without slipping a teaspoon into her pocket. Mr. Y---- had a great +deal of trouble with her, and, in several cases, paid handsomely to +induce parties disposed to prosecute her for theft, to let the +matter drop. Now do you know that it has occurred to me that, +perhaps, Mrs. Comegys is afflicted in this way? I shouldn't at all +wonder if it were so." + +"Hardly." + +"I'm afraid it is as I suspect. A number of suspicious circumstances +have happened when she has been about, that this would explain. But +for your life, Mrs. Florence, don't repeat this to any mortal!" + +"I shall certainly not speak of it, Mrs. Grimes. It is too serious a +matter. I wish I had not heard of it, for I can never feel toward +Mrs. Comegys as I have done. She is a very pleasant woman, and one +with whom it is always agreeable and profitable to spend an hour." + +"It is a little matter, after all," remarked Mrs. Grimes, "and, +perhaps, we treat it too seriously." + +"We should never think lightly of dishonest practices, Mrs. Grimes. +Whoever is dishonest in little things, will be dishonest in great +things, if a good opportunity offer. Mrs. Comegys can never be to me +what she has been. That is impossible." + +"Of course you will not speak of it again." + +"You need have no fear of that." + +A few days after, Mrs. Raynor made a call upon a friend, who said to +her, + +"Have you heard about Mrs. Comegys?" + +"What about her?" + +"I supposed you knew it. _I've_ heard it from half a dozen persons. +It is said that Perkins, through a mistake of one of his clerks, +sent her home some fifteen or twenty yards of lawn more than she had +paid for, and that, instead of sending it back, she kept it and made +it up for her children. Did you ever hear of such a trick for an +honest woman?" + +"I don't think any honest woman would be guilty of such an act. Yes, +I heard of it a few days ago as a great secret, and have not +mentioned it to a living soul." + +"Secret? bless me! it is no secret. It is in every one's mouth." + +"Is it possible? I must say that Mrs. Grimes has been very +indiscreet." + +"Mrs. Grimes! Did it come from her in the first place?" + +"Yes. She told me that she was present when the lawn came home, and +saw Mrs. Comegys measure it, and heard her say that she meant to +keep it." + +"Which she has done. For I saw her in the street, yesterday, with a +beautiful new lawn, and her little Julia was with her, wearing one +precisely like it." + +"How any woman can do so is more than I can understand." + +"So it is, Mrs. Raynor. Just to think of dressing your child up in a +frock as good as stolen! Isn't it dreadful?" + +"It is, indeed!" + +"Mrs. Comegys is not an honest woman. That is clear. I am told that +this is not the first trick of the kind of which she has been +guilty. They say that she has a natural propensity to take things +that are not her own." + +"I can hardly believe that." + +"Nor can I. But it's no harder to believe this than to believe that +she would cheat Perkins out of fifteen of twenty yards of lawn. It's +a pity; for Mrs. Comegys, in every thing else, is certainly a very +nice woman. In fact, I don't know any one I visit with so much +pleasure." + +Thus the circle of detraction widened, until there was scarcely a +friend or acquaintance of Mrs. Comegys, near or remote, who had not +heard of her having cheated a dry goods dealer out of several yards +of lawn. Three, it had first been alleged; but the most common +version of the story made it fifteen or twenty. Meantime, Mrs. +Comegys remained in entire ignorance of what was alleged against +her, although she noticed in two or three of her acquaintances, a +trifling coldness that struck her as rather singular. + +One day her husband, seeing that she looked quite sober, said-- + +"You seem quite dull to-day, dear. Don't you feel well?" + +"Yes, I feel as well as usual, in body." + +"But not in mind?" + +"I do not feel quite comfortable in mind, certainly, though I don't +know that I have any serious cause of uneasiness." + +"Though a slight cause exists. May I ask what it is?" + +"It is nothing more nor less than that I was coolly _cut_ by an old +friend to-day, whom I met in a store on Chesnut street. And as she +is a woman that I highly esteem, both for the excellence of her +character, and the agreeable qualities, as a friend, that she +possesses. I cannot but feel a little bad about it. If she were one +of that capricious class who get offended with you, once a month, +for no just cause whatever, I should not care a fig. But Mrs. Markle +is a woman of character, good sense and good feeling, whose +friendship I have always prized." + +"Was it Mrs. Markle?" said the husband, with some surprise. + +"Yes." + +"What can possibly be the cause?" + +"I cannot tell." + +"Have you thought over every thing?" + +"Yes, I have turned and turned the matter in my mind, but can +imagine no reason why she, of all others, could treat me coolly." + +"Have you never spoken of her in a way to have your words +misinterpreted by some evil-minded person--Mrs. Grimes, for +instance--whose memory, or moral sense, one or the other, is very +dull?" + +"I have never spoken of her to any one, except in terms of praise. I +could not do otherwise, for I look upon her as one of the most +faultless women I know." + +"She has at least shown that she possesses one fault." + +"What is that?" + +"If she has heard any thing against you of a character so serious as +to make her wish to give up your acquaintance, she should at least +have afforded you the chance of defending yourself before condemning +you." + +"I think that, myself." + +"It may be that she did not see you," Mr. Comegys suggested. + +"She looked me in the face, and nodded with cold formality." + +"Perhaps her mind was abstracted." + +"It might have been so. Mine would have been very abstracted, +indeed, to keep me from a more cordial recognition of a friend." + +"How would it do to call and see her?" + +"I have been thinking of that. But my feelings naturally oppose it. +I am not conscious of having done any thing to merit a withdrawal of +the friendly sentiments she has held towards me; still, if she +wishes to withdraw them, my pride says, let her do so." + +"But pride, you know, is not always the best adviser." + +"No. Perhaps the less regard we pay to its promptings, the better." + +"I think so." + +"It is rather awkward to go to a person and ask why you have been +treated coldly." + +"I know it is. But in a choice of evils, is it not always wisest to +choose the least?" + +"But is any one's bad opinion of you, if it be not correctly formed, +an evil?" + +"Certainly it is." + +"I don't know. I have a kind of independence about me which says, +'Let people think what they please, so you are conscious of no +wrong.'" + +"Indifference to the world's good or bad opinion is all very well," +replied the husband, "if the world will misjudge us. Still, as any +thing that prejudices the minds of people against us, tends to +destroy our usefulness, it is our duty to take all proper care of +our reputations, even to the sacrifice of a little feeling in doing +so." + +Thus argued with by her husband, Mrs. Comegys, after turning the +matter over in her mind, finally concluded to go and see Mrs. +Markle. It was a pretty hard trial for her, but urged on by a sense +of right, she called upon her two or three days after having been +treated so coldly. She sent up her name by the servant. In about +five minutes, Mrs. Markle descended to the parlor, where her visitor +was awaiting her, and met her in a reserved and formal manner, that +was altogether unlike her former cordiality. It was as much as Mrs. +Comegys could do to keep from retiring instantly, and without a +word, from the house. But she compelled herself to go through with +what she had begun. + +Mrs. Markle did, indeed, offer her hand; or rather the tips of her +fingers; which Mrs. Comegys, in mere reciprocation of the formality, +accepted. Then came an embarrassing pause, after which the latter +said-- + +"I see that I was not mistaken in supposing that there was a marked +coldness in your manner at our last meeting." + +Mrs. Markle inclined her head slightly. + +"Of course there is a cause for this. May I, in justice to myself as +well as others, inquire what it is?" + +"I did not suppose you would press an inquiry on the subject," +replied Mrs. Markle. "But as you have done so, you are, of course, +entitled to an answer." + +There came another pause, after which, with a disturbed voice, Mrs. +Markle said-- + +"For some time, I have heard a rumor in regard to you, that I could +not credit. Of late it has been so often repeated that I felt it to +be my duty to ascertain its truth or falsehood. On tracing, with +some labor, the report to its origin, I am grieved to find that it +is too true." + +"Please say what it is," said Mrs. Comegys, in a firm voice. + +"It is said that you bought a dress at a dry goods store in this +city, and that on its being sent home, there proved to be some yards +more in the piece of goods than you paid for and that instead of +returning what was not your own, you kept it and had it made up for +one of your children." + +The face of Mrs. Comegys instantly became like crimson; and she +turned her head away to hide the confusion into which this +unexpected allegation had thrown her. As soon as she could command +her voice, she said-- + +"You will, of course, give me the author of this charge." + +"You are entitled to know, I suppose," replied Mrs. Markle. "The +person who originated this report is Mrs. Grimes. And she says that +she was present when the dress was sent home. That you measured it +in her presence, and that, finding there were several yards over, +you declared your intention to keep it and make of it a frock for +your little girl. And, moreover, that she saw Julia wearing a frock +afterwards, exactly like the pattern of the one you had, which she +well remembers. This seems to me pretty conclusive evidence. At +least it was so to my mind, and I acted accordingly." + +Mrs. Comegys sat for the full space of a minute with her eyes upon +the floor, without speaking. When she looked up, the flush that had +covered her face had gone. It was very pale, instead. Rising from +her chair, she bowed formally, and without saying a word, withdrew. + +"Ah me! Isn't it sad?" murmured Mrs. Markle, as she heard the street +door close upon her visitor. "So much that is agreeable and +excellent, all dimmed by the want of principle. It seems hardly +credible that a woman, with every thing she needs, could act +dishonestly for so small a matter. A few yards of lawn against +integrity and character! What a price to set upon virtue!" + +Not more than half an hour after the departure of Mrs. Comegys, Mrs. +Grimes called in to see Mrs. Markle. + +"I hope," she said, shortly after she was seated, "that you won't +say a word about what I told you a few days ago; I shouldn't have +opened my lips on the subject if you hadn't asked me about it. I +only mentioned it in the first place to a friend in whom I had the +greatest confidence in the world. She has told some one, very +improperly, for it was imparted to her as a secret, and in that way +it has been spread abroad. I regret it exceedingly, for I would be +the last person in the world to say a word to injure any one. I am +particularly guarded in this." + +"If it's the truth, Mrs. Grimes, I don't see that you need be so +anxious about keeping it a secret," returned Mrs. Markle. + +"The truth! Do you think I would utter a word that was not true?" + +"I did not mean to infer that you would. I believe that what you +said in regard to Mrs. Comegys was the fact." + +"It certainly was. But then, it will do no good to make a +disturbance about it. What has made me call in to see you is this; +some one told me that, in consequence of this matter, you had +dropped the acquaintance of Mrs. Comegys." + +"It is true; I cannot associate on intimate terms with a woman who +lacks honest principles." + +"But don't you see that this will bring matters to a head, and that +I shall be placed in a very awkward position?" + +"You are ready to adhere to your statement in regard to Mrs. +Comegys?" + +"Oh, certainly; I have told nothing but the truth. But still, you +can see that it will make me feel exceedingly unpleasant." + +"Things of this kind are never very agreeable, I know, Mrs. Grimes. +Still we must act as we think right, let what will follow. Mrs. +Comegys has already called upon me to ask an explanation of my +conduct wards her." + +"She has!" Mrs. Grimes seemed sadly distressed. "What did you say to +her?" + +"I told her just what I had heard." + +"Did she ask your author?" Mrs. Grimes was most pale with suspense. + +"She did." + +"Of course you did not mention my name." + +"She asked the author of the charge, and I named you." + +"Oh dear, Mrs. Markle! I wish you hadn't done that. I shall be +involved in a world of trouble, and the reputation of a tattler and +mischief-maker. What did she say?" + +"Not one word." + +"She didn't deny it?" + +"No." + +"Of course she could not. Well, that is some satisfaction at least. +She might have denied it, and tried make me out a liar, and there +would have been plenty to believe her word against mine. I am glad +she didn't deny it. She didn't say a word?" + +"No." + +"Did she look guilty?" + +"You would have thought so, if you had seen her." + +"What did she do?" + +"She sat with her eyes upon the floor for some time, and then rose +up, and without uttering a word, left the house." + +"I wish she had said something. It would have been a satisfaction to +know what she thought. But I suppose the poor woman was so +confounded, that she didn't know what to say." + +"So it appeared to me. She was completely stunned. I really pitied +her from my heart. But want of principle should never be +countenanced. If we are to have social integrity, we must mark with +appropriate condemnation all deviations therefrom. It was +exceedingly painful, but the path of duty was before me, and I +walked in it without faltering." + +Mrs. Grimes was neither so clear-sighted, nor so well satisfied with +what she had done, as all this. She left the house of Mrs. Markle +feeling very unhappy. Although she had been using her little unruly +member against Mrs. Comegys with due industry, she was all the while +on the most friendly terms with her, visiting at her house and being +visited. It was only a few days, before that she had taken tea and +spent an evening with her. Not that Mrs. Grimes was deliberately +hypocritical, but she had a free tongue, and, like too many in +society, more cautious about what they said than she, much better +pleased to see evil than good in a neighbour. There are very few of +us, perhaps, who have not something of this fault--an exceedingly +bad fault, by the way. It seems to arise from a consciousness of our +own imperfections and the pleasure we feel in making the discovery +that others are as bad, if not worse than we are. + +Two days after Mrs. Comegys had called on Mrs. Markle to ask for +explanations, the latter received a note in the following words: + + +"MADAM.--I have no doubt you have acted according to your own views +of right in dropping as suddenly as you have done, the acquaintance +of an old friend. Perhaps, if you had called upon me and asked +explanations, you might have acted a little differently. My present +object in addressing you is to ask, as a matter of justice, that you +will call at my house to-morrow at twelve o'clock. I think that I am +entitled to speak a word in my own defense. After you have heard +that I shall not complain of any course you may think it right to +pursue. + +"ANNA COMEGYS." + + +Mrs. Markle, could do no less than call as she had been desired to. +At twelve o'clock she rang the bell at Mrs. Comegys' door, and was +shown into the parlor, where, to her no small surprise, she found +about twenty ladies, most of them acquaintances, assembled, Mrs. +Grimes among the number. In about ten minutes Mrs. Comegys came into +the room, her countenance wearing a calm but sober aspect. She bowed +slightly, but was not cordial toward, or familiar with, any one +present. Without a pause she said-- + +"Ladies, I have learned within a few days, very greatly to my +surprise and grief, that there is a report circulated among my +friends, injurious to my character as a woman of honest principles. +I have taken some pains to ascertain those with whom the report is +familiar, and have invited all such to be here to-day. I learn from +several sources, that the report originated with Mrs. Grimes, and +that she has been very industrious in circulating it to my injury." + +"Perhaps you wrong Mrs. Grimes there," spoke up Mrs. Markle. "She +did not mention it to me until I inquired of her if the report was +true. And then she told me that she had never told it but to a +single person, in confidence, and that she had inadvertently alluded +to it, and thus it became a common report. So I think that Mrs. +Grimes cannot justly be charged with having sought to circulate the +matter to your injury." + +"Very well, we will see how far that statement is correct," said +Mrs. Comegys. "Did she mention the subject to you, Mrs. Raynor?" + +"She did," replied Mrs. Raynor. "But in strict confidence, and +enjoining it upon me not to mention it to any one, as she had no +wish to injure you." + +"Did you tell it to any one?" + +"No. It was but a little while afterward that it was told to me by +some one else." + +"Was it mentioned to you, Mrs. Florence?" proceeded Mrs. Comegys, +turning to another of the ladies present. + +"It was, ma'am." + +"By Mrs. Grimes?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"In confidence, I suppose?" + +"I was requested to say nothing about it, for fear that it might +create an unfavorable impression in regard to you." + +"Very well; there are two already. How was it in your case, Mrs. +Wheeler?" + +This lady answered as the others had done. The question was then put +to each lady in the room, when it appeared that out of the twenty, +fifteen had received their information on the subject from Mrs. +Grimes, and that upon every one secrecy had been enjoined, although +not in every case maintained. + +"So it seems, Mrs. Markle," said Mrs. Comegys, after she had +finished her inquiries, "that Mrs. Grimes has, as I alleged, +industriously circulated this matter to my injury." + +"It certainly appears so," returned Mrs. Markle, coldly. + +Thus brought into a corner, Mrs. Grimes bristled up like certain +animals, which are good at running and skulking, but which, when +fairly trapped, fight desperately. + +"Telling it to a thousand is not half as bad as doing it, Mrs. +Comegys," she said, angrily. "You needn't try to screen yourself +from the consequences of your wrong doings, by raising a hue and cry +against me. Go to the fact, madam! Go to the fact, and stand +alongside of what you have done." + +"I have no hesitation about doing that, Mrs. Grimes. Pray, what have +I done?" + +"It is very strange that you should ask, madam." + +"But I am charged, I learn, with having committed a crime against +society; and you are the author of the charge. What is the crime?" + +"If it is any satisfaction to you, I will tell you. I was at your +house when the pattern of the lawn dress you now have on was sent +home. You measured it in my presence, and there were several yards +in it more than you had bought and paid for"-- + +"How many?" + +Mrs. Grimes looked confused, and stammered out, "I do not now +exactly remember." + +"How many did she tell you, Mrs. Raynor?" + +"She said there were three yards." + +"And you, Mrs. Fisher?" + +"Six yards." + +"And you, Mrs. Florence?" + +"Fifteen yards, I think." + +"Oh, no, Mrs. Florence; you are entirely mistaken. You misunderstood +me," said Mrs. Grimes, in extreme perturbation. + +"Perhaps so. But that is my present impression," replied Mrs. +Florence. + +"That will do," said Mrs. Comegys. "Mrs. Grimes can now go on with +her answer to my inquiry. I will remark, however, that the overplus +was just two yards." + +"Then you admit that the lawn overran what you had paid for?" + +"Certainly I do. It overran just two yards." + +"Very well. One yard or a dozen, the principle is just the same. I +asked you what you meant to do with it, and you replied, 'keep it, +of course.' Do you deny that?" + +"No. It is very likely that I did say so, for it was my intention to +keep it." + +"Without paying for it?" asked Mrs. Markle. + +Mrs. Comegys looked steadily into the face of her interrogator for +some moments, a flush upon her cheek, an indignant light in her eye. +Then, without replying to the question, she stepped to the wall and +rang the parlor bell. In a few moments a servant came in. + +"Ask the gentleman in the dining-room if he will be kind enough to +step here." In a little while a step was heard along the passage, +and then a young man entered. + +"You are a clerk in Mr. Perkins' store?" said Mrs. Comegys. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"You remember my buying this lawn dress at your store?" + +"Very well, ma'am. I should forget a good many incidents before I +forgot that." + +"What impressed it upon your memory?" + +"This circumstance. I was very much hurried at the time when you +bought it, and in measuring it off, made a mistake against myself of +two yards. There should have been four dresses in the piece. One had +been sold previous to yours. Not long after your dress had been sent +home, two ladies came into the store and chose each a dress from the +pattern. On measuring the piece, I discovered that it was two yards +short, and lost the sale of the dresses in consequence, as the +ladies wished them alike. An hour afterward you called to say that I +had made a mistake and sent you home two yards more than you had +paid for; but that as you liked the pattern very much, you would +keep it and buy two yards more for a dress for your little girl." + +"Yes; that is exactly the truth in regard to the dress. I am obliged +to you, Mr. S----, for the trouble I have given you. I will not keep +you any longer." + +The young man bowed and withdrew. + +The ladies immediately gathered around Mrs. Comegys, with a thousand +apologies for having for a moment entertained the idea that she had +been guilty of wrong, while Mrs. Grimes took refuge in a flood of +tears. + +"I have but one cause of complaint against you all," said the +injured lady, "and it is this. A charge of so serious a nature +should never have been made a subject of common report without my +being offered a chance to defend myself. As for Mrs. Grimes, I can't +readily understand how she fell into the error she did. But she +never would have fallen into it if she had not been more willing to +think evil than good of her friends. I do not say this to hurt her; +but to state a truth that it may be well for her, and perhaps some +of the rest of us, to lay to heart. It is a serious thing to speak +evil of another, and should never be done except on the most +unequivocal evidence. It never occurred to me to say to Mrs. Grimes +that I would pay for the lawn; that I supposed she or any one else +would have inferred, when I said I would keep it." + +A great deal was said by all parties, and many apologies were made. +Mrs. Grimes was particularly humble, and begged all present to +forgive and forget what was past. She knew, she said, that she was +apt to talk; it was a failing with her which she would try to +correct. But that she didn't mean to do any one harm. + +As to the latter averment, it can be believed or not as suits every +one's fancy. All concerned in this affair felt that they had +received a lesson they would not soon forget. And we doubt not, that +some of our readers might lay it to heart with great advantage to +themselves and benefit to others. + + + + +THE HEIRESS. + + +KATE DARLINGTON was a belle and a beauty; and had, as might be +supposed, not a few admirers. Some were attracted by her person; +some by her winning manners, and not a few by the wealth of her +family. But though sweet Kate was both a belle and a beauty, she was +a shrewd, clear-seeing girl, and had far more penetration into +character than belles and beauties are generally thought to possess. +For the whole tribe of American dandies, with their disfiguring +moustaches and imperials, she had a most hearty contempt. Hair never +made up, with her, for the lack of brains. + +But, as she was an heiress in expectancy, and moved in the most +fashionable society, and was, with all, a gay and sprightly girl, +Kate, as a natural consequence, drew around her the gilded moths of +society, not a few of whom got their wings scorched, on approaching +too near. + +Many aspired to be lovers, and some, more ardent than the rest, +boldly pressed forward and claimed her hand. But Kate did not +believe in the doctrine that love begets love in all cases. Were +this so, it was clear that she would have to love half a dozen, for +at least that number came kneeling to her with their hearts in their +hands. + +Mr. Darlington was a merchant. Among his clerks was the son of an +old friend, who, in dying some years before, had earnestly solicited +him to have some care over the lad, who at his death would become +friendless. In accordance with this last request, Mr. Darlington +took the boy into his counting-room; and, in order that he might, +with more fidelity, redeem his promise to the dying father, also +received him into his family. + +Edwin Lee proved himself not ungrateful for the kindness. In a few +years he became one of Mr. Darlington's most active, trustworthy and +intelligent clerks; while his kind, modest, gentlemanly deportment +at home, won the favor and confidence of all the family. With Edwin, +Kate grew up as with a brother. Their intercourse was of the most +frank and confiding character. + +But there came, at last, a change. Kate from a graceful +sweet-tempered, affectionate girl, stepped forth, almost in a day, +it seemed to Edwin, a full-grown, lovely woman, into whose eyes he +could not look as steadily as before, and on whose beautiful face he +could no longer gaze with the calmness of feeling he had until now +enjoyed. + +For awhile, Edwin could not understand the reason of this change. +Kate was the same to him; and yet not the same. There was no +distance--no reserve on her part; and yet, when he came into her +presence, he felt his heart beat more quickly; and when she looked +him steadily in the face, his eyes would droop, involuntarily, +beneath her gaze. + +Suddenly, Edwin awoke to a full realization of the fact that Kate +was to him more than a gentle friend or a sweet sister. From that +moment, he became reserved in his intercourse with her; and, after a +short time, firmly made up his mind that it was his duty to retire +from the family of his benefactor. The thought of endeavoring to win +the heart of the beautiful girl, whom he had always loved as a +sister, and now almost worshipped, was not, for a moment +entertained. To him there would have been so much of ingratitude in +this, and so much that involved a base violation of Mr. Darlington's +confidence, that he would have suffered anything rather than be +guilty of such an act. + +But he could not leave the home where he had been so kindly regarded +for years, without offering some reason that would be satisfactory. +The true reason, he could not, of course, give. After looking at the +subject in various lights, and debating it for a long time, Edwin +could see no way in which he could withdraw from the family of Mr. +Darlington, without betraying his secret, unless he were to leave +the city at the same time. He, therefore, sought and obtained the +situation of supercargo in a vessel loading for Valparaiso. + +When Edwin announced this fact to Mr. Darlington, the merchant was +greatly surprised, and appeared hurt that the young man should take +such a step without a word of consultation with him. Edwin tried to +explain; but, as he had to conceal the real truth, his explanation +rather tended to make things appear worse than better. + +Kate heard the announcement with no less surprise than her father. +The thing was so sudden, so unlooked for, and, moreover, so uncalled +for, that she could not understand it. In order to take away any +pecuniary reason for the step he was about to take, Mr. Darlington, +after holding a long conversation with Edwin, made him offers far +more advantageous than his proposed expedition could be to him, +viewed in any light. But he made them in vain. Edwin acknowledged +the kindness, in the warmest terms, but remained firm in his purpose +to sail with the vessel. + +"Why will you go away and leave us, Edwin?" said Kate, one evening +when they happened to be alone, about two weeks before his expected +departure. "I do think it very strange!" + +Edwin had avoided, as much as possible, being alone with Kate, a +fact which the observant maiden had not failed to notice. Their +being alone now was from accident rather than design on his part. + +"I think it right for me to go, Kate," the young man replied, as +calmly as it was possible for him to speak under the circumstances. +"And when I think it right to do a thing, I never hesitate or look +back." + +"You have a reason, for going, of course. Why, then, not tell it +frankly? Are we not all your friends?" + +Edwin was silent, and his eyes rested upon the floor, while a deeper +flush than usual was upon his face. Kate looked at him fixedly. +Suddenly a new thought flashed through her mind, and the color on +her own cheeks grew warmer. Her voice from that moment was lower and +more tender; and her eyes, as she conversed with the young man, were +never a moment from his face. As for him, his embarrassment in her +presence was never more complete, and he betrayed the secret that +was in his heart even while he felt the most earnest to conceal it. +Conscious of this, he excused himself and retired as soon as it was +possible to do so. + +Kate sat thoughtful for some time after he had left. Then rising up, +she went, with a firm step to her father's room. + +"I have found out," she said, speaking with great self-composure, +"the reason why Edwin persists in going away." + +"Ah! what is the reason, Kate? I would give much to know." + +"He is in love," replied Kate, promptly. + +"In love! How do you know that?" + +"I made the discovery to-night." + +"Love should keep him at home, not drive him away," said Mr. +Darlington. + +"But he loves hopelessly," returned the maiden. "He is poor, and the +object of his regard belongs to a wealthy family." + +"And her friends will have nothing to do with him." + +"I am not so sure of that. But he formed an acquaintance with the +young lady under circumstances that would make it mean, in his eyes, +to urge any claims upon her regard." + +"Then honor as well as love takes him away." + +"Honor in fact; not love. Love would make him stay," replied the +maiden with a sparkling eye, and something of proud elevation in the +tones of her voice. + +A faint suspicion of the truth now came stealing on the mind of Mr. +Darlington. + +"Does the lady know of his preference for her?" he asked. + +"Not through any word or act of his, designed to communicate a +knowledge of the fact," replied Kate, her eyes falling under the +earnest look bent upon her by Mr. Darlington. + +"Has he made you his confidante?" + +"No, sir. I doubt if the secret has ever passed his lips." Kate's +face was beginning to crimson, but she drove back the tell-tale +blood with a strong effort of the will. + +"Then how came you possessed of it," inquired the father. + +The blood came back to her face with a rush, and she bent her head +so that her dark glossy curls fell over and partly concealed it. In +a moment or two she had regained her self-possession, and looking up +she answered, + +"Secrets like this do not always need oral or written language to +make them known. Enough, father, that I have discovered the fact +that his heart is deeply imbued with a passion for one who knows +well his virtues--his pure, true heart--his manly sense of honor; +with a passion for one who has looked upon him till now as a +brother, but who henceforth must regard him with a different and +higher feeling." + +Kate's voice trembled. As she uttered the last few words, she lost +control of herself, and bent forward, and hid her face upon her +father's arm. + +Mr. Darlington, as might well be supposed, was taken altogether by +surprise at so unexpected an announcement. The language used by his +daughter needed no interpretation. She was the maiden beloved by his +clerk. + +"Kate," said he, after a moment or two of hurried reflection, "this +is a very serious matter. Edwin is only a poor clerk, and you--" + +"And I," said Kate, rising up, and taking the words from her father, +"and I am the daughter of a man who can appreciate what is excellent +in even those who are humblest in the eyes of the world. Father, is +not Edwin far superior to the artificial men who flutter around +every young lady who now makes her appearance in the circle where we +move? Knowing him as you do, I am sure you will say yes." + +"But, Kate----" + +"Father, don't let us argue this point. Do you want Edwin to go +away?" And the young girl laid her hand upon her parent, and looked +him in the face with unresisting affection. + +"No dear; I certainly don't wish him to go." + +"Nor do I," returned the maiden, as she leaned forward again, and +laid her face upon his arm. In a little while she arose, and, with +her countenance turned partly away, said-- + +"Tell him not to go, father----" + +And with these words she retired from the room. + +On the next evening, as Edwin was sitting alone in one of the +drawing-rooms, thinking on the long night of absence that awaited +him, Mr. Darlington came in, accompanied by Kate. They seated +themselves near the young man, who showed some sense of +embarrassment. There was no suspense, however, for Mr. Darlington +said-- + +"Edwin, we none of us wish you to go away. You know that I have +urged every consideration in my power, and now I have consented to +unite with Kate in renewing a request for you to remain. Up to this +time you have declined giving a satisfactory reason for your sudden +resolution to leave; but a reason is due to us--to me in +particular--and I now most earnestly conjure you to give it." + +The young man, at this became greatly agitated, but did not venture +to make a reply. + +"You are still silent on the subject," said Mr. Darlington. + +"He will not go, father," said Kate, in a tender, appealing voice. +"I know he will not go. We cannot let him go. Kinder friends he will +not find anywhere than he has here. And we shall miss him from our +home circle. There will be a vacant place at our board. Will you be +happier away, Edwin?" + +The last sentence was uttered in a tone of sisterly affection. + +"Happier!" exclaimed the young man, thrown off his guard. "Happier! +I shall be wretched while away." + +"Then why go?" returned Kate, tenderly. + +At this stage of affairs, Mr. Darlington got up, and retired; and we +think we had as well retire with the reader. + +The good ship "Leonora" sailed in about ten days. She had a +supercargo on board; but his name was not Edwin Lee. + +Fashionable people were greatly surprised when the beautiful Kate +Darlington married her father's clerk; and moustached dandies curled +their lip, but it mattered not to Kate. She had married a man in +whose worth, affection, and manliness of character, she could repose +a rational confidence. If not a fashionable, she was a happy wife. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures, by T. S. 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Arthur + +Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext #4595] +[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 Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures +by T. S. Arthur +******This file should be named hrths10.txt or hrths10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, hrths11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, hrths10a.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) + +HEART-HISTORIES AND LIFE-PICTURES. + +BY T. S. ARTHUR. + +NEW YORK: + +1853. + + + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + + + +So interested are we all in our every-day pursuits; so given up, +body and mind, to the attainment of our own ends; so absorbed by our +own hopes, joys, fears and disappointments, that we think rarely, if +at all, of the heart-histories of others--of the bright and sombre +life-pictures their eyes may look upon. And yet, every heart has its +history: how sad and painful many of these histories are, let the +dreamy eyes, the sober faces, the subdued, often mournful tones, of +many that daily cross our paths, testify. An occasional remembrance +of these things will cause a more kindly feeling towards others; and +this will do us good, in withdrawing our minds from too exclusive +thoughts of self. + +Whatever tends to awaken our sympathies towards others, to interest +us in humanity, is, therefore, an individual benefit as well as a +common good. In all that we have written, we have endeavored to +create this sympathy and awaken this interest; and so direct has +ever been our purpose, that we have given less thought to those +elegancies of style on which a literary reputation is often founded, +than to the truthfulness of our many life-pictures. In the +preparation of this volume, the same end has been kept in view, and +its chief merit will be found, we trust, in its power to do good. + +T. S. A. + +PHILADELPHIA, December, 1852. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +THE BOOK OF MEMORY, +THE BRILLIANT AND THE COMMON-PLACE, +JENNY LAWSON, +SHADOWS, +THE THANKLESS OFFICE, +GOING TO THE SPRINGS, +THE WIFE, +NOT GREAT BUT HAPPY, +THE MARRIED SISTERS, +GOOD-HEARTED PEOPLE, +SLOW AND SURE, +THE SCHOOL GIRL, +UNREDEEMED PLEDGES, +DON'T MENTION IT, +THE HEIRESS, + + + + + + +THE BOOK OF MEMORY. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +"THERE is a book of record in your mind, Edwin," said an old man to +his young friend, "a book of record, in which every act of your life +is noted down. Each morning a blank page is turned, on which the +day's history is written in lines that cannot be effaced. This book +of record is your memory; and, according to what it bears, will your +future life be happy or miserable. An act done, is done forever; +for, the time in which it is done, in passing, passes to return no +more. The history is written and sealed up. Nothing can ever blot it +out. You may repent of evil, and put away the purpose of evil from +your heart; but you cannot, by any repentance, bring back the time +that is gone, nor alter the writing on the page of memory. Ah! my +young friend, if I could only erase some pages in the book of my +memory, that almost daily open themselves before the eyes of my +mind, how thankful I would be! But this I cannot do. There are acts +of my life for which repentance only avails as a process of +purification and preparation for a better state in the future; it in +no way repairs wrong done to others. Keep the pages of your memory +free from blots, Edwin. Guard the hand writing there as you value +your best and highest interests!" + +Edwin Florence listened, but only half comprehended what was said by +his aged friend. An hour afterwards he was sitting by the side of a +maiden, her hand in his, and her eyes looking tenderly upon his +face. She was not beautiful in the sense that the world regards +beauty. Yet, no one could be with her an hour without perceiving the +higher and truer beauty of a pure and lovely spirit. It was this +real beauty of character which had attracted Edwin Florence; and the +young girl's heart had gone forth to meet the tender of affection +with an impulse of gladness. + +"You love me, Edith?" said Edwin, in a low voice, as he bent nearer, +and touched her pure forehead with his lips. + +"As my life," replied the maiden, and her eyes were full of love as +she spoke. + +Again the young man kissed her. + +In low voices, leaning towards each other until the breath of each +was warm on the other's cheek, they sat conversing for a long time. +Then they separated; and both were happy. How sweet were the +maiden's dreams that night, for, in every picture that wandering +fancy drew, was the image of her lover! + +Daily thus they met for a long time. Then there was a change in +Edwin Florence. His visits were less frequent, and when he met the +young girl, whose very life was bound up in his, his manner had in +it a reserve that chilled her heart as if an icy hand had been laid +upon it. She asked for no explanation of the change; but, as he grew +colder, she shrunk more and more into herself, like a flower folding +its withering leaves when touched by autumn's frosty fingers. + +One day he called on Edith. He was not as cold as he had been, but +he was, from some cause, evidently embarrassed. + +"Edith," said he, taking her hand--it was weeks since he had touched +her hand except in meeting and parting--"I need not say how highly I +regard you. How tenderly I love you, even as I could love a pure and +gentle sister. But--" + +He paused, for he saw that Edith's face had become very pale; and +that she rather gasped for air than breathed. + +"Are you sick?" he asked, in a voice of anxiety. + +Edith was recovering herself. + +"No," she replied, faintly. + +A deep silence, lasting for the space of nearly half a minute, +followed. By this time the maiden, through a forced effort, had +regained the command of her feelings. Perceiving this, Edwin +resumed-- + +"As I said, Edith, I love you as I could love a pure and gentle +sister. Will you accept this love? Will you be to me a friend--a +sister?" + +Again there passed upon the countenance of Edith a deadly palor; +while her lips quivered, and her eyes had a strange expression. This +soon passed away, and again something of its former repose was in +her face. At the first few words of Florence, Edith withdrew the +hand he had taken. He now sought it again, but she avoided the +contact. + +"You do not answer me, Edith," said the young man. + +"Do you wish an answer?" This was uttered in a scarcely audible +voice. + +"I do, Edith," was the earnest reply. "Let there be no separation +between us. You are to me what you have ever been, a dearly prized +friend. I never meet you that my heart does not know an impulse for +good--I never think of you but--" + +"Let us be as strangers!" said Edith, rising abruptly. And turning +away, she fled from the room. + +Slowly did the young man leave the apartment in which they were +sitting, and without seeing any member of the family, departed from +the house. There was a record on his memory that time would have no +power to efface. It was engraved too deeply for the dust of years to +obliterate. As he went, musing away, the pale face of Edith was +before him; and the anguish of her voice, as she said, "Let us be as +strangers," was in his ears. He tried not to see the one, nor hear +the other. But that was impossible. They had impressed themselves +into the very substance of his mind. + +Edwin Florence had an engagement for that very evening. It was with +one of the most brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating women he had +ever met. A few months before, she had crossed his path, and from +that time he was changed towards Edith. Her name was Catharine +Linmore. The earnest attentions of Florence pleased her, and as she +let the pleasure she felt be seen, she was not long in winning his +heart entirely from his first love. In this, she was innocent; for +she knew nothing of the former state of his affections towards +Edith. + +After parting with Edith, Edwin had no heart to fulfill his +engagement with Miss Linmore. He could think of nothing but the +maiden he had so cruelly deserted; and more than half repented of +what he had done. When the hour for the appointment came, his mind +struggled awhile in the effort to obtain a consent to go, and then +decided against meeting, at least on that occasion, the woman whose +charms had led him to do so great a wrong to a loving and confiding +heart. No excuse but that of indisposition could be made, under the +circumstances; and, attempting to screen himself, in his own +estimation, from falsehood, he assumed, in his own thoughts, a +mental indisposition, while, in the billet he dispatched, he gave +the idea of bodily indisposition. The night that followed was, +perhaps, the most unhappy one the young man had ever spent. Days +passed, and he heard nothing from Edith. He could not call to see +her, for she had interdicted that. Henceforth they must be as +strangers. The effect produced by his words had been far more +painful than was anticipated; and he felt troubled when he thought +about what might be their ultimate effects. + +On the fifth day, as the young man was walking with Catharine +Linmore, he came suddenly face to face with Edith. There was a +change in her that startled him. She looked at him, in passing, but +gave no signs of recognition. + +"Wasn't that Miss Walter?" inquired the companion of Edwin, in a +tone of surprise. + +"Yes," replied Florence. + +"What's the matter with her? Has she been sick? How dreadful she +looks!" + +"I never saw her look so bad," remarked the young man. As they +walked along, Miss Linmore kept alluding to Edith, whose changed +appearance had excited her sympathies. + +"I've met her only a few times," said she, "but I have seen enough +of her to give me a most exalted opinion of her character. Some one +called her very plain; but I have not thought so. There is something +so good about her, that you cannot be with her long without +perceiving a real beauty in the play of her countenance." + +"No one can know her well, without loving her for the goodness of +which you have just spoken," said Edwin. + +"You are intimate with her?" + +"Yes. She has been long to me as a sister." There was a roughness in +the voice of Florence as he said this. + +"She passed without recognizing you," said Miss Linmore. + +"So I observed." + +"And yet I noticed that she looked you in the face, though with a +cold, stony, absent look. It is strange! What can have happened to +her?" + +"I have observed a change in her for some time past," Florence +ventured to say; "but nothing like this. There is something wrong." + +When the time to part, with his companion came, Edwin Florence felt +a sense of relief. Weeks now passed without his seeing or hearing +any thing from Edith. During the time he met Miss Linmore +frequently; and encouraged to approach, he at length ventured to +speak to her of what was in his heart. The young lady heard with +pleasure, and, though she did not accept the offered hand, by no +means repulsed the ardent suitor. She had not thought of marriage, +she said, and asked a short time for reflection. + +Edwin saw enough in her manner to satisfy him that the result would +be in his favor. This would have made him supremely happy, could he +have blotted out all recollection of Edith and his conduct towards +her. But, that was impossible. Her form and face, as he had last +seen them, were almost constantly before his eyes. As he walked the +streets, he feared lest he should meet her; and never felt pleasant +in any company until certain that she was not there. + +A few days after Mr. Florence had made an offer of his hand to Miss +Linmore, and at a time when she was about making a favorable +decision, that young lady happened to hear some allusion made to +Edith Walter, in a tone that attracted her attention. She +immediately asked some questions in regard to her, when one of the +persons conversing said-- + +"Why, don't you know about Edith?" + +"I know that there is a great change in her. But the reason of it I +have not heard." + +"Indeed! I thought it was pretty well known that her affections had +been trifled with." + +"Who could trifle with the affections of so sweet, so good a girl," +said Miss Linmore, indignantly. "The man who could turn from her, +has no true appreciation of what is really excellent and exalted in +woman's character. I have seen her only a few times; but, often +enough to make me estimate her as one among the loveliest of our +sex." + +"Edwin Florence is the man," was replied. "He won her heart, and +then turned from her; leaving the waters of affection that had +flowed at his touch to lose themselves in the sands at his feet. +There must be something base in the heart of a man who could trifle +thus with such a woman." + +It required a strong effort on the part of Miss Linmore to conceal +the instant turbulence of feeling that succeeded so unexpected a +declaration. But she had, naturally, great self-control, and this +came to her aid. + +"Edwin Florence!" said she, after a brief silence, speaking in a +tone of surprise. + +"Yes, he is the man. Ah, me! What a ruin has been wrought! I never +saw such a change in any one as Edith exhibits. The very inspiration +of her life is gone. The love she bore towards Florence seems to +have been almost the mainspring of her existence; for in touching +that the whole circle of motion has grown feeble, and will, I fear, +soon cease for ever." + +"Dreadful! The falsehood of her lover has broken her heart." + +"I fear that it is even so." + +"Is she ill? I have not seen her for a long time," said Miss +Linmore. + +"Not ill, as one sick of a bodily disease; but drooping about as one +whose spirits are broken, and who finds no sustaining arm to lean +upon. When you meet her, she strives to be cheerful, and appear into +rested. But the effort deceives no one." + +"Why did Mr. Florence act towards her as he has done?" asked Miss +Linmore. + +"A handsomer face and more brilliant exterior were the attractions, +I am told." + +The young lady asked no more questions. Those who observed her +closely, saw the warm tints that made beautiful her cheeks grow +fainter and fainter, until they had almost entirely faded. Soon +after, she retired from the company. + +In the ardor of his pursuit of a new object of affection, Edwin +Florence scarcely thought of the old one. The image of Edith was +hidden by the interposing form of Miss Linmore. The suspense +occasioned by a wish for time to consider the offer he had made, +grew more and more painful the longer it was continued. On the +possession of the lovely girl as his wife, depended, so he felt, his +future happiness. Were she to decline his offer he would be +wretched. In this state of mind, he called one day upon Miss +Linmore, hoping and fearing, yet resolved to know his fate. The +moment he entered her presence he observed a change. She did not +smile; and there was something chilling in the steady glance of her +large dark eyes. + +"Have I offended you?" he asked, as she declined taking his offered +hand. + +"Yes," was the firm reply, while the young lady assumed a dignified +air. + +"In what?" asked Florence. + +"In proving false to her in whose ears you first breathed words of +affection." + +The young man started as if stung by a serpent. + +"The man," resumed Miss Linmore, "who has been false to Edith +Walter, never can be true to me. I wouldn't have the affection that +could turn from one like her. I hold it to be light as the +thistle-down. Go! heal the heart you have almost broken, if, +perchance, it be not yet too late. As for me, think of me as if we +had all our lives been strangers--such, henceforth, we must ever +remain." + +And saying this, Catharine Linmore turned from the rebuked and +astonished young man, and left the room. He immediately retired. + + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + + +EVENING, with its passionless influences, was stealing softly down, +and leaving on all things its hues of quiet and repose. The heart of +nature was beating with calm and even pulses. Not so the heart of +Edwin Florence. It had a wilder throb; and the face of nature was +not reflected in the mirror of his feelings, He was alone in his +room, where he had been during the few hours that had elapsed since +his interview with Miss Linmore. In those few hours, Memory had +turned over many leaves of the Book of his Life. He would fain have +averted his eyes from the pages, but he could not. The record was +before him, and he had read it. And, as he read, the eyes of Edith +looked into his own; at first they were loving and tender, as of +old; and then. they were full of tears. Her hand lay, now, +confidingly in his; and now it was slowly withdrawn. She sat by his +side, and leaned upon him--his lips were upon her lips; his cheek +touching her cheek; their breaths were mingling. Another moment and +he had turned from her coldly, and she was drooping towards the +earth like a tender vine bereft of the support to which it had held +by its clinging tendrils. Ah! If he could only have shut out these +images! If he could have erased the record so that Memory could not +read it! How eagerly would he have drunk of Lethe's waters, could he +have found the fabled stream! + +More than all this. The rebuke of Miss Linmore almost maddened him. +In turning from Edith, he had let his heart go out towards the other +with a passionate devotion. Pride in her beauty and brilliant +accomplishments had filled his regard with a selfishness that could +ill bear the shock of a sudden repulse. Sleepless was the night that +followed; and when the morning, long looked for, broke at last, it +brought no light for his darkened spirit. Yet he had grown calmer, +and a gentle feeling pervaded his bosom. Thrown off by Miss Linmore, +his thoughts now turned by a natural impulse, as the needle, long +held by opposing attraction, turns to its polar point, again towards +Edith Walter. As he thought of her longer and longer, tenderer +emotions began to tremble in his heart. The beauty of her character +was again seen; and his better nature bowed before it once more in a +genuine worship. + +"How have I been infatuated! What syren spell has been on me!" Such +were the words that fell from his lips, marking the change in his +feelings. + +Days went by, and still the change went on, until the old affection +had come back; the old tender, true affection. But, he had turned +from its object--basely turned away. A more glaring light had +dazzled his eyes so that he could see, for a time, no beauty, no +attraction, in his first love. Could he turn to her again? Would she +receive him? Would she let him dip healing leaves in the waters he +had dashed with bitterness? His heart trembled as he asked these +questions, for there was no confident answer. + +At last Edwin Florence resolved that he would see Edith once more, +and seek to repair the wrong done both to her and to himself. It was +three months after his rejection by Miss Linmore when he came to +this resolution. And then, some weeks elapsed before he could force +himself to act upon it. In all that time he had not met the young +girl, nor had he once heard of her. To the house of her aunt, where +she resided, Florence took his way one evening in early autumn, his +heart disturbed by many conflicting emotions. His love for Edith had +come back in full force; and his spirit was longing for the old +communion. + +"Can I see Miss Walter!" he asked, on arriving at her place of +residence. + +"Walk in," returned the servant who had answered his summons. + +Florence entered the little parlor where he had spent so many +never-to-be-forgotten hours with Edith--hours unspeakably happy in +passing, but, in remembrance, burdened with pain--and looking around +on each familiar object with strange emotions. Soon a light step was +heard descending the stairs, and moving along the passage. The door +opened, and Edith--no, her aunt--entered. The young man had risen in +the breathlessness of expectation. + +"Mr. Florence," said the aunt, coldly. He extended his hand; but she +did not take it. + +"How is Edith?" was half stammered. + +"She is sinking rapidly," replied the aunt. + +Edwin staggered back into a chair. + +"Is she ill?" he inquired, with a quivering lip. + +"Ill! She is dying!" There was something of indignation in the way +this was said. + +"Dying!" The young man clasped his hands together with a gesture of +despair. + +"How long has she been sick?" he next ventured to ask. + +"For months she has been dying daily," said the aunt. There was a +meaning in her tones that the young man fully comprehended. He had +not dreamed of this. + +"Can I see her?" + +The aunt shook her head, as she answered, + +"Let her spirit depart in peace." + +"I will not disturb, but calm her spirit," said the young man, +earnestly. "Oh, let me see her, that I may call her back to life!" + +"It is too late," replied the aunt. "The oil is exhausted, and light +is just departing." + +Edwin started to his feet, exclaiming passionately--"Let me see her! +Let me see her!" + +"To see her thus, would be to blow the breath that would extinguish +the flickering light," said the aunt. "Go home, young man! It is too +late! Do not seek to agitate the waters long troubled by your hand, +but now subsiding into calmness. Let her spirit depart in peace." + +Florence sunk again into his chair, and, hiding his face with his +hands, sat for some moments in a state of a mental paralysis. + +In the chamber above lay the pale, almost pulseless form of Edith. A +young girl, who had been as her sister for many years, sat holding +her thin white hand. The face of the invalid was turned to the wall. +Her eyes were closed; and she breathed so quietly that the motions +of respiration could hardly be seen. Nearly ten minutes had elapsed +from the time a servant whispered to the aunt that there was some +one in the parlor, when Edith turned, and said to her companion, in +a low, calm voice-- + +"Mr. Florence has come." + +The girl started, and a flush of surprise went over her face. + +"He is in the parlor now. Won't you ask him to come up?" added the +dying maiden, still speaking with the utmost composure. + +Her friend stood surprised and hesitating for some moments, and then +turning away, glided from the chamber. She found the aunt and Mr. +Florence in the passage below, the latter pleading with the former +for the privilege of seeing Edith, which was resolutely denied. + +"Edith wants to see Mr. Florence," said the girl, as she joined +them. + +"Who told her that he was here?" quickly asked the aunt. + +"No one. I did not know it myself." + +"Her heart told her that I was here," exclaimed Mr. Florence--and, +as he spoke, he glided past the aunt, and, with hurried steps, +ascended to the chamber where the dying one lay. The eyes of Edith +were turned towards the door as he entered; but no sign of emotion +passed over her countenance. Overcome by his feelings, at the sight +of the shadowy remnant of one so loved and so wronged, the young man +sunk into a chair by her side, as nerveless as a child; and, as his +lips were pressed upon her lips and cheeks, her face was wet with +his tears. + +Coming in quickly after, the aunt took firmly hold of his arm and +sought to draw him away, but, in a steady voice, the invalid said-- + +"No--no. I was waiting for him. I have expected him for days. I knew +he would come; and he is here now." + +All was silence for many minutes; and during this time Edwin +Florence sat with his face covered, struggling to command his +feelings. At a motion from the dying girl, the aunt and friend +retired, and she was alone with the lover who had been false to his +vows. As the door closed behind them, Edwin looked up. He had grown +calm. With a voice of inexpressible tenderness, he said-- + +"Live for me, Edith." + +"Not here," was answered. "The silver chord will soon be loosened +and the golden bowl broken." + +"Oh, say not that! Let me call you back to life. Turn to me again as +I have turned to you with my whole heart. The world is still +beautiful; and in it we will be happy together." + +"No, Edwin," replied the dying maiden. "The history of my days here +is written, and the angel is about sealing the record. I am going +where the heart will never feel the touch of sorrow. I wished to see +you once more before I died; and you are here. I have, once more, +felt your breath upon my cheek; once more held your hand in mine. +For this my heart is grateful. You had become the sun of my life, +and when your face was turned away, the flower that spread itself +joyfully in the light, drooped and faded. And now, the light has +come back again; but it cannot warm into freshness and beauty the +withered blossom." + +"Oh, my Edith! Say not so! Live for me! I have no thoughts, no +affection that is not for you. The drooping flower will lift itself +again in the sunshine when the clouds have passed away." + +As the young man said this, Edith raised herself up suddenly, and, +with a fond gesture, flung herself forward upon his bosom. For a few +moments her form quivered in his arms. Then all became still, and he +felt her lying heavier and heavier against him. In a little while he +was conscious that he clasped to his heart only the earthly +semblance of one who had passed away forever. + +Replacing the light and faded form of her who, a little while +before, had been in the vigor of health, upon the bed, Edwin gazed +upon the sunken features for a few moments, and then, leaving a last +kiss upon her cold lips, hurried aware. + +Another page in his Book of Life was written, There was another +record there from which memory, in after life, could read. And such +a record! What would he not have given to erase that page! + +When the body of Edith Walter was borne to its last resting-place, +Florence was among the mourners. After looking his last look upon +the coffin that contained the body, he went away, sadder in heart +than he had ever been in his life. He was not only a prey to +sadness, but to painful self-accusation. In his perfidy lay the +cause of her death. He had broken the heart that confided in him, +and only repented of his error when it was too late to repair the +ruin. + +As to what was thought or said of him by others, Edwin Florence +cared but little. There was enough of pain in his own +self-consciousness. He withdrew himself from the social circle, and, +for several years, lived a kind of hermit-life in the midst of +society. But, he was far from being happy in his solitude; for +Memory was with him, and almost daily, from the Book of his Life, +read to him some darkly written page. + +One day, it was three years from the time he parted with Edith in +the chamber of death, and when he was beginning to rise in a measure +above the depressing influences attendant upon that event,--he +received an invitation to make one of a social party on the next +evening. The desire to go back again in society had been gaining +strength with him for some time; and, as it had gained strength, +reason had pointed out the error of his voluntary seclusion as +unavailing to alter the past. + +"The past is past," he said to himself, as he mused with the +invitation in his hand. "I cannot recall it--I cannot change it. If +repentance can in any way atone for error, surely I have made +atonement; for my repentance has been long and sincere. If Edith can +see my heart, her spirit must be satisfied. Even she could not wish +for this living burial. It is better for me to mingle in society as +of old." + +Acting on this view, Florence made one on the next evening, in a +social party. He felt strangely, for his mind was invaded by old +influences, and touched by old impressions. He saw, in many a light +and airy form, as it glanced before him, the image of one long since +passed away; and heard, in the voices that filled the rooms, many a +tone that it seemed must have come from the lips of Edith. How busy +was Memory again with the past. In vain he sought to shut out the +images that arose in his mind. The page was open before him, and +what was impressed thereon he could not but see and read. + +This passed, in some degree, away as the evening progressed, and he +came nearer, so to speak, to some of those who made up the happy +company. Among those present was a young lady from a neighboring +city, who attracted much attention both from her manners and person. +She fixed the eyes of Mr. Florence soon after he entered the room, +and, half unconsciously to himself, his observation was frequently +directed towards her. + +"Who is that lady?" he asked of a friend, an hour after his arrival. + +"Her name is Miss Welden. She is from Albany." + +"She has a very interesting face," said Florence. + +"And quite as interesting a mind. Miss Weldon is a charming girl." + +Not long after, the two were thrown near together, when an +introduction took place. The conversation of the young lady +interested Florence, and in her society he passed half an hour most +pleasantly. While talking with more than usual animation, in lifting +his eyes he saw that some one on, the opposite side of the room was +observing him attentively. For the moment this did not produce any +effect. But, in looking up again, he saw the same eyes upon him, and +felt their expression as unpleasant. He now, for the first time, +became aware that the aunt of Edith Walter was present. She it was +who had been regarding him so attentively. From that instant his +heart sunk in his bosom. Memory's magic mirror was before him, and +in it he saw pictured the whole scene of that last meeting with +Edith. + +A little while afterward, and Edwin Florence was missed from the +pleasant company. Where was he? Alone in the solitude of his own +chamber, with his thoughts upon the past. Again he had been reading +over those pages of his Book of Life in which was written the +history of his intimacy with and desertion of Edith; and the record +seemed as fresh as if made but the day before. It was in vain that +he sought to close or avert his eyes. There seemed a spell upon him; +and he could only look and read. + +"Fatal error!" he murmured to himself, as he struggled to free +himself from his thraldom to the past. "Fatal error! How a single +act will curse a man through life. Oh! if I could but extinguish the +whole of this memory! If I could wipe out the hand-writing. Sorrow, +repentance, is of no avail. The past is gone for ever. Why then +should I thus continue to be unhappy over what I cannot alter? It +avails nothing to Edith. She is happy--far happier than if she had +remained on this troublesome earth." + +But, even while he uttered these words, there came into his mind +such a realizing sense of what the poor girl must have suffered, +when she found her love thrown back upon her, crushing her heart by +its weight, that he bowed his head upon his bosom and in bitter +self-upbraidings passed the hours until midnight, when sleep locked +up his senses, and calmed the turbulence of his feelings. + + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + + +MONTHS elapsed before Edwin Florence ventured again into company. + +"Why will you shut yourself up after this fashion?" said an +acquaintance to him one day. "It isn't just to your friends. I've +heard half a dozen persons asking for you lately. This hermit life +you are leading is, let me tell you, a very foolish life." + +The friend who thus spoke knew nothing of the young man's heart +history. + +"No one really misses me," said Florence, in reply. + +"In that you are mistaken," returned the friend. "You are missed. I +have heard one young lady, at least, ask for you of late, more than +a dozen times." + +"Indeed! A _young_ lady?" + +"Yes; and a very beautiful young lady at that." + +"In whose eyes can I have found such favor?" + +"You have met Miss Clara Weldon?" + +"Only once." + +"But once!" + +"That is all." + +"Then it must be a case of love at first sight--at least on the +lady's part--for Miss Weldon has asked for you, to my knowledge, not +less than a dozen times." + +"I am certainly flattered at the interest she takes in me." + +"Well you may be. I know more than one young man who would sacrifice +a good deal to find equal favor in her eyes. Now see what you have +lost by this hiding of your countenance. And you are not the only +loser." + +Florence, who was more pleased at what he heard than he would like +to have acknowledged, promised to come forth from his hiding place +and meet the world in a better spirit. And he did so; being really +drawn back into the social circle by the attraction of Miss Weldon. +At his second meeting with this young lady he was still more charmed +with her than at first; and she was equally well pleased with him. A +few more interviews, and both their hearts were deeply interested. + +Now there came a new cause of disquietude to Edwin; or, it might be +said, the old cause renewed. The going out of his affections towards +Miss Weldon revived the whole memory of the past; and, for a time he +found it almost impossible to thrust it from his mind. While sitting +by her side and listening to her voice, the tones of Edith would be +in his ears; and, often, when he looked into her face he would see +only the fading countenance of her who had passed away. This was the +first state, and it was exceedingly painful while it lasted. But, it +gradually changed into one more pleasant, yet not entirely free from +the unwelcome intrusion of the past. + +The oftener Florence and Miss Weldon met, the more strongly were +their hearts drawn toward each other; and, at length, the former was +encouraged to make an offer of his hand. In coming to this +resolutions, it was not without passing through a painful conflict. +As his mind dwelt upon the subject, there was a reproduction of old +states. Most vividly did he recall the time when he breathed into +the ears of Edith vows to which he had proved faithless. He had, it +is true, returned to his first allegiance. He had laid his heart +again at her feet; but, to how little purpose! While in this state +of agitation, the young man resolved, more than once, to abandon his +suit for the hand of Miss Weldon, and shrink back again into the +seclusion from which he had come forth. But, his affection for the +lovely girl was too genuine to admit of this. When he thought of +giving her up, his mind was still more deeply disturbed. + +"Oh, that I could forget!" he exclaimed, while this struggle was in +progress. "Of what avail is this turning over of the leaves of a +long passed history? I erred--sadly erred! But repentance is now too +late. Why, then should my whole existence be cursed for a single +error? Ah, me! thou not satisfied, departed one? Is it, indeed, from +the presence of thy spirit that I am troubled? My heart sinks at the +thought. But no, no! Thou wert too good to visit pain upon any; much +less upon one who, thou false to thee, thou didst so tenderly love." + +But, upon this state there came a natural re-action. A peaceful calm +succeeded the storm. Memory deposited her records in the mind's +dimly lighted chambers. To the present was restored its better +influences. + +"I am free again," was the almost audible utterance, of the young +man, so strong was his sense of relief. + +An offer of marriage was then made to Miss Weldon. Her heart +trembled with joy when she received it. But confiding implicitly in +her uncle, who had been for the space of ten years her friend and +guardian, she could not give an affirmative reply until his approval +was gained. She, therefore, asked time for reflection and +consultation with her friend. + +Far different from what Florence had expected, was the reception of +his offer. To him, Miss Weldon seemed instantly to grow cold and +reserved. Vividly was now recalled his rejection by Miss Linmore, as +well as the ground of her rejection. + +"Is this to be gone over again?" he sighed to himself, when alone +once more, "Is that one false step never to be forgotten nor +forgiven? Am I to be followed, through life, by this shadow of +evil?" + +To no other cause than this could the mind of Florence attribute the +apparent change and hesitation in Clara Weldon. + +Immediately on receiving an offer of marriage, Miss Weldon returned +to Albany. Before leaving, she dropped Florence a note, to the +effect, that he should hear from her in a few days. A week passed, +but the promised word came not. It was, now plain that the friends +of the young lady had been making inquiries about him, and were in +possession of certain facts in his life, which, if known, would +almost certainly blast his hopes of favor in her eyes. While in this +state of uncertainty, he met the aunt of Edith, and the way she +looked at him, satisfied his mind that his conjectures were true. A +little while after a friend remarked to him casually-- + +"I saw Colonel Richards in town to-day." + +"Colonel Richards! Miss Weldon's uncle?" + +"Yes. Have you seen him?" + +"No. I have not the pleasure of an acquaintance." + +"Indeed! I thought you knew him. I heard him mention your name this +morning." + +"My name!" + +"Yes." + +"What had he to say of me?" + +"Let me think. Oh! He asked me if I knew you." + +"Well?" + +"I said that I did, of course and that you were a pretty clever +fellow; though you had been a sad boy in your time." + +The face of Florence instantly reddened. + +"Why, what's the matter? Oh I understand now! That little niece of +his is one of your flames. But come! Don't take it so to heart. Your +chances are one in ten, I have no doubt. By the way, I haven't seen +Clara for a week. What has become of her? Gone back to Albany, I +suppose. I hope you haven't frightened her with an offer. By the +way, let me whisper a word of comfort in your ear. I heard her say +that she didn't believe in any thing but first love; and, as you are +known to have had half a dozen sweethearts, more or less, and to +have broken the hearts of two or three young ladies, the probability +is, that you won't be able to add her to tie number of your lady +loves." + +All this was mere jesting; but the words, though uttered in jest, +fell upon the ears of Edwin Florence with all the force of truth. + +"Guilty, on your own acknowledgment," said the friend, seeing the +effect of his words. "Better always to act fairly in these matters +of the heart, Florence. If we sow the wind, we will be pretty sure +to reap the whirlwind. But come; let me take you down to the +Tremont, and introduce you to Colonel Richards. I know he will be +glad to make your acquaintance, and will, most probably, give you an +invitation to go home with him and spend a week. You can then make +all fair with his pretty niece." + +"I have no wish to make his acquaintance just at this time," +returned Florence; "nor do I suppose he cares about making mine, +particularly after the high opinion you gave him of my character." + +"Nonsense, Edwin! You don't suppose I said that to him. Can't you +take a joke?" + +"Oh, yes; I can take a joke." + +"Take that as one, then. Colonel Richards did ask for you, however; +and said that he would like to meet you. He was serious. So come +along, and let me introduce you." + +"No; I would prefer not meeting with him at this time." + +"You are a strange individual." + +The young men parted; Florence to feel more disquieted than ever. +Colonel Richards had been inquiring about him, and, in prosecuting +his inquiries, would, most likely, find some one inclined to relate +the story of Edith Walter. What was more natural? That story once in +the ears of Clara, and he felt that she must turn from him with a +feeling of repulsion. + +Three or four days longer he was in suspense. He heard of Col. +Richards from several quarters, and, in each case when he was +mentioned, he was alluded to as making inquiries about him. + +"I hear that the beautiful Miss Weldon is to be married," was said +to Florence at a time when he was almost mad with the excitement of +suspense. + +"Ah!" he replied, with forced calmness, "I hope she will be +successful in securing a good husband." + +"So do I; for she is indeed a sweet girl. I was more than half +inclined to fall in love with her myself; and would leave done so, +if I had believed there was any chance for me." + +"Who is the favored one?" asked Florence. + +"I have not been able to find out. She received three or four +offers, and went back to Albany to consider them and make her +election. This she has done, I hear; and already, the happy +recipient of her favor is rejoicing over his good fortune. May they +live a thousand years to be happy with each other!" + +Here was another drop of bitterness in the cup that was at the lips +of Edwin Florence. He went to his office immediately, and, setting +down, wrote thus to Clara: + +"I do not wrongly interpret, I presume, a silence continued far +beyond the time agreed upon when we parted. You have rejected my +suit. Well, be it so; and may you be happy with him who has found +favor in your eyes. I do not think he can love you more sincerely +than I do, or he more devoted to your happiness than I should have +been. It would have relieved the pain I cannot but feel, if you had +deemed my offer worthy a frank refusal. But, to feel that one I have +so truly loved does not think me even deserving of this attention, +is humiliating in the extreme. But, I will not upbraid you. +Farewell! May you be happy." + +Sealing Up his epistle, the young man, scarcely pausing even for +hurried reflection, threw it into the post office. This done, he +sunk into a gloomy state of mind, in which mortification and +disappointment struggled alternately for the predominance. + +Only a few hours elapsed after the adoption of this hasty course, +before doubts of its propriety began to steal across his mind. It +was possible, it occurred to him, that he might have acted too +precipitately. There might be reasons for the silence of Miss Weldon +entirely separate from those he had been too ready to assume; and, +if so, how strange would his letter appear. It was too late now to +recall the act, for already the mail that bore his letter was half +way from New York to Albany. A restless night succeeded to this day. +Early on the next morning he received a letter. It was in these +words-- + +"MY DEAR MR. FLORENCE:--I have been very ill, and to-day am able to +sit up just long enough to write a line or two. My uncle was in New +York some days ago, but did not meet with you. Will you not come up +and see me? + +"Ever Yours, CLARA WELDON." + +Florence was on board the next boat that left New York for Albany. +The letter of Clara was, of course, written before the receipt of +his hasty epistle. What troubled him now was the effect of this +epistle on her mind. He had not only wrongly interpreted her +silence, but had assumed the acceptance of another lover as +confidently as if he knew to an certainty that such was the case. +This was a serious matter and might result in the very thing he had +been so ready to assume--the rejection of his suit. + +Arriving at length, in Albany, Mr. Florence sought out the residence +of Miss Weldon. + +"Is Colonel Richards at home?" he inquired. + +On being answered in the affirmative he sent up his name, with a +request to see him. The colonel made his appearance in short time. +He was a tall, thoughtful looking man, and bowed with a dignified +air as he came into the room. + +"How is Miss Weldon?" asked Florence, with an eagerness he could not +restrain. + +"Not so well this morning," replied the guardian. "She had a bad +night." + +"No wonder," thought the young man, "after receiving that letter." + +"She has been. sleeping, however since daylight," added Colonel +Richards, "and that is much in her favor." + +"She received my letter, I presume," said Florence, in a hesitating +voice. + +"A letter came for her yesterday," was replied; "but as she was more +indisposed than usual, we did not give it to her." + +"It is as well," said the young man, experiencing a sense of relief. + +An hour afterwards he was permitted to enter the chamber, where she +lay supported by pillows. One glance at her face dispelled from his +mind every lingering doubt. He had suffered from imaginary fears, +awakened by the whispers of a troubled conscience. + + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + + + + +IN a few days Clara was well enough to leave her room, and was soon +entirely recovered from her sudden illness. That little matter of +the heart had been settled within three minutes of their meeting, +and they were now as happy as lovers usually are under such +favorable circumstances. + +When Edwin Florence went back to New York, it was with a sense of +interior pleasure more perfect than he had experienced for years; +and this would have remained, could he have shut out the past; or, +so much of it as came like an unwelcome intruder. But, alas! this +was not to be. Even while he was bending, in spirit, over the +beautiful image of his last beloved, there would come between his +eyes and that image a pale sad face, in which reproof was stronger +than affection, It was all in vain that he sought to turn from that +face. For a time it would remain present, and then fade slowly away, +leaving his heart oppressed. + +"Is it to be ever thus!" he would exclaim, in these seasons of +darkness. "Will nothing satisfy this accusing spirit? Edith! Dear +Edith! Art thou not among the blessed ones? Is not thy heart happy +beyond mortal conception? Then why come to me thus with those +tearful eyes, that shadowy face, those looks of reproof? Have I not +suffered enough for purification! Am I never to be forgiven?" + +And then, with an effort, he would turn his eyes from the page laid +open by Memory, and seek to forget what was written there. But it +seemed as if every thing conspired to freshen his remembrance of the +past, the nearer the time approached, when by a marriage union with +one truly beloved, he was to weaken the bonds it had thrown around +him. The marriage of Miss Linmore took place a few weeks after his +engagement with Clara, and as an intimate friend led her to the +altar, he could not decline making one of the number that graced the +nuptial festivities. In meeting the young bride, he endeavored to +push from his mind all thoughts of their former relations. But she +had not done this, and her thought determined his. Her mind recurred +to the former time, the moment he came into her presence, and, of +necessity his went back also. They met, therefore, with a certain +reserve, that was to him most unpleasant, particularly as it stirred +a hundred sleeping memories. + +By a strong effort, Florence was able to conceal from other eyes +much of what he felt. In doing this, a certain over action was the +consequence; and he was gayer than usual. Several times he +endeavored to be lightly familiar with the bride; but, in every +instance that he approached her, he perceived a kind of instinctive +shrinking; and, if she was in a laughing mood, when he drew near she +became serious and reserved. All this was too plain to be mistaken; +and like the repeated strokes of a hammer upon glowing iron, +gradually bent his feelings from the buoyant form they had been +endeavoring to assume. The effect was not wholly to be resisted. +More than an hour before the happy assemblage broke up, Florence was +not to be found in the brilliantly lighted rooms. Unable longer to +conceal what he felt, he had retired. + +For many days after this, the young man felt sober. "Why haven't you +called to see me?" asked the friend who had married Miss Linmore, a +week or two after the celebration of the nuptials. + +Florence excused himself as best he could, and promised to call in a +few days. Two weeks went by without the fulfillment of his promise. + +"No doubt, we shall see you next week," said the friend, meeting him +one day about this time; "though I am not so sure we will receive +your visits then." + +"Why not?" + +"A certain young lady with whom, I believe, you have some +acquaintance, is to spend a short time with us." + +"Who?" asked Florence, quickly. + +"A young lady from Albany." + +"Miss Weldon?" + +"The same." + +"I was not aware that she was on terms of intimacy with your wife." + +"She's an old friend of mine; and, in that sense a friend of +Kate's." + +"Then they have not met." + +"Oh, yes; frequently. And are warmly attached. We look for a +pleasant visit. But, of course, we shall not expect to see you. That +is understood." + +"I rather think you will; that is, if your wife will admit me on +friendly terms." + +"Why do you say that?" inquired the friend, appearing a little +surprised. + +"I thought, on the night of your wedding, that she felt my presence +as unwelcome to her." + +"And is this the reason why you have not called to see us." + +"I frankly own that it is." + +"Edwin! I am surprised at you. It is all a piece of imagination. +What could have put such a thing into your head?" + +"It may have been all imagination. But I couldn't help feelings as I +did. However, you may expect to see me, and that, too, before Miss +Weldon's arrival." + +"If you don't present yourself before, I am not so sure that we will +let you come afterwards," said the friend, smiling. + +On the next evening the young man called. Mrs. Hartley, the bride of +his friend, endeavored to forget the past, and to receive him with +all the external signs of forgetfulness. But, in this she did not +fully succeed, and, of course, the visit of Florence was painfully +embarrassing, at least, to himself. From that time until the arrival +of Miss Weldon, he felt concerned and unhappy. That Mrs. Hartley +would fully communicate or covertly hint to Clara certain events of +his former life, he had too much reason to fear; and, were this +done, he felt that all his fond hopes would be scattered to the +winds. In due time, Miss Weldon arrived. In meeting her, Florence +was conscious of a feeling of embarrassment, never before +experienced in her presence. He understood clearly why this was so. +At each successive visit his embarrassment increased; and, the more +so, from the fact that he perceived a change in Clara ere she had +been in the city a week. As to the cause of this change, he had no +doubts. It was evident that Mrs. Hartley had communicated certain +matters touching his previous history. + +Thus it went on day after day, for two or three weeks, by which time +the lovers met under the influence of a most chilling constraint. +Both were exceedingly unhappy. + +One day, in calling as usual, Mr. Florence was surprised to learn +that Clara had gone back to Albany. + +"She said, nothing of this last night," remarked the young man to +Mrs. Hartley. + +"Her resolution was taken after you went away," was replied. + +"And you, no doubt, advised the step," said Mr. Florence, with +ill-concealed bitterness. + +"Why do you say that?" was quickly asked. + +"How can I draw any other inference?" said the young man, looking at +her with knit brows. + +"Explain yourself, Mr. Florence!" + +"Do my words need explanation?" + +"Undoubtedly! For, I cannot understand them." + +"There are events in my past life--I will not say how bitterly +repented--of which only you could have informed her." + +"What events?" calmly asked the lady. + +"Why lacerate my feelings by such a question?" said Florence, while +a shadow of pain flitted over his face, as Memory presented a record +of the past. + +"I ask it with no such intention. I only wish to understand you," +replied Mrs. Hartley. "You have brought against me a vague +accusation. I wish it distinct, that I may affirm or deny it." + +"Edith Walter," said Edwin Florence, in a low, unsteady voice, after +he had been silent for nearly a minute. + +Mrs. Hartley looked earnestly into his face. Every muscle was +quivering. + +"What of her?" she inquired, in tones quite as low as those in which +the young man had spoken. + +"You know the history." + +"Well?" + +"And, regardless of my suffering and repentance, made known to Clara +the blasting secret." + +"No! By my hopes of heaven, no!" quickly exclaimed Mrs. Hartley. + +"No?" A quiver ran through the young man's frame. + +"No, Mr. Florence! That rested as silently in my own bosom as in +yours." + +"Who, then, informed her?" + +"No one." + +"Has she not heard of it?" + +"No." + +"Why, then, did she change towards me?" + +"You changed, first, towards her." + +"Me!" + +"Yes. From the day of her arrival in New York, she perceived in you +a certain coldness and reserve, that increased with each repeated +interview." + +"Oh, no!" + +"It is true. I saw it myself." + +Florence clasped his hands together, and bent his eyes in doubt and +wonder upon the floor. + +"Did she complain of coldness and change in me?" he inquired. + +"Yes, often. And returned, last night, to leave you free, doubting +not that you had ceased to love her." + +"Ceased to love her! While this sad work has been going on, I have +loved her with the agony of one who is about losing earth's most +precious thing. Oh! write to her for me, and explain all. How +strange has been my infatuation. Will you write for me?" + +"Yes." + +"Say that my heart has not turned from her an instant. That her +imagined coldness has made me of all men most wretched." + +"I will do so. But why not write yourself?" + +"It will be better to come from you. Ask her to return. I would +rather meet her here than in her uncle's house. Urge her to come +back." + +Mrs. Hartley promised to do so, according to the wish of Mr. +Florence. Two days passed, and there was no answer. On the morning +of the third day, the young man, in a state of agitation from +suspense called at the house of his friend. After sending up his +name, he sat anxiously awaiting the appearance of Mrs. Hartley. The +door at length opened, and, to his surprise and joy, Clara entered. +She came forward with a smile upon her face, extending her hand as +she did so. Edwin sprang to meet her, and catching her hand, pressed +it eagerly to his lips. + +"Strange that we should have so erred in regard to each other," said +Clara, as they sat communing tenderly. "I trust no such error will +come in the future to which I look forward with so many pleasing +hopes." + +"Heaven forbid!" replied the young man, seriously. + +"But we are in a world of error. Ah! if we could only pass through +life without a mistake. If the heavy weight of repentance did not +lie so often and so long upon our hearts--this would be a far +pleasanter world than it is." + +"Do not look so serious," remarked Clara, as she bent forward and +gazed affectionately into the young man's face. "To err is human. No +one here is perfect. How often, for hours, have I mourned over +errors; yet grief was of no avail, except to make my future more +guarded." + +"And that was much gained," said Florence, breathing deeply with a +sense of relief. "If we cannot recall and correct the past, we can +at least be more guarded in the future. This is the effect of my own +experience. Ah! if we properly considered the action of our present +upon the future, how guarded would we be. All actions are in the +present, and the moment they are done the present becomes the past, +over which Memory presides. What is past is fixed. Nothing can +change it. The record is in marble, to be seen in all future time." + +The serious character of the interview soon changed, and the young +lovers forgot every thing in the joy of their reconciliation. +Nothing arose to mar their intercourse until the appointed time for +the nuptial ceremonies arrived, when they were united in holy +wedlock. But, Edwin Florence did not pass on to this time without +another visit from the rebuking Angel of the past. He was not +permitted to take the hand of Clara in his, and utter the words that +bound him to her forever, without a visit from the one whose heart +he had broken years before. She came to him in the dark and silent +midnight, as he tossed sleeplessly upon his bed, and stood and +looked at him with her pale face and despairing eyes, until he was +driven almost to madness. She was with him when the light of morning +dawned; she moved by his side as he went forth to meet and claim his +betrothed; and was near him, invisible to all eyes but his own, when +he stood at the altar ready to give utterance to the solemn words +that bound him to his bride. And not until these words were said, +did the vision fade away. + +No wonder the face of the bridegroom wore a solemn aspect as he +presented himself to the minister, and breathed the vows of eternal +fidelity to the living, while before him, as distinct as if in +bodily form, was the presence of one long since sleeping ill her +grave, who had gone down to her shadowy resting place through his +infidelity. + +From this time there was a thicker veil drawn over the past. The +memory of that one event grew less and less distinct; though it was +not obliterated, for nothing that is written in the Book of Life is +ever blotted out. There were reasons, even in long years after his +marriage, when the record stood suddenly before him, as if written +in words of light; and he would turn from it with a feeling of pain. + +Thus it is that our present blesses or curses our future. Every act +of our lives affects the coming time for good or evil. We make our +own destiny, and make it always in the present. The past is gone, +the future is yet to come. The present only is ours, and, according +to what we do in the present, will be the records of the past and +its influence on the future. They are only wise who wisely regard +their actions in the present. + + + + + + +THE BRILLIANT AND THE COMMONPLACE. + + + + + +DAY after day I worked at my life-task, and worked in an earnest +spirit. Not much did I seem to accomplish; yet the little that was +done had on it the impress of good. Still, I was dissatisfied, +because my gifts were less dazzling than those of which many around +me could boast. When I thought of the brilliant ones sparkling in +the firmament of literature, and filling the eyes of admiring +thousands, something like the evil spirit of envy came into my heart +and threw a shadow upon my feelings. I was troubled because I had +not their gifts. I wished to shine with a stronger light. To dazzle, +as well as to warm and vivify. + +Not long ago, there came among us one whom nature had richly +endowed. His mind possessed exceeding brilliancy. Flashes of +thought, like lightning from summer cloud, were ever filling the air +around him. There was a stateliness in the movement of his +intellect, and an evidence of power, that oppressed you at times +with wonder. + +Around him gathered the lesser lights in the hemisphere of thought, +and veiled their feeble rays beneath his excessive brightness. He +seemed conscious of his superior gifts and displayed them more like +a giant beating the air to excite wonder, than putting forth his +strength to accomplish a good and noble work. Still, I was oppressed +and paralyzed by the sphere of his presence. I felt puny and weak +beside him, and unhappy because I was not gifted with equal power. + +It so happened that a work of mine, upon which the maker's name was +not stamped--work done with a purpose of good--was spoken of and +praised by one who did not know me as the handicraftsman. + +"It is tame, dull, and commonplace," said the brilliant one, in a +tone of contempt; and there were many present to agree with him. + +Like the strokes of a hammer upon my heart, came these words of +condemnation. "Tame, dull, and commonplace!" And was it, indeed, so? +Yes; I felt that what he uttered was true. That my powers were +exceedingly limited, and my gifts few. Oh, what would I not have +then given for brilliant endowments like those possessed by him from +whom had fallen the words of condemnation? + +"You will admit," said one--I thought it strange at the time that +there should be even one to speak a word in favor of my poor +performance--"that it will do good?" + +"Good!" was answered, in a tone slightly touched by contempt. "Oh, +yes; it will do good!" and the brilliant one tossed his head. +"Anybody can do good!" + +I went home with a perturbed spirit. I had work to do; but I could +not do it. I sat down and tried to forget what I had heard. I tried +to think about the tasks that were before me. "Tame, dull, and +commonplace!" Into no other form would my thoughts come. + +Exhausted, at last, by this inward struggle, I threw myself upon my +bed, and soon passed into the land of dreams. + +Dream-land! Thou art thought by many to be _only_ a land of fantasy +and of shadows. But it is not so. Dreams, for the most part, _are_ +fantastic; but all are not so. Nearer are we to the world of +spirits, in sleep; and, at times, angels come to us with lessons of +wisdom, darkly veiled under similitude, or written in characters of +light. + +I passed into dream-land; but my thoughts went on in the same +current. "Tame, dull, and commonplace!" I felt the condemnation more +strongly than before. + +I was out in the open air, and around me were mountains, trees, +green fields, and running waters; and above all bent the sky in its +azure beauty. The sun was just unveiling his face in the east, and +his rays were lighting up the dew-gems on a thousand blades of +grass, and making the leaves glitter as if studded with diamonds. + +"How calm and beautiful!" said a voice near me. I turned, and one +whose days were in the "sear and yellow leaf," stood by my side. + +"But all is tame and commonplace," I answered. "We have this over +and over again, day after day, month after month, and year after +year. Give me something brilliant and startling, if it be in the +fiery comet or the rushing storm. I am sick of the commonplace!" + +"And yet to the commonplace the world is indebted for every great +work and great blessing. For everything good, and true, and +beautiful!" + +I looked earnestly into the face of the old man. He went on. + +"The truly good and great is the useful; for in that is the Divine +image. Softly and unobtrusively has the dew fallen, as it falls +night after night. Silently it distilled, while the vagrant meteors +threw their lines of dazzling light across the sky, and men looked +up at them in wonder and admiration. And now the soft grass, the +green leaves, and the sweet flowers, that drooped beneath the +fervent heat of yesterday, are fresh again and full of beauty, ready +to receive the light and warmth of the risen sun, and expand with, a +new vigor. All this may be tame, and commonplace; but is it not a +great and a good work that has been going on? + +"The tiller of the soil is going forth again to his work. Do not +turn your eyes from him, and let a feeling of impatience stir in +your heart because he is not a soldier rushing to battle, or a +brilliant orator holding thousands enchained by the power of a +fervid eloquence that is born not so much of good desires for his +fellow-men as from the heat of his own self-love. Day after day, as +now, patient, and hopeful, the husbandman enters upon the work that +lies before him, and, hand in hand with God's blessed sunshine, +dews, and rain, a loving and earnest co-laborer, brings forth from +earth's treasure-house of blessings good gifts for his fellow-men. +Is all this commonplace? How great and good is the commonplace!" + +I turned to answer the old man, but he was gone. I was standing on a +high mountain, and beneath me, as far as the eye could reach, were +stretched broad and richly cultivated fields; and from a hundred +farm-houses went up the curling smoke from the fires of industry. +Fields were waving with golden grain, and trees bending with their +treasures of fruit. Suddenly, the bright sun was veiled in clouds, +that came whirling up from the horizon in dark and broken masses, +and throwing a deep shadow over the landscape just before bathed in +light. Calmly had I surveyed the peaceful scene spread out before +me. I was charmed with its quiet beauty. But now, stronger emotions +stirred within me. + +"Oh, this is sublime!" I murmured, as I gazed upon the cloudy hosts +moving across the heavens in battle array. + +A gleam of lightning sprang forth from a dark cavern in the sky, and +then, far off, rattled and jarred the echoing thunder. Next came the +rushing and roaring wind, bending the giant-limbed oaks as if they +were but wands of willow, and tearing up lesser trees as a child +tears up from its roots a weed or flower. + +In this war of elements I stood, with my head bared, and clinging to +a rock, mad with a strange and wild delight. + +"Brilliant! Sublime! Grand beyond the power of descriptions" I said, +as the storm deepened in intensity. + +"An hour like this is worth all the commonplace, dull events of a +lifetime." + +There came a stunning crash in the midst of a dazzling glare. For +some moments I was blinded. When sight was restored, I saw, below +me, the flames curling upward from a dwelling upon which the fierce +lightning had fallen. + +"What majesty! what awful sublimity!" said I, aloud. I thought not +of the pain, and terror, and death that reigned in the human +habitation upon which the bolt of destruction had fallen, but of the +sublime power displayed in the strife of the elements. + +There was another change. I no longer stood on the mountain, with +the lightning and tempest around me; but was in the valley below, +down upon which the storm had swept with devastating fury. Fields of +grain were level with the earth; houses destroyed; and the trophies +of industry marred in a hundred ways. + +"How sublime are the works of the tempest!" said a voice near me. I +turned, and the old man was again at my side. + +But I did not respond to his words. + +"What majesty! What awful sublimity and power!" continued the old +man. "But," he added, in a changed voice, "there is a higher power +in the gentle rain than lies in the rushing tempest. The power to +destroy is an evil power, and has bounds beyond which it cannot go. +But the gentle rain that falls noiselessly to the earth, is the +power of restoration and recreation. See!" + +I looked, and a mall lay upon the ground apparently lifeless. He had +been struck down by the lightning. His pale face was upturned to the +sky, and the rain shaken free from the cloudy skirts of the retiring +storm, was falling upon it. I continued to gaze upon the force of +the prostrate man, until there came into it a flush of life. Then +his limbs quivered; he threw his arms about. A groan issued from his +constricted chest. In a little while, he arose. + +"Which is best? Which is most to be loved and admired?" said the old +Man. "The wild, fierce, brilliant tempest, or the quiet rain that +restores the image of life and beauty which the tempest has +destroyed? See! The gentle breezes are beginning to move over the +fields, and, hand in hand with the uplifting sunlight, to raise the +rain that has been trodden beneath the crushing heel of the tempest, +whose false sublimity you so much admired. There is nothing +startling and brilliant in this work; but it is a good and a great +work, and it will go on silently and efficiently until not a trace +of the desolating storm can be found. In the still atmosphere, +unseen, but all-potent, lies a power ever busy in the work of +creating and restoring; or, in other words, in the commonplace work +of doing good. Which office would you like best to assume--which is +the most noble--the office of the destroyer or the restorer?" + +I lifted my eyes again, and saw men busily engaged in blotting out +the traces of the storm, and in restoring all to its former use and +beauty. + +Builders were at work upon the house which had been struck by +lightning, and men engaged in repairing fences, barns, and other +objects upon which had been spent the fury of the excited elements. +Soon every vestige of the destroyer was gone. + +"Commonplace work, that of nailing on boards and shingles," said the +old man; "of repairing broken fences; of filling up the deep +foot-prints of the passing storm; but is it not a noble work? Yes; +for it is ennobled by its end. Far nobler than the work of the +brilliant tempest, which moved but to destroy." + +The scene changed once more. I was back again from the land of +dreams and similitudes. It was midnight, and the moon was shining in +a cloudless sky. I arose, and going to the window, sat and looked +forth, musing upon my dream. All was hushed as if I were out in the +fields, instead of in the heart of a populous city. Soon came the +sound of footsteps, heavy and measured, and the watchman passed on +his round of duty. An humble man was he, forced by necessity into +his position, and rarely thought of and little regarded by the many. +There was nothing brilliant about him to attract the eye and extort +admiration. The man and his calling were commonplace. He passed on; +and, as his form left my eye, the thought of him passed from my +mind. Not long after, unheralded by the sound of footsteps, came one +with a stealthy, crouching air; pausing now, and listening; and now +looking warily from side to side. It was plain that he was on no +errand of good to his fellowmen. He, too, passed on, and was lost to +my vision. + +Many minutes went by, and I still remained at the window, musing +upon the subject of my dream, when I was startled by a cry of terror +issuing from a house not far away. It was the cry of a woman. +Obeying the instinct of my feelings, I ran into the street and made +my way hurriedly towards the spot from which the cry came. + +"Help! help! murder!" shrieked a woman from the open window. + +I tried the street door of the house, but it was fastened. I threw +myself against it with all my strength, and it yielded to the +concussion. As I entered the dark passage, I found myself suddenly +grappled by a strong man, who threw me down and held me by the +throat. I struggled to free myself, but in vain. His grip tightened. +In a few moments I would have been lifeless. But, just at the +instant when consciousness was about leaving me, the guardian of the +night appeared. With a single stroke of his heavy mace, he laid the +midnight robber and assassin senseless upon the floor. + +How instantly was that humble watchman ennobled in my eyes! How high +and important was his use in society! I looked at him from a new +standpoint, and saw him in a new relation. + +"Commonplace!" said I, on regaining my own room in my own house, +panting from the excitement and danger to which I had been +subjected. "Commonplace! Thank God for the commonplace and the +useful!" + +Again I passed into the land of dreams, where I found myself walking +in a pleasant way, pondering the theme which had taken such entire +possession of my thoughts. As I moved along, I met the gifted one +who had called my work dull and commonplace; that work was a simple +picture of human life; drawn for the purpose of inspiring the reader +with trust in God and love towards his fellow-man. He addressed me +with the air of one who felt that he was superior, and led off the +conversation by a brilliant display of words that half concealed, +instead of making clear, his ideas. Though I perceived this, I was +yet affected with admiration. My eyes were dazzled as by a glare of +light. + +"Yes, yes," I sighed to myself; "I am dull, tame, and commonplace +beside these children of genius. How poor and mean is the work that +comes from my hands!" + +"Not so!" said my companion. I turned to look at him; but the gifted +being stood not by my side. In his place was the ancient one who had +before spoken to me in the voice of wisdom. + +"Not so!" he continued. "Nothing that is useful is poor and mean. +Look up! In the fruit of our labor is the proof of its quality." + +I was in the midst of a small company, and the gifted being whose +powers I had envied was there, the centre of attraction and the +observed of all observers. He read to those assembled from a book; +and what he read flashed with a brightness that was dazzling. All +listened in the most rapt attention, and, by the power of what the +gifted one read, soared now, in thought, among the stars, spread +their wings among the swift-moving tempest, or descended into the +unknown depths of the earth. As for myself, my mind seemed endowed +with new faculties, and to rise almost into the power of the +infinite. + +"Glorious! Divine! Godlike!" Such were the admiring words that fell +from the lips of all. + +And then the company dispersed. As we went forth from the room in +which we had assembled, we met numbers who were needy, and sick, and +suffering; mourners, who sighed for kind words from the comforter: +little children, who had none to love and care for them; the faint +and weary, who needed kind hands to help them on their toilsome +journey. But no human sympathies were stirring in our hearts. We had +been raised, by the power of the genius we so much admired, far +above the world and its commonplace sympathies. The wings of our +spirits were still beating the air, far away in the upper regions of +transcendant thought. + +Another change came. I saw a woman reading from the same book from +which the gifted one had read. Ever and anon she paused, and gave +utterance to words of admiration. + +"Beautiful! beautiful!" fell, ever and anon, from her lips; and she +would lift her eyes, and muse upon what she was reading. As she sat +thus, a little child entered the room. He was crying. + +"Mother! mother!" said the child, "I want--" + +But the mother's thoughts were far above the regions of the +commonplace. Her mind was in a world of ideal beauty. Disturbed by +the interruption, a slight frown contracted on her beautiful brows +as she arose and took her child by the arm to thrust it from the +room. + +A slight shudder went through my frame as I marked the touching +distress that overspread the countenance of the child as it looked +up into its mother's face and saw nothing there but an angry frown. + +"Every thought is born of affection," said the old man, as this +scene faded away, "and has in it the quality of the life that gave +it birth; and when that thought is reproduced in the mind of +another, it awakens its appropriate affection. If there had been a +true love of his neighbor in the mind of the gifted one when he +wrote the book from which the mother read, and if his purpose had +been to inspire with human emotions--and none but these are +God-like--the souls of men, his work would have filled the heart of +that mother with a deeper love of her child, instead of freezing in +her bosom the surface of love's celestial fountain. To have +hearkened to the grief of that dear child, and to have ministered to +its comfort, would have been a commonplace act, but, how truly noble +and divine! And now, look again, and let what passes before you give +strength to your wavering spirits." + +I lifted my eyes, and saw a man reading, and I knew that he read +that work of mine which the gifted one had condemned as dull, and +tame, and commonplace. And, moreover, I knew that he was in trouble +so deep as to be almost hopeless of the future, and just ready to +give up his life-struggle, and let his hands fall listless and +despairing by his side. Around him were gathered his wife and his +little ones, and they were looking to him, but in vain, for the help +they needed. + +As the man read, I saw a light come suddenly into his face. He +paused, and seemed musing for a time; and his eyes gleamed quickly +upwards, and as his lips parted, these words came forth: "Yes, yes; +it must be so. God is merciful as he is wise, and will not forsake +his creatures. He tries us in the fires of adversity but to consume +the evil of our hearts. I will trust him, and again go forth, with +my eyes turned confidingly upwards." And the man went forth in the +spirit of confidence in Heaven, inspired by what I had written. + +"Look again," said the one by my side. + +I looked, and saw the same man in the midst of a smiling family. His +countenance was full of life and happiness, for his trust had not +been in vain. As I had written, so he had found it. God is good, and +lets no one feel the fires of adversity longer than is necessary for +his purification from evil. + +"Look again!" came like tones of music to my ear. + +I looked, and saw one lying upon a bed. By the lines upon his brow, +and the compression of his lips, it was evident that he was in +bodily suffering. A book lay near him; it was written by the gifted +one, and was full of bright thoughts and beautiful images. He took +it, and tried to forget his pain in these thoughts and images. But +in this he did not succeed, and soon laid it aside with a groan of +anguish. Then there was handed to him my poor and commonplace work; +and he opened the pages and began to read. I soon perceived that an +interest was awakened in his mind. Gradually the contraction of his +brow grew less severe, and, in a little while, he had forgotten his +pain. + +"I will be more patient," said he, in a calm voice, after he had +read for a long time with a deep interest. "There are many with pain +worse than mine to bear, who have none of the comforts and blessings +so freely scattered along my way through life." + +And then he gave directions to have relief sent to one and another +whom he now remembered to be in need. + +"It is a good work that prompts to good in others," said the old +man. "What if it be dull and tame--commonplace to the few--it is a +good gift to the world, and thousands will bless the giver. Look +again!" + +An angry mother, impatient and fretted by the conduct of a froward +child, had driven her boy from her presence, when, if she had +controlled her own feelings, she might have drawn him to her side +and subdued him by the power of affection. She was unhappy, and her +boy had received an injury. + +The mother was alone. Before her was a table covered with books, and +she took up one to read. I knew the volume; it was written by one +whose genius had a deep power of fascination. Soon the mother became +lost in its exciting pages, and remained buried in them for hours. +At length, after turning the last page, she closed the book; and +then came the thought of her wayward boy. But, her feelings toward +him had undergone no change; she was still angry, because of his +disobedience. + +Another book lay upon the table; a book of no pretensions, and +written with the simple purpose of doing good. It was commonplace, +because it dealt with things in the common life around us. The +mother took this up, opened to the title-page, turned a few leaves, +and then laid it down again; sat thoughtful for some moments, and +then sighed. Again she lifted the book, opened it, and commenced +reading. In a little while she was all attention, and ere long I saw +a tear stealing forth upon her cheeks. Suddenly she closed the book, +evincing strong emotion as she did so, and, rising up, went from the +room. Ascending to a chamber above, she entered, and there found the +boy at play. He looked towards her, and, remembering her anger, a +shadow flitted across his face. But his mother smiled and looked +kindly towards him. Instantly the boy dropped his playthings, and +sprung to her side. She stooped and kissed him. + +"Oh, mother! I do love you, and I will try to be good!" + +Blinding tears came to my eyes, and I saw this scene no longer. I +was out among the works of nature, and my instructor was by my side. + +"Despise not again the humble and the commonplace," said he, "for +upon these rest the happiness and well-being of the world. Few can +enter into and appreciate the startling and the brilliant, but +thousands and tens of thousands can feel and love the commonplace +that comes to their daily wants, and inspires them with a mutual +sympathy. Go on in your work. Think it rot low and mean to speak +humble, yet true and fitting words for the humble; to lift up the +bowed and grieving spirit; to pour the oil and wine of consolation +for the poor and afflicted. It is a great and a good work--the very +work in which God's angels delight. Yea, in doing this work, you are +brought nearer in spirit to Him who is goodness and greatness +itself, for all his acts are done with the end of blessing his +creatures." + +There was another change. I was awake. It was broad daylight, and +the sun had come in and awakened me with a kiss. Again I resumed my +work, content to meet the common want in my labors, and let the more +gifted and brilliant ones around me enjoy the honors and fame that +gathered in cloudy incense around them. + +It is better to be loved by the many, than admired by the few. + + + + + + +JENNY LAWSON. + +CHAPTER I. + + + + + +MARK CLIFFORD had come up from New York to spend a few weeks with +his maternal grandfather, Mr. Lofton, who lived almost alone on his +beautiful estate a few miles from the Hudson, amid the rich valleys +of Orange county. Mr. Lofton belonged to one of the oldest families +in the country, and retained a large portion of that aristocratic +pride for which they were distinguished. The marriage of his +daughter to Mr. Clifford, a merchant of New York, had been strongly +opposed on the ground that the alliance was degrading--Mr. Clifford +not being able to boast of an ancestor who was anything more than an +honest man and a useful citizen. A closer acquaintance with his +son-in-law, after the marriage took place, reconciled Mr. Lofton in +a good measure to the union; for he found Mr. Clifford to be a man +of fine intelligence, gentlemanly feeling, and withal, tenderly +attached to his daughter. The marriage was a happy one--and this is +rarely the case when the external and selfish desire to make a good +family connection is regarded above the mental and moral qualities +on which a true union only can be based. + +A few years previous to the time at which our story opens, Mrs. +Clifford died, leaving one son and two daughters. Mark, the oldest +of the children, was in his seventeenth year at the time the sad +bereavement occurred--the girls were quite young. He had always been +an active boy--ever disposed to get beyond the judicious restraints +which his parents wisely sought to throw around him. After his +mother's death, he attained a wider liberty. He was still at college +when this melancholy event occurred, and continued there for two +years; but no longer in correspondence with, and therefore not under +the influence of one whose love for him sought ever to hold him back +from evil, his natural temperament led him into the indulgence of a +liberty that too often went beyond the bounds of propriety. + +On leaving college Mr. Clifford conferred with his son touching the +profession he wished to adopt, and to his surprise found him bent on +entering the navy. All efforts to discourage the idea were of no +avail. The young man was for the navy and nothing else. Yielding at +last to the desire of his son, Mr. Clifford entered the usual form +of application at the Navy Yard in Washington, but, at the same +time, in a private letter to the Secretary, intimated his wish that +the application might not be favorably considered. + +Time passed on, but Mark did not receive the anxiously looked for +appointment. Many reasons were conjectured by the young man, who, at +last, resolved on pushing through his application, if personal +efforts could be of any avail. To this end, he repaired to the seat +of government, and waited on the Secretary. In his interviews with +this functionary, some expressions were dropped that caused a +suspicion of the truth to pass through his mind. A series of rapidly +recurring questions addressed to the Secretary were answered in a +way that fully confirmed this suspicion. The effect of this upon the +excitable and impulsive young man will appear as our story +progresses. + +It was while Mark's application was pending, and a short time before +his visit to Washington, that he came up to Fairview, the residence +of his grandfather. Mark had always been a favorite with the old +gentleman, who rather encouraged his desire to enter the navy. + +"The boy will distinguish himself," Mr. Lofton would say, as he +thought over the matter. And the idea of distinction in the army or +navy, was grateful to his aristocratic feelings. "There is some of +the right blood in his veins for all." + +One afternoon, some two or three days after the young man came up to +Fairview, he was returning from a ramble in the woods with his gun, +when he met a beautiful young girl, simply attired, and bearing on +her head a light bundle of grain which she had gleaned in a +neighboring field. She was tripping lightly along, singing as gaily +as a bird, when she came suddenly upon the young man, over whose +face there passed an instant glow of admiration. Mark bowed and +smiled, the maiden dropped a bashful courtesy, and then each passed +on; but neither to forget the other. When Mark turned, after a few +steps, to gaze after the sweet wild flower he had met so +unexpectedly, he saw the face again, for she had turned also. He did +not go home on that evening, until he had seen the lovely being who +glanced before him in her native beauty, enter a neat little cottage +that stood half a mile from Fairview, nearly hidden by vines, and +overshadowed by two tall sycamores. + +On the next morning Mark took his way toward the cottage with his +gun. As he drew near, the sweet voice he had heard on the day before +was warbling tenderly an old song his mother had sung when he was +but a child; and with the air and words so well remembered, came a +gentleness of feeling, and a love of what was pure and innocent, +such as he had not experienced for many years. In this state of mind +he entered the little porch, and stood listening for several minutes +to the voice that still flung itself plaintively or joyfully upon +the air, according to the sentiment breathed in the words that were +clothed in music; then as the voice became silent, he rapped gently +at the door, which, in a few moments, was opened by the one whose +attractions had drawn him thither. + +A warm color mantled the young girl's face as her eyes fell upon so +unexpected a visitor. She remembered him as the young man she had +met on the evening before; about whom she had dreamed all night, and +thought much since the early morning. Mark bowed, and, as an excuse +for calling, asked if her mother were at home. + +"My mother died when I was but a child," replied the girl, shrinking +back a step or two; for Mark was gazing earnestly into her face. + +"Ah! Then you are living with your--your--" + +"Mrs. Lee has been a mother to me since then," said she, dropping +her eyes to the floor. + +"Then I will see the good woman who has taken your mother's place." +Mark stepped in as he spoke, and took a chair in the neat little +sitting room into which the door opened. + +"She has gone over to Mr. Lofton's," said the girl, in reply, "and +won't be back for an hour." + +"Has she, indeed? Then you know Mr. Lofton?" + +"Oh, yes. We know him very well. He owns our little cottage." + +"Does he! No doubt you find him a good landland." + +"He's a kind man," said the girl, earnestly. + +"He is, as I have good reason to know," remarked the young man. "Mr. +Lofton is my grandfather." + +The girl seemed much surprised at this avowal, and appeared less at +ease than before. + +"And now, having told you who I am," said Mark, "I think I may be +bold enough to ask your name." + +"My name is Jenny Lawson," replied the girl. + +"A pretty name, that--Jenny--I always liked the sound of it. My +mother's name was Jenny. Did you ever see my mother? But don't +tremble so! Sit down, and tell your fluttering heart to be still." + +Jenny sunk into a chair, her bosom heaving, and the crimson flush +still glowing on her cheeks, while Mark gazed into her face with +undisguised admiration. + +"Who would have thought," said he to himself, "that so sweet a wild +flower grew in this out of the way place." + +"Did you ever see my mother, Jenny?" asked the young man, after she +was a little composed. + +"Mrs. Clifford?" + +"Yes." + +"Often." + +"Then we will be friends from this moment, Jenny. If you knew my +mother then, you must have loved her. She has been dead now over +three years." + +There was a shade of sadness in the young man's voice as he said +this. + +"When did you see her last?" he resumed. + +"The summer before she died she came up from New York and spent two +or three weeks here. I saw her then, almost every day." + +"And you loved my mother? Say you did!" + +The young man spoke with a rising emotion that he could not +restrain. + +"Every body loved her," replied Jenny, simply and earnestly. + +For a few moments Mark concealed his face with his hands, to hide +the signs of feeling that were playing over it; then looking up +again, he said-- + +"Jenny, because you knew my mother and loved her, we must be +friends. It was a great loss to me when she died. The greatest loss +I ever had, or, it may be, ever will have. I have been worse since +then. Ah me! If she had only lived!" + +Again Mark covered his face with his hands, and, this time, he could +not keep the dimness from his eyes. + +It was a strange sight to Jenny to see the young man thus moved. Her +innocent heart was drawn toward him with a pitying interest, and she +yearned to speak words of comfort, but knew not what to say. + +After Mark grew composed again, he asked Jenny a great many +questions touching her knowledge of his mother; and listened with +deep interest and emotion to many little incidents of Jenny's +intercourse with her, which were related with all the artlessness +and force of truth. In the midst of this singular interview, Mrs. +Lee came in and surprised the young couple, who, forgetting all +reserve, were conversing with an interest in their manner, the +ground of which she might well misunderstand. Jenny started and +looked confused, but, quickly recovering herself, introduced Mark as +the grandson of Mr. Lofton. + +The old lady did not respond to this with the cordiality that either +of the young folks had expected. No, not by any means. A flush of +angry suspicion came into her face, and she said to Jenny as she +handed her the bonnet she hurriedly removed-- + +"Here--take this into the other room and put it away." + +The moment Jenny retired, Mrs. Lee turned to Mark, and after looking +at him somewhat sternly for a moment, surprised him with this +speech-- + +"If I ever find you here again, young man, I'll complain to your +grandfather." + +"Will you, indeed!" returned Mark, elevating his person, and looking +at the old lady with flashing eyes. "And pray, what will you say to +the old gentleman?" + +"Fine doings, indeed, for the likes o' you to come creeping into a +decent woman's house when she is away!" resumed Mrs. Lee. "Jenny's +not the kind you're looking after, let me tell you. What would your +poor dear mother, who is in heaven, God bless her! think, if she +knew of this?" + +The respectful and even affectionate reference to his mother, +softened the feelings of Mark, who was growing very angry. + +"Good morning, old lady," said he, as he turned away; "you don't +know what you're talking about!" and springing from the door, he +hurried off with rapid steps. On reaching a wood that lay at some +distance off, Mark sought a retired spot, near where a quiet stream +went stealing noiselessly along amid its alder and willow-fringed +banks, and sitting down upon a grassy spot, gave himself up to +meditation. Little inclined was he now for sport. The birds sung in +the trees above him, fluttered from branch to branch, and even +dipped their wings in the calm waters of the stream, but he heeded +them not. He had other thoughts. Greatly had old Mrs. Lee, in the +blindness of her suddenly aroused fears, wronged the young man. If +the sphere of innocence that was around the beautiful girl had not +been all powerful to subdue evil thoughts and passions in his +breast, the reference to his mother would have been effectual to +that end. + +For half an hour had Mark remained seated alone, busy, with thoughts +and feelings of a less wandering and adventurous character than +usually occupied his mind, when, to his surprise, he saw Jenny +Lawson advancing along a path that led through a portion of the +woods, with a basket on her arm. She did not observe him until she +had approached within some fifteen or twenty paces; when he arose to +his feet, and she, seeing him, stopped suddenly, and looked pale and +alarmed. + +"I am glad to meet you again, Jenny," said Mark, going quickly +toward her, and taking her hand, which she yielded without +resistance. "Don't be frightened. Mrs. Lee did me wrong. Heaven +knows I would not hurt a hair of your head! Come and sit down with +me in this quiet place, and let us talk about my mother. You say you +knew her and loved her. Let her memory make us friends." + +Mark's voice trembled with feeling. There was something about the +girl that made the thought of his mother a holier and tenderer +thing. He had loved his mother intensely, and since her death, had +felt her loss as the saddest calamity that had, or possibly ever +could, befall him. Afloat on the stormy sea of human life, he had +seemed like a mariner without helm or compass. Strangely enough, +since meeting with Jenny at the cottage a little while before, the +thought of her appeared to bring his mother nearer to him; and when, +so unexpectedly, he saw her approaching him in the woods, he felt +momentarily, that it was his mother's spirit guiding her thither. + +Urged by so strong an appeal, Jenny suffered herself to be led to +the retired spot where Mark had been reclining, half wondering, half +fearful--yet impelled by a certain feeling that she could not well +resist. In fact, each exercised a power over the other, a power not +arising from any determination of will, but from a certain spiritual +affinity that neither comprehended. Some have called this "destiny," +but it has a better name. + +"Jenny," said Mark, after they were seated--he still retained her +hand in his, and felt it tremble--"tell me something about my +mother. It will do me good to hear of her from your lips." + +The girl tried to make some answer, but found no utterance. Her lips +trembled so that she could not speak. But she grew more composed +after a time, and then in reply to many questions of Mark, related +incident after incident, in which his mother's goodness of character +stood prominent. The young man listened intently, sometimes with his +eyes upon the ground, and sometimes gazing admiringly into the sweet +face of the young speaker. + +Time passed more rapidly than either Mark or Jenny imagined. For +full an hour had they been engaged in earnest conversation, when +both were painfully surprised by the appearance of Mrs. Lee, who had +sent Jenny on an errand, and expected her early return. A suspicion +that she might encounter young Clifford having flashed through the +old woman's mind, she had come forth to learn if possible the cause +of Jenny's long absence. To her grief and anger, she discovered them +sitting together engaged in earnest conversation. + +"Now, Mark Clifford!" she exclaimed as she advanced, "this is too +bad! And Jenny, you weak and foolish girl! are you madly bent on +seeking the fowler's snare? Child! child! is it thus you repay me +for my love and care over you!" + +Both Mark and Jenny started to their feet, the face of the former +flushed with instant anger, and that of the other pale from alarm. + +"Come!" and Mrs. Lee caught hold of Jenny's arm and drew her away. +As they moved off, the former, glancing back at Mark, and shaking +her finger towards him, said-- + +"I'll see your grandfather, young man!" + +Fretted by this second disturbance of an interview with Jenny, and +angry at an unjust imputation of motive, Mark dashed into the woods, +with his gun in his hand, and walked rapidly, but aimlessly, for +nearly an hour, when he found himself at the summit of a high +mountain, from which, far down and away towards the east, he could +see the silvery Hudson winding along like a vein of silver. Here, +wearied with his walk, and faint in spirit from over excitement, he +sat down to rest and to compose his thoughts. Scarcely intelligible +to himself were his feelings. The meeting with Jenny, and the effect +upon him, were things that he did not clearly understand. Her +influence over him was a mystery. In fact, what had passed so +hurriedly, was to him more like a dream than a reality. + +No further idea of sport entered the mind of the young man on that +day. He remained until after the sun had passed the meridian in this +retired place, and then went slowly back, passing the cottage of +Mrs. Lee on his return. He did not see Jenny as he had hoped. On +meeting Mr. Lofton, Mark became aware of a change in the old man's +feelings towards him, and he guessed at once rightly as to the +cause. If he had experienced any doubts, they would have been +quickly removed. + +"Mark!" said the old gentleman, sternly, almost the moment the +grandson came into his presence, "I wish you to go back to New York +to-morrow. I presume I need hardly explain my reason for this wish, +when I tell you that I have just had a visit from old Mrs. Lee." + +The fiery spirit of Mark was stung into madness by this further +reaction on him in a matter that involved nothing of criminal +intent. Impulsive in his feelings, and quick to act from them, he +replied with a calmness and even sadness in his voice that Mr. +Lofton did not expect--the calmness was from a strong effort: the +sadness expressed his real feelings: + +"I will not trouble you with my presence an hour longer. If evil +arise from this trampling of good impulse out of my heart, the sin +rest on your own head. I never was and never can be patient under a +false judgment. Farewell, grandfather! We may never meet again. If +you hear of evil befalling me, think of it as having some connection +with this hour." + +With these words Mark turned away and left the house. The old man, +in grief and alarm at the effect of his words, called after him, but +he heeded him not. + +"Run after him, and tell him to come back," he cried to a servant +who stood near and had listened to what had passed between them. The +order was obeyed, but it was of no avail. Mark returned a bitter +answer to the message he brought him, and continued on his way. As +he was hurrying along, suddenly he encountered Jenny. It was strange +that he should meet her so often. There was something in it more +than accident, and he felt that it was so. + +"God bless you, Jenny!" he exclaimed with much feeling, catching +hold of her hand and kissing it. "We may never meet again. They +thought I meant you harm, and have driven me away. But, Heaven knows +how little of evil purpose was in my heart! Farewell! Sometimes, +when you are kneeling to say your nightly prayers, think of me, and +breathe my name in your petitions. I will need the prayers of the +innocent. Farewell!" + +And under the impulse of the moment, Mark bent forward and pressed +his lips fervently upon her pure forehead; then, springing away, +left her bewildered and in tears. + +Mark hurried on towards the nearest landing place on the river, some +three miles distant, which he reached just as a steamboat was +passing. Waving his handkerchief, as a signal, the boat rounded to, +and touching at the rude pier, took him on board. He arrived in New +York that evening, and on the next morning started for Washington to +see after his application for a midshipman's appointment in the +navy. It was on this occasion that the young man became aware of the +secret influence of his father against the application which had +been made. His mind, already feverishly excited, lost its balance +under this new disturbing cause. + +"He will repent of this!" said he, bitterly, as he left the room of +the Secretary of the Navy, "and repent it until the day of his +death. Make a fixture of me in a counting room! Shut me up in a +lawyer's office! Lock me down in a medicine chest! Mark Clifford +never will submit! If I cannot enter the service in one way I will +in another." + +Without pausing to weigh the consequences of his act, Mark, in a +spirit of revenge towards his father, went, while the fever was on +him, to the Navy Yard, and there entered the United States service +as a common sailor, under the name of Edward James. On the day +following, the ship on board of which he had enlisted was gliding +down the Potomac, and, in a week after, left Hampton Roads and went +to sea. + +From Norfolk, Mr. Clifford received a brief note written by his son, +upbraiding him for having defeated the application to the +department, and avowing the fact that he had gone to sea in the +government service, as a common sailor. + + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + + + + +IT was impossible for such passionate interviews, brief though they +were, to take place without leaving on the heart of a simple minded +girl like Jenny Lawson, a deep impression. New impulses were given +to her feelings, and a new direction to her thoughts. Nature told +her that Mark Clifford loved her; and nothing but his cold disavowal +of the fact could possibly have affected this belief. He had met +her, it was true, only three or four times; but their interviews +during these meetings had been of a character to leave no ordinary +effect behind. So long as her eyes, dimmed by overflowing tears, +could follow Mark's retiring form, she gazed eagerly after him; and +when he was at length hidden from her view, she sat down to pour out +her heart in passionate weeping. + +Old Mrs. Lee, while she tenderly loved the sweet flower that had +grown up under her care, was not, in all things, a wise and discreet +woman; nor deeply versed in the workings of the human heart. + +Rumor of Mark's wildness had found its way to the neighborhood of +Fairview, and made an unfavorable impression. Mrs. Lee firmly +believed that he was moving with swift feet in the way to +destruction, and rolling evil under his tongue as a sweet morsel. +When she heard of his arrival at his grandfather's, a fear came upon +her lest he should cast his eyes upon Jenny. No wonder that she met +the young man with such a quick repulse, when, to her alarm, she +found that he had invaded her home, and was already charming the ear +of the innocent child she so tenderly loved and cared for. To find +them sitting alone in the woods, only a little while afterwards, +almost maddened her; and so soon as she took Jenny home, she hurried +over to Mr. Lofton, and in a confused, exaggerated, and intemperate +manner, complained of the conduct of Mark. + +"Together alone in the woods!" exclaimed the old gentleman, greatly +excited. "What does the girl mean?" + +"What does he mean, thus to entice away my innocent child?" said +Mrs. Lee, equally excited. "Oh, Mr. Lofton! for goodness' sake, send +him back to New York! If he remain here a day longer, all may be +lost! Jenny is bewitched with him. She cried as if her heart would +break when I took her back home, and said that I had done wrong to +Mark in what I had said to him." + +"Weak and foolish child! How little does she know of the world--how +little of the subtle human heart! Yes--yes, Mrs. Lee, Mark shall go +back at once. He shall not remain here a day longer to breathe his +blighting breath on so sweet a flower. Jenny is too good a girl to +be exposed to such an influence." + +The mind of Mr. Lofton remained excited for hours after this +interview; and when Mark appeared, he met him as has already been +seen. The manner in which the young man received the angry words of +his grandfather, was a little different from what had been +anticipated. Mr. Lofton expected some explanation by which he could +understand more clearly what was in the young man's thoughts. When, +therefore, Mark abruptly turned from him with such strange language +on his tongue, Mr. Lofton's anger cooled, and he felt that he had +suffered himself to be misled by a hasty judgment. That no evil had +been in the young man's mind he was sure. It was this change that +had prompted him to make an effort to recall him. But, the effort +was fruitless. + +On Jenny's return home, after her last interview with Mark, she +found a servant there with a summons from Mr. Lofton. With much +reluctance she repaired to the mansion house. On meeting with the +old gentleman he received her in a kind but subdued manner; but, as +for Jenny herself, she stood in his presence weeping and trembling. + +"Jenny," said Mr. Lofton, after the girl had grown more composed, +"when did you first meet my grandson?" + +Jenny mentioned the accidental meeting on the day before, and the +call at the cottage in the morning. + +"And you saw him first only yesterday?" + +"Yes." + +"What did he say when he called this morning?" + +"He asked for my mother." + +"Your mother?" + +"Yes. I told him that my mother was dead, and that I lived with Mrs. +Lee. He then wanted to see her; but I said that she had gone over to +your house." + +"What did he say then?" + +"He spoke of you, and said you were a good man, and that we no doubt +found you a good landlord. I had mentioned that you owned our +cottage." + +Mr. Lofton appeared affected at this. + +"What then?" he continued. + +"He told me who he was, and then asked me my name. When I told him +that it was Jenny, he said, it was a good name, and that he always +liked the sound of it, for his mother's name was Jenny. Then he +asked me, if I had known his mother, and when I said yes, he wanted +to know if I loved her. I said yes--for you know we all loved her. +Then he covered his face with his hands, and I saw the tears coming +through his fingers. 'Because you know my mother, and loved her, +Jenny,' said he, 'we will be friends.' Afterwards he asked me a +great many questions about her, and listened with the tears in his +eyes, when I told him of many things she had said and done the last +time she was up here. We were talking together about his mother, +when Mrs. Lee came in. She spoke cross to him, and threatened to +complain to you, if he came there any more. He went away angry. But +I'm sure he meant nothing wrong, sir. How could he and talk as he +did about his mother in heaven?" + +"But, how came you to meet him, in the woods, Jenny?" said Mr. +Lofton. "Did he tell you that he would wait there for you?" + +"Oh, no, sir. The meeting was accidental. I was sent over to Mrs. +Jasper's on an errand, and, in passing through the woods, saw him +sitting alone and looking very unhappy. I was frightened; but he +told me that he wouldn't hurt a hair of my head. Then he made me sit +down upon the grass beside him, and talk to him about his mother. He +asked me a great many questions, and I told him all that I could +remember about her. Sometimes the tears would steal over his cheeks; +and sometimes he would say--'Ah! if my mother had not died. Her +death was a great loss to me, Jenny--a great loss--and I have been +worse for it.'" + +"And was this all you talked about, Jenny," asked Mr. Lofton, who +was much, affected by the artless narrative of the girl. + +"It was all about his mother," replied Jenny. "He said that I not +only bore her name, but that I looked like her, and that it seemed +to him, while with me, that she was present." + +"He said that, did he!" Mr. Lofton spoke more earnestly, and looked +intently upon Jenny's face. "Yes--yes--it is so. She does look like +dear Jenny," he murmured to himself. "I never saw this before. Dear +boy! We have done him wrong. These hasty conclusions--ah, me! To how +much evil do they lead!" + +"And you were talking thus, when Mrs. Lee found you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What did she say?" + +"I can hardly tell what she said, I was so frightened. But I know +she spoke angrily to him and to me, and threatened to see you." + +Mr. Lofton sighed deeply, then added, as if the remark were casual-- + +"And that is the last you have seen of him." + +"No, sir; I met him a little while ago, as he was hurrying away from +your house." + +"You did!" Mr. Lofton started at Jenny's unexpected reply. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Did he speak to you?" + +"Yes; he stopped and caught hold of my hand, saying, 'God bless you, +Jenny! We may never meet again. They have driven me away, because +they thought I meant to harm you.' But he said nothing wrong was in +his heart, and asked me to pray for him, as he would need my +prayers." + +At this part of her narrative, Jenny wept bitterly, and her +auditor's eyes became dim also. + +Satisfied that Jenny's story was true in every particular, Mr. +Lofton spoke kindly to her and sent her home. + +A week after Mark Clifford left Fairview, word came that he had +enlisted in the United States' service and gone to sea as a common +sailor; accompanying this intelligence was an indignant avowal of +his father that he would have nothing more to do with him. To old +Mr. Lofton this was a serious blow. In Mark he had hoped to see +realized some of his ambitious desires. His daughter Jenny had been +happy in her marriage, but the union never gave him much +satisfaction. She was to have been the wife of one more +distinguished than a mere plodding money-making merchant. + +Painful was the shock that accompanied the prostration of old Mr. +Lofton's ambitious hopes touching his grandson, of whom he had +always been exceedingly fond. To him he had intended leaving the +bulk of his property when he died. But now anger and resentment +arose in his mind against him as unworthy such a preference, and in +the warmth of a moment's impulse, he corrected his will and cut him +off with a dollar. This was no sooner done than better emotions +stirred in the old man's bosom, and he regretted the hasty act; but +pride of consistency prevented his recalling it. + +From that time old Mr. Lofton broke down rapidly. In six months he +seemed to have added ten years to his life. During that period no +news had come from Mark; who was not only angry with both his father +and grandfather, but felt that in doing what he had done, he had +offended them beyond the hope of forgiveness. He, therefore, having +taken a rash step, moved on in the way he had chosen, in a spirit of +recklessness and defiance. The ties of blood which had bound him to +his home were broken; the world was all before him, and he must make +his way in it alone. The life of a common sailor in a government +ship he found to be something different from what he had imagined, +when, acting under a momentary excitement, he was so mad as to +enlist in the service. Unused to work or ready obedience, he soon +discovered that his life was to be one not only of bodily toil, +pushed sometimes to the extreme of fatigue, but one of the most +perfect subordination to the will of others, under pain of corporeal +punishment. The first insolent word of authority passed to him by a +new fledged midshipman, his junior by at least three years, stung +him so deeply that it was only by a most violent effort that he +could master the impulse that prompted him to seize and throw him +overboard. He did not regret this successful effort at self-control, +when, a few hours afterwards, he was compelled to witness the +punishment of the cat inflicted on a sailor for the offence of +insolence to an officer. The sight of the poor man, writhing under +tile brutality of the lash, made an impression on him that nothing +could efface. It absorbed his mind and brought it into a healthier +state of reflection than it had yet been. + +"I have placed myself in this position by a rash act," he said to +himself, as he turned, sick at heart, away from the painful and +disgusting sight. "And all rebellion against the authority around me +will but make plainer my own weakness. I have degraded myself; but +there is a lower degradation still, and that I must avoid. Drag me +to the gangway, and I am lost!" + +Strict obedience and submission was from that time self-compelled on +the part of Mark Clifford. It was not without a strong effort, +however, that he kept down the fiery spirit within him. A word of +insolent command--and certain of the young midshipmen on board could +not speak to a senior even if he were old as their father, except in +a tone of insult--would send the blood boiling through his veins. + +It was only by the narrowest chances that Mark escaped punishment +during the first six months of the cruise, which was in the Pacific. +If he succeeded in bridling his tongue, and restraining his hands +from violence he could not hide the indignant flash of his eyes, nor +school the muscles of his face into submission. They revealed the +wild spirit of rebellion that was in his heart. Intelligent +promptness in duty saved him. + +This was seen by his superior officers, and it was so much in his +favor when complaints came from the petty tyrants of the ship who +sometimes shrunk from the fierce glance that in a moment of +struggling passion would be cast upon them. After a trying ordeal of +six months, he was favored by one of the officers who saw deeper +than the rest; and gathered from him a few hints as to his true +character. In pitying him, he made use of his influence to save him +from some of the worst consequences of his position. + +Jenny Lawson was a changed girl after her brief meeting with Mark +Clifford. Before, she had been as light hearted and gay as a bird. +But, her voice was no longer heard pouring forth the sweet melodies +born of a happy heart. Much of her time she sought to be alone; and +when alone, she usually sat in a state of dreamy absent-mindedness. +As for her thoughts, they were most of the time on Clifford. His +hand had stirred the waters of affection in her gentle bosom; and +they knew no rest. Mr. Lofton frequently sent for her to come over +to the mansion house. He never spoke to her of Mark; nor did she +mention his name--though both thought of him whenever they were +together. The oftener Mr. Lofton saw Jenny, and the more he was with +her, the more did she remind him of his own lost child--his Jenny, +the mother of Mark--now in heaven. The incident of meeting with +young Clifford had helped to develop Jenny's character, and give it +a stronger type than otherwise would have been the case. Thus, she +became to Mr. Lofton companionable; and, ere a year had elapsed from +the time Mark went away, Mrs. Lee, having passed to her account, she +was taken into his house, and he had her constantly with him. As he +continued to fail, he leaned upon the affectionate girl more and +more heavily; and was never contented when she was away from him. + +It would be difficult to represent clearly Jenny's state of feeling +during this period. A simple minded, innocent, true-hearted girl, in +whose bosom scarce beat a single selfish impulse, she found herself +suddenly approached by one in station far above her, in a way that +left her heart unguarded. He had stooped to her, and leaned upon +her, and she, obeying an impulse of her nature, had stood firmer to +support him as he leaned. Their tender, confiding, and delightful +intercourse, continued only for a brief season, and was then rudely +broken in upon; forced separation was followed by painful +consequences to the young man. When Jenny thought of how Mark had +been driven away on her account, she felt that in order to save him +from the evils that must be impending over him, she would devote +even her life in his service. But, what could she do? This desire to +serve him had also another origin. A deep feeling of love had been +awakened; and, though she felt it to be hopeless, she kept the flame +brightly burning. + +Intense feelings produced more active thoughts, and the mind of +Jenny took a higher development. A constant association with Mr. +Lofton, who required her to read to him sometimes for hours each +day, filled her thoughts with higher ideas than any she had known, +and gradually widened the sphere of her intelligence. Thus she grew +more and more companionable to the old man, who, in turn, perceiving +that her mind was expanding, took pains to give it a right +direction, so far as external knowledge were concerned. + +Soon after Mark went to sea, Jenny took pains to inform herself +accurately as to the position and duties of a common sailor on board +of a United States' vessel. She was more troubled about Mark after +this, for she understood how unfitted he was for the hard service he +entered upon so blindly. + +One day, it was over a year from the time that Mark left Fairview, +Mr. Lofton sent for Jenny, and, on her coming into his room, handed +her a sealed letter, but without making any remark. On it was +superscribed her name; and it bore, besides, the word "Ship" in red +printed letters, "Valparaiso," also, was written upon it. Jenny +looked at the letter wonderingly, for a moment or two, and then, +with her heart throbbing wildly, left the room. On breaking the +seal, she found the letter to be from Mark. It was as follows: + +"U. S. SHIP----, Valparaiso, September 4, 18--, + +"MY GENTLE FRIEND.--A year has passed since our brief meeting and +unhappy parting. I do not think you have forgotten me in that time; +you may be sure I have not forgotten you. The memory of one about +whom we conversed, alone would keep your image green in my thoughts. +Of the rash step I took you have no doubt heard. In anger at unjust +treatment both from my father and grandfather, I was weak enough to +enter the United States' service as a sailor. Having committed this +folly, and being unwilling to humble myself, and appeal to friends +who had wronged me for their interest to get me released, I have +looked the hardship and degradation before me in the face, and +sought to encounter it manfully. The ordeal has been thus far most +severe, and I have yet two years of trial before me. As I am where I +am by my own act, I will not complain, and yet, I have felt it hard +to be cut off from all the sympathy and kind interest of my +friends--to have no word from home--to feel that none cares for me. +I know that I have offended both my father and grandfather past +forgiveness, and my mind is made up to seek for no reconciliation +with them. I cannot stoop to that. I have too much of the blood of +the Loftons in my veins. + +"But why write this to you, Jenny? You will hardly understand how +such feelings can govern any heart--your own is so gentle and +innocent in all of its impulses. I have other things to say to you! +Since our meeting I have never ceased to think of you! I need no +picture of your face, for I see it ever before me as distinctly as +if sketched by the painter's art. I sometimes ask myself +wonderingly, how it is that you, a simple country maiden, could, in +one or two brief meetings, have made so strong an impression upon +me? But, you bore my mother's name, and your face was like her dear +face. Moreover, the beauty of goodness was in your countenance, and +a sphere of innocence around you; and I had not strayed so far from +virtue's paths as to be insensible to these. Since we parted, Jenny, +you have seemed ever present with me, as an angel of peace and +protection. In the moment when passion was about overmastering me, +you stood by my side, and I seemed to hear your voice speaking to +the rising storm, and hushing all into calmness. When my feet have +been ready to step aside, you instantly approached and pointed to +the better way. Last night I had a dream, and it is because of that +dream that I now write to you. I have often felt like writing +before; now I write because I cannot help it. I am moved to do so by +something that I cannot resist. + +"Yesterday I had a difficulty with an officer who has shewn a +disposition to domineer over me ever since the cruise commenced. He +complained to the commander, who has, in more than one instance +shown me kindness. The commander said that I must make certain +concessions to the officer, which I felt as humiliating; that good +discipline required this, and that unless I did so, he would be +reluctantly compelled to order me to the gangway. Thus far I had +avoided punishment by a strict obedience to duty. No lash had ever +touched me. That degradation I felt would be my ruin; and in fear of +the result I bore much, rather than give any petty officer the power +to have me punished. 'Let me sleep over it, Captain,' said I, so +earnestly, that my request was granted. + +"Troubled dreams haunted me as I lay in my hammock that night. At +last I seemed to be afloat on the wide ocean, on a single plank, +tossing about with the hot sun shining fiercely upon me, and +monsters of the great deep gathering around, eager for their prey. I +was weak, faint, and despairing. In vain did my eyes sweep the +horizon, there was neither vessel nor land in sight. At length the +sun went down, and the darkness drew nearer and nearer. Then I could +see nothing but the stars shining above me. In this moment, when +hope seemed about leaving my heart forever, a light came suddenly +around me. On looking up I saw a boat approaching. In the bow stood +my mother, and you sat guiding the helm! She took my hand, and I +stepped into the boat with a thrill of joy at my deliverance. As I +did so, she kissed me, looked tenderly towards you, and faded from +my sight. Then I awoke. + +"The effect of all this was to subdue my haughty spirit. As soon as +an opportunity offered, I made every desired concession for my +fault, and was forgiven. And now I am writing to you, I feel as if +there was something in that dream, Jenny. Ah! Shall I ever see your +face again? Heaven only knows! + +"I send this letter to you in care of my grandfather. I know that he +will not retain it or seek to know its contents. Unless he should +ask after me, do not speak to him or any one of what I have written +to you. Farewell! Do not forget me in your prayers. + +"MARK CLIFFORD." + +The effect of this letter upon Jenny, was to interest her intensely. +The swell of emotion went deeper, and the activity of her mind took +a still higher character. It was plain to her, when she next came +into Mr. Lofton's presence, that his thoughts had been busy about +the letter she had received. But he asked her no questions, and, +faithful to the expressed wish of Mark, she made no reference to the +subject whatever. + +One part of Jenny's service to the failing old man, had been to read +to him daily from the newspapers. This made her familiar with what +was passing in the world, gave her food for thought, and helped her +to develop and strengthen her mind. Often had she pored over the +papers for some news of Mark, but never having heard the name of the +vessel in which he had gone to sea, she had possessed no clue to +find what she sought for. But now, whenever a paper was opened, her +first search was for naval intelligence. + +With what a throb of interest did she one day, about a week after +Mark's letter came to hand, read an announcement that the ship ---- +had been ordered home, and might be expected to arrive daily at +Norfolk. + +A woman thinks quickly to a conclusion; or, rather, arrives there by +a process quicker than thought; especially where her conclusions are +to affect a beloved object. In an hour after Jenny had read the fact +just stated, she said to Mr. Lofton, who had now come to be much +attached to her-- + +"Will you grant me a favor?" + +"Ask what you will, my child," replied Mr. Lofton, with more than +usual affection in his tones. + +"Let me have fifty dollars." + +"Certainly. I know you will use it for a good purpose." + +Two days after this Jenny was in Washington. She made the journey +alone, but without timidity or fear. Her purpose made her +self-possessed and courageous. On arriving at the seat of +government, Jenny inquired for the Secretary of the Navy. When she +arrived at the Department over which he presided, and obtained an +interview, she said to him, as soon as she could compose herself-- + +"The ship ---- has been ordered home from the Pacific?" + +"She arrived at Norfolk last night, and is now hourly expected at +the Navy Yard," replied the Secretary. + +At this intelligence, Jenny was so much affected that it was some +time before she could trust herself to speak. + +"You have a brother on board?" said the Secretary. + +"There is a young man on board," replied Jenny, in a tremulous +voice, "for whose discharge I have come to ask." + +The Secretary looked grave. + +"At whose instance do you come?" he inquired. + +"Solely at my own." + +"Who is the young man?" + +"Do you know Marshal Lofton?" + +"I do, by reputation, well. He belongs to a distinguished family in +New York, to which the country owes much for service rendered in +trying times." + +"The discharge I ask, is for his grandson." + +"Young Clifford, do you mean?" The Secretary looked surprised as he +spoke. "He is not in the service." + +"He is on board the ship ---- as a common sailor." + +"Impossible!" + +"It is too true. In a moment of angry disappointment he took the +rash step. And, since then, no communication has passed between him +and his friends." + +The Secretary turned to the table near which he was sitting, and, +after writing a few lines on a piece of paper, rung a small +hand-bell for the messenger, who came in immediately. + +"Take this to Mr J----, and bring me an answer immediately." + +The messenger left the room, and the Secretary said to Jenny-- + +"Wait a moment or two, if you please." + +In a little while the messenger came back and handed the Secretary a +memorandum from the clerk to whom he had sent for information. + +"There is no such person as Clifford on board the ship ----, nor, in +fact, in the service as a common sailor," said the Secretary, +addressing Jenny, after glancing at the memorandum he had received. + +"Oh, yes, there is; there must be," exclaimed the now agitated girl. +"I received a letter from him at Valparaiso, dated on board of this +ship. And, besides, he wrote home to his father, at the time he +sailed, declaring what he had done." + +"Strange. His name doesn't appear in the Department as attached to +the service. Hark! There's a gun. It announces, in all probability, +the arrival of the ship ---- at the Navy Yard." + +Jenny instantly became pale. + +"Perhaps," suggested the Secretary, "your best way will be to take a +carriage and drive down, at once, to the Navy Yard. Shall I direct +the messenger to call a carriage for you?" + +"I will thank you to do so," replied Jenny, faintly. + +The carriage was soon at the door. Jenny was much agitated when she +arrived at the Navy Yard. To her question as to whether the ship +---- had arrived, she was pointed to a large vessel which lay moored +at the dock. How she mounted its side she hardly knew; but, in what +seemed scarcely an instant of time, she was standing on the deck. To +an officer who met her, as she stepped on board, she asked for Mark +Clifford. + +"What is he? A sailor or marine?" + +"A sailor." + +"There is no such person on board, I believe," said the officer. + +Poor Jenny staggered back a few paces, while a deadly paleness +overspread her face. As she leaned against the side of the vessel +for support, a young man, dressed as a sailor, ascended from the +lower deck. Their eyes met, and both sprung towards each other. + +"Jenny! Jenny! is it you!" fell passionately from his lips, as he +caught her in his arms, and kissed her fervently. "Bless you! Bless +you, Jenny! This is more than I had hoped for," he added, as he +gazed fondly into her beautiful young face. + +"They said you were not here," murmured Jenny, "and my heart was in +despair." + +"You asked for Mark Clifford?" + +"Yes." + +"I am not known in the service by that name. I entered it as Edward +James." + +This meeting, occurring as it did, with many spectators around, and +they of the ruder class, was so earnest and tender, yet with all, so +mutually respectful and decorous, that even the rough sailors were +touched by the manner and sentiment of the interview; and mole than +one eye grew dim. + +Not long did Jenny linger on the deck of the ----. Now that she had +found Mark, her next thought was to secure his discharge. + + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + + + + +IT was little more than half an hour after the Secretary of the Navy +parted with Jenny, ere she entered his office again; but now with +her beautiful face flushed and eager. + +"I have found him!" she exclaimed; "I knew he was on board this +ship!" + +The Secretary's interest had been awakened by the former brief +interview with Jenny, and when she came in with the announcement, he +was not only affected with pleasure, but his feelings were touched +by her manner. "How is it, then," he inquired, "that his name is not +to be found in the list of her crew?" + +"He entered the service under the name of Edward James." + +"Ah! that explains it." + +"And now, sir," said Jenny, in a voice so earnest and appealing, +that her auditor felt like granting her desire without a moment's +reflection: "I have come to entreat you to give me his release." + +"On what ground do you make this request?" inquired the Secretary, +gazing into the sweet young face of Jenny, with a feeling of respect +blended with admiration. + +"On the ground of humanity," was the simple yet earnestly spoken +reply. + +"How can you put it on that ground?" + +"A young man of his education and abilities can serve society better +in another position." + +"But he has chosen the place he is in." + +"Not deliberately. In a moment of disappointment and blind passion +he took a false step. Severely has he suffered for this act. Let it +not be prolonged, lest it destroy him. One of his spirit can +scarcely pass through so severe an ordeal without fainting." + +"Does Mr. Lofton, his grandfather, desire what you ask?" + +"Mr. Lofton is a proud man. He entertained high hopes for Mark, who +has, in this act, so bitterly disappointed them, that he has not +been known to utter his name since the news of his enlistment was +received." + +"And his father?" + +Jenny shook her head, sighing-- + +"I don't know anything about him. He was angry, and, I believe, cast +him off." + +"And you, then, are his only advocate?" + +Jenny's eyes dropped to the floor, and a deeper tinge overspread her +countenance. + +"What is your relation to him, and to his friends?" asked the +Secretary, his manner becoming more serious. + +It was some moments before Jenny replied. Then she said, in a more +subdued voice: + +"I am living with Mr. Lofton. But--" + +She hesitated, and then became silent and embarrassed. + +"Does Mr. Lofton know of your journey to Washington?" + +Jenny shook her head. + +"Where did you tell him you were going?" + +"I said nothing to him, but came away the moment I heard the ship +was expected to arrive at Norfolk." + +"Suppose I release him from the service?" + +"I will persuade him to go back with me to Fairview, and then I know +that all will be forgiven between him and his grandfather. You don't +know how Mr. Lofton has failed since Mark went away," added Jenny in +a tone meant to reach the feelings of her auditor. + +"He looks many years older. Ah, sir, if you would only grant my +request!" + +"Will the young man return to his family! Have you spoken to him +about it?" + +"No; I wished not to create hopes that might fail. But give me his +release, and I will have a claim on him." + +"And you will require him to go home in acknowledgment of that +claim." + +"I will not leave him till he goes back," said Jenny. + +"Is he not satisfied in the service?" + +"How could he be satisfied with it?" Jenny spoke with a quick +impulse, and with something like rebuke in her voice. "No! It is +crushing out his very life. Think of your own son in such a +position!" + +There was something in this appeal, and in the way it was uttered, +that decided the Secretary's mind. A man of acute observation, and +humane feelings, he not only understood pretty clearly the relation +that Jenny bore to Mark and his family, but sympathised with the +young man and resolved to grant the maiden's request. Leaving her +for a few minutes, he went into an adjoining room. When he returned, +he had a sealed letter in his hand directed to the commander of the +ship ----. + +"This will procure his dismissal from the service," said he, as he +reached it towards Jenny. + +"May heaven reward you!" fell from the lips of the young girl, as +she received the letter. Then, with the tears glistening in her +eyes, she hurriedly left the apartment. + +While old Mr. Lofton was yet wondering what Jenny could want with +fifty dollars, a servant came and told him that she had just heard +from a neighbor who came up a little while before from the landing, +that he had seen Jenny go on board of a steamboat that was on its +way to New York. + +"It can't be so," quickly answered Mr. Lofton. + +"Mr. Jones said, positively, that it was her." + +"Tell Henry to go to Mr. Jones and ask him, as a favor, to step over +and see me." + +In due time Mr. Jones came. + +"Are you certain that you saw Jenny Lawson go on board the steamboat +for New York to-day?" asked Mr. Lofton, when the neighbor appeared. + +"Oh, yes, sir; it was her," replied the man. + +"Did you speak to her?" + +"I was going to, but she hurried past me without looking in my +face." + +"Had she anything with her?" + +"There was a small bundle in her hand." + +"Strange--strange--very strange," murmured the old man to himself. +"What does it mean? Where can she have gone?" + +"Did she say nothing about going away?" + +"Nothing--nothing!" + +Mr. Lofton's eyes fell to the floor, and he sat thinking for some +moments. + +"Mr. Jones," said he, at length, "can you go to New York for me?" + +"I suppose so," replied Mr. Jones. + +"When will the morning boat from Albany pass here?" + +"In about two hours." + +"Then get yourself ready, if you please, and come over to me. I do +not like this of Jenny, and must find out where she has gone." + +Mr. Jones promised to do as was desired, and went to make all +necessary preparations. Before he returned, a domestic brought Mr. +Lofton a sealed note bearing his address, which she had found in +Jenny's chamber. It was as follows: + +"Do not be alarmed at my telling you that, when you receive this, I +will be on a journey of two or three hundred miles in extent, and +may not return for weeks. Believe me, that my purpose is a good one. +I hope to be back much sooner than I have said. When I do get home, +I know you will approve of what I have done. My errand is one of +Mercy. + +"Humbly and faithfully yours, JENNY." + +It was some time before Mr. Lofton's mind grew calm and clear, after +reading this note. That Jenny's absence was, in some way, connected +with Mark, was a thought that soon presented itself. But, in what +way, he could not make out; for he had never heard the name of the +ship in which his grandson sailed, and knew nothing of her expected +arrival home. + +By the time Mr. Jones appeared, ready to start on the proposed +mission to New York, Mr. Lofton had made up his mind not to attempt +to follow Jenny, but to wait for some word from her. Not until this +sudden separation took place did Mr. Lofton understand how necessary +to his happiness the affectionate girl had become. So troubled was +he at her absence, and so anxious for her safety, that when night +came he found himself unable to sleep. In thinking about the dangers +that would gather around one so ignorant of the world, his +imagination magnified the trials and temptations to which, alone as +she was, she would be exposed. Such thoughts kept him tossing +anxiously upon his pillow, or restlessly pacing the chamber floor +until day dawn. Then, from over-excitement and loss of rest, he was +seriously indisposed--so much so, that his physician had to be +called in during the day. He found him with a good deal of fever, +and deemed it necessary to resort to depletion, as well as to the +application of other remedies to allay the over-action of his vital +system. These prostrated him at once--so much so, that he was unable +to sit up. Before night he was so seriously ill that the physician +had to be sent for again. The fever had returned with great +violence, and the pressure on his brain was so great that he had +become slightly delirious. + +During the second night, this active stage of the disease continued; +but all the worst symptoms subsided towards morning. Daylight found +him sleeping quietly, with a cool moist skin, and a low, regular +pulse. Towards mid-day he awoke; but the anxiety that came with +thought brought back many of the unfavorable symptoms, and he was +worse again towards evening. On the third day he was again better, +but so weak as to be unable to sit up. + +How greatly did old Mr. Lofton miss the gentle girl, who had become +almost as dear to him as a child, during this brief illness, brought +on by her strange absence. No hand could smooth his pillow like +hers. No presence could supply her place by his side. He was +companionless, now that she was away; and his heart reached vainly +around for something to lean upon for support. + +On the fourth day he was better, and sat up a little. But his +anxiety for Jenny was increasing. Where could she be? He read her +brief letter over and over again. + +"May not return for weeks," he said, as he held the letter in his +hand. "Where can she have gone? Foolish child! Why did she not +consult with me? I would have advised her for the best." + +Late on the afternoon of that day, Jenny, in company with Mark, the +latter in the dress of a seaman in the United States service, passed +from a steamboat at the landing near Fairview, and took their way +towards the mansion of Mr. Lofton. They had not proceeded far, +before the young man began to linger, while Jenny showed every +disposition to press on rapidly. At length Mark stopped. + +"Jenny," said he, while a cloud settled on his face, "you've had +your own way up to this moment. I've been passive in your hands. But +I can't go on with you any further." + +"Don't say that," returned Jenny, her voice almost imploring in its +tones. And in the earnestness of her desire to bring Mark back to +his grandfather, she seized one of his hands, and, by a gentle +force, drew him a few paces in the direction they had been going. +But he resisted that force, and they stood still again. + +"I don't think I can go back, Jenny," said Mark, in a subdued voice: +"I have some pride left, much as has been crushed out of me during +the period of my absence, and this rises higher and higher in my +heart the nearer I approach my grandfather. How can I meet him!" + +"Only come into his presence, Mark," urged Jenny, speaking tenderly +and familiarly. She had addressed him as Mr. Clifford, but he had +forbidden that, saying-- + +"To you my name is Mark--let none other pass your lips!" + +"Only come into his presence. You need not speak to him, nor look +towards him. This is all I ask." + +"But, the humiliation of going back after my resentment of his +former treatment," said Mark. "I can bear anything but this bending +of my pride--this humbling of myself to others." + +"Don't think of yourself, Mark," replied Jenny. "Think of your +grandfather, on whom your absence has wrought so sad a change. Think +of what he must have suffered to break down so in less than two +years. In pity to him, then, come back. Be guided by me, Mark, and I +will lead you right. Think of that strange dream!" + +At this appeal, Mark moved quickly forward by the side of the +beautiful girl, who had so improved in every way--mind and body +having developed wonderfully since he parted with her--that he was +filled all the while by wonder, respect and admiration. He moved by +her side as if influenced by a spell that subdued his own will. + +In silence they walked along, side by side, the pressure of thought +and feeling on each mind being so strong as to take away the desire +to speak, until the old mansion house of Mr. Lofton appeared in +view. Here Mark stopped again; but the tenderly uttered "Come," and +the tearful glance of Jenny, effectually controlled the promptings +of an unbroken will. Together, in a few minutes afterwards, they +approached the house and entered. + +"Where is Mr. Lofton?" asked Jenny of a servant who met them in the +great hall. + +"He's been very ill," replied the servant. + +"Ill!" Jenny became pale. + +"Yes, very ill. But he is better now." + +"Where is he?" + +"In his own chamber." + +For a moment Jenny hesitated whether to go up alone, or in company +with Mark. She would have preferred going alone; but fearing that, +if she parted even thus briefly from Mark, her strong influence over +him, by means of which she had brought him, almost as a struggling +prisoner, thus far, would be weakened, and he tempted to turn from +the house, she resolved to venture upon the experiment of entering +Mr. Lofton's sick chamber, in company with his grandson. + +"Is he sitting up?" she asked of the servant. + +"He's been sitting up a good deal to-day, but is lying down now." + +"He's much better?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Come," said Jenny, turning to Mark, and moving towards the +stairway. Mark followed passively. On entering the chamber of Mr. +Lofton, they found him sleeping. + +Both silently approached, and looked upon his venerable face, +composed in deep slumber. Tears came to the eyes of Mark as he gazed +at the countenance of his grandfather, and his heart became soft as +the heart of a child. While they yet stood looking at him, his lips +moved, and he uttered both their names. Then he seemed disturbed, +and moaned, as if in pain. + +"Grandfather!" said Mark, taking the old man's hand, and bending +over him. + +Quickly his eyes opened. For a few moments he gazed earnestly upon +Mark, and then tightened his hand upon that of the young man, closed +his eyes again, and murmured in a voice that deeply touched the +returning wanderer-- + +"My poor boy! My poor boy! Why did you do so? Why did you break my +heart? But, God be thanked, you are back again! God be thanked!" + +"Jenny!" said the old man, quickly, as he felt her take his other +hand and press it to her lips. "And it was for this you left me! +Dear child, I forgive you!" + +As he spoke, he drew her hand over towards the one that grasped that +of Mark, and uniting them together, murmured-- + +"If you love each other, it is all right. My blessing shall go with +you." + +How mild and delicious was the thrill that ran through each of the +hearts of his auditors. This was more than they expected. Mark +tightly grasped the hand that was placed within his own, and that +hand gave back an answering pressure. Thus was the past reconciled +with the present; while a vista was opened toward a bright future. + +Little more than a year has passed since this joyful event took +place. Mark Clifford, with the entire approval of his grandfather, +who furnished a handsome capital for the purpose, entered, during +the time, into the mercantile house of his father as a partner, and +is now actively engaged in business, well sobered by his severe +experience. He has taken a lovely bride, who is the charm of all +circles into which she is introduced; and her name is Jenny. But few +who meet her dream that she once grew, a beautiful wild flower, near +the banks of the Hudson. + +Old Mr. Lofton could not be separated from Jenny; and, as he could +not separate her from her husband, he has removed to the city, where +he has an elegant residence, in which her voice is the music and her +smiles the ever present sunshine. + + + + + + +SHADOWS. + + + + + +A HAPPY-HEARTED child was Madeline Henry, for the glad sunshine ever +lay upon the threshold of her early home. Her father, a cheerful, +unselfish man, left the world and its business cares behind him when +he placed his hand upon the door of entrance to his household +treasures. Like other men, he had his anxieties, his hopes and +losses, his disappointments and troubles; but he wisely and humanely +strove to banish these from his thoughts, when he entered the +home-sanctuary, lest his presence should bring a shadow instead of +sunshine. + +Madeline was just twenty years of age, when, as the wife of Edward +Leslie, she left this warm down-covered nest, and was borne to a new +and more elegant home. + +Mr. Leslie was her senior by eight or nine years. He began his +business life at the age of twenty-two, as partner in a well +established mercantile house, and, as he was able to place ten +thousand dollars in the concern, his position, in the matter of +profits, was good from the beginning. Yet, for all this, +notwithstanding more than one loving-hearted girl, in whose eyes he +might have found favor, crossed his path, he resolutely turned his +thoughts away, lest the fascination should be too strong for him. He +resolved not to marry until he felt able to maintain a certain style +of living. + +Thus were the heart's impulses checked; thus were the first tender +leaves of affection frozen in the cold breath of mere calculation. +He wronged himself in this; yet, in his worldliness and ignorance, +did he feel proud of being above, what he called, the weaknesses of +other men. + +It was but natural that Mr. Leslie should become, in a measure, +reserved towards others. Should assume a statelier step, and more +set forms of speech. Should repress, more and more, his heart's +impulses. + +In Leslie, the love of money was strong; yet there was in his +character a firmly laid basis of integrity. Though shrewd in his +dealings, he never stooped to a system of overreaching. He was not +long, therefore, in establishing a good reputation among business +men. In social circles, where he occasionally appeared, almost as a +matter of course he became an object of interest. + +Observation, as it regards character, is, by far, too superficial. +With most persons, merely what strikes the eye is sufficient ground +for an opinion; and this opinion is freely and positively expressed. +Thus, a good reputation comes, as a natural consequence, to a man +who lives in the practice of most of the apparent social virtues, +while he may possess no real kindness of heart, may be selfish to an +extreme degree. + +Thus it was with Mr. Leslie. He was generally regarded as a model of +a man; and when he, at length, approached Madeline Henry as a lover, +the friends of the young lady regarded her as particularly +fortunate. + +As for Madeline, she rather shrunk, at first, from his advances. +There was a coldness in his sphere that chilled her; a rigid +propriety of speech and action that inspired too much respect and +deference. Gradually, however, love for the maiden, (if by such a +term it might be called) fused his hard exterior, and his manner +became so softened, gentle and affectionate, that she yielded up to +him a most precious treasure--the love of her young and trusting +heart. + +Just twenty years old, as we have said, was Madeline when she +passed, as the bride of Mr. Leslie, from the warm home-nest in which +she had reposed so happily, to become the mistress of an elegant +mansion. Though in age a woman, she was, in many things, but a child +in feelings. Tenderly cared for and petted by her father, her spirit +had been, in a measure, sustained by love as an aliment. + +One like Madeline is not fit to be the wife of such a man as Edward +Leslie. For him, a cold, calculating woman of the world were a +better companion. One who has her own selfish ends to gain; and who +can find, in fashion, gaiety, or personal indulgence, full +compensation for a husband's love. + +Madeline was scarcely the bride of a week, ere shadows began to fall +upon her heart; and the form that interposed itself between her and +the sunlight, was the form of her husband. As a daughter, love had +ever gone forth in lavish expression. This had been encouraged by +all the associations of home. But, from the beginning of her wedded +life, she felt the manner of her husband like the weight of a hand +on her bosom, repressing her heart's outgushing impulses. + +It was on the fifth evening of their marriage, about the early +twilight hour, and Madeline, alone, almost for the first time since +morning, sat awaiting the return of her husband. Full of pleasant +thoughts was her mind, and warm with love her heart. A few hours of +separation from Edward had made her impatient to meet him again. +When, at length, she heard him enter, she sprang to meet him, and, +with an exclamation of delight, threw her arms about his neck. + +There was a cold dignity in the way this act was received by Edward +Leslie, that chilled the feelings of his wife. Quickly disengaging +her arms, she assumed a more guarded exterior; yet, trying all the +while, to be cheerful in manner. We say "trying;" for a shadow had +fallen on her young heart--and, to seem cheerful was from an effort. +They sat down, side by side, in the pensive twilight close to the +windows, through which came fragrant airs; and Madeline laid her +hand upon that of her husband. Checked in the first gush of +feelings, she now remained silent, yet with her yearning spirit +intently listening for words of tenderness and endearment. + +"I have been greatly vexed to-day." + +These were the very words he uttered. How chilly they fell upon the +ears of his expectant wife. + +"What has happened?" she asked, in a voice of concern. + +"Oh, nothing in reality more than usual. Men in business are exposed +to a thousand annoyances. If all the world were honest, trade would +be pleasant enough. But you have to watch every one you deal with as +closely as if he were a rogue. A man, whom I had confided in and +befriended, tried to overreach me today, and it has hurt me a good +deal. I couldn't have believed it of him." + +Nothing more was said on either side for several minutes. Leslie, +absorbed in thoughts of business, so far forgot the presence of his +wife, as to withdraw the hand upon which her's was laid. How +palpable to her was the coldness of his heart! She felt it as an +atmosphere around him. + +After tea, Leslie remarked, as he arose from the table, that he +wished to see a friend on some matter of business; but would be home +early. Not even a kiss did he leave with Madeline to cheer her +during his absence. His selfish dignity could not stoop to such +childishness. + +The young bride passed the evening with no companionship but her +tears. When Leslie came home, and looked upon her sober face, he was +not struck with its aspect as being unusual. It did not enter his +imagination that she could be otherwise than happy. Was she not +_his_ wife? And had she not, around her, every thing to make the +heart satisfied? He verily believed that she had. He spoke to her +kindly, yet, as she felt, indifferently, while her heart was pining +for words of warm affection. + +This was the first shadow that fell, darkly, across the young wife's +path. For hours after her husband's senses were locked in slumber, +she lay wakeful and weeping. He understood not, if he remarked the +fact, why her cheeks had less color and her eyes less brightness on +the morning that succeeded to this, on Madeline's part, never +forgotten evening. + +We need not present a scene from the sixth, the seventh, or even the +twentieth day of Madeline's married life. All moved on with a kind +of even tenor. Order--we might almost say, mercantile order--reigned +throughout the household. And yet, shadows were filling more and +more heavily over the young wife's feelings. To be loved, was an +element of her existence--to be loved with expression. But, +expressive fondness was not one of the cold, dignified Mr. Leslie's +weaknesses. He loved Madeline--as much as he was capable of loving +anything out of himself. And he had given her the highest possible +evidence of this love, by making her his wife.--What more could she +ask? It never occurred to his unsentimental thought, that words and +acts of endearment were absolutely essential to her happiness. That +her world of interest was a world of affections, and that without +his companionship in this world, her heart would feel an aching +void. + +Who will wonder that, as weeks and months went by, shadows were more +apparent on the sunny face of Madeline? Yet, such shadows, when they +became visible to casual eyes, did excite wonder. What was there to +break the play of sunshine on her countenance? + +"The more some people have, the more dissatisfied they are," +remarked one superficial observer to another, in reply to some +communication touching Mrs. Leslie's want of spirits. + +"Yes," was answered. "Nothing but _real_ trouble ever brings such +persons to their senses." + +Ah! Is not heart-trouble the most real of all with which we are +visited? There comes to it, so rarely, a balm of healing. To those +external evils which merely affect the personal comfort, the mind +quickly accommodates itself. We may find happiness in either +prosperity or adversity. But, what true happiness is there for a +loving heart, if, from the only source of reciprocation, there is +but an imperfect response? A strong mind may accommodate itself, in +the exercise of a firm religious philosophy, to even these +circumstances, and like the wisely discriminating bee, extract honey +from even the most unpromising flower. But, it is hard--nay, almost +impossible--for one like Madeline, reared as she was in so warm an +atmosphere of love, to fall back upon and find a sustaining power, +in such a philosophy. Her spirit first must droop. There must be a +passing through the fire, with painful purification. Alas! How many +perish in the ordeal!--How many gentle, loving ones, unequally +mated, die, daily, around us; moving on to the grave, so far as the +world knows, by the way of some fatal bodily ailment; yet, in truth, +failing by a heart-sickness that has dried up the fountains of life. + +And so it was with the wife of Edward Leslie. Greatly her husband +wondered at the shadows which fell, more and more heavily, on +Madeline--wondered as time wore on, at the paleness of her +cheeks--the sadness which, often, she could not repress when he was +by; the variableness of her spirits--all tending to destroy the +balance of her nervous system, and, finally, ending in confirmed +ill-health, that demanded, imperiously, the diversion of his +thoughts from business and worldly schemes to the means of +prolonging her life. + +Alas! What a sad picture to look upon, would it be, were we to +sketch, even in outline, the passing events of the ten years that +preceded this conviction on the part of Mr. Leslie. To Madeline, his +cold, hard, impatient, and, too frequently, cruel re-actions upon +what he thought her unreasonable, captious, dissatisfied states of +mind, having no ground but in her imagination, were heavy +heart-strokes--or, as a discordant hand dashed among her +life-chords, putting them forever out of tune. Oh! The wretchedness, +struggling with patience and concealment, of those weary years. The +days and days, during which her husband maintained towards her a +moody silence, that it seemed would kill her. And yet, so far as the +world went, Mr. Leslie was among the best of husbands. How little +does the world, so called, look beneath the surface of things! + +With the weakness of failing health, came, to Madeline, the loss of +mental energy. She had less and less self-control. A brooding +melancholy settled upon her feelings; and she often spent days in +her chamber, refusing to see any one except members of her own +family, and weeping if she were spoken to. + +"You will die, Madeline. You will kill yourself!" said her husband, +repeating, one day, the form of speech so often used when he found +his wife in these states of abandonment. He spoke with more than his +usual tenderness, for, to his unimaginative mind had come a quickly +passing, but vivid realization, of what he would lose if she were +taken from him. + +"The loss will scarcely be felt," was her murmured answer. + +"Your children will, at least, feel it," said Mr. Leslie, in a more +captious and meaning tone than, upon reflection, he would have used. +He felt her words as expressing indifference for himself, and his +quick retort involved, palpably, the same impression in regard to +his wife. + +Madeline answered not farther, but her husband's words were not +forgotten--"My children will feel my loss." This thought became so +present to her mind, that none other could, for a space, come into +manifest perception. The mother's heart began quickening into life a +sense of the mother's duty. Thus it was, when her oldest +child--named for herself, and with as loving and dependent a +nature--opened the chamber door, and coming up to her father, made +some request that he did not approve. To the mother's mind, her +desire was one that ought to have been granted; and, she felt, in an +instant, that the manner, as well as the fact of the father's +denial, were both unkind, and that Madeline's heart would be almost +broken. She did not err in this. The child went sobbing from the +room. + +How distinctly came before the mind of Mrs. Leslie a picture of the +past. She was, for a time, back in her father's house; and she felt, +for a time, the ever-present, considerate, loving kindness of one +who had made all sunshine in that early home. Slowly came back the +mind of Mrs. Leslie to the present, and she said to herself, not +passively, like one borne on the current of a down-rushing stream, +but resolutely, as one with a purpose to struggle--to suffer, and +yet be strong-- + +"Yes; my children will feel my loss. I could pass away and be at +rest. I could lie me down and sleep sweetly in the grave. But, is +all my work done? Can I leave these little ones to his tender mer--" + +She checked herself in the mental utterance of this sentiment, which +referred to her husband. But, the feeling was in her heart; and it +inspired her with a new purpose. Her thought, turned from herself, +and fixed, with a yearning love upon her children, gave to the blood +a quicker motion through the veins, and to her mind a new activity. +She could no longer remain passive, as she had been for hours, +brooding over her own unhappy state, but arose and left her chamber. +In another room she found her unhappy child, who had gone off to +brood alone over her disappointment, and to weep where none could +see her. + +"Madeline, dear!" said the mother, in a loving, sympathetic voice. + +Instantly the child flung herself into her arms, and laid her face, +sobbing, upon her bosom. + +Gently, yet wisely--for there came, in that moment, to Mrs. Leslie, +a clear perception of all her duty--did the mother seek to soften +Madeline's disappointment, and to inspire her with fortitude to +bear. Beyond her own expectation came success in this effort. The +reason she invented or imagined, for the father's refusal, satisfied +the child; and soon the clouded brow was lit up by the heart's +sunshine. + +From that hour, Mrs. Leslie was changed. From that hour, a new +purpose filled her heart. She could not leave her children, nor +could she take them with her if she passed away; and so, she +resolved to live for them, to forget her own suffering, in the +tenderness of maternal care. The mother had risen superior to the +unhappy, unappreciated wife. + +All marked the change; yet in none did it awaken more surprise than +in Mr. Leslie. He never fully understood its meaning; and, no +wonder, for he had never understood her from the beginning. He was +too cold and selfish to be able fully to appreciate her character or +relation to him as a wife. + +Yet, for all this change--though the long drooping form of Mrs. +Leslie regained something of its erectness, and her exhausted system +a degree of tension--the shadow passed not from her heart or brow; +nor did her cheeks grow warm again with the glow of health. The +delight of her life had failed; and now, she lived only for the +children whom God had given her. + +A man of Mr. Leslie's stamp of character too rarely grows wiser in +the true sense. Himself the centre of his world, it is but seldom +that he is able to think enough out of himself to scan the effect of +his daily actions upon others. If collisions take place, he thinks +only of the pain he feels, not of the pain he gives. He is ever +censuring; but rarely takes blame. During the earlier portions of +his married life, Mr. Leslie's mind had chafed a good deal at what +seemed to him Madeline's unreasonable and unwomanly conduct; the +soreness of this was felt even after the change in her exterior that +we have noticed, and he often indulged in the habit of mentally +writing bitter things against her. He had well nigh broken her +heart; and was yet impatient because she gave signs indicative of +pain. + +And so, as years wore on, the distance grew wider instead of +becoming less and less. The husband had many things to draw him +forth into the busy world, where he established various interests, +and sought pleasure in their pursuits, while the wife, seldom seen +abroad, buried herself at home, and gave her very life for her +children. + +But, even maternal love could not feed for very many years the flame +of her life. The oil was too nearly exhausted when that new supply +came. For a time, the light burned clearly; then it began to fail, +and ere the mother's tasks were half done, it went out in darkness. + +How heavy the shadows which then fell upon the household and upon +the heart of Edward Leslie! As he stood, alone, in the chamber of +death, with his eyes fixed upon the pale, wasted countenance, no +more to quicken with life, and felt on his neck the clinging arms +that were thrown around it a few moments before the last sigh of +mortality was breathed; and still heard the eager, "Kiss me, Edward, +once, before I die!"--a new light broke upon him,--and he was +suddenly stung by sharp and self-reproaching thoughts. Had he not +killed her, and, by the slowest and most agonizing process by which +murder can be committed? There was in his mind a startling +perception that such was the awful crime of which he had been +guilty. + +Yes, there were shadows on the heart of Edward Leslie; shadows that +never entirely passed away. + + + + + + +THE THANKLESS OFFICE. + + + + + +"AN object of real charity," said Andrew Lyon to his wife, as a poor +woman withdrew from the room in which they were seated. + +"If ever there was a worthy object, she is one," returned Mrs. Lyon. +"A widow, with health so feeble that even ordinary exertion is too +much for her; yet obliged to support, with the labor of her own +hands, not only herself, but three young children. I do not wonder +that she is behind with her rent." + +"Nor I," said Mr. Lyon in a voice of sympathy. "How much did she say +was due to her landlord?" + +"Ten dollars." + +"She will not be able to pay it." + +"I fear not. How can she? I give her all my extra sewing, and have +obtained work for her from several ladies; but, with her best +efforts she can barely obtain food and decent clothing for herself +and babes." + +"Does it not seem hard," remarked Mr. Lyon, "that one like Mrs. +Arnold, who is so earnest in her efforts to take care of herself and +family, should not receive a helping hand from some one of the many +who could help her without feeling the effort? If I didn't find it +so hard to make both ends meet, I would pay off her arrears of rent +for her, and feel happy in so doing." + +"Ah!" exclaimed the kind-hearted wife, "how much I wish that we were +able to do this. But we are not." + +"I'll tell you what we can do," said Mr. Lyon, in a cheerful +voice--"or, rather what I can do. It will be a very light matter +for, say ten persons, to give a dollar a-piece, in order to relieve +Mrs. Arnold from her present trouble. There are plenty who would +cheerfully contribute for this good purpose; all that is wanted is +some one to take upon himself the business of making the +collections. That task shall be mine." + +"How glad, James, to hear you say so," smilingly replied Mrs. Lyon. +"Oh! what a relief it will be to poor Mrs. Arnold. It will make her +heart as light as a feather. That rent has troubled her sadly. Old +Links, her landlord, has been worrying her about it a good deal, +and, only a week ago, threatened to put her things in the street if +she didn't pay up." + +"I should have thought of this before," remarked Andrew Lyon. "There +are hundreds of people who are willing enough to give if they were +only certain in regard to the object. Here is one worthy enough in +every way. Be it my business to present her claims to benevolent +consideration. Let me see. To whom shall I go? There are Jones, and +Green, and Tompkins. I can get a dollar from each of them. That will +be three dollars--and one from myself, will make four. Who else is +there? Oh! Malcolm! I'm sure of a dollar from him; and, also, from +Smith, Todd, and Perry." + +Confident in the success of his benevolent scheme, Mr. Lyon started +forth, early on the very next day, for the purpose of obtaining, by +subscription, the poor widow's rent. The first person he called on +was Malcolm. + +"Ah, friend Lyon," said Malcolm, smiling blandly. "Good morning! +What can I do for you to-day?" + +"Nothing for me, but something for a poor widow, who is behind with +her rent," replied Andrew Lyon. "I want just one dollar from you, +and as much more from some eight or nine as benevolent as yourself." + +At the words "poor widow," the countenance of Malcolm fell, and when +his visiter ceased, he replied in a changed and husky voice, +clearing his throat two or three times as he spoke, + +"Are you sure she is deserving, Mr. Lyon?" The man's manner had +become exceedingly grave. + +"None more so," was the prompt answer. "She is in poor health, and +has three children to support with the product of her needle. If any +one needs assistance it is Mrs. Arnold." + +"Oh! ah! The widow of Jacob Arnold." + +"The same," replied Andrew Lyon. + +Malcolm's face did not brighten with a feeling of heart-warm +benevolence. But, he turned slowly away, and opening his +money-drawer, _very slowly_, toyed with his fingers amid its +contents. At length he took therefrom a dollar bill, and said, as he +presented it to Lyon,--sighing involuntarily as he did so-- + +"I suppose I must do my part. But, we are called upon so often." + +The ardor of Andrew Lyon's benevolent feelings suddenly cooled at +this unexpected reception. He had entered upon his work under the +glow of a pure enthusiasm; anticipating a hearty response the moment +his errand was made known. + +"I thank you in the widow's name," said he, as he took the dollar. +When he turned from Mr. Malcolm's store, it was with a pressure on +his feelings, as if he had asked the coldly-given favor for himself. + +It was not without an effort that Lyon compelled himself to call +upon Mr. Green, considered the "next best man" on his list. But he +entered his place of business with far less confidence than he had +felt when calling upon Malcolm. His story told, Green without a word +or smile, drew two half dollars from his pocket, and presented them. + +"Thank you," said Lyon. + +"Welcome," returned Green. + +Oppressed with a feeling of embarrassment, Lyon stood for a few +moments. Then bowing, he said-- + +"Good morning." + +"Good morning," was coldly and formally responded. + +And thus the alms-seeker and alms-giver parted. + +"Better be at his shop, attending to his work," muttered Green to +himself, as his visitor retired. "Men ain't very apt to get along +too well in the world who spend their time in begging for every +object of charity that happens to turn up. And there are plenty of +such, dear knows. He's got a dollar out of me; may it do him, or the +poor widow he talked so glibly about, much good." + +Cold water had been poured upon the feelings of Andrew Lyon. He had +raised two dollars for the poor widow, but, at what a sacrifice for +one so sensitive as himself. Instead of keeping on in his work of +benevolence, he went to his shop, and entered upon the day's +employment. How disappointed he felt;--and this disappointment was +mingled with a certain sense of humiliation, as if he had been +asking alms for himself. + +"Catch me at this work again!" he said, half aloud, as his thoughts +dwelt upon what had so recently occurred. "But this is not right," +he added, quickly. "It is a weakness in me to feel so. Poor Mrs. +Arnold must be relieved; and it is my duty to see that she gets +relief. I had no thought of a reception like this. People can talk +of benevolence; but putting the hand in the pocket is another affair +altogether. I never dreamed that such men as Malcolm and Green could +be insensible to an appeal like the one I made." + +"I've got two dollars towards paying Mrs. Arnold's rent," he said to +himself, in a more cheerful tone, sometime afterwards; "and it will +go hard if I don't raise the whole amount for her. All are not like +Green and Malcolm. Jones is a kind-hearted man, and will instantly +respond to the call of humanity. I'll go and see him." + +So, off Andrew Lyon started to see this individual. + +"I've come begging, Mr. Jones," said he, on meeting him. And he +spoke in a frank, pleasant manner. + +"Then you've come to the wrong shop; that's all I have to say," was +the blunt answer. + +"Don't say that, Mr. Jones. Hear my story, first." + +"I do say it, and I'm in earnest," returned Jones. "I feel as poor +as Job's turkey, to-day." + +"I only want a dollar to help a poor widow pay her rent," said Lyon. + +"Oh, hang all the poor widows! If that's your game, you'll get +nothing here. I've got my hands full to pay my own rent. A nice time +I'd have in handing out a dollar to every poor widow in town to help +pay her rent! No, no, my friend, you can't get anything here." + +"Just as you feel about it," said Andrew Lyon. "There's no +compulsion in the matter." + +"No, I presume not," was rather coldly replied. + +Lyon returned to his shop, still more disheartened than before. He +had undertaken a thankless office. + +Nearly two hours elapsed before his resolution to persevere in the +good work he had begun came back with sufficient force to prompt to +another effort. Then he dropped in upon his neighbor Tompkins, to +whom he made known his errand. + +"Why, yes, I suppose I must do something in a case like this," said +Tompkins, with the tone and air of a man who was cornered. "But, +there are so many calls for charity, that we are naturally enough +led to hold on pretty tightly to our purse strings. Poor woman! I +feel sorry for her. How much do you want?" + +"I am trying to get ten persons, including myself, to give a dollar +each." + +"Well, here's my dollar." And Tompkins forced a smile to his face as +he handed over his contribution--but the smile did not conceal an +expression which said very plainly-- + +"I hope you will not trouble me again in this way." + +"You may be sure I will not," muttered Lyon, as he went away. He +fully understood the meaning of the expression. + +Only one more application did the kind-hearted man make. It was +successful; but, there was something in the manner of the individual +who gave his dollar, that Lyon felt as a rebuke. + +"And so poor Mrs. Arnold did not get the whole of her arrears of +rent paid off," says some one who has felt an interest in her favor. + +Oh, yes she did. Mr. Lyon begged five dollars, and added five more +from his own slender purse. But, he cannot be induced again to +undertake the thankless office of seeking relief from the benevolent +for a fellow creature in need. He has learned that a great many who +refuse alms on the plea that the object presented is not worthy, are +but little more inclined to charitable deeds, when on this point +there is no question. + +How many who read this can sympathise with Andrew Lyon. Few men who +have hearts to feel for others but have been impelled, at some time +in their lives, to seek aid for a fellow-creature in need. That +their office was a thankless one, they have too soon become aware. +Even those who responded to their call most liberally, in too many +instances gave in a way that left an unpleasant impression behind. +How quickly has the first glow of generous feeling, that sought to +extend itself to others, that they might share the pleasure of +humanity, been chilled; and, instead of finding the task an easy +one, it has proved to be hard, and, too often, humiliating! Alas, +that this should be! That men should shut their hearts so +instinctively at the voice of charity. + +We have not written this to discourage active efforts in the +benevolent; but to hold up a mirror in which another class may see +themselves. At best, the office of him who seeks of his fellow-men +aid for the suffering and indigent, is an unpleasant one. It is all +sacrifice on his part, and the least that can be done is to honor +his disinterested regard for others in distress, and treat him with +delicacy and consideration. + + + + + + +GOING TO THE SPRINGS; OR, VULGAR PEOPLE. + + + + + +"I SUPPOSE you will all be off to Saratoga, in a week or two," said +Uncle Joseph Garland to his three nieces, as he sat chatting with +them and their mother, one hot day, about the first of July. + +"We're not going to Saratoga this year," replied Emily, the eldest, +with a toss of her head. + +"Indeed! And why not, Emily?" + +"Everybody goes to Saratoga, now." + +"Who do you mean by everybody, Emily?" + +"Why, I mean merchants, shop-keepers, and tradesmen, with their +wives and daughters, all mixed up together, into a kind of +hodge-podge. It used to be a fashionable place of resort--but people +that think any thing of themselves, don't go there now." + +"Bless me, child!" ejaculated old Uncle Joseph, in surprise. "This +is all new to me. But you were there last year." + +"I know. And that cured us all. There was not a day in which we were +not crowded down to the table among the most vulgar kind of people." + +"How, vulgar, Emily?" + +"Why, there was Mr. Jones, the watchmaker, with his wife and two +daughters. I need not explain what I mean by vulgar, when I give you +that information." + +"I cannot say that I have any clearer idea of what you mean, Emily." + +"You talk strangely, uncle! You do not suppose that we are going to +associate with the Joneses?" + +"I did not say that I did. Still, I am in the dark as to what you +mean by the most vulgar kind of people." + +"Why, common people, brother," said Mrs. Ludlow, coming up to the +aid of her daughter. "Mr. Jones is only a watchmaker, and therefore +has no business to push himself and family into the company of +genteel people." + +"Saratoga is a place of public resort," was the quiet reply. + +"Well, genteel people will have to stay away, then, that's all. I, +at least, for one, am not going to be annoyed as I have been for the +last two or three seasons at Saratoga, by being thrown amongst all +sorts of people." + +"They never troubled me any," spoke up Florence Ludlow, the youngest +of the three sisters. "For my part, I liked Mary Jones very much. +She was----" + +"You are too much of a child to be able to judge in matters of this +kind," said the mother, interrupting Florence. + +Florence was fifteen; light-hearted and innocent. She had never been +able, thus far in life, to appreciate the exclusive principles upon +which her mother and sisters acted, and had, in consequence, +frequently fallen under their censure. Purity of heart, and the +genuine graces flowing from a truly feminine spirit, always +attracted her, no matter what the station of the individual in whose +society she happened to be thrown. The remark of her mother silenced +her, for the time, for experience had taught her that no good ever +resulted from a repetition of her opinions on a subject of this +kind. + +"And I trust she will ever remain the child she is, in these +matters," said Uncle Joseph, with emphasis. "It is the duty of every +one, sister, to do all that he can to set aside the false ideas of +distinction prevailing in the social world, and to build up on a +broader and truer foundation, a right estimate of men and things. +Florence, I have observed, discriminates according to the quality of +the person's mind into whose society she is thrown, and estimates +accordingly. But you, and Emily, and Adeline, judge of people +according to their rank in society--that is according to the +position to which wealth alone has raised them. In this way, and in +no other, can you be thrown so into association with 'all kinds of +people,' as to be really affected by them. For, the result of my +observation is, that in any circle where a mere external sign is the +passport to association, 'all sorts of people,' the good, the bad, +and the indifferent, are mingled. It is not a very hard thing for a +bad man to get rich, sister; but for a man of evil principles to +rise above them, is very hard, indeed; and is an occurrence that too +rarely happens. The consequence is, that they who are rich, are not +always the ones whom we should most desire to mingle with." + +"I don't see that there is any use in our talking about these +things, brother," replied Mrs. Ludlow. "You know that you and I +never did agree in matters of this kind. As I have often told you, I +think you incline to be rather low in your social views." + +"How can that be a low view which regards the quality of another, +and estimates him accordingly?" was the reply. + +"I don't pretend to argue with you, on these subjects, brother; so +you will oblige me by dropping them," said Mrs. Ludlow, coloring, +and speaking in an offended tone. + +"Well, well, never mind," Uncle Joseph replied, soothingly. "We will +drop them." + +Then turning to Emily, he continued-- + +"And so your minds are made up not to go to Saratoga?" + +"Yes, indeed." + +"Well, where do you intend spending the summer months?" + +"I hardly know yet. But, if I have my say, we will take a trip in +one of the steamers. A flying visit to London would be delightful." + +"What does your father say to that?" + +"Why, he won't listen to it. But I'll do my best to bring him +round--and so will Adeline. As for Florence, I believe I will ask +father to let her go to Saratoga with the Joneses." + +"I shall have no very decided objections," was the quiet reply of +Florence. A half angry and reproving glance from her mother, warned +her to be more discreet in the declaration of her sentiments. + +"A young lady should never attempt to influence her father," said +Uncle Joseph. "She should trust to his judgment in all matters, and +be willing to deny herself any pleasure to which he objected. If +your father will not listen to your proposition to go to London, be +sure that he has some good reason for it." + +"Well, I don't know that he has such very good reasons, beyond his +reluctance to go away from business," Emily replied, tossing her +head. + +"And should not you, as his daughter, consider this a most +conclusive reason? Ought not your father's wishes and feelings be +considered first?" + +"You may see it so, Uncle; but I cannot say that I do." + +"Emily," and Uncle Joseph spoke in an excited tone of voice, "If you +hold these sentiments, you are unworthy of such a man as your +father!" + +"Brother, you must not speak to the girls in that way," said Mrs. +Ludlow. + +"I shall always speak my thoughts in your house Margaret," was the +reply; "at least to you and the girls. As far as Mr. Ludlow is +concerned, I have rarely occasion to differ with him." + +A long silence followed, broken at last by an allusion to some other +subject; when a better understanding among all parties ensued. + +On that evening, Mr. Ludlow seemed graver than usual when he came +in. After tea, Emily said, breaking in upon a conversation that had +become somewhat interesting to Mr. Ludlow-- + +"I'm not going to let you have a moment's peace, Pa, until you +consent to go to England with us this season." + +"I'm afraid it will be a long time before I shall have any peace, +then, Emily," replied the father, with an effort to smile, but +evidently worried by the remark. This, Florence, who was sitting +close by him, perceived instantly, and said-- + +"Well, I can tell you, for one, Pa, that I don't wish to go. I'd +rather stay at home a hundred times." + +"It's no particular difference, I presume, what you like," remarked +Emily, ill-naturedly. "If you don't wish to go, I suppose no one +will quarrel with you for staying at home." + +"You are wrong to talk so, Emily," said Mr. Ludlow, calmly but +firmly, "and I cannot permit such remarks in my presence." + +Emily looked rebuked, and Mr. Ludlow proceeded. + +"As to going to London, that is altogether out of the question. The +reasons why it is so, are various, and I cannot now make you +acquainted with all of them. One is, that I cannot leave my business +so long as such a journey would require. Another is, that I do not +think it altogether right for me to indulge you in such views and +feelings as you and Adeline are beginning to entertain. You wish to +go to London, because you don't want to go to Saratoga, or to any +other of our watering places; and you don't want to go there, +because certain others, whom you esteem below you in rank, can +afford to enjoy themselves, and recruit their health at the same +places of public resort. All this I, do not approve, and cannot +encourage." + +"You certainly cannot wish us to associate with every one," said +Emily, in a tone less arrogant. + +"Of course not, Emily," replied Mr. Ludlow; "but I do most decidedly +condemn the spirit from which you are now acting. It would exclude +others, many of whom, in moral character, are far superior to +yourself from enjoying the pleasant, health-imparting recreation of +a visit to the Springs, because it hurts your self-importance to be +brought into brief contact with them." + +"I can't understand what you mean by speaking of these kind of +people as superior in moral character to us," Mrs. Ludlow remarked. + +"I said some of them. And, in this, I mean what I say. Wealth and +station in society do not give moral tone. They are altogether +extraneous, and too frequently exercise a deteriorating influence +upon the character. There is Thomas, the porter in my store--a +plain, poor man, of limited education; yet possessing high moral +qualities, that I would give much to call my own. This man's +character I esteem far above that of many in society to whom no one +thinks of objecting. There are hundreds and thousands of humble and +unassuming persons like him, far superior in the high moral +qualities of mind to the mass of self-esteeming exclusives, who +think the very air around them tainted by their breath. Do you +suppose that I would enjoy less the pleasures of a few weeks at +Saratoga, because Thomas was there? I would, rather, be gratified to +see him enjoying a brief relaxation, if his duties at the store +could be remitted in my absence." + +There was so much of the appearance of truth in what Mr. Ludlow +said, combined with a decided tone and manner, that neither his wife +or daughters ventured a reply. But they had no affection for the +truth he uttered, and of course it made no salutary impression on +their minds. + +"What shall we do, Ma?" asked Adeline, as they sat with their +mother, on the next afternoon. "We must go somewhere this summer, +and Pa seems in earnest about not letting us visit London." + +"I don't know, I am sure, child," was the reply. + +"I can't think of going to Saratoga," said Emily, in a positive +tone. + +"The Emmersons are going," Adeline remarked. + +"How do you know?" asked Emily, in a tone of surprise. + +"Victorine told me so this morning." + +"She did!" + +"Yes. I met her at Mrs. Lemmington's and she said that they were all +going next week." + +"I don't understand that," said Emily, musingly. + +"It was only last week that Victorine told me that they were done +going to Saratoga; that the place had become too common. It had been +settled, she said, that they were to go out in the next steamer." + +"Mr. Emmerson, I believe, would not consent, and so, rather than not +go anywhere, they concluded to visit Saratoga, especially as the +Lesters, and Milfords, and Luptons are going." + +"Are they all going?" asked Emily, in renewed surprise. + +"So Victorine said." + +"Well, I declare! there is no kind of dependence to be placed in +people now-a-days. They all told me that they could not think of +going to such a vulgar place as Saratoga again." + +Then, after a pause, Emily resumed, + +"As it will never do to stay at home, we will have to go somewhere. +What do you think of the Virginia Springs, Ma?" + +"I think that I am not going there, to be jolted half to death in a +stage coach by the way." + +"Where, then, shall we go?" + +"I don't know, unless to Saratoga." + +"Victorine said," remarked Adeline, "that a large number of +distinguished visiters were to be there, and that it was thought the +season would be the gayest spent for some time." + +"I suppose we will have to go, then," said Emily. + +"I am ready," responded Adeline." + +"And so am I," said Florence. + +That evening Mr. Ludlow was graver and more silent than usual. After +tea, as he felt no inclination to join in the general conversation +about the sayings and doings of distinguished and fashionable +individuals, he took a newspaper, and endeavored to become +interested in its contents. But he tried in vain. There was +something upon his mind that absorbed his attention at the same time +that it oppressed his feelings. From a deep reverie he was at length +roused by Emily, who said-- + +"So, Pa, you are determined not to let us go out in the next +steamer?" + +"Don't talk to me on that subject any more, if you please," replied +Mr. Ludlow, much worried at the remark. + +"Well, that's all given up now," continued Emily, "and we've made up +our minds to go to Saratoga. How soon will you be able to go with +us?" + +"Not just now," was the brief, evasive reply. + +"We don't want to go until next week." + +"I am not sure that I can go even then." + +"O, but we must go then, Pa." + +"You cannot go without me," said Mr. Ludlow, in a grave tone. + +"Of course not," replied Emily and Adeline at the same moment. + +"Suppose, then, I cannot leave the city next week?" + +"But you can surely." + +"I am afraid not. Business matters press upon me, and will, I fear, +engage my exclusive attention for several weeks to come." + +"O, but indeed you must lay aside business," said Mrs. Ludlow. "It +will never do for us to stay at home, you knows during the season +when everybody is away." + +"I shall be very sorry if circumstances arise to prevent you having +your regular summer recreation," was replied, in a serious, even sad +tone. "But, I trust my wife and daughters will acquiesce with +cheerfulness." + +"Indeed, indeed, Pa! We never can stay at home," said Emily, with a +distressed look. "How would it appear? What would people say if we +were to remain in the city during all the summer?" + +"I don't know, Emily, that you should consider that as having any +relation to the matter. What have other people to do with matters +which concerns us alone?" + +"You talk very strangely of late, Mr. Ludlow," said his wife. + +"Perhaps I have reason for so doing," he responded, a shadow +flitting across his face. + +An embarrassing silence ensued, which was broken, at last, by Mr. +Ludlow. + +"Perhaps," he began, "there may occur no better time than the +present, to apprise you all of a matter that must, sooner or later, +become known to you. We will have to make an effort to reduce our +expenses--and it seems to me that this matter of going to the +Springs, which will cost some three or four hundred dollars, might +as well be dispensed with. Business is in a worse condition than I +have ever known it; and I am sustaining, almost daily, losses that +are becoming alarming. Within the last six weeks I have lost, beyond +hope, at least twenty thousand dollars. How much more will go I am +unable to say. But there are large sums due me that may follow the +course of that already gone. Under these circumstances, I am driven +to the necessity of prudence in all my expenditures." + +"But three or four hundred are not much, Pa," Emily urged, in a +husky voice, and with dimmed eyes. For the fear of not being able to +go somewhere, was terrible to her. None but vulgar people staid at +home during the summer season. + +"It is too large a sum to throw away now. So I think you had all +better conclude at once not to go from home this summer," said Mr. +Ludlow. + +A gush of tears from Emily and Adeline followed this annunciation, +accompanied by a look of decided disapprobation from the mother. Mr. +Ludlow felt deeply tried, and for some moments his resolution +wavered; but reason came to his aid, and he remained firm. He was +accounted a very rich merchant. In good times, he had entered into +business, and prosecuted it with great energy. The consequence was, +that he had accumulated money rapidly. The social elevation +consequent upon this, was too much for his wife. Her good sense +could not survive it. She not only became impressed with the idea, +that, because she was richer, she was better than others, but that +only such customs were to be tolerated in "good society," as were +different from prevalent usages in the mass. Into this idea her two +eldest daughters were thoroughly inducted. Mr. Ludlow, immersed in +business, thought little about such matters, and suffered himself to +be led into almost anything that his wife and daughters proposed. +But Mrs. Ludlow's brother--Uncle Joseph, as he was called--a +bachelor, and a man of strong common sense, steadily opposed his +sister in her false notions, but with little good effect. Necessity +at last called into proper activity the good sense of Mr. Ludlow, +and he commenced the opposition that has just been noticed. After +reflecting some time upon the matter, he resolved not to assent to +his family leaving home at all during the summer. + +All except Florence were exceedingly distressed at this. She +acquiesced with gentleness and patience, although she had much +desired to spend a few weeks at Saratoga. But Mrs. Ludlow, Emily, +and Adeline, closed up the front part of the house, and gave +directions to the servants not to answer the door bell, nor to do +anything that would give the least suspicion that the family were in +town. Then ensconcing themselves in the back buildings of their +dwelling, they waited in gloomy indolence for the "out of the city" +season to pass away; consoling themselves with the idea, that if +they were not permitted to join the fashionables at the Springs, it +would at lest be supposed that they had gone some where into the +country, and thus they hoped to escape the terrible penalty of +losing _caste_ for not conforming to an indispensable rule of high +life. + +Mr. Ludlow was compelled to submit to all this, and he did so +without much opposition; but it all determined him to commence a +steady opposition to the false principles which prompted such absurd +observances. As to Uncle Joseph, he was indignant, and failing to +gain admittance by way of the front door after one or two trials, +determined not to go near his sister and nieces, a promise which he +kept for a few weeks, at least. + +Meantime, every thing was passing off pleasantly at Saratoga. Among +the distinguished and undistinguished visitors there, was Mary +Jones, and her father, a man of both wealth and worth, +notwithstanding he was only a watchmaker and jeweller. Mary was a +girl of no ordinary character. With beauty of person far exceeding +that of the Misses Ludlow, she had a well cultivated mind, and was +far more really and truly accomplished than they were. Necessarily, +therefore, she attracted attention at the Springs; and this had been +one cause of Emily's objection to her. + +A day or two after her arrival at Saratoga, she was sitting near a +window of the public parlor of one of the hotels, when a young man, +named Armand, whom she had seen there several times before, during +the watering season, in company with Emily Ludlow, with whose family +he appeared to be on intimate terms came up to her and introduced +himself. + +"Pardon me, Miss Jones," said he, "but not seeing any of the Miss +Ludlows here, I presumed that you might be able to inform me whether +they intend visiting Saratoga or not, this season, and, therefore, I +have broken through all formalities in addressing you. You are well +acquainted with Florence, I believe?" + +"Very well, sir," Mary replied. + +"Then perhaps you can answer my question?" + +"I believe I can, sir. I saw Florence several times within the last +week or two; and she says that they shall not visit any of the +Springs this season." + +"Indeed! And how comes that?" + +"I believe the reason is no secret," Mary replied, utterly +unconscious that any one could be ashamed of a right motive, and +that an economical one. "Florence tells me that her father has met +with many heavy losses in business; and that they think it best not +to incur any unnecessary expenses. I admire such a course in them." + +"And so do I, most sincerely," replied Mr. Armand. Then, after +thinking for a moment, he added-- + +"I will return to the city in the next boat. All of their friends +being away, they must feel exceedingly lonesome." + +"It will certainly be a kind act, Mr. Armand, and one, the motive +for which they cannot but highly appreciate," said Mary, with an +inward glow of admiration. + +It was about eleven o'clock on the next day that Mr. Armand pulled +the bell at the door of Mr. Ludlow's beautiful dwelling, and then +waited with a feeling of impatience for the servant to answer the +summons. But he waited in vain. No servant came. He rang again, and +again waited long enough for a servant to come half a dozen times. +Then he looked up at the house and saw that all the shutters were +closed; and down upon the marble steps, and perceived that they were +covered with dust and dirt; and on the bell-handle, and noted its +loss of brightness. + +"Miss Jones must have been mistaken," he said to himself, as he gave +the bell a third pull, and then waited, but in vain, for the +hall-door to be swung open. + +"Who can it be?" asked Emily, a good deal disturbed, as the bell +rang violently for the third time, and in company with Adeline, went +softly into the parlor to take a peep through one of the shutters. + +"Mr. Armand, as I live!" she ejaculated, in a low, husky whisper, +turning pale. "I would not have _him_ know that we are in town for +the world!" + +And then she stole away quietly, with her heart leaping and +fluttering in her bosom, lest he should instinctively perceive her +presence. + +Finding that admission was not to be obtained, Mr. Armand concluded +that the family had gone to some other watering place, and turned +away irresolute as to his future course. As he was passing down +Broadway, he met Uncle Joseph. + +"So the Ludlows are all out of town," he said. + +"So they are not!" replied Uncle Joseph, rather crustily, for he had +just been thinking over their strange conduct, and it irritated him. + +"Why, I have been ringing there for a quarter of an hour, and no one +came to the door; and the house is all shut up." + +"Yes; and if you had ringing for a quarter of a century, it would +all have been the same." + +"I can't understand you," said Mr. Armand. + +"Why, the truth is, Mr. Ludlow cannot go to the Springs with them +this season, and they are so afraid that it will become known that +they are burying themselves in the back part of the house, and +denying all visiters." + +"Why so? I cannot comprehend it." + +"All fashionable people, you know, are expected to go to the +sea-shore or the Springs; and my sister and her two eldest daughters +are so silly, as to fear that they will lose _caste_, if it is known +that they could not go this season. Do you understand now?" + +"Perfectly." + +"Well, that's the plain A B C of the case. But it provokes me out of +all patience with them." + +"It's a strange idea, certainly," said Mr. Armand, in momentary +abstraction of thought; and then bidding Uncle Joseph good morning, +he walked hastily along, his mind in a state of fermentation. + +The truth was, Mr. Armand had become much attached to Emily Ludlow, +for she was a girl of imposing appearance and winning manners. But +this staggered him. If she were such a slave to fashion and +observance, she was not the woman for his wife. As he reflected upon +the matter, and reviewed his intercourse with her, he could remember +many things in her conversation and conduct that he did not like. He +could distinctly detect a degree of self-estimation consequent upon +her station in society, that did not meet his approbation--because +it indicated a weakness of mind that he had no wish to have in a +wife. The wealth of her father he had not regarded, nor did now +regard, for he was himself possessor of an independence. + +Two days after, he was again at Saratoga. The brief interview that +had passed between him and Mary Jones was a sufficient introduction +for him; and, taking advantage of it, he threw himself in her way +frequently, and the more he saw of her, the more did he admire her +winning gentleness, sweet temper, and good sense. When he returned +to New York, he was more than half in love with her. + +"Mr. Armand has not been to see us once this fall," said Adeline, +one evening in October. They were sitting in a handsomely furnished +parlor in a neat dwelling, comfortable and commodious, but not so +splendid as the one they had occupied a few months previous. Mr. +Ludlow's affairs had become so embarrassed, that he determined, in +spite of the opposition of his family, to reduce his expenses. This +resolution he carried out amid tears and remonstrances--for he could +not do it in any other way. + +"Who could expect him to come _here?_" Emily replied, to the remark +of her sister. "Not I, certainly." + +"I don't believe that would make any difference with him," Florence +ventured to say, for it was little that she could say, that did not +meet with opposition. + +"Why don't you?" asked Adeline. + +"Because Mary Jones--" + +"Mary Jones again!" ejaculated Emily. "I believe you don't think of +anybody but Mary Jones. I'm surprised that Ma lets you visit that +girl!" + +"As good people as I am visit her," replied Florence. "I've seen +those there who would be welcome here." + +"What do you mean?" + +"If you had waited until I had finished my sentence, you would have +known before now. Mary Jones lives in a house no better than this, +and Mr. Armand goes to see her." + +"I don't believe it!" said Emily, with emphasis. + +"Just as you like about that. Seeing is believing, they say, and as +I have seen him there, I can do no less than believe he was there." + +"When did you see him there?" Emily now asked with eager interest, +while her face grew pale. + +"I saw him there last evening--and he sat conversing with Mary in a +way that showed them to be no strangers to each other." + +A long, embarrassed, and painful silence followed this announcement. +At last, Emily got up and went off to her chamber, where she threw +herself upon her bed and burst into tears. After these ceased to +flow, and her mind had become, in some degree, tranquillized, her +thoughts became busy. She remembered that Mr. Armand had called, +while they were hiding away in fear lest it should be known that +they were not on a fashionable visit to some watering place--how he +had rung and rung repeatedly, as if under the idea that they were +there, and how his countenance expressed disappointment as she +caught a glimpse of it through the closed shutters. With all this +came, also, the idea that he might have discovered that they were at +home, and have despised the principle from which they acted, in thus +shutting themselves up, and denying all visiters. This thought was +exceedingly painful. It was evident to her, that it was not their +changed circumstances that kept him away--for had he not visited +Mary Jones? + +Uncle Joseph came in a few evenings afterwards, and during his visit +the following conversation took place. + +"Mr. Armand visits Mary Jones, I am told," Adeline remarked, as an +opportunity for saying so occurred. + +"He does? Well, she is a good girl--one in a thousand," replied +Uncle Joseph. + +"She is only a watchmaker's daughter," said Emily, with an +ill-concealed sneer. + +"And you are only a merchant's daughter. Pray, what is the +difference?" + +"Why, a good deal of difference!" + +"Well state it." + +"Mr. Jones is nothing but a mechanic." + +"Well?" + +"Who thinks of associating with mechanics?" + +"There may be some who refuse to do so; but upon what grounds do +they assume a superiority?" + +"Because they are really above them." + +"But in what respect?" + +"They are better and more esteemed in society." + +"As to their being better, that is only an assumption. But I see I +must bring the matter right home. Would you be really any worse, +were your father a mechanic?" + +"The question is not a fair one. You suppose an impossible case." + +"Not so impossible as you might imagine. You are the daughter of a +mechanic." + +"Brother, why will you talk so? I am out of all patience with you!" +said Mrs. Ludlow, angrily. + +"And yet, no one knows better than you, that I speak only the truth. +No one knows better than you, that Mr. Ludlow served many years at +the trade of a shoemaker. And that, consequently, these high-minded +young ladies, who sneer at mechanics, are themselves a shoemaker's +daughters--a fact that is just as well known abroad as anything else +relating to the family. And now, Misses Emily and Adeline, I hope +you will hereafter find it in your hearts to be a little more +tolerant of mechanics daughters." + +And thus saying, Uncle Joseph rose, and bidding them good night, +left them to their own reflections, which were not of the most +pleasant character, especially as the mother could not deny the +allegation he had made. + +During the next summer, Mr. Ludlow, whose business was no longer +embarrassed, and who had become satisfied that, although he should +sink a large proportion of a handsome fortune, he would still have a +competence left, and that well secured--proposed to visit Saratoga, +as usual. There was not a dissenting voice--no objecting on the +score of meeting vulgar people there. The painful fact disclosed by +Uncle Joseph, of their plebeian origin, and the marriage of Mr. +Armand--whose station in society was not to be questioned--with Mary +Jones, the watchmaker's daughter, had softened and subdued their +tone of feeling, and caused them to set up a new standard of +estimation. The old one would not do, for, judged by that, they +would have to hide their diminished heads. Their conduct at the +Springs was far less objectionable than it had been heretofore, +partaking of the modest and retiring in deportment, rather than the +assuming, the arrogant, and the self-sufficient. Mrs. Armand was +there, with her sister, moving in the first circles; and Emily +Ludlow and her sister Adeline felt honored rather than humiliated by +an association with them. It is to be hoped they will yet make +sensible women. + + + + + + +THE WIFE. + + + + + +"I AM hopeless!" said the young man, in a voice that was painfully +desponding. "Utterly hopeless! Heaven knows I have tried hard to get +employment! But no one has need of my service. The pittance doled +out by your father, and which comes with a sense of humiliation that +is absolutely heart-crushing, is scarcely sufficient to provide this +miserable abode, and keep hunger from our door. But for your sake, I +would not touch a shilling of his money if I starved." + +"Hush, dear Edward!" returned the gentle girl, who had left father, +mother, and a pleasant home, to share the lot of him she loved; and +she laid a finger on his lips, while she drew her arm around him. + +"Agnes," said the young man, "I cannot endure this life much longer. +The native independence of my character revolts at our present +condition. Months have elapsed, and yet the ability I possess finds +no employment. In this country every avenue is crowded." + +The room in which they were overlooked the sea. + +"But there is another land, where, if what we hear be true, ability +finds employment and talent a sure reward." And, as Agnes said this, +in a voice of encouragement, she pointed from the window towards the +expansive waters that stretched far away towards the south and west. + +"America!" The word was uttered in a quick, earnest voice. + +"Yes." + +"Agnes, I thank you for this suggestion! Return to the pleasant home +you left for one who cannot procure for you even the plainest +comforts of life, and I will cross the ocean to seek a better +fortune in that land of promise. The separation, painful to both, +will not, I trust, be long." + +"Edward," replied the young wife with enthusiasm, as she drew her +arm more tightly about his neck, "I will never leave thee nor +forsake thee! Where thou goest I will go, and where thou liest I +will lie. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." + +"Would you forsake all," said Edward, in surprise, "and go far away +with me into a strange land?" + +"It will be no stranger to me than it will be to you, Edward." + +"No, no, Agnes! I will not think of that," said Edward Marvel, in a +positive, voice. "If I go to that land of promise, it must first be +alone." + +"Alone!" A shadow fell over the face of Agnes. "Alone! It cannot--it +must not be!" + +"But think, Agnes. If I go alone, it will cost me but a small sum to +live until I find some business, which may not be for weeks, or even +months after I arrive in the New World." + +"What if you were to be sick?" The frame of Agnes slightly quivered +as she made this suggestion. + +"We will not think of that." + +"I cannot help thinking of it, Edward. Therefore entreat me not to +leave thee, nor to return from following after thee. Where thou +goest, I will go." + +Marvel's countenance became more serious. + +"Agnes," said the young man, after he had reflected for some time, +"let us think no more about this. I cannot take you far away to this +strange country. We will go back to London. Perhaps another trial +there may be more successful." + +After a feeble opposition on the part of Agnes, it was finally +agreed that Edward should go once more to London, while she made a +brief visit to her parents. If he found employment, she was to join +him immediately; if not successful, they were then to talk further +of the journey to America. + +With painful reluctance, Agnes went back to her father's house, the +door of which ever stood open to receive her; and she went back +alone. The pride of her husband would not permit him to cross the +threshold of a dwelling where his presence was not a welcome one. In +eager suspense, she waited for a whole week ere a letter came from +Edward. The tone of this letter was as cheerful and as hopeful as it +was possible for the young man to write. But, as yet, he had found +no employment. A week elapsed before another came. It opened in +these words:-- + +"MY DEAR, DEAR AGNES! Hopeless of doing anything here, I have turned +my thoughts once more to the land of promise; and, when you receive +this, I will be on my journey thitherward. Brief, very brief, I +trust, will be our separation. The moment I obtain employment, I +will send for you, and then our re-union will take place with a +fulness of delight such as we have not yet experienced." + +Long, tender, and hopeful was the letter; but it brought a burden of +grief and heart-sickness to the tender young creature, who felt +almost as if she had been deserted by the one who was dear to her as +her own life. + +Only a few days had Edward Marvel been at sea, when he became +seriously indisposed, and, for the remaining part of the voyage, was +so ill as to be unable to rise from his berth. He had embarked in a +packet ship from Liverpool bound for New York, where he arrived, at +the expiration of five weeks. Then he was removed to the sick wards +of the hospital on Staten Island, and it was the opinion of the +physicians there that he would die. + +"Have you friends in this country?" inquired a nurse who was +attending the young man. This question was asked on the day after he +had become an inmate of the hospital. + +"None," was the feebly uttered reply. + +"You are very ill," said the nurse. + +The sick man looked anxiously into the face of his attendant. + +"You have friends in England?" + +"Yes." + +"Have you any communication to make to them?" + +Marvel closed his eyes, and remained for some time silent. + +"If you will get me a pen and some paper, I will write a few lines," +said he at length. + +"I'm afraid you are too weak for the effort," replied the nurse. + +"Let me try," was briefly answered. + +The attendant left the room. + +"Is there any one in your part of the house named Marvel?" asked a +physician, meeting the nurse soon after she had left the sick man's +room. "There's a young woman down in the office inquiring for a +person of that name." + +"Marvel--Marvel?" the nurse shook her head. + +"Are you certain?" remarked the physician. + +"I'm certain there is no one by that name for whom any here would +make inquiries. There's a young Englishman who came over in the last +packet, whose name is something like that you mention. But he has no +friends in this country." + +The physician passed on without further remark. + +Soon after, the nurse returned to Marvel with the writing materials +for which he had asked. She drew a table to the side of his bed, and +supported him as he leaned over and tried, with an unsteady hand, to +write. + +"Have you a wife at home?" asked the nurse; her eyes had rested on +the first words he wrote. + +"Yes," sighed the young man, as the pen dropped from his fingers, +and he leaned back heavily, exhausted by even the slight effort he +had made. + +"Your name is Marvel?" + +"Yes." + +"A young woman was here just now inquiring if we had a patient by +that name." + +"By my name?" There was a slight indication of surprise. + +"Yes." + +Marvel closed his eyes, and did not speak for some moments. + +"Did you see her?" he asked at length, evincing some interest. + +"Yes." + +"Did she find the one for whom she was seeking?" + +"There is no person here, except yourself, whose name came near to +the one she mentioned. As you said you had no friends in this +country, we did not suppose that you were meant." + +"No, no." And the sick man shook his head slowly. "There is none to +ask for me. Did you say it was a young woman?" he inquired, soon +after. His mind dwelt on the occurrence. + +"Yes. A young woman with a fair complexion and deep blue eyes." + +Marvel looked up quickly into the face of the attendant, while a +flush came into his cheeks. + +"She was a slender young girl, with light hair, and her face was +pale, as from trouble." + +"Agnes! Agnes!" exclaimed Marvel, rising up. "But, no, no," he +added, mournfully, sinking back again upon the bed; "that cannot be. +I left her far away over the wide ocean." + +"Will you write?" said the nurse after some moments. + +The invalid, without unclosing his eyes, slowly shook his head. A +little while the attendant lingered in his room, and then retired. + +"Dear, dear Agnes!" murmured Edward Marvel, closing his eyes, and +letting his thoughts go, swift-winged, across the billow sea. "Shall +I never look on your sweet face again? Never feel your light arms +about my neck, or your breath warm on my cheek? Oh, that I had never +left you! Heaven give thee strength to bear the trouble in store!" + +For many minutes he lay thus, alone, with his eyes closed, in sad +self-communion. Then he heard the door open and close softly; but he +did not look up. His thoughts were far, far away. Light feet +approached quickly; but he scarcely heeded them. A form bent over +him; but his eyes remained shut, nor did he open them until warm +lips were pressed against his own, and a low voice, thrilling +through his whole being, said-- + +"Edward!" + +"Agnes!" was his quick response, while his arms were thrown eagerly +around the neck of his wife, "Agnes! Agnes! Have I awakened from a +fearful dream?" + +Yes, it was indeed her of whom he had been thinking. The moment she +received his letter, informing her that he had left for the United +States, she resolved to follow him in the next steamer that sailed. +This purpose she immediately avowed to her parents. At first, they +would not listen to her; but, finding that she would, most probably, +elude their vigilance, and get away in spite of all efforts to +prevent her, they deemed it more wise and prudent to provide her +with everything necessary for the voyage, and to place her in the +care of the captain of the steamship in which she was to go. In New +York they had friends, to whom they gave her letters fully +explanatory of her mission, and earnestly commending her to their +care and protection. + +Two weeks before the ship in which Edward Marvel sailed reached her +destination, Agnes was in New York. Before her departure, she had +sought, but in vain, to discover the name of the vessel in which her +husband had embarked. On arriving in the New World, she was +therefore uncertain whether he had preceded her in a steamer, or was +still lingering on the way. + +The friends to whom Agnes brought letters received her with great +kindness, and gave her all the advice and assistance needed under +the circumstances. But two weeks went by without a word of +intelligence on the one subject that absorbed all her thoughts. +Sadly was her health beginning to suffer. Sunken eyes and pale +cheeks attested the weight of suffering that was on her. + +One day it was announced that a Liverpool packet had arrived with +the ship fever on board, and that several of the passengers had been +removed to the hospital. + +A thrill of fear went through the heart of the anxious wife. It was +soon ascertained that Marvel had been a passenger on board of this +vessel; but, from some cause, nothing in regard to him beyond this +fact could she learn. Against all persuasion, she started for the +hospital, her heart oppressed with a fearful presentiment that he +was either dead or struggling in the grasp of a fatal malady. On +making inquiry at the hospital, she was told the one she sought was +not there, and she was about returning to the city, when the truth +reached her ears. + +"Is he very ill?" she asked, struggling to compose herself. + +"Yes, he is extremely ill," was the reply. "And it might not be well +for you, under the circumstances, to see him at present." + +"Not well for his wife to see him?" returned Agnes. Tears sprung to +her eyes at the thought of not being permitted to come near in his +extremity. "Do not say that. Oh, take me to him! I will save his +life." + +"You must be very calm," said the nurse; for it was with her she was +talking. "The least excitement may be fatal." + +"Oh, I will be calm and prudent." Yet, even while she spoke, her +frame quivered with excitement. + +But she controlled herself when the moment of meeting came, and, +though her unexpected appearance produced a shock, it was salutary +rather than injurious. + +"My dear, dear Agnes!" said Edward Marvel, a month from this time, +as they sat alone in the chamber of a pleasant house in New York, "I +owe you my life. But for your prompt resolution to follow me across +the sea, I would, in all probability, now be sleeping the sleep of +death. Oh, what would I not suffer for your sake!" + +As Marvel uttered the last sentence, a troubled expression flitted +over his countenance. Agnes gazed tenderly into his face, and +asked-- + +"Why this look of doubt and anxiety?" + +"Need I answer the question?" returned the young man. "It is, thus +far, no better with me than when we left our old home. Though health +is coming back through every fibre, and my heart is filled with an +eager desire to relieve these kind friends of the burden of our +support, yet no prospect opens." + +No cloud came stealing darkly over the face of the young wife. The +sunshine, so far from being dimmed, was brighter. + +"Let not your heart be troubled," said she, with a beautiful smile. +"All will come out right." + +"Right, Agnes? It is not right for me thus to depend on strangers." + +"You need depend but a little while longer. I have already made warm +friends here, and, through them, secured for you employment. A good +place awaits you so soon as strength to fill it comes back to your +weakened frame." + +"Angel!" exclaimed the young man, overcome with emotion at so +unexpected a declaration. + +"No, not an angel," calmly replied Agnes, "only a wife. And now, +dear Edward," she added, "never again, in any extremity, think for a +moment of meeting trials or enduring privations alone. Having taken +a wife, you cannot move safely on your journey unless she moves by +your side." + +"Angel! Yes, you are my good angel," repeated Edward. + +"Call me what you will," said Agnes, with a sweet smile, as she +brushed, with her delicate hand, the hair from his temples; "but let +me be your wife. I ask no better name, no higher station." + + + + + + +NOT GREAT, BUT HAPPY. + + + + + +How pure and sweet is the love of young hearts! How little does it +contain of earth--how much of heaven! No selfish passions mar its +beauty. Its tenderness, its pathos, its devotion, who does not +remember, even when the sere leaves of autumn are rustling beneath +his feet? How little does it regard the cold and calculating +objections of worldly-mindedness. They are heard but as a passing +murmur. The deep, unswerving confidence of young love, what a +blessed thing it is! Heart answers to heart without an unequal +throb. The world around is bright and beautiful: the atmosphere is +filled with spring's most delicious perfumes. + +From this dream--why should we call it a dream?--Is it not a blessed +reality?--Is not young, fervent love, true love? Alas! this is an +evil world, and man's heart is evil. From this dream there is too +often a tearful awaking. Often, too often, hearts are suddenly torn +asunder, and wounds are made that never heal, or, healing, leave +hard, disfiguring scars. But this is not always so. Pure love +sometimes finds its own sweet reward. I will relate one precious +instance. + +The Baron Holbein, after having passed ten years of active life in a +large metropolitan city of Europe, retired to his estate in a +beautiful and fertile valley, far away from the gay circle of +fashion--far away from the sounds of political rancor with which he +had been too long familiar--far away from the strife of selfish men +and contending interests. He had an only child, Nina, just fifteen +years of age. For her sake, as well as to indulge his love of quiet +and nature, he had retired from the world. Her mother had been with +the angels for some years. Without her wise counsels and watchful +care, the father feared to leave his innocent-minded child exposed +to the temptations that must gather around her in a large city. + +For a time Nina missed her young companions, and pined to be with +them. The old castle was lonely, and the villagers did not interest +her. Her father urged her to go among the peasantry, and, as an +inducement, placed a considerable sum of money at her command, to be +used as she might see best in works of benevolence. Nina's heart was +warm, and her impulses generous. The idea pleased her, and she acted +upon it. She soon found employment enough both for her time and the +money placed at her disposal. Among the villagers was a woman named +Blanche Delebarre, a widow, whose only son had been from home since +his tenth year, under the care of an uncle, who had offered to +educate him, and fit him for a life of higher usefulness than that +of a mere peasant. There was a gentleness about this woman, and +something that marked her as superior to her class. Yet she was an +humble villager, dependent upon the labor of her own hands, and +claimed no higher station. + +Nina became acquainted with Blanche soon after the commencement of +her residence at the castle. When she communicated to her the wishes +of her father, and mentioned the money that had been placed at her +disposal, the woman took her hand and said, while a beautiful light +beamed from her countenance-- + +"It is more blessed to give than to receive, my child. Happy are +they who have the power to confer benefits, and who do so with +willing hearts. I fear, however, that you will find your task a +difficult one. Everywhere are the idle and undeserving, and these +are more apt to force themselves forward as objects of benevolence +than the truly needy and meritorious. As I know every one in the +village, perhaps I may be able to guide you to such objects as +deserve attention." + +"My good mother," replied Nina, "I will confide in your judgment. I +will make you my almoner." + +"No, my dear young lady, it will be better for you to dispense with +your own hands. I will merely aid you to make a wise dispensation." + +"I am ready to begin. Show me but the way." + +"Do you see that company of children on the green?" said Blanche. + +"Yes. And a wild company they are." + +"For hours each day they assemble as you see them, and spend their +time in idle sports. Sometimes they disagree and quarrel. That is +worse than idleness. Now, come here. Do you see that little cottage +yonder on the hill-side, with vines clustering around the door?" + +"Yes." + +"An aged mother and her daughter reside there. The labor of the +daughter's hands provides food and raiment for both. These children +need instruction, and Jennet Fleury is fully qualified to impart it. +Their parents cannot, or will not, pay to send them to school, and +Jennet must receive some return for her labors, whatever they be." + +"I see it all," cried Nina with animation. "There must be a school +in the village. Jennet shall be the teacher." + +"If this can be done, it will be a great blessing," said Blanche. + +"It shall be done. Let us go over to that sweet little cottage at +once and see Jennet." + +The good Blanche Delebarre made no objection. In a little while they +entered the cottage. Every thing was homely, but neat and clean. +Jennet was busy at her reel when they entered. She knew the lady of +Castle Holbein, and arose up quickly and in some confusion. But she +soon recovered herself, and welcomed, with a low courtesy, the +visitors who had come to grace her humble abode. When the object of +this visit was made known, Jennet replied that the condition of the +village children had often pained her, and that she had more than +once prayed that some way would open by which they could receive +instruction. She readily accepted the proposal of Nina to become +their teacher, and wished to receive no more for the service than +what she could now earn by reeling silk. + +It did not take long to get the proposed school in operation. The +parents were willing to send their children, the teacher was willing +to receive them, and the young lady patroness was willing to meet +the expenses. + +Nina said nothing to her father of what she was doing. She wished to +surprise him some day, after every thing was going on prosperously. +But a matter of so much interest to the neighborhood could not +remain a secret. The school had not been in operation two days +before the baron heard all about it. But he said nothing to his +daughter. He wished to leave her the pleasure which he knew she +desired, that of telling him herself. + +At the end of a month Nina presented her father with an account of +what she had done with the money he had placed in her hands. The +expenditure had been moderate enough, but the good done was far +beyond the baron's anticipations. Thirty children were receiving +daily instructions; nurses had been employed, and medicines bought +for the sick; needy persons, who had no employment, were set to work +in making up clothing for children, who, for want of such as was +suitable, could not attend the school. Besides, many other things +had been done. The account was looked over by the Baron Holbein, and +each item noted with sincere pleasure. He warmly commended Nina for +what she had done; he praised the prudence with which she had +managed what she had undertaken; and begged her to persevere in the +good work. + +For the space of more than a year did Nina submit to her father, for +approval, every month an accurate statement of what she had done, +with a minute account of all the moneys expended. But after that +time she failed to render this account, although she received the +usual supply, and was as actively engaged as before in works of +benevolence among the poor peasantry. The father often wondered at +this, but did not inquire the cause. He had never asked an account: +to render it had been a voluntary act, and he could not, therefore, +ask why it was withheld. He noticed, however, a change in Nina. She +was more thoughtful, and conversed less openly than before. If he +looked at her intently, her eyes would sink to the floor, and the +color deepen on her cheek. She remained longer in her own room, +alone, than she had done since their removal to the castle. Every +day she went out, and almost always took the direction of Blanche +Delebarre's cottage, where she spent several hours. + +Intelligence of his daughter's good deeds did not, so often as +before, reach the old baron's ears; and yet Nina drew as much money +as before, and had twice asked to have the sum doubled. The father +could not understand the meaning of all this. He did not believe +that any thing was wrong--he had too much confidence in Nina--but he +was puzzled. We will briefly apprise the reader of the cause of this +change. + +One day--it was nearly a year from the time Nina had become a +constant visitor at Blanche Delebarre's--the young lady sat reading +a book in the matron's cottage. She was alone--Blanche having gone +out to visit a sick neighbor at Nina's request. A form suddenly +darkened the door, and some one entered hurriedly. Nina raised her +eyes, and met the gaze of a youthful strange, who had paused and +stood looking at her with surprise and admiration. With more +confusion, but with not less of wonder and admiration, did Nina +return the stranger's gaze. + +"Is not this the cottage of Blanche Delebarre?" asked he, after a +moment's pause. His voice was low and musical. + +"It is," replied Nina. "She has gone to visit a sick neighbor, but +will return shortly." + +"Is my mother well?" asked the youth. + +Nina rose to her feet. This, then, was Pierre Delebarre, of whom his +mother had so often spoke. The heart of the maiden fluttered. + +"The good Blanche is well," was her simple reply. "I will go and say +to her that her son has come home. It will make her heart glad." + +"My dear young lady, no!" said Pierre. "Do not disturb my mother in +her good work. Let her come home and meet me here--the surprise will +add to the pleasure. Sit down again. Pardon my rudeness--but are not +you the young lady from the castle, of whom my mother so often +writes to me as the good angel of the village? I am sure you must +be, or you would not be alone in my mother's cottage." + +Nina's blushes deepened, but she answered without disguise that she +was from the castle. + +A full half hour passed before Blanche returned. The young and +artless couple did not talk of love with their lips during that +time, but their eyes beamed with a mutual passion. When the mother +entered, so much were they interested in each other, that they did +not hear her approaching footstep. She surprised them leaning toward +each other in earnest conversation. + +The joy of the mother's heart was great on meeting her son. He was +wonderfully improved since she last saw him--had grown several +inches, and had about him the air of one born of gentle blood, +rather than the air of a peasant. Nina staid only a very short time +after Blanche returned, and then hurried away from the cottage. + +The brief interview held with young Pierre sealed the maiden's fate. +She knew nothing of love before the beautiful youth stood before +her--her heart was as pure as an infant's--she was artlessness +itself. She had heard him so often spoken of by his mother, that she +had learned to think of Pierre as the kindest and best of youths. +She saw him, for the first time, as one to love. His face, his +tones, the air of refinement and intelligence that was about him, +all conspired to win her young affections. But of the true nature of +her feelings, Nina was as yet ignorant. She did not think of love. +She did not, therefore, hesitate as to the propriety of continuing +her visits at the cottage of Blanche Delebarre, nor did she feel any +reserve in the presence of Pierre. Not until the enamored youth +presumed to whisper the passion her presence had awakened in his +bosom, did she fully understand the cause of the delight she always +felt while by his side. + +After Pierre had been home a few weeks, he ventured to explain to +his mother the cause of his unexpected and unannounced return. He +had disagreed with his uucle, who, in a passion, had reminded him +of his dependence. This the high-spirited youth could not bear, +and he left his uncle's house within twenty-four hours, with a fixed +resolution never to return. He had come back to the village, resolved, +he said, to lead a peasant's life of toil, rather than live with a relative +who could so far forget himself as to remind him of his dependence. +Poor Blanche was deeply grieved. All her fond hopes for her son were +at an end. She looked at his small, delicate hands and slender pro- +portions, and wept when she thought of a peasant's life of hard +labor. + +A very long time did not pass before Nina made a proposition to +Blanche, that relieved, in some measure, the painful depression +under which she labored. It was this. Pierre had, from a child, +exhibited a decided talent for painting. This talent had been +cultivated by the uncle, and Pierre was, already, quite a +respectable artist. But he needed at least a year's study of the old +masters, and more accurate instruction than he had yet received, +before he would be able to adopt the painter's calling as one by +which he could take an independent position in society as a man. +Understanding this fully, Nina said that Pierre must go to Florence, +and remain there a year, in order to perfect himself in the art, and +that she would claim the privilege of bearing all the expense. For a +time, the young man's proud spirit shrunk from an acceptance of this +generous offer; but Nina and the mother overruled all his +objections, and almost forced him to go. + +It may readily be understood, now, why Nina ceased to render +accurate accounts of her charitable expenditures to her father. The +baron entertained not the slightest suspicion of the real state of +affairs, until about a year afterward, when a fine looking youth +presented himself one day, and boldly preferred a claim to his +daughter's hand. The old man was astounded. + +"Who, pray, are you," he said, "that presume to make such a demand?" + +"I am the son of a peasant," replied Pierre, bowing, and casting his +eyes to the ground, "and you may think it presumption, indeed, for +me to aspire to the hand of your noble daughter. But a peasant's +love is as pure as the love of a prince; and a peasant's heart may +beat with as high emotions." + +"Young man," returned the baron, angrily, "your assurance deserves +punishment. But go--never dare cross my threshold again! You ask an +impossibility. When my daughter weds, she will not think of stooping +to a presumptuous peasant. Go, sir!" + +Pierre retired, overwhelmed with confusion. He had been weak enough +to hope that the Baron Holbein would at least consider his suit, and +give him some chance of showing himself worthy of his daughter's +hand. But this repulse dashed every hope the earth. + +As soon as he parted with the young man, the father sent a servant +for Nina. She was not in her chamber--nor in the house. It was +nearly two hours before she came home. When she entered the presence +of her father, he saw, by her countenance, that all was not right +with her. + +"Who was the youth that came here some hours ago?" he asked, +abruptly. + +Nina looked up with a frightened air, but did not answer. + +"Did you know that he was coming?" said the father. + +The maiden's eyes drooped to the ground, and her lips remained +sealed. + +"A base-born peasant! to dare--" + +"Oh, father! he is not base! His heart is noble," replied Nina, +speaking from a sudden impulse. + +"He confessed himself the son of a peasant! Who is he?" + +"He is the son of Blanche Delebarre," returned Nina, timidly. "He +has just returned from Florence, an artist of high merit. There is +nothing base about him, father!" + +"The son of a peasant, and an artist, to dare approach me and claim +the hand of my child! And worse, that child to so far forget her +birth and position as to favor the suit! Madness! And this is your +good Blanche!--your guide in all works of benevolence! She shall be +punished for this base betrayal of the confidence I have reposed in +her." + +Nina fell upon her knees before her father, and with tears and +earnest entreaties pleaded for the mother of Pierre; but the old man +was wild and mad with anger. He uttered passionate maledictions on +the head of Blanche and her presumptuous son, and positively forbade +Nina again leaving the castle on any pretext whatever, under the +penalty of never being permitted to return. + +Had so broad an interdiction not been made, there would have been +some glimmer of light in Nina's dark horizon; she would have hoped +for some change--would have, at least, been blessed with short, even +if stolen, interviews with Pierre. But not to leave the castle on +any pretext--not to see Pierre again! This was robbing life of every +charm. For more than a year she had loved the young man with an +affection to which every day added tenderness and fervor. Could this +be blotted out in an instant by a word of command? No! That love +must burn on the same. + +The Baron Holbein loved his daughter; she was the bright spot in +life. To make her happy, he would sacrifice almost anything. A +residence of many years in the world had shown him its pretensions, +its heartlessness, the worth of all its titles and distinctions. He +did not value them too highly. But, when a peasant approached and +asked the hand of his daughter, the old man's pride, that was +smouldering in the ashes, burned up with a sudden blaze. He could +hardly find words to express his indignation. It took but a few days +for this indignation to burn low. Not that he felt more favorable to +the peasant--but, less angry with his daughter. It is not certain +that time would not have done something favorable for the lovers in +the baron's mind. But they could not wait for time. Nina, from the +violence and decision displayed by her father, felt hopeless of any +change, and sought an early opportunity to steal away from the +castle and meet Pierre, notwithstanding the positive commands that +had been issued on the subject. The young man, in the thoughtless +enthusiasm of youth, urged their flight. + +"I am master of my art," he said, with a proud air. "We can live in +Florence, where I have many friends." + +The youth did not find it hard to bring the confiding, artless girl +into his wishes. In less than a month the baron missed his child. A +letter explained all. She had been wedded to the young peasant, and +they had left for Florence. The letter contained this clause, signed +by both Pierre and Nina:-- + +"When our father will forgive us, and permit our return, we shall be +truly happy--but not till then." + +The indignant old man saw nothing but impertinent assurance in this. +He tore up the letter, and trampled it under his feet, in a rage. He +swore to renounce his child forever! + +For the Baron Holbein, the next twelve months were the saddest of +his life. Too deeply was the image of his child impressed upon his +heart, for passion to efface it. As the first ebullitions subsided, +and the atmosphere of his mind grew clear again, the sweet face of +his child was before him, and her tender eyes looking into his own. +As the months passed away, he grew more and more restless and +unhappy. There was an aching void in bosom. Night after night he +would dream of his child, and awake in the morning and sigh that the +dream was not reality. But pride was strong--he would not +countenance her disobedience. + +More than a year had passed away, and not one word had come from his +absent one, who grew dearer to his heart every day. Once or twice he +had seen the name of Pierre Delebarre in the journals, as a young +artist residing Florence, who was destined, to become eminent. The +pleasure these announcements gave him was greater than he would +confess, even to himself. + +One day he was sitting in his library endeavoring to banish the +images that haunted him too continually, when two of his servants +entered, bearing a large square box in their arms, marked for the +Baron Holbein. When the box was opened, it was found to contain a +large picture, enveloped in a cloth. This was removed and placed +against the wall, and the servants retired with the box. The baron, +with unsteady hands, and a heart beating rapidly, commenced removing +the cloth that still held the picture from view. In a few moments a +family group was before him. There sat Nina, his lovely, loving and +beloved child, as perfect, almost, as if the blood were glowing in +her veins. Her eyes were bent fondly upon a sleeping cherub that lay +in her arms. By her side sat Pierre, gazing upon her face in silent +joy. For only a single instant did the old man gaze upon this scene, +before the tears were gushing over his cheeks and falling to the +floor like rain. This wild storm of feeling soon subsided, and, in +the sweet calm that followed, the father gazed with unspeakable +tenderness for a long time upon the face of his lovely child, and +with a new and sweeter feeling upon the babe that lay, the +impersonation of innocence, in her arms. While in this state of +mind, he saw, for the first time, written on the bottom of the +picture--"NOT GREAT, BUT HAPPY." + +A week from the day on which the picture was received, the Baron +Holbein entered Florence. On inquiring for Pierre Delebarre, he +found that every one knew the young artist. + +"Come," said one, "let me go with you to the exhibition, and show +you his picture that has taken the prize. It is a noble production. +All Florence is alive with its praise." + +The baron went to the exhibition. The first picture that met his +eyes on entering the door was a counterpart of the one he had +received, but larger, and, in the admirable lights in which it was +arranged, looked even more like life. + +"Isn't it a grand production?" said the baron's conductor. + +"My sweet, sweet child!" murmured the old man, in a low thrilling +voice. Then turning, he said, abruptly-- + +"Show me where I can find this Pierre Delebarre." + +"With pleasure. His house is near at hand," said his companion. + +A few minutes walk brought them to the artist's dwelling. + +"That is an humble roof," said the man, pointing to where Pierre +lived, "but it contains a noble man." He turned away, and the baron +entered alone. He did not pause to summon any one, but walked in +through the open door. All was silent. Through a neat vestibule, in +which were rare flowers, and pictures upon the wall, he passed into +a small apartment, and through that to the door of an inner chamber +It was half open. He looked in. Was it another picture? No, it was +in very truth his child; and her babe lay in her arms, as he had +just seen it, and Pierre sat before her looking tenderly in her +face. He could restrain himself no longer. Opening the door, he +stepped hurriedly forward, and, throwing his arms around the group, +said in broken voice--"God bless you, my children!" + +The tears that were shed; the smiles that beamed from glad faces; +the tender words that were spoken, and repeated again and again; why +need we tell of all these? Or why relate how happy the old man was +when the dove that had flown from her nest came back with her mate +by her side The dark year had passed, and there was sunshine again +in his dwelling, brighter sunshine than before. Pierre never painted +so good a picture again as the one that took the prize--that was his +masterpiece. + +The Young Baron Holbein has an immense picture gallery, and is a +munificient patron of the arts. There is one composition on his +walls he prizes above all the rest. The wealth of India could not +purchase it. It is the same that took the prize when he was but a +babe and lay in his mother's arms. The mother who held him so +tenderly, and the father who gazed so lovingly upon her pure young +brow have passed away, but they live before him daily, and he feels +their gentle presence ever about him for good. + + + + + + +THE MARRIED SISTERS. + + + + + +"COME, William, a single day, out of three hundred and sixty-five, +is not much," + +"True, Henry Thorne. Nor is the single drop of water, that first +finds its way through the dyke, much; and yet, the first drop but +makes room for a small stream to follow, and then comes a flood. No, +no, Henry, I cannot go with you, to-day; and if you will be governed +by a friend's advice, you will not neglect your work for the fancied +pleasures of a sporting party." + +"All work and no play, makes Jack a dull boy, We were not made to be +delving forever with tools in close rooms. The fresh air is good for +us. Come, William, you will feel better for a little recreation. You +look pale from confinement. Come; I cannot go without you." + +"Henry Thorne," said his friend, William Moreland, with an air more +serious than that at first assumed, "let me in turn urge you to +stay." + +"It is in vain, William," his friend said, interrupting him. + +"I trust not, Henry. Surely, my early friend and companion is not +deaf to reason." + +"No, not to right reason." + +"Well, listen to me. As I said at first, it is not the loss of a +simple day, though even this is a serious waste of time, that I now +take into consideration. It is the danger of forming a habit of +idleness. It is a mistake, that a day of idle pleasure recreates the +mind and body, and makes us return and necessary employments with +renewed delight. My own experience is, that a day thus spent, causes +us to resume our labors with reluctance, and makes irksome what +before was pleasant. Is it not your own?" + +"Well, I don't know; I can't altogether say that it is; indeed, I +never thought about it." + +"Henry, the worst of all kinds of deception is self-deception. +Don't, let me, beg of you, attempt to deceive yourself in a matter +so important. I am sure you have experienced this reluctance to +resuming work after a day of pleasure. It is a universal experience. +And now that we are on this subject, I will add, that I have +observed in you an increasing desire to get away from work. You make +many excuses and they seem to you to be good ones. Can you tell me +how many days you have been out of the shop in the last three +months?" + +"No, I cannot," was the reply, made in a tone indicating a slight +degree of irritation. + +"Well, I can, Henry." + +"How many is it, then?" + +"Ten days." + +"Never!" + +"It is true, for I kept the count." + +"Indeed, then, you are mistaken. I was only out a gunning three +times, and a fishing twice." + +"And that makes five times. But don't you remember the day you were +made sick by fatigue?" + +"Yes, true, but that is only six." + +"And the day you went up the mountain with the party?" + +"Yes." + +"And the twice you staid away because it stormed?" + +"But, William, that has nothing to do with the matter. If it stormed +so violently that I couldn't come to the shop, that surely is not to +be set down to the account of pleasure-taking." + +"And yet, Henry, I was here, and so were all the workmen but +yourself. If there had not been in your mind a reluctance to coming +to the shop, I am sure the storm would not have kept you away. I am +plain with you, because I am your friend, and you know it. Now, it +is this increasing reluctance on your part, that alarms me. Do not, +then, add fuel to a flame, that, if thus nourished, will consume +you." + +"But, William----" + +"Don't make excuses, Henry. Think of the aggregate of ten lost days. +You can earn a dollar and a half a day, easily, and do earn it +whenever you work steadily. Ten days in three months is fifteen +dollars. All last winter, Ellen went without a cloak, because you +could not afford to buy one for her; now the money that you could +have earned in the time wasted in the last three months, would have +bought her a very comfortable one--and you know that it is already +October, and winter will soon be again upon us. Sixty dollars a year +buys a great many comforts for a poor man." + +Henry Thorne remained silent for some moments. He felt the force of +William Moreland's reasoning; but his own inclinations were stronger +than his friend's arguments. He wanted to go with two or three +companions a gunning, and even the vision of his young wife +shrinking in the keen winter wind, was not sufficient to conquer +this desire. + +"I will go this once, William," said he, at length, with a long +inspiration; "and then I will quit it. I see and acknowledge the +force of what you say; I never viewed the matter so seriously +before." + +"This once may confirm a habit now too strongly fixed," urged his +companion. "Stop now, while your mind is rationally convinced that +it is wrong to waste your time, when it is so much needed for the +sake of making comfortable and happy one who loves you, and has cast +her lot in life with yours. Think of Ellen, and be a man." + +"Come, Harry!" said a loud, cheerful voice at the shop door; "we are +waiting for you!" + +"Ay, ay," responded Henry Thorne. "Good morning, William! I am +pledged for to-day. But after this, I will swear off!" And so +saying, he hurried away. + +Henry Thorne and William Moreland were workmen in a large +manufacturing establishment in one of our thriving inland towns. +They had married sisters, and thus a friendship that had long +existed, was confirmed by closer ties of interest. + +They had been married about two years, at the time of their +introduction to the reader, and, already, Moreland could perceive +that his earnings brought many more comforts for his little family +than did Henry's. The difference was not to be accounted for in the +days the other spent in pleasure taking, although their aggregate +loss was no mean item to be taken from a poor man's purse. It was to +be found, mainly, in a disposition to spend, rather than to save; to +pay away for trifles that were not really needed, very small sums, +whose united amounts in a few weeks would rise to dollars. But, when +there was added to this constant check upon his prosperity the +frequent recurrence of a lost day, no wonder that Ellen had less of +good and comfortable clothing than her sister Jane, and that her +house was far less neatly furnished. + +All this had been observed, with pain, by William Moreland and his +wife, but, until the conversation recorded in the opening of this +story, no word or remonstrance or warning had been ventured upon by +the former. The spirit in which Moreland's words were received, +encouraged him to hope that he might exercise a salutary control +over Henry, if he persevered, and he resolved that he would extend +thus far towards him the offices of a true friend. + +After dinner on the day during which her husband was absent, Ellen +called in to see Jane, and sit the afternoon with her. They were +only sisters, and had always loved each other much. During their +conversation, Jane said, in allusion to the season: + +"It begins to feel a little chilly to-day, as if winter were coming. +And, by the way, you are going to get a cloak this fall, Ellen, are +you not?" + +"Indeed, I can hardly tell, Jane," Ellen replied, in a serious tone; +"Henry's earnings, somehow or other, don't seem to go far with us; +and yet I try to be as prudent as I can. We have but a few dollars +laid by, and both of us want warm underclothing. Henry must have a +coat and pair of pantaloons to look decent this winter; so I must +try and do without the cloak, I suppose." + +"I am sorry for that. But keep a good heart about it, sister. Next +fall, you will surely be able to get a comfortable one; and you +shall have mine as often as you want it, this winter. I can't go out +much, you know; our dear little Ellen, your namesake, is too young +to leave often." + +"You are very kind, Jane," said Ellen, and her voice slightly +trembled. + +A silence of some moments ensued, and then the subject of +conversation was changed to one more cheerful. + +That evening, just about nightfall, Henry Thorne came home, much +fatigued, bringing with him half a dozen squirrels and a single wild +pigeon. + +"There, Ellen, is something to make a nice pie for us to-morrow," +said he, tossing his game bag upon the table. + +"You look tired, Henry," said his wife, tenderly; "I wouldn't go out +any more this fall, if I were you." + +"I don't intend going out any more, Ellen," was replied, "I'm sick +of it." + +"You don't know how glad I am to hear you say so! Somehow, I always +feel troubled and uneasy when you are out gunning or fishing, as if +you were not doing right." + +"You shall not feel so any more, Ellen," said Thorne: "I've been +thinking all the afternoon about your cloak. Cold weather is coming, +and we haven't a dollar laid by for anything. How I am to get the +cloak, I do not see, and yet I cannot bear the thought of your going +all this winter again without one." + +"O, never mind that, dear," said Ellen, in a cheerful tone, her face +brightening up. "We can't afford it this fall, and so that's +settled. But I can have Jane's whenever I want it, she says; and you +know she is so kind and willing to lend me anything that she has. I +don't like to wear her things; but then I shall not want the cloak +often." + +Henry Thorne sighed at the thoughts his wife's words stirred in his +mind. + +"I don't know how it is," he at length said, despondingly; "William +can't work any faster than I can, nor earn more a week, and yet he +and Jane have every thing comfortable, and are saving money into the +bargain, while we want many things that they have, and are not a +dollar ahead." + +One of the reasons for this, to her husband so unaccountable, +trembled on Ellen's tongue, but she could not make up her mind to +reprove him; and so bore in silence, and with some pain, what she +felt as a reflection upon her want of frugality in managing +household affairs. + +Let us advance the characters we have introduced, a year in their +life's pilgrimage, and see if there are any fruits of these good +resolutions. + +"Where is Thorne, this morning?" asked the owner of the shop, +speaking to Moreland, one morning, an hour after all the workmen had +come in. + +"I do not know, really," replied Moreland. "I saw him yesterday, +when he was well." + +"He's off gunning, I suppose, again. If so, it is the tenth day he +has lost in idleness during the last two months. I am afraid I shall +have to get a hand in his place, upon whom I can place more +dependence. I shall be sorry to do this for your sake, and for the +sake of his wife. But I do not like such an example to the workmen +and apprentices; and besides being away from the shop often +disappoints a job." + +"I could not blame you, sir," Moreland said; "and yet, I do hope you +will bear with him for the sake of Ellen. I think if you would talk +with him it would do him good." + +"But, why don't you talk to him, William?" + +"I have talked to him frequently, but he has got so that he won't +bear it any longer from me." + +"Nor would he bear it from me, either, I fear, William." + +Just at that moment the subject of the conversation came in. + +"You are late this morning, Henry," said the owner of the shop to +him, in the presence of the other workmen. + +"It's only a few minutes past the time," was replied, moodily. + +"It's more than an hour past." + +"Well, if it is, I can make it up." + +"That is not the right way, Henry. Lost time is never made up." + +Thorne did not understand the general truth intended to be +expressed, but supposed, at once, that the master of the shop meant +to intimate that he would wrong him out of the lost hour, +notwithstanding he had promised to make it up. He therefore turned +an angry look upon him, and said-- + +"Do you mean to say that I would cheat you, sir?" + +The employer was a hasty man, and tenacious of his dignity as a +master. He invariably discharged a journeyman who was in the least +degree disrespectful in his language or manner towards him before +the other workmen. Acting under the impulse that at once prompted +him, he said: + +"You are discharged;" and instantly turned away. + +As quickly did Henry Thorne turn and leave the shop. He took his way +homeward, but he paused and lingered as he drew nearer and nearer +his little cottage, for troubled thoughts had now taken the place of +angry feelings. At length he was at the door, and lifting slowly the +latch, he entered. + +"Henry!" said Ellen, with a look and tone of surprise. Her face was +paler and more care-worn than it was a year before; and its calm +expression had changed into a troubled one. She had a babe upon her +lap, her first and only one. The room in which she sat, so far from +indicating circumstances improved by the passage of a year, was far +less tidy and comfortable; and her own attire, though neat, was +faded and unseasonable. Her husband replied not to her inquiring +look, and surprised ejaculation, but seated himself in a chair, and +burying his face in his hands, remained silent, until, unable to +endure the suspense, Ellen went to him, and taking his hand, asked, +so earnestly, and so tenderly, what it was that troubled him, that +he could not resist her appeal. + +"I am discharged!" said he, with bitter emphasis. "And there is no +other establishment in the town, nor within fifty miles!" + +"O, Henry! how did that happen?" + +"I hardly know myself, Ellen, for it all seems like a dream. When I +left home this morning, I did not go directly to the shop; I wanted +to see a man at the upper end of the town, and when I got back it +was an hour later than usual. Old Ballard took me to task before all +the shop, and intimated that I was not disposed to act honestly +towards him. This I cannot bear from any one; I answered him in +anger, and was discharged on the spot. And now, what we are to do, +heaven only knows! Winter is almost upon us, and we have not five +dollars in the world." + +"But something will turn up for us, Henry, I know it will," said +Ellen, trying to smile encouragingly, although her heart was heavy +in her bosom. + +Her husband shook his head, doubtingly, and then all was gloomy and +oppressive silence. For nearly an hour, no word was spoken by +either. Each mind was busy with painful thoughts, and one with +fearful forebodings of evil. At the end of that time, the husband +took up his hat and went out. For a long, long time after, Ellen sat +in dreamy, sad abstraction, holding her babe to her breast. From +this state, a sense of duty roused her, and laying her infant on the +bed,--for they had not yet been able to spare money for a +cradle,--she began to busy herself in her domestic duties. This +brought some little relief. + +About eleven o'clock Jane came in with her usual cheerful, almost +happy face, bringing in her hand a stout bundle. Her countenance +changed in its expression to one of concern, the moment her eyes +rested upon her sister's face, and she laid her bundle on a chair +quickly, as if she half desired to keep it out of Ellen's sight. + +"What is the matter, Ellen?" she asked, with tender concern, the +moment she had closed the door. + +Ellen could not reply; her heart was too full. But she leaned her +head upon her sister's shoulder, and, for the first time since she +had heard the sad news of the morning, burst into tears. Jane was +surprised, and filled with anxious concern. She waited until this +ebullition of feeling in some degree abated, and then said, in a +tone still more tender than that in which she had first spoken,-- + +"Ellen, dear sister! tell me what has happened?" + +"I am foolish, sister," at length, said Ellen, looking up, and +endeavoring to dry her tears. "But I cannot help it. Henry was +discharged from the shop this morning; and now, what are we to do? +We have nothing ahead, and I am afraid he will not be able to get +anything to do here, or within many miles of the village." + +"That is bad, Ellen," replied Jane, while a shadow fell upon her +face, but a few moments before so glowing and happy. And that was +nearly all she could say; for she did not wish to offer false +consolation, and she could think of no genuine words of comfort. +After a while, each grew more composed and less reserved; and then +the whole matter was talked over, and all that Jane could say, that +seemed likely to soothe and give hope to Ellen's mind, was said with +earnestness and affection. + +"What have you there?" at length asked Ellen, glancing towards the +chair upon which Jane had laid her bundle. + +Jane paused a moment, as if in self-communion, and then said-- + +"Only a pair of blankets, and a couple of calico dresses that I have +been out buying." + +"Let me look at them," said Ellen, in as cheerful a voice as she +could assume. + +A large heavy pair of blankets, for which Jane had paid five +dollars, were now unrolled, and a couple of handsome chintz dresses, +of dark rich colors, suitable for the winter season, displayed. It +was with difficulty that Ellen could restrain a sigh, as she looked +at these comfortable things, and thought of how much she needed, and +of how little she had to hope for. Jane felt that such thoughts must +pass through her sister's mind, and she also felt much pained that +she had undesignedly thus added, by contrast, to Ellen's unhappy +feelings. When she returned home, she put away her new dresses and +her blankets. She had no heart to look at them, no heart to enjoy +her own good things, while the sister she so much loved was denied +like present comforts, and, worse than all, weighed down with a +heart-sickening dread of the future. + +We will not linger to contrast, in a series of domestic pictures, +the effects of industry and idleness on the two married sisters and +their families,--effects, the causes of which, neither aided +materially in producing. Such contrasts, though useful, cannot but +be painful to the mind, and we would, a thousand times, rather give +pleasure than pain. But one more striking contrast we will give, as +requisite to show the tendency of good or bad principles, united +with good or bad habits. + +Unable to get any employment in the village, Thorne, hearing that +steady work could be obtained in Charleston, South Carolina, sold +off a portion of his scanty effects, by which he received money +enough to remove there with his wife and child. Thus were the +sisters separated; and in that separation, gradually estranged from +the tender and lively affection that presence and constant +intercourse had kept burning with undiminished brightness. Each +became more and more absorbed, every day, in increasing cares and +duties; yet to one those cares and duties were painful, and to the +other full of delight. + +Ten years from the day on which they parted in tears, Ellen sat, +near the close of day, in a meanly furnished room, in one of the +southern cities, watching, with a troubled countenance, the restless +slumber of her husband. Her face was very thin and pale, and it had +a fixed and strongly marked expression of suffering. Two children, a +boy and a girl, the one about six, and the other a little over ten +years of age, were seated listlessly on the floor, which was +uncarpeted. They seemed to have no heart to play. Even the +elasticity of childhood had departed from them. From the appearance +of Thorne, it was plain that he was very sick; and from all the +indications the room in which he lay, afforded, it was plain that +want and suffering were its inmates. The habit of idleness he had +suffered to creep at a slow but steady pace upon him. Idleness +brought intemperance, and intemperance, reacting upon idleness, +completed his ruin, and reduced his family to poverty in its most +appalling form. Now he was sick with a southern fever, and his +miserable dwelling afforded him no cordial, nor his wife and +children the healthy food that nature required. + +"Mother!" said the little boy, getting up from the floor, where he +had been sitting for half an hour, as still as if he were sleeping, +and coming to Ellen's side, he looked up earnestly and imploringly +in her face. + +"What, my child?" the mother said, stooping down and kissing his +forehead, while she parted with her fingers the golden hair that +fell in tangled masses over it. + +"Can't I have a piece of bread, mother?" + +Ellen did not reply, but rose slowly and went to the closet, from +which she took part of a loaf, and cutting a slice from it, handed +it to her hungry boy. It was her last loaf, and all their money was +gone. The little fellow took it, and breaking a piece off for his +sister, gave it to her; the two children then sat down side by side, +and ate in silence the morsel that was sweet to them. + +With an instinctive feeling, that from nowhere but above could she +look for aid and comfort, did Ellen lift her heart, and pray that +she might not be forsaken in her extremity. And then she thought of +her sister Jane, from whom she had not heard for a long, long time, +and her heart yearned towards her with an eager and yearning desire +to see her face once more. + +And now let us look in upon Jane and her family. Her husband, by +saving where Thorne spent in foolish trifles, and working when +Thorne was idle, gradually laid by enough to purchase a little farm, +upon which he had removed, and there industry and frugality brought +its sure rewards. They had three children: little Ellen had grown to +a lively, rosy-cheeked, merry-faced girl of eleven years; and +George, who had followed Ellen, was in his seventh year, and after +him came the baby, now just completing the twelfth month of its +innocent, happy life. It was in the season when the farmers' toil is +rewarded, and William Moreland was among those whose labor had met +an ample return. + +How different was the scene, in his well established cottage, full +to the brim of plenty and comfort, to that which was passing at the +same hour of the day, a few weeks before, in the sad abode of Ellen, +herself its saddest inmate. + +The table was spread for the evening meal, always eaten before the +sun hid his bright face, and George and Ellen, although the supper +was not yet brought in, had taken their places; and Moreland, too, +had drawn up with the baby on his knee, which he was amusing with an +apple from a well filled basket, the product of his own orchard. + +A hesitating rap drew the attention of the tidy maiden who assisted +Mrs. Moreland in her duties. + +"It is the poor old blind man," she said, in a tone of compassion, +as she opened the door. + +"Here is a shilling for him, Sally," said Moreland, handing her a +piece of money. "The Lord has blessed us with plenty, and something +to spare for his needy children." + +The liberal meal upon the table, the mother sat down with the rest, +and as she looked around upon each happy face, her heart blessed the +hour that she had given her hand to William Moreland. Just as the +meal was finished, a neighbor stopped at the door and said: + +"Here's a letter for Mrs. Moreland; I saw it in the post-office, and +brought it over for her, as I was coming this way." + +"Come in, come in," said Moreland, with a hearty welcome in his +voice. + +"No, I thank you, I can't stop now. Good evening," replied the +neighbor. + +"Good evening," responded Moreland, turning from the door, and +handing the letter to Jane. + +"It must be from Ellen," Mrs. Moreland remarked, as she broke the +seal. "It is a long time since we heard from then; I wonder how they +are doing." + +She soon knew; for on opening the letter she read thus:-- + +SAVANNAH, September, 18--. + +MY DEAR SISTER JANE:--Henry has just died. I am left here without a +dollar, and know not where to get bread for myself and two children. +I dare not tell you all I have suffered since I parted from you. +I---- + +My heart is too full; I cannot write. Heaven only knows what I shall +do! Forgive me, sister, for troubling you; I have not done so +before, because I did not wish to give you pain, and I only do so +now, from an impulse that I cannot resist. + +ELLEN. + +Jane handed the letter to her husband, and sat down in a chair, her +senses bewildered, and her heart sick. + +"We have enough for Ellen, and her children, too, Jane," said +Moreland, folding the letter after he had read it. "We must send for +them at once. Poor Ellen! I fear she has suffered much." + +"You are good, kind and noble-hearted, William!" exclaimed Jane, +bursting into tears. + +"I don't know that I am any better than anybody else, Jane. But I +can't bear to see others suffering, and never will, if I can afford +relief. And surely, if industry brought no other reward, the power +it gives us to benefit and relieve others, is enough to make us ever +active." + +In one month from the time Ellen's letter was received, she, with +her children, were inmates of Moreland's cottage. Gradually the +light returned to her eye, and something of the former glow of +health and contentment to her cheek. Her children in a few weeks, +were as gay and happy as any. The delight that glowed in the heart +of William Moreland, as he saw this pleasing change, was a double +reward for the little he had sacrificed in making them happy. Nor +did Ellen fall, with her children, an entire burden upon her sister +and her husband;--her activity and willingness found enough to do +that needed doing. Jane often used to say to her husband-- + +"I don't know which is the gainer over the other, I or Ellen; for I +am sure I can't see how we could do without her." + + + + + + +GOOD-HEARTED PEOPLE. + + + + + +THERE are two classes in the world: one acts from impulse, and the +other from reason; one consults the heart, and the other the head. +Persons belonging to the former class are very much liked by the +majority of those who come in contact with them: while those of the +latter class make many enemies in their course through life. Still, +the world owes as much to the latter as to the former--perhaps a +great deal more. + +Mr. Archibald May belonged to the former class; he was known as a +good-hearted man. He uttered the word "no" with great difficulty; +and was never known to have deliberately said that to another which +he knew would hurt his feelings. If any one about him acted wrong, +he could not find it in his heart to wound him by calling his +attention to the fact. On one occasion, a clerk was detected in +purloining money; but it was all hushed up, and when Mr. May +dismissed him, he gave him a certificate of good character. + +"How could you do so?" asked a neighbor, to whom he mentioned the +fact. + +"How could I help doing it? The young man had a chance of getting a +good place. It would have been cruel in me to have refused to aid +him. A character was required, and I could do no less than give it. +Poor, silly fellow! I am sure I wish him well. I always liked him." + +"Suppose he robs his present employer?" + +"He won't do that, I'm certain. He is too much ashamed of his +conduct while in my store. It is a lesson to him. And, at any rate, +I do not think a man should be hunted down for a single fault." + +"No: of course not. But, when you endorse a man's character, you +lead others to place confidence in him; a confidence that may be +betrayed under very aggravated circumstances." + +"Better that many suffer, than that one innocent man should be +condemned and cast off." + +"But there is no question about guilt or innocence. It was fully +proved that this young man robbed you." + +"Suppose it was. No doubt the temptation was very strong. I don't +believe he will ever be guilty of such a thing again." + +"You have the best evidence in the world that he will, in the fact +that he has taken your money." + +"O no, not at all. It doesn't follow, by any means, that a fault +like this will be repeated. He was terribly mortified about it. That +has cured him, I am certain." + +"I wouldn't trust to it." + +"You are too uncharitable," replied Mr. May. "For my part, I always +look upon the best side of a man's character. There is good in every +one. Some have their weaknesses--some are even led astray at times; +but none are altogether bad. If a man falls, help him up, and start +him once more fair in the world--who can say that he will again +trip? Not I. The fact is, we are too hard with each other. If you +brand your fellow with infamy for one little act of indiscretion, +or, say crime, what hope is there for him." + +"You go rather too far, Mr. May," the neighbor said, "in your +condemnation of the world. No doubt there are many who are really +uncharitable in their denunciations of their fellow man for a single +fault. But, on the other side, I am inclined to think, that there +are just as many who are equally uncharitable, in loosely passing +by, out of spurious kindness, what should mark a man with just +suspicion, and cause a withholding of confidence. Look at the case +now before us. You feel unwilling to keep a young man about you, +because he has betrayed your trust, and yet, out of kind feelings, +you give him a good character, and enable him to get a situation +where he may seriously wrong an unsuspecting man." + +"But I am sure he will not do so." + +"But what is your guarantee?" + +"The impression that my act has evidently made upon him. If I had, +besides hushing up the whole matter, kept him still in my store, he +might again have been tempted. But the comparatively light +punishment of dismissing him with a good character, will prove a +salutary check upon him." + +"Don't you believe it." + +"I will believe it, until I see evidence to the contrary. You are +too suspicious--too uncharitable, my good friend. I am always +inclined to think the best of every one. Give the poor fellow +another chance for his life, say I." + +"I hope it may all turn out right." + +"I am sure it will," returned Mr. May. "Many and many a young man is +driven to ruin by having all confidence withdrawn from him, after +his first error. Depend upon it, such a course is not right." + +"I perfectly agree with you, Mr. May, that we should not utterly +condemn and cast off a man for a single fault. But, it is one thing +to bear with a fault, and encourage a failing brother man to better +courses, and another to give an individual whom we know to be +dishonest, a certificate of good character." + +"Yes, but I am not so sure the young man we are speaking about is +dishonest." + +"Didn't he rob you?" + +"Don't say rob. That is too hard a word. He did take a little from +me; but it wasn't much, and there were peculiar circumstances." + +"Are you sure that under other peculiar circumstances, he would not +have taken much more from you?" + +"I don't believe he would." + +"I wouldn't trust him." + +"You are too suspicious--too uncharitable, as I have already said. I +can't be so. I always try to think the best of every one." + +Finding that it was no use to talk, the neighbor said but little +more on the subject. + +About a year afterwards the young man's new employer, who, on the +faith of Mr. May's recommendation, had placed great confidence in +him, discovered that he had been robbed of several thousand dollars. +The robbery was clearly traced to this clerk, who was arrested, +tried, and sentenced to three years imprisonment in the +Penitentiary. + +"It seems that all your charity was lost on that young scoundrel, +Blake," said the individual whose conversation with Mr. May has just +been given. + +"Poor fellow!" was the pitying reply. "I am most grievously +disappointed in him. I never believed that he would turn out so +badly." + +"You might have known it after he had swindled you. A man who will +steal a sheep, needs only to be assured of impunity, to rob the +mail. The principle is the same. A rogue is a rogue, whether it be +for a pin or a pound." + +"Well, well--people differ in these matters. I never look at the +worst side only. How could Dayton find it in his heart to send that +poor fellow to the State Prison! I wouldn't have done it, if he had +taken all I possess. It was downright vindictiveness in him." + +"It was simple justice. He could not have done otherwise. Blake had +not only wronged him, but he had violated the laws and to the laws +he was bound to give him up." + +"Give up a poor, erring young man, to the stern, unbending, +unfeeling laws! No one is bound to do that. It is cruel, and no one +is under the necessity of being cruel." + +"It is simply just, Mr. May, as I view it. And, further, really more +just to give up the culprit to the law he has knowingly and wilfully +violated, than to let him escape its penalties." + +Mr. May shook his head. + +"I certainly cannot see the charity of locking up a young man for +three or four years in prison, and utterly and forever disgracing +him." + +"It is great evil to steal?" said the neighbor. + +"O, certainly--a great sin." + +"And the law made for its punishment is just?" + +"Yes, I suppose so." + +"Do you think that it really injuries a thief to lock him up in +prison, and prevent him from trespassing on the property of his +neighbors?" + +"That I suppose depends upon circumstances. If----" + +"No, but my friend, we must fix the principle yea or nay. The law +that punishes theft is a good law--you admit that--very well. If the +law is good. it must be because its effect is good. A thief, will, +under such law, he really more benefitted by feeling its force than +in escaping the penalty annexed to its infringement. No distinction +can or ought to be made. The man who, in, a sane mind, deliberately +takes the property of another, should be punished by the law which +forbids stealing. It will have at least one good effect, if none +others and that will be to make him less willing to run similar +risk, and thus leave to his neighbor the peaceable possession of his +goods." + +"Punishment, if ever administered, should look to the good of the +offender. But, what good disgracing and imprisoning a young man who +has all along borne a fair character, is going to have, is more than +I can tell. Blake won't be able to hold up his head among +respectable people when his term has expired." + +"And will, in consequence, lose his power of injuring the honest and +unsuspecting. He will be viewed in his own true light, and be cast +off as unworthy by a community whose confidence he has most +shamefully abused." + +"And so you will give an erring brother no chance for his life?" + +"O yes. Every chance. But it would not be kindness to wink at his +errors and leave him free to continue in the practice of them, to +his own and others' injury. Having forfeited his right to the +confidence of this community by trespassing upon it, let him pay the +penalty of that trespass. It will be to him, doubtless, a salutary +lesson. A few years of confinement in a prison will give him time +for reflection and repentance; whereas, impunity in an evil course +could only have strengthened his evil purposes. When he has paid the +just penalty of his crime, let him go into another part of the +country, and among strangers live a virtuous life, the sure reward +of which is peace." + +Mr. May shook his head negatively, at these remarks. + +"No one errs on the side of kindness," he said, "while too many, by +an opposite course, drive to ruin those whom leniency might have +saved." + +A short time after the occurrence of this little interview, Mr. May, +on returning home one evening, found his wife in much apparent +trouble. + +"Has anything gone wrong, Ella?" he asked. + +"Would you have believed it?" was Mrs. May's quick and excited +answer. "I caught Jane in my drawer to-day, with a ten dollar bill +in her hand which she had just taken out of my pocket book, that was +still open." + +"Why, Ella!" + +"It is too true! I charged it at once upon her, and she burst into +tears, and owned that she was going to take the money and keep it." + +"That accounts, then, for the frequency with which you have missed +small sums of money for several months past." + +"Yes. That is all plain enough now. But what shall we do? I cannot +think of keeping Jane any longer." + +"Perhaps she will never attempt such a thing again, now that she has +been discovered." + +"I cannot trust her. I should never feel safe a moment. To have a +thief about the house! Oh, no, That would never answer. She will +have to go." + +"Well, Ella, you will have to do what you think best; but you +mustn't be too hard on the poor creature. You mustn't think of +exposing her, and thus blasting her character. It might drive her to +ruin." + +"But, is it right for me, knowing what she is, to let her go quietly +into another family? It is a serious matter, husband." + +"I don't know that you have anything to do with that. The safest +thing, in my opinion, is for you to talk seriously to Jane, and warn +her of the consequences of acts such as she has been guilty of. And +then let her go, trusting that she will reform" + +"But there is another fault that I have discovered within a week or +two past. A fault that I suspected, but was not sure about. It is a +very bad one." + +"What is that, Ella?" + +"I do not think she is kind to the baby." + +"What?" + +"I have good reason for believing that she is not kind to our dear +little babe. I partly suspected this for some time. More than once I +have came suddenly upon her, and found our sweet pet sobbing as if +his heart would break. The expression in Jane's face I could not +exactly understand. Light has gradually broken in upon me, and now I +am satisfied that she has abused him shamefully." + +"Ella?" + +"It is too true. Since my suspicions were fully aroused, I have +asked Hannah about it, and she, unwillingly, has confirmed my own +impressions." + +"Unwillingly! It was her duty to have let you know this voluntarily. +Treat my little angel Charley unkindly! The wretch! She doesn't +remain in this house a day longer." + +"So I have fully determined. I am afraid that Jane has a wretched +disposition. It is bad enough to steal, but to ill-treat a helpless, +innocent babe, is fiend-like." + +Jane was accordingly dismissed. + +"Poor creature!" said Mrs. May, after Jane had left the house; "I +feel sorry for her. She is, after all, the worst enemy to herself. I +don't know what will become of her." + +"She'll get a place somewhere." + +"Yes, I suppose so. But, I hope she won't refer to me for her +character. I don't know what I should say, if she did." + +"If I couldn't say any good, I wouldn't say any harm, Ella. It's +rather a serious matter to break down the character of a poor girl." + +"I know it is; for that is all they have to depend upon. I shall +have to smooth it over some how, I suppose." + +"Yes: put the best face you can upon it. I have no doubt but she +will do better in another place." + +On the next day, sure enough, a lady called to ask about the +character of Jane. + +"How long has she been with you?" was one of the first questions +asked. + +"About six months," replied Mrs. May. + +"In the capacity of nurse, I think she told me?" + +"Yes. She was my nurse." + +"Was she faithful?" + +This was a trying question. But it had to be answered promptly, and +it was so answered. + +"Yes, I think I may call her quite a faithful nurse. She never +refused to carry my little boy out; and always kept him very clean." + +"She kept him nice, did she? Well, that is a recommendation. And I +want somebody who will not be above taking my baby into the street. +But how is her temper?" + +"A little warm sometimes. But then, you know, perfection is not to +be attained any where." + +"No, that is very true. You think her a very good nurse?" + +"Yes, quite equal to the general run." + +"I thank you very kindly," said the lady rising. "I hope I shall +find, in Jane, a nurse to my liking." + +"I certainly hope so," replied Mrs. May, as she attended her to the +door. + +"What do you think?" said Mrs. May to her husband, when he returned +in the evening.--"That Jane had the assurance to send a lady here to +inquire about her character." + +"She is a pretty cool piece of goods, I should say. But, I suppose +she trusted to your known kind feelings, not to expose her." + +"No doubt that was the reason. But, I can tell her that I was +strongly tempted to speak out the plain truth. Indeed, I could +hardly contain myself when the lady told me that she wanted her to +nurse a little infant. I thought of dear Charley, and how she had +neglected and abused him--the wretched creature! But I restrained +myself, and gave her as good a character as I could." + +"That was right. We should not let our indignant feelings govern us +in matters of this kind. We can never err on the side of kindness." + +"No, I am sure we cannot." + +Mrs. Campbell, the lady who had called upon Mrs. May, felt quite +certain that, in obtaining Jane for a nurse, she had been fortunate. +She gave, confidently, to her care, a babe seven months old. At +first, from a mother's natural instinct, she kept her eye upon Jane; +but every thing going on right, she soon ceased to observe her +closely. This was noted by the nurse, who began to breathe with more +freedom. Up to this time, the child placed in her charge had +received the kindest attentions. Now, however, her natural +indifference led her to neglect him in various little ways, +unnoticed by the mother, but felt by the infant. Temptations were +also thrown in her way by the thoughtless exposure of money and +jewelry. Mrs. Campbell supposed, of course, that she was honest, or +she would have been notified of the fact by Mrs. May, of whom she +had inquired Jane's character; and, therefore, never thought of +being on her guard in this respect. Occasionally he could not help +thinking that there ought to be more money in her purse than there +was. But she did not suffer this thought to rise into a suspicion of +unfair dealing against any one. The loss of a costly breast pin, the +gift of a mother long since passed into the invisible world, next +worried her mind; but, even this did not cause her to suspect that +any thing was wrong with her nurse. + +This the time passed on, many little losses of money and valued +articles disturbing and troubling the mind of Mrs. Campbell, until +it became necessary to wean her babe. This duty was assigned to +Jane, who took the infant to sleep with her. On the first night, it +cried for several hours--in fact, did not permit Jane to get more +than a few minutes sleep at a time all night. Her patience was tried +severely. Sometimes she would hold the distressed child with angry +violence to her bosom, while it screamed with renewed energy; and +then, finding that it still continued to cry, toss it from her upon +the bed, and let it lie, still screaming, until fear lest its mother +should be tempted to come to her distressed babe, would cause her +again to take it to her arms. A hard time had that poor child of it +on that first night of its most painful experience in the world. It +was scolded, shaken, and even whipped by the unfeeling nurse, until, +at last, worn out nature yielded, and sleep threw its protecting +mantle over the wearied babe. + +"How did you get along with Henry?" was the mother's eager question, +as she entered Jane's room soon after daylight. + +"O very well, ma'am," returned Jane. + +"I heard him cry dreadfully in the night. Several times I thought I +would come in and take him." + +"Yes, ma'am, he did scream once or twice very hard; but he soon gave +up, and has long slept as soundly as you now see him." + +"Dear little fellow!" murmured the mother in a trembling voice. She +stooped down and kissed him tenderly--tears were in her eyes. + +On the next night, Henry screamed again for several hours. Jane, had +she felt an affection for the child, and, from that affection been +led to soothe it with tenderness, might easily have lulled it into +quiet; but her ill-nature disturbed the child. After worrying with +it a long time, she threw it from her with violence, exclaiming as +she did so-- + +"I'll fix you to-morrow night! There'll be no more of this. They +needn't think I'm going to worry out my life for their cross-grained +brat." + +She stopped. For the babe had suddenly ceased crying. Lifting it up, +quickly, she perceived, by the light of the lamp, that its face was +very white, and its lips blue. In alarm, she picked it up and sprang +from the bed. A little water thrown into its face, soon revived it. +But the child did not cry again, and soon fell away into sleep. For +a long time Jane sat partly up in bed, leaning over on her arm, and +looking into little Henry's face. He breathed freely, and seemed to +be as well as ever. She did not wake until morning. When she did, +she found the mother bending over her, and gazing earnestly down +into the face of her sleeping babe. The incident that had occurred +in the night glanced through her mind, and caused her to rise up and +look anxiously at the child. Its sweet, placid face, at once +reassured her. + +"He slept better last night," remarked Mrs. Campbell. + +"O, yes. He didn't cry any at all, hardly." + +"Heaven bless him!" murmured the mother, bending over and kissing +him softly. + +On the next morning, when she awoke, Mrs. Campbell felt a strange +uneasiness about her child. Without waiting to dress herself, she +went softly over to the room where Jane slept. It was only a little +after day-light. She found both the child and nurse asleep. There +was something in the atmosphere of the room that oppressed her +lungs, and something peculiar in its odor. Without disturbing Jane, +she stood for several minutes looking into the face of Henry. +Something about it troubled her. It was not so calm as usual, nor +had his skin that white transparency so peculiar to a babe. + +"Jane," she at length said, laying her hand upon the nurse. + +Jane roused up. + +"How did Henry get along last night, Jane?" + +"Very well, indeed, ma'am; he did not cry at all." + +"Do you think he looks well?" + +Jane turned her eyes to the face of the child, and regarded it for +some time. + +"O, yes, ma'am, he looks very well; he has been sleeping sound all +night." + +Thus assured, Mrs. Campbell regarded Henry for a few minutes longer, +and then left the room. But her heart was not at ease. There was a +weight upon it, and it labored in its office heavily. + +"Still asleep," she said, about an hour after, coming into Jane's +room. "It is not usual for him to sleep so long in the morning." + +Jane turned away from the penetrating glance of the mother, and +remarked, indifferently: + +"He has been worried out for the last two nights. That is the +reason, I suppose." + +Mrs. Campbell said no more, but lifted the child in her arms, and +carried it to her own chamber. There she endeavored to awaken it, +but, to her alarm, she found that it still slept heavily in spite of +all her efforts. + +Running down into the parlor with it, where her husband sat reading +the morning papers, she exclaimed: + +"Oh, Henry! I'm afraid that Jane has been giving this child +something to make him sleep. See! I cannot awake him. Something is +wrong, depend upon it!" + +Mr. Campbell took the babe and endeavored to arouse him, but without +effect. + +"Call her down here," he then said, in a quick, resolute voice. + +Jane was called down. + +"What have you given this child?" asked Mr. Campbell, peremptorily. + +"Nothing," was the positive answer. "What could I have given him?" + +"Call the waiter." + +Jane left the room, and in a moment after the waiter entered. + +"Go for Doctor B---- as fast as you can, and say to him I must see +him immediately." + +The waiter left the house in great haste. In about twenty minutes +Dr. B---- arrived. + +"Is there any thing wrong about this child?" Mr. Campbell asked, +placing little Henry in the doctor's arms. + +"There is," was replied, after the lapse of about half a minute. +"What have you been giving it." + +"Nothing. But we are afraid the nurse has." + +"Somebody has been giving it a powerful anodyne, that is certain. +This is no natural sleep. Where is the nurse? let me see her." + +Jane was sent for, but word was soon brought that she was not to be +found. She had, in fact, bundled up her clothes, and hastily and +quietly left the house. This confirmed the worst fears of both +parents and physician. But, if any doubt remained, a vial of +laudanum and a spoon, found in the washstand drawer in Jane's room, +dispelled it. + +Then most prompt and active treatment was resorted to by Doctor +B---- in the hope of saving the child. But his anxious efforts were +in vain. The deadly narcotic had taken entire possession of the +whole system; had, in fact, usurped the seat of life, and was +poisoning its very fountain. At day dawn on the next morning the +flickering lamp went out, and the sad parents looked their last look +upon their living child. + +"I have heard most dreadful news," Mrs. May said to her husband, on +his return home that day. + +"You have! What is it?" + +"Jane has poisoned Mrs. Campbell's child!" + +"Ella!" and Mr. May started from his chair. + +"It is true. She had it to wean, and gave it such a dose of +laudanum, that it died." + +"Dreadful! What have they done with her?" + +"She can't be found, I am told." + +"You recommended her to Mrs. Campbell." + +"Yes. But I didn't believe she was wicked enough for that." + +"Though it is true she ill-treated little Charley, and we knew it. I +don't see how you can ever forgive yourself. I am sure that I don't +feel like ever again looking Mr. Campbell in the face." + +"But, Mr. May, you know very well that you didn't want me to say any +thing against Jane to hurt her character." + +"True. And it is hard to injure a poor fellow creature by blazoning +her faults about. But I had no idea that Jane was such a wretch!" + +"We knew that she would steal, and that she was unkind to children; +and yet, we agreed to recommend her to Mrs. Campbell." + +"But it was purely out of kind feelings for the girl, Ella." + +"Yes. But is that genuine kindness? Is it real charity? I fear not." + +Mr. May was silent. The questions probed him to the quick. Let every +one who is good-hearted in the sense that Mr. May was, ask seriously +the same questions. + + + + + + +SLOW AND SURE. + + + + + +"YOU'D better take the whole case. These goods will sell as fast as +they can be measured off." + +The young man to whom this was said by the polite and active partner +in a certain jobbing house in Philadelphia, shook his head and +replied firmly-- + +"No, Mr. Johnson. Three pieces are enough for my sales. If they go +off quickly, I can easily get more." + +"I don't know about that, Mr. Watson," replied the jobber. "I shall +be greatly mistaken if we have a case of these goods left by the end +of a week. Every one who looks at them, buys. Miller bought two +whole cases this morning. In the original packages, we sell them at +a half cent per yard lower than by the piece." + +"If they are gone, I can buy something else," said the cautious +purchaser. + +"Then you won't let me sell you a case?" + +"No, sir." + +"You buy too cautiously," said Johnson. + +"Do you think so?" + +"I know so. The fact is, I can sell some of your neighbors as much +in an hour as I can sell you in a week. We jobbers would starve if +there were no more active men in the trade than you are, friend +Watson." + +Watson smiled in a quiet, self-satisfied way as he replied-- + +"The number of wholesale dealers might be diminished; but failures +among them would be of less frequent occurrence. Slow and sure, is +my motto." + +"Slow and sure don't make much headway in these times. Enterprise is +the word. A man has to be swift-footed to keep up with the general +movement." + +"I don't expect to get rich in a day," said Watson. + +"You'll hardly be disappointed in your expectation," remarked +Johnson, a little sarcastically. His customer did not notice the +feeling his tones expressed, but went on to select a piece or two of +goods, here and there, from various packages, as the styles happened +to suit him. + +"Five per cent. off for cash, I suppose," said Watson, after +completing his purchase. + +"Oh, certainly," replied the dealer. "Do you wish to cash the bill?" + +"Yes; I wish to do a cash business as far as I can. It is rather +slow work at first; but it is safest, and sure to come out right in +the end." + +"You're behind the times, Watson," said Johnson, shaking his head. +"Tell me--who can do the most profitable business, a man with a +capital of five thousand dollars, or a man with twenty thousand?" + +"The latter, of course." + +"Very well. Don't you understand that credit is capital?" + +"It isn't cash capital." + +"What is the difference, pray, between the profit on ten thousand +dollars' worth of goods purchased on time or purchased for cash?" + +"Just five hundred dollars," said Watson. + +"How do you make that out?" The jobber did not see the meaning of +his customer. + +"You discount five per cent. for cash, don't you?" replied Watson, +smiling. + +"True. But, if you don't happen to have the ten thousand dollars +cash, at the time you wish to make a purchase, don't you see what an +advantage credit gives you? Estimate the profit at twenty per cent. +on a cash purchase, and your credit enables you to make fifteen per +cent. where you would have made nothing." + +"All very good theory," said Watson. "It looks beautiful on paper. +Thousands have figured themselves out rich in this way, but, alas! +discovered themselves poor in the end. If all would work just +right--if the thousands of dollars of goods bought on credit would +invariably sell at good profit and in time to meet the purchase +notes, then your credit business would be first rate. But, my little +observation tells me that this isn't always the case--that your +large credit men are forever on the street, money hunting, instead +of in their stores looking after their business. Instead of getting +discounts that add to their profits, they are constantly suffering +discounts of the other kind; and, too often, these, and the +accumulating stock of unsaleable goods--the consequence of credit +temptations in purchasing--reduce the fifteen per cent. you speak of +down to ten, and even five per cent. A large business makes large +store-expenses; and these eat away a serious amount of small profits +on large sales. Better sell twenty thousand dollars' worth of goods +at twenty per cent. profit, than eighty thousand at five per cent. +You can do it with less labor, less anxiety, and at less cost for +rent and clerk hire. At least, Mr. Johnson, this is my mode of +reasoning." + +"Well, plod along," replied Johnson. "Little boats keep near the +shore. But, let me tell you, my young friend, your mind is rather +too limited for a merchant of this day. There is Mortimer, who began +business about the time you did. How much do you think he has made +by a good credit?" + +"I'm sure I don't know." + +"Fifty thousand dollars." + +"And by the next turn of fortune's wheel, may lose it all." + +"Not he. Mortimer, though young, is too shrewd a merchant for that. +Do you know that he made ten thousand by the late rise in cotton; +and all without touching a dollar in his business?" + +"I heard something of it. But, suppose prices had receded instead of +advancing? What of this good credit, then?" + +"You're too timid--too prudent, Watson," said the merchant, "and +will be left behind in the race for prosperity by men of half your +ability." + +"No matter; I will be content," was the reply of Watson. + +It happened, a short time after this little interchange of views on +business matters, that Watson met the daughter of Mr. Johnson in a +company where he chanced to be. She was an accomplished and +interesting young woman, and pleased Watson particularly; and it is +but truth to say, that she was equally well pleased with him. + +The father, who was present, saw, with a slight feeling of +disapprobation, the lively conversation that passed between the +young man and his daughter; and when an occasion offered, a day or +two afterwards, made it a point to refer to him in a way to give the +impression that he held him in light estimation. Flora, that was the +daughter's name, did not appear to notice his remark. One evening, +not long after this, as the family of Mr. Johnson were about leaving +the tea-table, where they had remained later than usual, a domestic +announced that there was a gentleman in the parlor. + +"Who is it?" inquired Flora. + +"Mr. Mortimer," was answered. + +An expression of dislike came into the face of Flora, as she said-- + +"He didn't ask for me?" + +"Yes," was the servant's reply. + +"Tell him that I'm engaged, Nancy." + +"No, no!" said Mr. Johnson, quickly. "This would not be right. _Are_ +you engaged?" + +"That means, father, that I don't wish to see him; and he will so +understand me." + +"Don't wish to see him? Why not?" + +"Because I don't like him." + +"Don't like him?" Mr. Johnson's manner was slightly impatient. +"Perhaps you don't know him." + +The way in which her father spoke, rather embarrassed Flora. She +cast down her eye and stood for a few moments. + +"Tell Mr. Mortimer that I will see him in a little while," she then +said, and, as the domestic retired to give the answer, she ascended +to her chamber to make some slight additions to her toilet. + +To meet the young man by constraint, as it were, was only to +increase in Flora's mind the dislike she had expressed. So coldly +and formally was Mortimer received, that he found his visit rather +unpleasant than agreeable, and retired, after sitting an hour, +somewhat puzzled as to the real estimation in which he was held by +the lady, for whom he felt more than a slight preference. + +Mr. Johnson was very much inclined to estimate others by a +money-standard of valuation. A man was a man, in his eyes, when he +possessed those qualities of mind that would enable him to make his +way in the world--in other words, to get rich. It was this ability +in Mortimer that elevated him in his regard, and produced a feeling +of pleasure when he saw him inclined to pay attention to his +daughter. And it was the apparent want of this ability in Watson, +that caused him to be lightly esteemed. + +Men like Mr. Johnson are never very wise in their estimates of +character; nor do they usually adopt the best means of attaining +their ends when they meet with opposition. This was illustrated in +the present case. Mortimer was frequently referred to in the +presence of Flora, and praised in the highest terms; while the bare +mention of Watson's name was sure to occasion a series of +disparaging remarks. The effect was just the opposite of what was +intended. The more her father said in favor of the thrifty young +merchant, the stronger was the repugnance felt towards him by Flora; +and the more he had to say against Watson, the better she liked him. +This went on until there came a formal application from Mortimer for +the hand of Flora. It was made to Mr. Johnson first, who replied to +the young man that if he could win the maiden's favor, he had his +full approval. But to win the maiden's favor was not so easy a task, +as the young man soon found. His offered hand was firmly declined. + +"Am I to consider your present decision as final?" said the young +man, in surprise and disappointment. + +"I wish you to do so, Mr. Mortimer," said Flora. + +"Your father approves my suit," said he. "I have his full consent to +make you this offer of my hand." + +"I cannot but feel flattered at your preference," returned Flora; +"but, to accept your offer, would not be just either to you or +myself. I, therefore, wish you to understand me as being entirely in +earnest." + +This closed the interview and definitely settled the question. When +Mr. Johnson learned that the offer of Mortimer had been declined, he +was very angry with his daughter, and, in the passionate excitement +of his feelings, committed a piece of folly for which he felt an +immediate sense of shame and regret. + +The interview between Mr. Mortimer and Flora took place during the +afternoon, and Mr. Johnson learned the result from a note received +from the disappointed young man, just as he was about leaving his +store to return home. Flora did not join the family at the +tea-table, on that evening, for her mind was a good deal disturbed, +and she wished to regain her calmness and self-possession before +meeting her father. + +Mr. Johnson was sitting in a moody and angry state of mind about an +hour after supper, when a domestic came into the room and said that +Mr. Watson was in the parlor. + +"What does he want here?" asked Mr. Johnson, in a rough, excited +voice. + +"He asked for Miss Flora," returned the servant. + +"Where is she?" + +"In her room." + +"Well, let her stay there. I'll see him myself." + +And without taking time for reflection, Mr. Johnson descended to the +parlor. + +"Mr. Watson," said he, coldly, as the young man arose and advanced +towards him. + +His manner caused the visitor to pause, and let the hand he had +extended fall to his side. + +"Well, what is your wish?" asked Mr. Johnson. He looked with knit +brows into Watson's face. + +"I have called to see your daughter Flora," returned the young man, +calmly. + +"Then, I wish you to understand that your call is not agreeable," +said the father of the young lady, with great rudeness of manner. + +"Not agreeable to whom?" asked Watson, manifesting no excitement. + +"Not agreeable to me," replied Mr. Johnson. "Nor agreeable to any +one in this house." + +"Do you speak for your daughter?" inquired the young man. + +"I have a right to speak for her, if any one has," was the evasive +answer. + +Watson bowed respectfully, and, without a word more, retired from +the house. + +The calm dignity with which he had received the rough treatment of +Mr. Johnson, rebuked the latter, and added a feeling of shame to his +other causes of mental disquietude. + +On the next day Flora received a letter from Watson, in part in +these words-- + +"I called, last evening, but was not so fortunate as to see you. +Your father met me in the parlor, and on learning that my visit was +to you, desired me not to come again. This circumstance makes it +imperative on me to declare what might have been sometime longer +delayed--my sincere regard for you. If you feel towards me as your +father does, then I have not a word more to say; but I do not +believe this, and, therefore, I cannot let his disapproval, in a +matter so intimately concerning my happiness, and it may be yours, +influence me to the formation of a hasty decision. I deeply regret +your father's state of feeling. His full approval of my suit, next +to yours, I feel to be in every way desirable. + +"But, why need I multiply words? Again, I declare that I feel for +you a sincere affection. If you can return this, say so with as +little delay as possible; and if you cannot, be equally frank with +me." + +Watson did not err in his belief that Flora reciprocated his tender +sentiments; nor was he kept long in suspense. She made an early +reply, avowing her own attachment, but urging him; for her sake, to +do all in his power to overcome her father's prejudices. But this +was no easy task. In the end, however, Mr. Johnson, who saw, too +plainly, that opposition on his part would be of no avail, yielded a +kind of forced consent that the plodding, behind-the-age young +merchant, should lead Flora to the altar. That his daughter should +be content with such a man, was to him a source of deep +mortification. His own expectations in regard to her had been of a +far higher character. + +"He'll never set the world on fire;" "A man of no enterprise;" "A +dull plodder;" with similar allusions to his son-in-law, were +overheard by Mr. Johnson on the night of the wedding party, and +added no little to the ill-concealed chagrin from which he suffered. +They were made by individuals who belonged to the new school of +business men, of whom Mortimer was a representative. He, too, was +present. His disappointment in not obtaining the hand of Flora, had +been solaced in the favor of one whose social standing and +money-value was regarded as considerably above that of the maiden +who had declined the offer of his hand. He saw Flora given to +another without a feeling of regret. A few months afterwards, he +married the daughter of a gentleman who considered himself fortunate +in obtaining a son-in-law that promised to be one of the richest men +in the city. + +It was with a very poor grace that Mr. Johnson bore his +disappointment; so poor, that he scarcely treated the husband of his +daughter with becoming respect. To add to his uncomfortable feelings +by contrast, Mortimer built himself a splendid dwelling almost +beside the modest residence of Mr. Watson, and after furnishing it +in the most costly and elegant style, gave a grand entertainment. +Invitations to this were not extended to either Mr. Johnson's family +or to that of his son-in-law--an omission that was particularly +galling to the former. + +A few weeks subsequent to this, Mr. Johnson stood beside Mr. Watson +in an auction room. To the latter a sample of new goods, just +introduced, was knocked down, and when asked by the auctioneer how +many cases he would take, he replied "Two." + +"Say ten," whispered Mr. Johnson in his ear. + +"Two cases are enough for my sales," quietly returned the young man. + +"But they're a great bargain. You can sell them at an advance," +urged Mr. Johnson. + +"Perhaps so. But I'd rather not go out of my regular line of +business." + +By this time, the auctioneer's repeated question of "Who'll take +another case?" had been responded to by half a dozen voices, and the +lot of goods was gone. + +"You're too prudent," said Mr. Johnson, with some impatience in his +manner. + +"No," replied the young man, with his usual calm tone and quiet +smile. "Slow and sure--that is my motto. I only buy the quantity of +an article that I am pretty sure will sell. Then I get a certain +profit, and am not troubled with paying for goods that are lying on +my shelves and depreciating in value daily." + +"But these wouldn't have lain on your shelves. You could have sold +them at a quarter of a cent advance to-morrow, and thus cleared +sixty or seventy dollars." + +"That is mere speculation." + +"Call it what you will; it makes no difference. The chance of making +a good operation was before you, and you did not improve it. You +will never get along at your snail's pace." + +There was, in the voice of Mr. Johnson, a tone of contempt that +stung Watson more than any previous remark or, action of his +father-in-law. Thrown, for a moment, off his guard, he replied with +some warmth-- + +"You may be sure of one thing, at least." + +"What?" + +"That I shall never embarrass you with any of my fine operations." + +"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. Johnson. + +"Time will explain the remark," replied Watson, turning away, and +retiring from the auction room. + +A coolness of some months was the consequence of this little +interview. + +Time proves all things. At the end of fifteen years, Mortimer, who +had gone on in the way he had begun, was reputed to be worth two +hundred thousand dollars. Every thing he touched turned to money; at +least, so it appeared. His whole conversation was touching handsome +operations in trade; and not a day passed in which he had not some +story of gains to tell. Yet, with all his heavy accumulations, he +was always engaged in money raising, and his line of discounts was +enormous. Such a thing as proper attention to business was almost +out of the question, for nearly his whole time was taken up in +financiering--and some of his financial schemes were on a pretty +grand scale. Watson, on the other hand, had kept plodding along in +the old way, making his regular business purchases, and gradually +extending his operations, as his profits, changing into capital, +enabled him to do so. He was not anxious to get rich fast; at least, +not so anxious as to suffer himself to be tempted from a safe and +prudent course; and was, therefore, content to do well. By this +time, his father-in-law began to understand him a little better than +at first, and to appreciate him more highly. On more than one +occasion, he had been in want of a few thousand dollars in an +emergency, when the check of Watson promptly supplied the pressing +need. + +As to the real ability of Watson, few were apprised, for he never +made a display for the sake of establishing a credit. But it was +known to some, that he generally had a comfortable balance in the +bank, and to others that he never exchanged notes, nor asked an +endorser on his business paper. He always purchased for cash, and +thus obtained his goods from five to seven per cent cheaper than his +neighbors; and rarely put his business paper in bank for discount at +a longer date than sixty days. Under this system, his profits were, +usually, ten per cent. more than the profits of many who were +engaged in the same branch of trade. His credit was so good, that +the bank where he kept his account readily gave him all the money he +asked on his regular paper, without requiring other endorsements; +while many of his more dashing neighbors, who were doing half as +much business again, were often obliged to go upon the street to +raise money at from one to two per cent. a month. Moreover, as he +was always to be found at his store, and ready to give his personal +attention to customers, he was able to make his own discriminations +and to form his own estimates of men--and these were generally +correct. The result of this was, that he gradually attracted a class +of dealers who were substantial men; and, in consequence, was little +troubled with bad sales. + +Up to this time, there had been but few changes in the external +domestic arrangements of Mr. Watson. He had moved twice, and, each +time, into a larger house. His increasing family made this +necessary. But, while all was comfortable and even elegant in his +dwelling, there was no display whatever. + +One day, about this period, as Watson was walking with his +father-in-law, they both paused to look at a handsome house that was +going up in a fashionable part of Walnut street. By the side of it +was a large building lot. + +"I have about made up my mind to buy this lot," remarked Watson. + +"You?" Mr. Johnson spoke in a tone of surprise. + +"Yes. The price is ten thousand dollars. Rather high; but I like the +location." + +"What will you do with it?" inquired Mr. Johnson. + +"Build upon it." + +"As an investment?" + +"No. I want a dwelling for myself." + +"Indeed! I was not aware that you had any such intentions." + +"Oh, yes. I have always intended to build a house so soon as I felt +able to do it according to my own fancy." + +Mr. Johnson felt a good deal surprised at this. No more was said, +and the two men walked on. + +"How's this? For sale!" said Mr. Johnson. They were opposite the +elegant dwelling of Mr. Mortimer, upon which was posted a hand-bill +setting forth that the property was for sale. + +"So it seems," was Watson's quiet answer. + +"Why should he sell out?" added Mr. Johnson. "Perhaps he is going to +Europe to make a tour with his family," he suggested. + +"It is more probable," said Watson, "that he has got to the end of +his rope." + +"What do you mean by that remark?" + +"Is obliged to sell in order to save himself." + +"Oh, no! Mortimer is rich." + +"So it is said. But I never call a man rich whose paper is floating +about by thousands on the street seeking purchasers at two per cent. +a month." + +Just then the carriage of Mortimer drove up to his door, and Mrs. +Mortimer descended to the pavement and passed into the house. Her +face was pale, and had a look of deep distress. It was several years +since Mr. Johnson remembered to have seen her, and he was almost +startled at the painful change which had taken place. + +A little while afterwards he looked upon the cheerful, smiling face +of his daughter Flora, and there arose in his heart, almost +involuntarily, an emotion of thankfulness that she was not the wife +of Mortimer. Could he have seen what passed a few hours afterwards, +in the dwelling of the latter, he would have been more thankful than +ever. + +It was after eleven o'clock when Mortimer returned home that night. +He had been away since morning. It was rarely that he dined with his +family, but usually came home early in the evening. Since seven +o'clock, the tea-table had been standing in the floor, awaiting his +return. At eight o'clock, as he was still absent, supper was served +to the children, who, soon after, retired for the night. It was +after eleven o'clock as we have said, before Mortimer returned. His +face was pale and haggard. He entered quietly, by means of his +night-key, and went noiselessly up to his chamber. He found his wife +lying across the bed, where, wearied with watching, she had thrown +herself and fallen asleep. For a few moments he stood looking at +her, with a face in which agony and affection were blended. Then he +clasped his hands suddenly against his temples, and groaned aloud. +That groan penetrated the ears of his sleeping wife, who started up +with an exclamation of alarm, as her eyes saw the gesture and +expression of her husband. + +"Oh, Henry! what is the matter? Where have you been? Why do you look +so?" she eagerly inquired. + +Mortimer did not reply; but continued standing like a statue of +despair. + +"Henry! Henry!" cried his wife, springing towards him, and laying +her hands upon his arm. "Dear husband! what is the matter?" + +"Ruined! Ruined!" now came hoarsely from the lips of Mortimer, and, +with another deep groan, he threw himself on a sofa, and wrung his +hands in uncontrollable anguish. + +"Oh, Henry! speak! What does this mean?" said his wife, the tears +now gushing from her eyes. "Tell me what has happened." + +But, "Ruined! Ruined!" was all the wretched man would say for a long +time. At last, however, he made a few vague explanations, to the +effect that he would be compelled to stop payment on the next day. + +"I thought," said Mrs. Mortimer, "that the sale of this house was to +afford you all the money you needed." + +"It is not sold yet," was all his reply to this. He did not explain +that it was under a heavy mortgage, and that, even if sold, the +amount realized would be a trifle compared with his need on the +following day. During the greater part of the night, Mortimer walked +the floor of his chamber; and, for a portion of the time, his wife +moved like a shadow by his side. But few words passed between them. + +When the day broke, Mrs. Mortimer was lying on the bed, asleep. +Tears were on her cheeks. In a crib, beside her, was a fair-haired +child, two years old, breathing sweetly in his innocent slumber; and +over this crib bent the husband and father. His face was now calm, +but very pale, and its expression of sadness, as he gazed upon his +sleeping child, was heart-touching. For many minutes he stood over +the unconscious slumberer; then stooping down, he touched its +forehead lightly with his lips, while a low sigh struggled up from +his bosom. Turning, then, his eyes upon his wife, he gazed at her +for some moments, with a sad, pitying look. He was bending to kiss +her, when a movement, as if she were about to awaken, caused him to +step back, and stand holding his breath, as if he feared the very +sound would disturb her. She did not open her eyes, however, but +turned over, with a low moan of suffering, and an indistinct murmur +of his name. + +Mortimer did not again approach the bed-side, but stepped +noiselessly to the chamber door, and passed into the next room, +where three children, who made up the full number of his household +treasures, were buried in tranquil sleep. Long he did not linger +here. A hurried glance was taken of each beloved face, and a kiss +laid lightly upon the lips of each. Then he left the room, moving +down the stairs with a step of fear. A moment or two more, and he +was beyond the threshold of his dwelling. + +When Mrs. Mortimer started up from unquiet slumber, as the first +beams of the morning sun fell upon her face, she looked around, +eagerly, for her husband. Not seeing him, she called his name. No +answer was received, and she sprung from the bed. As she did so, a +letter placed conspicuously on the bureau met her eyes. Eagerly +breaking the seal, she read this brief sentence: + +"Circumstances make it necessary for me to leave the city by the +earliest conveyance. Say not a word of this to any one--not even to +your father. My safety depends on your silence. I will write to you +in a little while. May Heaven give you strength to bear the trials +through which you are about to pass!" + +But for the instant fear for her husband, which this communication +brought into the mind of Mrs. Mortimer, the shock would have +rendered her insensible. He was in danger, and upon her discretion +depended his safety. This gave her strength for the moment. Her +first act was to destroy the note. Next she strove to repress the +wild throbbings of her heart, and to assume a calm exterior. Vain +efforts! She was too weak for the trial; and who can wonder that she +was? + +Mr. Johnson was sitting in his store about half past three o'clock +that afternoon, when a man came in and asked him for the payment of +a note of five thousand dollars. He was a Notary. + +"A protest!" exclaimed Mr. Johnson, in astonishment. "What does this +mean?" + +"I don't understand this," said he, after a moment or two. "I have +no paper out for that amount falling due to-day. Let me see it?" + +The note was handed to him. + +"It's a forgery!" said he, promptly. "To whom is it payable?" he +added. "To Mortimer, as I live!" + +And he handed it back to the Notary, who departed. + +Soon after he saw the father-in-law of Mortimer go hurriedly past +his store. A glimpse of his countenance showed that he was strongly +agitated. + +"Have you heard the news?" asked his son-in-law, coming in, half an +hour afterwards. + +"What?" + +"Mortimer has been detected in a forgery!" + +"Upon whom?" + +"His father-in-law." + +"He has forged my name also." + +"He has!" + +"Yes. A note for five thousand dollars was presented to me by the +Notary a little while ago." + +"Is it possible? But this is no loss to you." + +"If he has resorted to forgery to sustain himself," replied Mr. +Johnson, looking serious, "his affairs are, of course, in a +desperate condition." + +"Of course." + +"I am on his paper to at least twenty thousand dollars." + +"You!" + +"Such, I am sorry to say, is the case. And to meet that paper will +try me severely. Oh, dear! How little I dreamed of this! I thought +him one of the soundest men in the city." + +"I am pained to hear that you are so deeply involved," said Mr. +Watson. "But, do not let it trouble you too much. I will defer my +building intentions to another time, and let you have whatever money +you may need." + +Mr. Johnson made no answer. His eyes were upon the floor and his +thoughts away back to the time when he had suffered the great +disappointment of seeing his daughter marry the slow, plodding +Watson, instead of becoming the wife of the enterprising Mortimer. + +"I will try, my son," said he, at length, in a subdued voice, "to +get through without drawing upon you too largely. Ah, me! How blind +I have been." + +"You may depend on me for at least twenty thousand dollars," replied +Watson, cheerfully; "and for even more, if it is needed." + +It was soon known that Mortimer had committed extensive forgeries +upon various persons, and that he had left the city. Officers were +immediately despatched for his arrest, and in a few days he was +brought back as a criminal. In his ruin, many others were involved. +Among these was his father-in-law, who was stripped of every dollar +in his old age. + +"Slow and sure--slow and sure. Yes, Watson was right." Thus mused +Mr. Johnson, a few months afterwards, on hearing that Mortimer was +arraigned before the criminal court, to stand his trial for forgery. +"It is the safest and the best way, and certainly leads to +prosperity. Ah, me! How are we drawn aside into false ways through +our eagerness to obtain wealth by a nearer road than that of patient +industry in legitimate trade. Where one is successful, a dozen are +ruined by this error. Slow and sure! Yes, that is the true doctrine. +Watson was right, as the result has proved. Happy for me that his +was a better experiment than that of the envied Mortimer!" + + + + + + +THE SCHOOL GIRL. + + + + + +"WHERE now?" said Frederick Williams to his friend Charles Lawson, +on entering his own office and finding the latter, carpet-bag in +hand, awaiting his arrival. + +"Off for a day or two on a little business affair," replied Lawson. + +"Business! What have you to do with business?" + +"Not ordinary, vulgar business," returned Lawson with a slight toss +of the head and an expression of contempt. + +"Oh! It's of a peculiar nature?" + +"It is--very peculiar; and, moreover, I want the good offices of a +friend, to enable me the more certainly to accomplish my purposes." + +"Come! sit down and explain yourself," said Williams. + +"Haven't a moment to spare. The boat goes in half an hour." + +"What boat?" + +"The New Haven boat. So come, go along with me to the slip, and +we'll talk the matter over by the way." + +"I'm all attention," said Williams, as the two young men stepped +forth upon the pavement. + +"Well, you must know," began Lawson, "that I have a first rate love +affair on my hands." + +"You!" + +"Now don't smile; but hear me." + +"Go on--I'm all attention." + +"You know old Everett?" + +"Thomas Everett, the silk importer?" + +"The same." + +"I know something about him." + +"You know, I presume, that he has a pretty fair looking daughter?" + +"And I know," replied Williams, "that when 'pretty fair looking' is +said, pretty much all is said in her favor." + +"Not by a great deal," was the decided answer of Lawson. + +"Pray what is there beyond this that a man can call attractive?" + +"Her father's money." + +"I didn't think of that." + +"Didn't you?" + +"No. But it would take the saving influence of a pretty large sum to +give her a marriageable merit in my eyes." + +"Gold hides a multitude of defects, you know, Fred." + +"It does; but it has to be heaped up very high to cover a wife's +defects, if they be as radical as those in Caroline Everett. Why, to +speak out the plain, homespun truth, the girl's a fool!" + +"She isn't over bright, Fred, I know," replied Lawson. "But to call +her a fool, is to use rather a broad assertion." + +"She certainly hasn't good common sense. I would be ashamed of her +in company a dozen times a day if she were any thing to me." + +"She's young, you know, Fred." + +"Yes, a young and silly girl." + +"Just silly enough for my purpose. But, she will grow older and +wiser, you know. Young and silly is a very good fault." + +"Where is she now?" + +"At a boarding school some thirty miles from New Haven. Do you know +why her father sent her there?" + +"No." + +"She would meet me on her way to and from school while in the city, +and the old gentleman had, I presume, some objections to me as a +son-in-law." + +"And not without reason," replied Williams. + +"I could not have asked him to do a thing more consonant with my +wishes," continued Lawson. "Caroline told me where she was going, +and I was not long in making a visit to the neighborhood. Great +attention is paid to physical development in the school, and the +young ladies are required to walk, daily, in the open air, amid the +beautiful, romantic, and secluded scenery by which the place is +surrounded. They walk alone, or in company, as suits their fancies. +Caroline chose to walk alone when I was near at hand; and we met in +a certain retired glen, where the sweet quiet of nature was broken +only by the dreamy murmur of a silvery stream, and there we talked +of love. It is not in the heart of a woman to withstand a scene like +this. I told, in burning words, my passion, and she hearkened and +was won." Lawson paused for some moments; but, as Williams made no +remark, he continued-- + +"It is hopeless to think of gaining her father's consent to a +marriage. He is pence-proud, and I, as you know, am penniless." + +"I do not think he would be likely to fancy you for a son-in-law," +said Williams. + +"I have the best of reasons, for knowing that he would not. He has +already spoken of me to his daughter in very severe terms." + +"As she has informed you?" + +"Yes. But, like a sensible girl, she prefers consulting her own +taste in matters of the heart." + +"A very sensible girl, certainly!" + +"Isn't she! Well, as delays are dangerous, I have made up my mind to +consummate this business as quickly as possible. You know how hard +pressed I am in certain quarters, and how necessary it is that I +should get my pecuniary matters in a more stable position. In a +word, then, my business, on the present occasion, is to remove +Caroline from school, it being my opinion that she has completed her +education." + +"Has she consented to this?" + +"No; but she won't require any great persuasion. I'll manage all +that. What I want you to do is, first, to engage me rooms at +Howard's, and, second, to meet me at the boat, day after to-morrow, +with a carriage." + +"Where will you have the ceremony performed?" + +"In this city. I have already engaged the Rev. Mr. B---- to do that +little work for me. He will join us at the hotel immediately on our +arrival, and in your presence, as a witness, the knot will be tied." + +"All very nicely arranged," said Williams. + +"Isn't it! And what is more, the whole thing will go off like clock +work. Of course I can depend on you. You will meet us at the boat." + +"I will, certainly." + +"Then good by." They were by this time at the landing. The two young +men shook hands, and Lawson sprung on board of the boat, while +Williams returned thoughtfully to his office. + +Charles Lawson was a young man having neither principle nor +character. A connection with certain families in New York, added to +a good address, polished manners, and an unblushing assurance, had +given him access to society at certain points, and of this facility +he had taken every advantage. Too idle and dissolute for useful +effort in society, he looked with a cold, calculating baseness to +marriage as the means whereby he was to gain the position at which +he aspired. Possessing no attractive virtues--no personal merits of +any kind, his prospects of a connection, such as he wished to form, +through the medium of any honorable advances, were hopeless, and +this he perfectly well understood. But, the conviction did not in +the least abate the ardor of his purpose. And, in a mean and +dastardly spirit, he approached one young school girl after another, +until he found in Caroline Everett one weak enough to be flattered +by his attentions. The father of Caroline, who was a man of some +discrimination and force of mind, understood his daughter's +character, and knowing the danger to which she was exposed, kept +upon her a watchful eye. Caroline's meetings with Lawson were not +continued long before he became aware of the fact, and he at once +removed her to a school at a distance from the city. It would have +been wiser had he taken her home altogether. Lawson could have +desired no better arrangement, so far as his wishes were concerned. + +On the day succeeding that on which Lawson left New York, Caroline +was taking her morning walk with two or three companions, when she +noticed a mark on a certain tree, which she knew as a sign that her +lover was in the neighborhood and awaiting her in the secluded glen, +half a mile distant, where they had already met. Feigning to have +forgotten something, she ran back, but as soon as she was out of +sight of her companions, she glided off with rapid steps in the +direction where she expected to find Lawson. And she was not +disappointed. + +"Dear Caroline!" he exclaimed, with affected tenderness, drawing his +arm about her and kissing her cheek, as he met her. "How happy I am +to see you again! Oh! it has seemed months since I looked upon your +sweet young face." + +"And yet it is only a week since you were here," returned Caroline, +looking at him fondly. + +"I cannot bear this separation. It makes me wretched," said Lawson. + +"And I am miserable," responded Caroline, with a sigh, and her eyes +fell to the ground. "Miserable," she repeated. + +"I love you, tenderly, devotedly," said Lawson, as he tightly +clasped the hand he had taken: "and it is my most ardent wish to +make you happy. Oh! why should a parent's mistaken will interpose +between us and our dearest wishes?" + +Caroline leaned toward the young man, but did not reply. + +"Is there any hope of his being induced to give his consent +to--to--our--union?" + +"None, I fear," came from the lips of Caroline in a faint whisper. + +"Is he so strongly prejudiced against me?" + +"Yes." + +"Then, what are we to do?" + +Caroline sighed. + +"To meet, hopelessly, is only to make us the more wretched," said +Lawson. "Better part, and forever, than suffer a martyrdom of +affection like this." + +Still closer shrunk the weak and foolish girl to the young man's +side. She was like a bird in the magic circle of the charmer. + +"Caroline," said Lawson, after another period of silence, and his +voice was low, tender and penetrating--"Are you willing, for my +sake, to brave your father's anger?" + +"For your sake, Charles!" replied Caroline, with sudden enthusiasm. +"Yes--yes. His anger would be light to the loss of your affection." + +"Bless your true heart!" exclaimed Lawson. "I knew that I had not +trusted it in vain. And now, my dear girl, let me speak freely of +the nature of my present visit. With you, I believe, that all hope +of your father's consent is vain. But, he is a man of tender +feelings, and loves you as the apple of his eye." + +Thus urged the tempter, and Caroline listened eagerly. + +"If," he continued, "we precipitate a union--if we put the marriage +rite between us and his strong opposition, that opposition will grow +weak as a withering leaf. He cannot turn from you. He loves you too +well." + +Caroline did not answer; but, it needed no words to tell Lawson that +he was not urging his wishes in vain. + +"I am here," at length he said, boldly, "for the purpose of taking +you to New York. Will you go with me?" + +"For what end?" she whispered. + +"To become my wife." + +There was no starting, shrinking, nor trembling at this proposal. +Caroline was prepared for it; and, in the blindness of a mistaken +love, ready to do as the tempter wished. Poor lamb! She was to be +led to the slaughter, decked with ribbons and garlands, a victim by +her own consent. + +Frederick Williams, the friend of Lawson, was a young attorney, who +had fallen into rather wild company, and strayed to some distance +along the paths of dissipation. But, he had a young and +lovely-minded sister, who possessed much influence over him. The +very sphere of her purity kept him from debasing himself to any +great extent, and ever drew him back from a total abandonment of +himself in the hour of temptation. He had been thrown a good deal +into the society of Lawson, who had many attractive points for young +men about him, and who knew how to adapt himself to the characters +of those with whom he associated. In some things he did not like +Lawson, who, at times, manifested such an entire want of principle, +that he felt shocked. On parting with Lawson at the boat, as we have +seen, he walked thoughtfully away. His mind was far from approving +what he had heard, and the more he reflected upon it, the less +satisfied did he feel. He knew enough of the character of Lawson to +be well satisfied that his marriage with Caroline, who was an +overgrown, weak-minded school girl, would prove the wreck of her +future happiness, and the thought of becoming a party to such a +transaction troubled him. On returning to his office, he found his +sister waiting for him, and, as his eyes rested upon her innocent +young countenance, the idea of her being made the victim of so base +a marriage, flashed with a pang amid his thoughts. + +"I will have no part nor lot in this matter," he said, mentally. And +he was in earnest in this resolution. But not long did his mind rest +easy under his assumed passive relation to a contemplated social +wrong, that one word from him might prevent. From the thought of +betraying Lawson's confidence, his mind shrunk with a certain +instinct of honor; while, at the same time, pressed upon him the +irresistible conviction that a deeper dishonor would attach to him +if he permitted the marriage to take place. + +The day passed with him uncomfortably enough. The more he thought +about the matter, the more he felt troubled. In the evening, he met +his sister again, and the sight of her made him more deeply +conscious of the responsibility resting upon him. His oft repeated +mental excuse--"It's none of my business," or, "I can't meddle in +other men's affairs," did not satisfy certain convictions of right +and duty that presented themselves with, to him, a strange +distinctness. The thought of his own sister was instantly associated +with the scheme of some false-hearted wretch, involving her +happiness in the way that the happiness of Caroline Everett was to +be involved; and he felt that the man who knew that another was +plotting against her, and did not apprize him of the fact, was +little less than a villain at heart. + +On the next day Williams learned that there was a writ out against +the person of Charles Lawson on a charge of swindling, he having +obtained a sum of money from a broker under circumstances construed +by the laws into crime. This fact determined him to go at once to +Mr. Everett, who, as it might be supposed, was deeply agitated at +the painful intelligence he received. His first thought was to +proceed immediately to New Haven, and there rescue his daughter from +the hands of the young man; but on learning the arrangements that +had been made, he, after much reflecting, concluded that it would be +best to remain in New York, and meet them on their arrival. + +In the mean time, the foolish girl, whom Lawson had determined to +sacrifice to his base cupidity, was half wild with delighted +anticipation. Poor child! Passion-wrought romances, written by men +and women who had neither right views of life, nor a purpose in +literature beyond gain or reputation, had bewildered her half-formed +reason, and filled her imagination with. unreal pictures. All her +ideas were false or exaggerated. She was a woman, with the mind of +an inexperienced child; if to say this does not savor of +contradiction. Without dreaming that there might be thorns to pierce +her naked feet in the way she was about to enter, she moved forward +with a joyful confidence. + +On the day she had agreed to return with Lawson, she met him early +in the afternoon, and started for New Haven, where they spent the +night. On the following day they left in the steamboat for New York. +All his arrangements for the marriage, were fully explained to +Caroline by Lawson, and most of the time that elapsed after leaving +New Haven, was spent in settling their future action in regard to +the family. Caroline was confident that all would be forgiven after +the first outburst of anger on the part of her father, and that they +would be taken home immediately. The cloud would quickly melt in +tears, and then the sky would be purer and brighter than before. + +When the boat touched the wharf, Lawson looked eagerly for the +appearance of his friend Williams, and was disappointed, and no +little troubled, at not seeing him. After most of the passengers had +gone on shore, he called a carriage, and was driven to Howard's, +where he ordered a couple of rooms, after first enquiring whether a +friend had not already performed this service for him. His next step +was to write a note to the Rev. Mr. B----, desiring his immediate +attendance, and, also, one to Williams, informing him of his +arrival. Anxiously, and with a nervous fear lest some untoward +circumstance might prevent the marriage he was about effecting with +a silly heiress, did the young man await the response to these +notes, and great was his relief, when informed, after the lapse of +an hour, that the Reverend gentleman, whose attendance he had +desired, was in the house. + +A private parlor had been engaged, and in this the ceremony of +marriage was to take place. This parlor adjoined a chamber, in which +Caroline awaited, with a trembling heart, the issue of events. It +was now, for the first time, as she was about taking the final and +irretrievable step, that her resolution began to fail her. Her +father's anger, the grief of her mother, the unknown state upon +which she was about entering, all came pressing upon her thoughts +with a sense of realization such as she had not known before. + +Doubts as to the propriety of what she was about doing, came fast +upon her mind. In the nearness of the approaching event, she could +look upon it stripped of its halo of romance. During the two days +that she had been with Lawson, she had seen him in states of absent +thought, when the true quality of his mind wrote itself out upon his +face so distinctly that even a dim-sighted one could read; and more +than once she had felt an inward shrinking from him that was +irrepressible. Weak and foolish as she was, she was yet pure-minded; +and though in the beginning she did not, because her heart was +overlaid with frivolity, perceive the sphere of his impurity, yet +now, as the moment was near at hand when there was to be a +marriage-conjunction, she began to feel this sphere as something +that suffocated her spirit. At length, in the agitation of +contending thoughts and emotions, the heart of the poor girl failed +her, till, in the utter abandonment of feeling, she gave way to a +flood of tears and commenced wringing her hands. At this moment, +having arranged with the clergyman to begin the ceremony forthwith, +Lawson entered her room, and, to his surprise, saw her in tears. + +"Oh, Charles!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands and extending them +towards him, "Take me home to my father! Oh, take me home to my +father!" + +Lawson was confounded at such an unexpected change in Caroline. "You +shall go to your father the moment the ceremony is over," he +replied; "Come! Mr. B---- is all ready." + +"Oh, no, no! Take me now! Take me now!" returned the poor girl in an +imploring voice. And she sat before the man who had tempted her from +the path of safety, weeping, and quivering like a leaf in the wind. + +"Caroline! What has come over you!" said Lawson, in deep perplexity. +"This is only a weakness. Come! Nerve your heart like a brave, good +girl! Come! It will soon be over." + +And he bent down and kissed her wet cheek, while she shrunk from him +with an involuntary dread. But, he drew his arm around her waist, +and almost forced her to rise. + +"There now! Dry your tears!" And he placed his handkerchief to her +eyes. "It is but a moment of weakness, Caroline,--of natural +weakness." + +As he said this, he was pressing her forward towards the door of the +apartment where the clergyman (such clergymen disgrace their +profession) awaited their appearance. + +"Charles?" said Caroline, with a suddenly constrained calmness--"do +you love me?" + +"Better than my own life!" was instantly replied. + +"Then take me to my father. I am too young--too weak--too +inexperienced for this." + +"The moment we are united you shall go home," returned Lawson. "I +will not hold you back an instant." + +"Let me go now, Charles! Oh, let me go now!" + +"Are you mad, girl!" exclaimed the young man, losing his +self-control. And, with a strong arm, he forced her into the next +room. For a brief period, the clergyman hesitated, on seeing the +distressed bride. Then he opened the book he held in his hand and +began to read the service. As his voice, in tones of solemnity, +filled the apartment, Caroline grew calmer. She felt like one driven +forward by a destiny against which it was vain to contend. All the +responses had been made by Lawson, and now the clergyman addressed +her. Passively she was about uttering her assentation, when the door +of the room was thrown open, and two men entered. + +"Stop!" was instantly cried in a loud, agitated voice, which +Caroline knew to be that of her father, and never did that voice +come to her ears with a more welcome sound. + +Lawson started, and moved from her side. While Caroline yet stood +trembling and doubting, the man who had come in with Mr. Everett +approached Lawson, and laying his hand upon him, said--"I arrest you +on a charge of swindling!" + +With a low cry of distress, Caroline sprung towards her father; but +he held his hands out towards her as if to keep her off, saying, at +the same time-- + +"Are you his wife?" + +"No, thank Heaven!" fell from her lips. + +In the next moment she was in her father's arms, and both were +weeping. + +Narrow indeed was the escape made by Caroline Everett; an escape +which she did not fully comprehend until a few months afterwards, +when the trial of Lawson took place, during which revelations of +villany were made, the recital of which caused her heart to shudder. +Yes, narrow had been her escape! Had her father been delayed a few +moments longer, she would have become the wife of a man soon after +condemned to expiate his crimes against society in the felon's cell! + +May a vivid realization of what Caroline Everett escaped, warn other +young girls, who bear a similar relation to society, of the danger +that lurks in their way. Not once in a hundred instances, is a +school girl approached with lover-like attentions, except by a man +who is void of principle; and not once in a hundred instances do +marriages entered upon clandestinely by such persons, prove other +than an introduction to years of wretchedness. + + + + + + +UNREDEEMED PLEDGES. + + + + + +TWO men were walking along a public thoroughfare in New York. One of +them was a young merchant--the other a man past the prime of life, +and belonging to the community of Friends. They were in +conversation, and the manner of the former, earnest and emphatic, +was in marked contrast with the quiet and thoughtful air of the +other. + +"There is so much idleness and imposture among the poor," said the +merchant, "that you never know when your alms are going to do harm +or good. The beggar we just passed is able to work; and that woman +sitting at the corner with a sick child in her arms, would be far +better off in the almshouse. No man is more willing to give than I +am, if I only knew where and when to give." + +"If we look around us carefully, Mr. Edwards," returned the Quaker, +we need be at no loss on this subject. Objects enough will present +themselves. Virtuous want is, in most cases, unobtrusive, and will +suffer rather than extend a hand for relief. We must seek for +objects of benevolence in by-places. We must turn aside into +untrodden walks." + +"But even then," objected Mr. Edwards, "we cannot be certain that +idleness and vice are not at the basis of the destitution we find. I +have had my doubts whether any who exercise the abilities which God +has given them, need want for the ordinary comforts of life in this +country. In all cases of destitution, there is something wrong, you +may depend upon it." + +"Perhaps there is," said the Quaker. "Evil of some kind is ever the +cause of destitution and wretchedness. Such bitter waters as these +cannot flow from a sweet fountain. Still, many are brought to +suffering through the evil ways of others; and many whose own wrong +doings have reacted upon them in unhappy consequences, deeply repent +of the past, and earnestly desire to live better lives in future. +Both need kindness, encouragement, and, it may be, assistance; and +it is the duty of those who have enough and to spare, to stretch +forth their hands to aid, comfort and sustain them." + +"Yes. That is true. But, how are we to know who are the real objects +of our benevolence?" + +"We have but to open our eyes and see, Mr. Edwards," said the +Quaker. "The objects of benevolence are all around us." + +"Show me a worthy object, and you will find me ready to relieve it," +returned the merchant. "I am not so selfish as to be indifferent to +human suffering. But I think it wrong to encourage idleness and +vice; and for this reason, I never give unless I am certain that the +object who presents himself is worthy." + +"True benevolence does not always require us to give alms," said the +Friend. "We may do much to aid, comfort and help on with their +burdens our fellow travellers, and yet not bestow upon them what is +called charity. Mere alms-giving, as thee has intimated, but too +often encourages vice and idleness. But thee desires to find a +worthy object of benevolence. Let us see if we cannot find one, What +have we here?" And as the Quaker said this he paused before a +building, from the door of which protruded a red flag, containing +the words, "Auction this day." On a large card just beneath the flag +was the announcement, "Positive sale of unredeemed pledges." + +"Let us turn in here," said the Quaker. "No doubt we shall find +enough to excite our sympathies." + +Mr. Edwards thought this a strange proposal; but he felt a little +curious, and followed his companion without hesitation. + +The sale had already begun, and there was a small company assembled. +Among them, the merchant noticed a young woman whose face was +partially veiled. She was sitting a little apart from the rest, and +did not appear to take any interest in the bidding. But he noticed +that, after an article was knocked off, she was all attention until +the next was put up, and then, the moment it was named, relapsed +into a sort of listlessness or abstraction. + +The articles sold embraced a great variety of things useful and +ornamental. In the main they were made up of watches, silver plate, +jewellery and wearing apparel. There were garments of every kind, +quality and condition, upon which money to about a fourth of their +real value had been loaned; and not having been redeemed, they were +now to be sold for the benefit of the pawnbroker. + +The company bid with animation, and article after article was sold +off. The interest at first awakened by the scene, new to the young +merchant, wore off in a little while, and turning to his companion +he said--"I don't see that much is to be gained by staying here." + +"Wait a little longer, and perhaps thee will think differently," +returned the Quaker, glancing towards the young woman who has been +mentioned, as he spoke. + +The words had scarcely passed his lips, when the auctioneer took up +a small gold locket containing a miniature, and holding it up, asked +for a bid. + +"How much for this? How much for this beautiful gold locket and +miniature? Give me a bid. Ten dollars! Eight dollars! Five dollars! +Four dollars--why, gentlemen, it never cost less than fifty! Four +dollars! Four dollars! Will no one give four dollars for this +beautiful gold locket and miniature? It's thrown away at that +price." + +At the mention of the locket, the young woman came forward and +looked up anxiously at the auctioneer. Mr. Edwards could see enough +of her face to ascertain that it was an interesting and intelligent +one, though very sad. + +"Three dollars!" continued the auctioneer. But there was no bid. +"Two dollars! One dollar!" + +"One dollar," was the response from a man who stood just in front of +the woman. Mr. Edwards, whose eyes were upon the latter, noticed +that she became much agitated the moment this bid was made. + +"One dollar we have! One dollar! Only one dollar!" cried the +auctioneer. "Only one dollar for a gold locket and miniature worth +forty. One dollar!" + +"Nine shillings," said the young woman in a low, timid voice. + +"Nine shillings bid! Nine shillings! Nine shillings!" + +"Ten shillings," said the first bidder. + +"Ten shillings it is! Ten shillings, and thrown away. Ten +shillings!" + +"Eleven shillings," said the girl, beginning to grow excited. Mr. +Edwards, who could not keep his eyes off of her face, from which the +veil had entirely fallen, saw that she was trembling with eagerness +and anxiety. + +"Eleven shillings!" repeated the auctioneer, glancing at the first +bidder, a coarse-looking man, and the only one who seemed disposed +to bid against the young woman. + +"Twelve shillings," said the man resolutely. + +A paleness went over the face of the other bidder, and a quick +tremor passed through her frame. + +"Twelve shillings is bid. Twelve shillings is bid. Twelve +shillings!" And the auctioneer now looked towards the young woman +who, in a faint voice, said-- + +"Thirteen shillings." + +By this time the merchant began to understand the meaning of what +was passing before him. The miniature was that of a middle-aged +lady; and it required no great strength of imagination to determine +that the original was the mother of the young woman who seemed so +anxious to possess the locket. + +"But how came it here?" was the involuntary suggestion to the mind +of Mr. Edwards. "Who pawned it? Did she?" + +"Fourteen shillings," said the man who was bidding, breaking in upon +the reflections of Mr. Edwards. + +The veil that had been drawn aside, fell instantly over the face of +the young woman, and she shrunk back from her prominent position, +yet still remained in the room. + +"Fourteen shillings is bid. Fourteen shillings! Are you all done? +Fourteen shillings for a gold locket and miniature. Fourteen! +Once!---" + +The companion of Mr. Edwards glanced towards him with a meaning +look. The merchants for a moment bewildered, found his mind clear +again. + +"Twice!" screamed the auctioneer. "Once! Twice! Three----" + +"Twenty shillings," dropped from the lips of Mr. Edwards. + +"Twenty shillings! Twenty shillings!" cried the auctioneer with +renewed animation. The man who had been bidding against the girl +turned quickly to see what bold bidder was in the field: and most of +the company turned with him. The young woman at the same time drew +aside her veil and looked anxiously towards Mr. Edwards, who, as he +obtained a fuller view of her face, was struck with it as familiar. + +"Twenty-one shillings," was bid in opposition. + +"Twenty-five," said the merchant, promptly. + +The first bidder, seeing that Mr. Edwards was determined to run +against him, and being a little afraid that he might be left with a +ruinous bid on his hands, declined advancing, and the locket was +assigned to the young merchant, who, as soon as he had received it, +turned and presented it to the young woman, saying as he did so-- + +"It is yours." + +The young woman caught hold of it with an eager gesture, and after +gazing on it for a few moments, pressed it to her lips. + +"I have not the money to pay for it," she said in a low sad voice, +recovering herself in a few moments; and seeking to return the +miniature. + +"It is yours!" replied Mr. Edwards. Then thrusting back the hand she +had extended, and speaking with some emotion, he said--"Keep +it--keep it, in Heaven's name!" + +And saying this he hastily retired, for he became conscious that +many eyes were upon him; and he felt half ashamed to have betrayed +his weakness before a coarse, unfeeling crowd. For a few moments he +lingered in the street; but his companion not appearing, he went on +his way, musing on the singular adventure he had encountered. The +more distinctly he recalled the young woman's face, the more +strangely familiar did it seem. + +About an hour afterwards, as Mr. Edwards sat reading a letter, the +Quaker entered his store. + +"Ah, how do you do? I am glad to see you," said the merchant, his +manner more than usually earnest. "Did you see anything more of that +young woman?" + +"Yes," replied the Quaker. "I could not leave one like her without +knowing something of her past life and present circumstances. I +think even you will hardly be disposed to regard her as an object +unworthy of interest." + +"No, certainly I will not. Her appearance, and the circumstances +under which we found her, are all in her favor." + +"But we turned aside from the beaten path. We looked into a by-place +to us; or we would not have discovered her. She was not obtrusive. +She asked no aid; but, with the last few shillings that remained to +her in the world, had gone to recover, if possible, an unredeemed +pledge--the miniature of her mother, on which she had obtained a +small advance of money to buy food and medicine for the dying +original. This is but one of the thousand cases of real distress +that are all around us. We could see them if we did but turn aside +for a moment into ways unfamiliar to our feet." + +"Did you learn who she was, and anything of her condition?" asked +Mr. Edwards. + +"Oh yes. To do so was but a common dictate of humanity. I would have +felt it as a stain upon my conscience to have left one like her +uncared for in the circumstances under which we found her." + +"Did you accompany her home?" + +"Yes; I went with her to the place she called her home--a room in +which there was scarcely an article of comfort--and there learned +the history of her past life and present condition. Does thee +remember Belgrave, who carried on a large business in Maiden Lane +some years ago?" + +"Very well. But, surely this girl is not Mary Belgrave?" + +"Yes. It was Mary Belgrave whom we met at the pawnbroker's sale." + +"Mary Belgrave! Can it be possible? I knew the family had become +poor; but not so poor as this!" + +And Mr. Edwards, much disturbed in mind, walked uneasily about the +floor. But soon pausing, he said-- + +"And so her mother is dead!" + +"Yes. Her father died two years ago and her mother, who has been +sick ever since, died last week in abject poverty, leaving Mary +friendless, in a world where the poor and needy are but little +regarded. The miniature which Mary had secretly pawned in order to +supply the last earthly need of her mother, she sought by her labor +to redeem; but ere she had been able to save up enough for the +purpose, the time for which the pledge had been taken, expired, and +the pawn broker refused to renew it. Under the faint hope that she +might be able to buy it in with the little pittance of money she had +saved, she attended the sale where we found her." + +The merchant had resumed his seat, and although he had listened +attentively to the Quaker's brief history, he did not make any +reply, but soon became lost in thought. From this he was interrupted +by his visitor, who said, as he moved towards the door-- + +"I will bid thee good morning, friend Edwards." + +"One moment, if you please," said the merchant, arousing himself, +and speaking earnestly, "Where does Mary Belgrave live?" + +The Friend answered the question, and, as Mr. Edwards did not seem +inclined to ask any more, and besides fell back again into an +abstract state, he wished him good morning and retired. + +The poor girl was sitting alone in her room sewing, late in the +afternoon of the day on which the incident at the auction room +occurred, musing, as she had mused for hours, upon the unexpected +adventure. She did not, in the excitement of the moment, know Mr. +Edwards when he first tendered her the miniature; but when he said +with peculiar emphasis and earnestness, turning away as he +spoke--"Keep it, in Heaven's name!" she recognized him fully. Since +that moment, she had not been able to keep the thought of him from +her mind. They had been intimate friends at one time; but this was +while they were both very young. Then he had professed for her a +boyish passion; and she had loved him with the childish fondness of +a young school-girl. As they grew older, circumstances separated +them more; and though no hearts were broken in consequence, both +often thought of the early days of innocence and affection with +pleasure. + +Mary sat sewing, as we have said, late in the afternoon of the day +on which the incident at the auction room occurred, when there was a +tap at her door. On opening it, Mr. Edwards stood before her. She +stepped back a pace or two in instant surprise and confusion, and he +advanced into the desolate room. In a moment, however, Mary +recovered herself, and with as much self-possession as, under the +circumstances, she could assume, asked her unexpected visitor to +take a chair, which she offered him. + +Mr. Edwards sat down, feeling much oppressed. Mary was so changed in +everything, except in the purity and beauty of her countenance, +since he had seen her years before, that his feelings were +completely borne down. But he soon recovered himself enough to speak +to her of what was in his mind. He had an old aunt, who had been a +friend of Mary's mother, and from her he brought a message and an +offer of a home. Her carriage was at the door--it had been sent for +her--and he urged her to go with him immediately. Mary had no good +reason for declining so kind an offer. It was a home that she most +of all needed; and she could not refuse one like this. + +"There is another unredeemed pledge," said Mr. Edwards, +significantly, as he sat conversing with Mary about a year after she +had found a home in the house of his aunt. Allusion had been made to +the miniature of Mary's mother. + +"Ah!" was the simple response. + +"Yes. Don't you remember," and he took Mary's unresisting hand--"the +pledge of this hand which you made me, I cannot tell how many years +ago?" + +"That was a mere girlish pledge," ventured Mary, with drooping eyes. + +"But one that the woman will redeem," said Edwards confidently, +raising the hand to his lips at the same time, and kissing it. + +Mary leaned involuntarily towards him; and he, perceiving the +movement, drew his arm around her, and pressed his lips to her +cheek. + +It was no very long time afterwards before the pledge was redeemed. + + + + + + +DON'T MENTION IT. + + + + + +"DON'T mention it again for your life." + +"No, of course not. The least said about such things the better." + +"Don't for the world. I have told you in perfect confidence, and you +are the only one to whom I have breathed it. I wouldn't have it get +out for any consideration." + +"Give yourself no uneasiness. I shall not allude to the subject." + +"I merely told you because I knew you were a friend, and would let +it go no farther. But would you have thought it?" + +"I certainly am very much surprised." + +"So am I. But when things pass right before your eyes and ears, +there is no gainsaying them." + +"No. Seeing is said to be believing." + +"Of course it is." + +"But, Mrs. Grimes, are you very sure that you heard aright?" + +"I am positive, Mrs. Raynor. It occurred only an hour ago, and the +whole thing is distinctly remembered. I called in to see Mrs. +Comegys, and while I was there, the bundle of goods came home. I was +present when she opened it, and she showed me the lawn dress it +contained. There were twelve yards in it. 'I must see if there is +good measure,' she said, and she got a yard-stick and measured it +off. There were fifteen yards instead of twelve. 'How is this?' she +remarked. 'I am sure I paid for only twelve yards, and here are +fifteen.' The yard-stick was applied again. There was no mistake; +the lawn measured fifteen yards. 'What are you going to do with the +surplus?' I asked. 'Keep it, of course,' said Mrs. Comegys. 'There +is just enough to make little Julia a frock. Won't she look sweet in +it?,' I was so confounded that I couldn't say a word. Indeed, I +could hardly look her in the face. At first I thought of calling her +attention to the dishonesty of the act; but then I reflected that, +as it was none of my business, I might get her ill-will for meddling +in what didn't concern me." + +"And you really think, then, that she meant to keep the three yards +without paying for them? + +"Oh, certainly! But then I wouldn't say anything about it for the +world. I wouldn't name it, on any consideration. Of course you will +not repeat it." + +"No. If I cannot find any good to tell of my friends, I try to +refrain from saying anything evil." + +"A most excellent rule, Mrs. Raynor, and one that I always follow. I +never speak evil of my friends, for it always does more harm than +good. No one can say that I ever tried to injure another." + +"I hope Mrs. Comegys thought better of the matter, upon reflection," +said Mrs. Raynor. + +"So do I. But I am afraid not. Two or three little things occur to +me now, that I have seen in my intercourse with her, which go to +satisfy my mind that her moral perceptions are not the best in the +world. Mrs. Comegys is a pleasant friend, and much esteemed by every +one. It could do no good to spread this matter abroad, but harm." + +After repeating over and over again her injunction to Mrs. Raynor +not to repeat a word of what she had told her, Mrs. Grimes bade this +lady, upon whom she had called, good morning, and went on her way. +Ten minutes after, she was in the parlor of an acquaintance, named +Mrs. Florence, entertaining her with the gossip she had picked up +since their last meeting. She had not been there long, before, +lowering her voice, she said in a confidential way-- + +"I was at Mrs. Comegys' to-day, and saw something that amazed me +beyond every thing." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes. You will be astonished when you hear it. Suppose you had +purchased a dress and paid for a certain number of yards; and when +the dress was sent home, you should find that the storekeeper had +made a mistake and sent you three or four yards more than you had +settled for. What would you do?" + +"Send it back, of course." + +"Of course, so say I. To act differently would not be honest. Do you +think so?" + +"It would not be honest for me." + +"No, nor for any one. Now, would you have believed it? Mrs. Comegys +not only thinks but acts differently." + +"You must be mistaken, certainly, Mrs. Grimes." + +"Seeing is believing, Mrs. Florence." + +"So it is said, but I could hardly believe my eyes against Mrs. +Comegys' integrity of character. I think I ought to know her well, +for we have been very intimate for years." + +"And I thought I knew her, too. But it seems that I was mistaken." + +Mrs. Grimes then repeated the story of the lawn dress. + +"Gracious me! Can it be possible?" exclaimed Mrs. Florence. "I can +hardly credit it." + +"It occurred just as I tell you. But Mrs. Florence, you musn't tell +it again for the world. I have mentioned it to you in the strictest +confidence. But I need hardly say this to you, for I know how +discreet you are." + +"I shall not mention it." + +"It could do no good." + +"None in the world." + +"Isn't it surprising, that a woman who is so well off in the world +as Mrs. Comegys, should stoop to a petty act like this?" + +"It is, certainly." + +"Perhaps there is something wrong here," and Mrs. Grimes placed her +finger to her forehead and looked sober. + +"How do you mean?" asked the friend. + +"You've heard of people's having a dishonest monomania. Don't you +remember the case of Mrs. Y----?" + +"Very well." + +"She had every thing that heart could desire. Her husband was rich, +and let her have as much money as she wanted. I wish we could all +say that, Mrs. Florence, don't you?" + +"It would be very pleasant, certainly, to have as much money as we +wanted." + +"But, notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Y---- had such a propensity to +take things not her own, that she never went into a dry goods store +without purloining something, and rarely took tea with a friend +without slipping a teaspoon into her pocket. Mr. Y---- had a great +deal of trouble with her, and, in several cases, paid handsomely to +induce parties disposed to prosecute her for theft, to let the +matter drop. Now do you know that it has occurred to me that, +perhaps, Mrs. Comegys is afflicted in this way? I shouldn't at all +wonder if it were so." + +"Hardly." + +"I'm afraid it is as I suspect. A number of suspicious circumstances +have happened when she has been about, that this would explain. But +for your life, Mrs. Florence, don't repeat this to any mortal!" + +"I shall certainly not speak of it, Mrs. Grimes. It is too serious a +matter. I wish I had not heard of it, for I can never feel toward +Mrs. Comegys as I have done. She is a very pleasant woman, and one +with whom it is always agreeable and profitable to spend an hour." + +"It is a little matter, after all," remarked Mrs. Grimes, "and, +perhaps, we treat it too seriously." + +"We should never think lightly of dishonest practices, Mrs. Grimes. +"Whoever is dishonest in little things, will be dishonest in great +things, if a good opportunity offer. Mrs. Comegys can never be to me +what she has been. That is impossible." + +"Of course you will not speak of it again." + +"You need have no fear of that." + +A few days after, Mrs. Raynor made a call upon a friend, who said to +her, + +"Have you heard about Mrs. Comegys?" + +"What about her?" + +"I supposed you knew it. _I've_ heard it from half a dozen persons. +It is said that Perkins, through a mistake of one of his clerks, +sent her home some fifteen or twenty yards of lawn more than she had +paid for, and that, instead of sending it back, she kept it and made +it up for her children. Did you ever hear of such a trick for an +honest woman?" + +"I don't think any honest woman would be guilty of such an act. Yes, +I heard of it a few days ago as a great secret, and have not +mentioned it to a living soul." + +"Secret? bless me! it is no secret. It is in every one's mouth." + +"Is it possible? I must say that Mrs. Grimes has been very +indiscreet." + +"Mrs. Grimes! Did it come from her in the first place?" + +"Yes. She told me that she was present when the lawn came home, and +saw Mrs. Comegys measure it, and heard her say that she meant to +keep it." + +"Which she has done. For I saw her in the street, yesterday, with a +beautiful new lawn, and her little Julia was with her, wearing one +precisely like it." + +"How any woman can do so is more than I can understand." + +"So it is, Mrs. Raynor. Just to think of dressing your child up in a +frock as good as stolen! Isn't it dreadful?" + +"It is, indeed!" + +"Mrs. Comegys is not an honest woman. That is clear. I am told that +this is not the first trick of the kind of which she has been +guilty. They say that she has a natural propensity to take things +that are not her own." + +"I can hardly believe that." + +"Nor can I. But it's no harder to believe this than to believe that +she would cheat Perkins out of fifteen of twenty yards of lawn. It's +a pity; for Mrs. Comegys, in every thing else, is certainly a very +nice woman. In fact, I don't know any one I visit with so much +pleasure." + +Thus the circle of detraction widened, until there was scarcely a +friend or acquaintance of Mrs. Comegys, near or remote, who had not +heard of her having cheated a dry goods dealer out of several yards +of lawn. Three, it had first been alleged; but the most common +version of the story made it fifteen or twenty. Meantime, Mrs. +Comegys remained in entire ignorance of what was alleged against +her, although she noticed in two or three of her acquaintances, a +trifling coldness that struck her as rather singular. + +One day her husband, seeing that she looked quite sober, said-- + +"You seem quite dull to-day, dear. Don't you feel well?" + +"Yes, I feel as well as usual, in body." + +"But not in mind?" + +"I do not feel quite comfortable in mind, certainly, though I don't +know that I have any serious cause of uneasiness." + +"Though a slight cause exists. May I ask what it is?" + +"It is nothing more nor less than that I was coolly _cut_ by an old +friend to-day, whom I met in a store on Chesnut street. And as she +is a woman that I highly esteem, both for the excellence of her +character, and the agreeable qualities, as a friend, that she +possesses. I cannot but feel a little bad about it. If she were one +of that capricious class who get offended with you, once a month, +for no just cause whatever, I should not care a fig. But Mrs. Markle +is a woman of character, good sense and good feeling, whose +friendship I have always prized." + +"Was it Mrs. Markle?" said the husband, with some surprise. + +"Yes." + +"What can possibly be the cause?" + +"I cannot tell." + +"Have you thought over every thing?" + +"Yes, I have turned and turned the matter in my mind, but can +imagine no reason why she, of all others, could treat me coolly." + +"Have you never spoken of her in a way to have your words +misinterpreted by some evil-minded person--Mrs. Grimes, for +instance--whose memory, or moral sense, one or the other, is very +dull?" + +"I have never spoken of her to any one, except in terms of praise. I +could not do otherwise, for I look upon her as one of the most +faultless women I know." + +"She has at least shown that she possesses one fault." + +"What is that?" + +"If she has heard any thing against you of a character so serious as +to make her wish to give up your acquaintance, she should at least +have afforded you the chance of defending yourself before condemning +you." + +"I think that, myself." + +"It may be that she did not see you," Mr. Comegys suggested. + +"She looked me in the face, and nodded with cold formality." + +"Perhaps her mind was abstracted." + +"It might have been so. Mine would have been very abstracted, +indeed, to keep me from a more cordial recognition of a friend." + +"How would it do to call and see her?" + +"I have been thinking of that. But my feelings naturally oppose it. +I am not conscious of having done any thing to merit a withdrawal of +the friendly sentiments she has held towards me; still, if she +wishes to withdraw them, my pride says, let her do so." + +"But pride, you know, is not always the best adviser." + +"No. Perhaps the less regard we pay to its promptings, the better." + +"I think so." + +"It is rather awkward to go to a person and ask why you have been +treated coldly." + +"I know it is. But in a choice of evils, is it not always wisest to +choose the least?" + +"But is any one's bad opinion of you, if it be not correctly formed, +an evil?" + +"Certainly it is." + +"I don't know. I have a kind of independence about me which says, +'Let people think what they please, so you are conscious of no +wrong.'" + +"Indifference to the world's good or bad opinion is all very well," +replied the husband, "if the world will misjudge us. Still, as any +thing that prejudices the minds of people against us, tends to +destroy our usefulness, it is our duty to take all proper care of +our reputations, even to the sacrifice of a little feeling in doing +so." + +Thus argued with by her husband, Mrs. Comegys, after turning the +matter over in her mind, finally concluded to go and see Mrs. +Markle. It was a pretty hard trial for her, but urged on by a sense +of right, she called upon her two or three days after having been +treated so coldly. She sent up her name by the servant. In about +five minutes, Mrs. Markle descended to the parlor, where her visitor +was awaiting her, and met her in a reserved and formal manner, that +was altogether unlike her former cordiality. It was as much as Mrs. +Comegys could do to keep from retiring instantly, and without a +word, from the house. But she compelled herself to go through with +what she had begun. + +Mrs. Markle did, indeed, offer her hand; or rather the tips of her +fingers; which Mrs. Comegys, in mere reciprocation of the formality, +accepted. Then came an embarrassing pause, after which the latter +said-- + +"I see that I was not mistaken in supposing that there was a marked +coldness in your manner at our last meeting." + +Mrs. Markle inclined her head slightly. + +"Of course there is a cause for this. May I, in justice to myself as +well as others, inquire what it is?" + +"I did not suppose you would press an inquiry on the subject," +replied Mrs. Markle. "But as you have done so, you are, of course, +entitled to an answer." + +There came another pause, after which, with a disturbed voice, Mrs. +Markle said-- + +"For some time, I have heard a rumor in regard to you, that I could +not credit. Of late it has been so often repeated that I felt it to +be my duty to ascertain its truth or falsehood. On tracing, with +some labor, the report to its origin, I am grieved to find that it +is too true." + +"Please say what it is," said Mrs. Comegys, in a firm voice. + +"It is said that you bought a dress at a dry goods store in this +city, and that on its being sent home, there proved to be some yards +more in the piece of goods than you paid for and that instead of +returning what was not your own, you kept it and had it made up for +one of your children." + +The face of Mrs. Comegys instantly became like crimson; and she +turned her head away to hide the confusion into which this +unexpected allegation had thrown her. As soon as she could command +her voice, she said-- + +"You will, of course, give me the author of this charge." + +"You are entitled to know, I suppose," replied Mrs. Markle. "The +person who originated this report is Mrs. Grimes. And she says that +she was present when the dress was sent home. That you measured it +in her presence, and that, finding there were several yards over, +you declared your intention to keep it and make of it a frock for +your little girl. And, moreover, that she saw Julia wearing a frock +afterwards, exactly like the pattern of the one you had, which she +well remembers. This seems to me pretty conclusive evidence. At +least it was so to my mind, and I acted accordingly." + +Mrs. Comegys sat for the full space of a minute with her eyes upon +the floor, without speaking. When she looked up, the flush that had +covered her face had gone. It was very pale, instead. Rising from +her chair, she bowed formally, and without saying a word, withdrew. + +"Ah me! Isn't it sad?" murmured Mrs. Markle, as she heard the street +door close upon her visitor. "So much that is agreeable and +excellent, all dimmed by the want of principle. It seems hardly +credible that a woman, with every thing she needs, could act +dishonestly for so small a matter. A few yards of lawn against +integrity and character! What a price to set upon virtue!" + +Not more than half an hour after the departure of Mrs. Comegys, Mrs. +Grimes called in to see Mrs. Markle. + +"I hope," she said, shortly after she was seated, "that you won't +say a word about what I told you a few days ago; I shouldn't have +opened my lips on the subject if you hadn't asked me about it. I +only mentioned it in the first place to a friend in whom I had the +greatest confidence in the world. She has told some one, very +improperly, for it was imparted to her as a secret, and in that way +it has been spread abroad. I regret it exceedingly, for I would be +the last person in the world to say a word to injure any one. I am +particularly guarded in this." + +"If it's the truth, Mrs. Grimes, I don't see that you need be so +anxious about keeping it a secret," returned Mrs. Markle. + +"The truth! Do you think I would utter a word that was not true?" + +"I did not mean to infer that you would. I believe that what you +said in regard to Mrs. Comegys was the fact." + +"It certainly was. But then, it will do no good to make a +disturbance about it. What has made me call in to see you is this; +some one told me that, in consequence of this matter, you had +dropped the acquaintance of Mrs. Comegys." + +"It is true; I cannot associate on intimate terms with a woman who +lacks honest principles." + +"But don't you see that this will bring matters to a head, and that +I shall be placed in a very awkward position?" + +"You are ready to adhere to your statement in regard to Mrs. +Comegys?" + +"Oh, certainly; I have told nothing but the truth. But still, you +can see that it will make me feel exceedingly unpleasant." + +"Things of this kind are never very agreeable, I know, Mrs. Grimes. +Still we must act as we think right, let what will follow. Mrs. +Comegys has already called upon me to ask an explanation of my +conduct wards her." + +"She has!" Mrs. Grimes seemed sadly distressed. "What did you say to +her?" + +"I told her just what I had heard." + +"Did she ask your author?" Mrs. Grimes was most pale with suspense. + +"She did." + +"Of course you did not mention my name." + +"She asked the author of the charge, and I named you." + +"Oh dear, Mrs. Markle! I wish you hadn't done that. I shall be +involved in a world of trouble, and the reputation of a tattler and +mischief-maker. What did she say?" + +"Not one word." + +"She didn't deny it?" + +"No." + +"Of course she could not. Well, that is some satisfaction at least. +She might have denied it, and tried make me out a liar, and there +would have been plenty to believe her word against mine. I am glad +she didn't deny it. She didn't say a word?" + +"No." + +"Did she look guilty?" + +"You would have thought so, if you had seen her." + +"What did she do?" + +"She sat with her eyes upon the floor for some time, and then rose +up, and without uttering a word, left the house." + +"I wish she had said something. It would have been a satisfaction to +know what she thought. But I suppose the poor woman was so +confounded, that she didn't know what to say." + +"So it appeared to me. She was completely stunned. I really pitied +her from my heart. But want of principle should never be +countenanced. If we are to have social integrity, we must mark with +appropriate condemnation all deviations therefrom. It was +exceedingly painful, but the path of duty was before me, and I +walked in it without faltering." + +Mrs. Grimes was neither so clear-sighted, nor so well satisfied with +what she had done, as all this. She left the house of Mrs. Markle +feeling very unhappy. Although she had been using her little unruly +member against Mrs. Comegys with due industry, she was all the while +on the most friendly terms with her, visiting at her house and being +visited. It was only a few days, before that she had taken tea and +spent an evening with her. Not that Mrs. Grimes was deliberately +hypocritical, but she had a free tongue, and, like too many in +society, more cautious about what they said than she, much better +pleased to see evil than good in a neighbour. There are very few of +us, perhaps, who have not something of this fault--an exceedingly +bad fault, by the way. It seems to arise from a consciousness of our +own imperfections and the pleasure we feel in making the discovery +that others are as bad, if not worse than we are. + +Two days after Mrs. Comegys had called on Mrs. Markle to ask for +explanations, the latter received a note in the following words: + +"MADAM.--I have no doubt you have acted according to your own views +of right in dropping as suddenly as you have done, the acquaintance +of an old friend. Perhaps, if you had called upon me and asked +explanations, you might have acted a little differently. My present +object in addressing you is to ask, as a matter of justice, that you +will call at my house to-morrow at twelve o'clock. I think that I am +entitled to speak a word in my own defense. After you have heard +that I shall not complain of any course you may think it right to +pursue. + +"ANNA COMEGYS." + +Mrs. Markle, could do no less than call as she had been desired to. +At twelve o'clock she rang the bell at Mrs. Comegys' door, and was +shown into the parlor, where, to her no small surprise, she found +about twenty ladies, most of them acquaintances, assembled, Mrs. +Grimes among the number. In about ten minutes Mrs. Comegys came into +the room, her countenance wearing a calm but sober aspect. She bowed +slightly, but was not cordial toward, or familiar with, any one +present. Without a pause she said-- + +"Ladies, I have learned within a few days, very greatly to my +surprise and grief, that there is a report circulated among my +friends, injurious to my character as a woman of honest principles. +I have taken some pains to ascertain those with whom the report is +familiar, and have invited all such to be here to-day. I learn from +several sources, that the report originated with Mrs. Grimes, and +that she has been very industrious in circulating it to my injury." + +"Perhaps you wrong Mrs. Grimes there," spoke up Mrs. Markle. "She +did not mention it to me until I inquired of her if the report was +true. And then she told me that she had never told it but to a +single person, in confidence, and that she had inadvertently alluded +to it, and thus it became a common report. So I think that Mrs. +Grimes cannot justly be charged with having sought to circulate the +matter to your injury." + +"Very well, we will see how far that statement is correct," said +Mrs. Comegys. "Did she mention the subject to you, Mrs. Raynor?" + +"She did," replied Mrs. Raynor. "But in strict confidence, and +enjoining it upon me not to mention it to any one, as she had no +wish to injure you." + +"Did you tell it to any one?" + +"No. It was but a little while afterward that it was told to me by +some one else." + +"Was it mentioned to you, Mrs. Florence?" proceeded Mrs. Comegys, +turning to another of the ladies present. + +"It was, ma'am." + +"By Mrs. Grimes?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"In confidence, I suppose?" + +"I was requested to say nothing about it, for fear that it might +create an unfavorable impression in regard to you." + +"Very well; there are two already. How was it in your case, Mrs. +Wheeler?" + +This lady answered as the others had done. The question was then put +to each lady in the room, when it appeared that out of the twenty, +fifteen had received their information on the subject from Mrs. +Grimes, and that upon every one secrecy had been enjoined, although +not in every case maintained. + +"So it seems, Mrs. Markle," said Mrs. Comegys, after she had +finished her inquiries, "that Mrs. Grimes has, as I alleged, +industriously circulated this matter to my injury." + +"It certainly appears so," returned Mrs. Markle, coldly. + +Thus brought into a corner, Mrs. Grimes bristled up like certain +animals, which are good at running and skulking, but which, when +fairly trapped, fight desperately. + +"Telling it to a thousand is not half as bad as doing it, Mrs. +Comegys," she said, angrily. "You needn't try to screen yourself +from the consequences of your wrong doings, by raising a hue and cry +against me. Go to the fact, madam! Go to the fact, and stand +alongside of what you have done." + +"I have no hesitation about doing that, Mrs. Grimes. Pray, what have +I done?" + +"It is very strange that you should ask, madam." + +"But I am charged, I learn, with having committed a crime against +society; and you are the author of the charge. What is the crime?" + +"If it is any satisfaction to you, I will tell you. I was at your +house when the pattern of the lawn dress you now have on was sent +home. You measured it in my presence, and there were several yards +in it more than you had bought and paid for"-- + +"How many?" + +Mrs. Grimes looked confused, and stammered out, "I do not now +exactly remember." + +"How many did she tell you, Mrs. Raynor?" + +"She said there were three yards." + +"And you, Mrs. Fisher?" + +"Six yards." + +"And you, Mrs. Florence?" + +"Fifteen yards, I think." + +"Oh, no, Mrs. Florence; you are entirely mistaken. You misunderstood +me," said Mrs. Grimes, in extreme perturbation. + +"Perhaps so. But that is my present impression," replied Mrs. +Florence. + +"That will do," said Mrs. Comegys. "Mrs. Grimes can now go on with +her answer to my inquiry. I will remark, however, that the overplus +was just two yards." + +"Then you admit that the lawn overran what you had paid for?" + +"Certainly I do. It overran just two yards." + +"Very well. One yard or a dozen, the principle is just the same. I +asked you what you meant to do with it, and you replied, 'keep it, +of course.' Do you deny that?" + +"No. It is very likely that I did say so, for it was my intention to +keep it." + +"Without paying for it?" asked Mrs. Markle. + +Mrs. Comegys looked steadily into the face of her interrogator for +some moments, a flush upon her cheek, an indignant light in her eye. +Then, without replying to the question, she stepped to the wall and +rang the parlor bell. In a few moments a servant came in. + +"Ask the gentleman in the dining-room if he will be kind enough to +step here." In a little while a step was heard along the passage, +and then a young man entered. + +"You are a clerk in Mr. Perkins' store?" said Mrs. Comegys. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"You remember my buying this lawn dress at your store?" + +"Very well, ma'am. I should forget a good many incidents before I +forgot that." + +"What impressed it upon your memory?" + +"This circumstance. I was very much hurried at the time when you +bought it, and in measuring it off, made a mistake against myself of +two yards. There should have been four dresses in the piece. One had +been sold previous to yours. Not long after your dress had been sent +home, two ladies came into the store and chose each a dress from the +pattern. On measuring the piece, I discovered that it was two yards +short, and lost the sale of the dresses in consequence, as the +ladies wished them alike. An hour afterward you called to say that I +had made a mistake and sent you home two yards more than you had +paid for; but that as you liked the pattern very much, you would +keep it and buy two yards more for a dress for your little girl." + +"Yes; that is exactly the truth in regard to the dress. I am obliged +to you, Mr. S----, for the trouble I have given you. I will not keep +you any longer." + +The young man bowed and withdrew. + +The ladies immediately gathered around Mrs. Comegys, with a thousand +apologies for having for a moment entertained the idea that she had +been guilty of wrong, while Mrs. Grimes took refuge in a flood of +tears. + +"I have but one cause of complaint against you all," said the +injured lady, "and it is this. A charge of so serious a nature +should never have been made a subject of common report without my +being offered a chance to defend myself. As for Mrs. Grimes, I can't +readily understand how she fell into the error she did. But she +never would have fallen into it if she had not been more willing to +think evil than good of her friends. I do not say this to hurt her; +but to state a truth that it may be well for her, and perhaps some +of the rest of us, to lay to heart. It is a serious thing to speak +evil of another, and should never be done except on the most +unequivocal evidence. It never occurred to me to say to Mrs. Grimes +that I would pay for the lawn; that I supposed she or any one else +would have inferred, when I said I would keep it." + +A great deal was said by all parties, and many apologies were made. +Mrs. Grimes was particularly humble, and begged all present to +forgive and forget what was past. She knew, she said, that she was +apt to talk; it was a failing with her which she would try to +correct. But that she didn't mean to do any one harm. + +As to the latter averment, it can be believed or not as suits every +one's fancy. All concerned in this affair felt that they had +received a lesson they would not soon forget. And we doubt not, that +some of our readers might lay it to heart with great advantage to +themselves and benefit to others. + + + + + + +THE HEIRESS. + + + + + +KATE DARLINGTON was a belle and a beauty; and had, as might be +supposed, not a few admirers. Some were attracted by her person; +some by her winning manners, and not a few by the wealth of her +family. But though sweet Kate was both a belle and a beauty, she was +a shrewd, clear-seeing girl, and had far more penetration into +character than belles and beauties are generally thought to possess. +For the whole tribe of American dandies, with their disfiguring +moustaches and imperials, she had a most hearty contempt. Hair never +made up, with her, for the lack of brains. + +But, as she was an heiress in expectancy, and moved in the most +fashionable society, and was, with all, a gay and sprightly girl, +Kate, as a natural consequence, drew around her the gilded moths of +society, not a few of whom got their wings scorched, on approaching +too near. + +Many aspired to be lovers, and some, more ardent than the rest, +boldly pressed forward and claimed her hand. But Kate did not +believe in the doctrine that love begets love in all cases. Were +this so, it was clear that she would have to love half a dozen, for +at least that number came kneeling to her with their hearts in their +hands. + +Mr. Darlington was a merchant. Among his clerks was the son of an +old friend, who, in dying some years before, had earnestly solicited +him to have some care over the lad, who at his death would become +friendless. In accordance with this last request, Mr. Darlington +took the boy into his counting-room; and, in order that he might, +with more fidelity, redeem his promise to the dying father, also +received him into his family. + +Edwin Lee proved himself not ungrateful for the kindness. In a few +years he became one of Mr. Darlington's most active, trustworthy and +intelligent clerks; while his kind, modest, gentlemanly deportment +at home, won the favor and confidence of all the family. With Edwin, +Kate grew up as with a brother. Their intercourse was of the most +frank and confiding character. + +But there came, at last, a change. Kate from a graceful +sweet-tempered, affectionate girl, stepped forth, almost in a day, +it seemed to Edwin, a full-grown, lovely woman, into whose eyes he +could not look as steadily as before, and on whose beautiful face he +could no longer gaze with the calmness of feeling he had until now +enjoyed. + +For awhile, Edwin could not understand the reason of this change. +Kate was the same to him; and yet not the same. There was no +distance--no reserve on her part; and yet, when he came into her +presence, he felt his heart beat more quickly; and when she looked +him steadily in the face, his eyes would droop, involuntarily, +beneath her gaze. + +Suddenly, Edwin awoke to a full realization of the fact that Kate +was to him more than a gentle friend or a sweet sister. From that +moment, he became reserved in his intercourse with her; and, after a +short time, firmly made up his mind that it was his duty to retire +from the family of his benefactor. The thought of endeavoring to win +the heart of the beautiful girl, whom he had always loved as a +sister, and now almost worshipped, was not, for a moment +entertained. To him there would have been so much of ingratitude in +this, and so much that involved a base violation of Mr. Darlington's +confidence, that he would have suffered anything rather than be +guilty of such an act. + +But he could not leave the home where he had been so kindly regarded +for years, without offering some reason that would be satisfactory. +The true reason, he could not, of course, give. After looking at the +subject in various lights, and debating it for a long time, Edwin +could see no way in which he could withdraw from the family of Mr. +Darlington, without betraying his secret, unless he were to leave +the city at the same time. He, therefore, sought and obtained the +situation of supercargo in a vessel loading for Valparaiso. + +When Edwin announced this fact to Mr. Darlington, the merchant was +greatly surprised, and appeared hurt that the young man should take +such a step without a word of consultation with him. Edwin tried to +explain; but, as he had to conceal the real truth, his explanation +rather tended to make things appear worse than better. + +Kate heard the announcement with no less surprise than her father. +The thing was so sudden, so unlooked for, and, moreover, so uncalled +for, that she could not understand it. In order to take away any +pecuniary reason for the step he was about to take, Mr. Darlington, +after holding a long conversation with Edwin, made him offers far +more advantageous than his proposed expedition could be to him, +viewed in any light. But he made them in vain. Edwin acknowledged +the kindness, in the warmest terms, but remained firm in his purpose +to sail with the vessel. + +"Why will you go away and leave us, Edwin?" said Kate, one evening +when they happened to be alone, about two weeks before his expected +departure. "I do think it very strange!" + +Edwin had avoided, as much as possible, being alone with Kate, a +fact which the observant maiden had not failed to notice. Their +being alone now was from accident rather than design on his part. + +"I think it right for me to go, Kate," the young man replied, as +calmly as it was possible for him to speak under the circumstances. +"And when I think it right to do a thing, I never hesitate or look +back." + +"You have a reason, for going, of course. Why, then, not tell it +frankly? Are we not all your friends?" + +Edwin was silent, and his eyes rested upon the floor, while a deeper +flush than usual was upon his face. Kate looked at him fixedly. +Suddenly a new thought flashed through her mind, and the color on +her own cheeks grew warmer. Her voice from that moment was lower and +more tender; and her eyes, as she conversed with the young man, were +never a moment from his face. As for him, his embarrassment in her +presence was never more complete, and he betrayed the secret that +was in his heart even while he felt the most earnest to conceal it. +Conscious of this, he excused himself and retired as soon as it was +possible to do so. + +Kate sat thoughtful for some time after he had left. Then rising up, +she went, with a firm step to her father's room. + +"I have found out," she said, speaking with great self-composure, +"the reason why Edwin persists in going away." + +"Ah! what is the reason, Kate? I would give much to know." + +"He is in love," replied Kate, promptly. + +"In love! How do you know that?" + +"I made the discovery to-night." + +"Love should keep him at home, not drive him away," said Mr. +Darlington. + +"But he loves hopelessly," returned the maiden. "He is poor, and the +object of his regard belongs to a wealthy family." + +"And her friends will have nothing to do with him." + +"I am not so sure of that. But he formed an acquaintance with the +young lady under circumstances that would make it mean, in his eyes, +to urge any claims upon her regard." + +"Then honor as well as love takes him away." + +"Honor in fact; not love. Love would make him stay," replied the +maiden with a sparkling eye, and something of proud elevation in the +tones of her voice. + +A faint suspicion of the truth now came stealing on the mind of Mr. +Darlington. + +"Does the lady know of his preference for her?" he asked. + +"Not through any word or act of his, designed to communicate a +knowledge of the fact," replied Kate, her eyes falling under the +earnest look bent upon her by Mr. Darlington. + +"Has he made you his confidante?" + +"No, sir. I doubt if the secret has ever passed his lips." Kate's +face was beginning to crimson, but she drove back the tell-tale +blood with a strong effort of the will. + +"Then how came you possessed of it," inquired the father. + +The blood came back to her face with a rush, and she bent her head +so that her dark glossy curls fell over and partly concealed it. In +a moment or two she had regained her self-possession, and looking up +she answered, + +"Secrets like this do not always need oral or written language to +make them known. Enough, father, that I have discovered the fact +that his heart is deeply imbued with a passion for one who knows +well his virtues--his pure, true heart--his manly sense of honor; +with a passion for one who has looked upon him till now as a +brother, but who henceforth must regard him with a different and +higher feeling." + +Kate's voice trembled. As she uttered the last few words, she lost +control of herself, and bent forward, and hid her face upon her +father's arm. + +Mr. Darlington, as might well be supposed, was taken altogether by +surprise at so unexpected an announcement. The language used by his +daughter needed no interpretation. She was the maiden beloved by his +clerk. + +"Kate," said he, after a moment or two of hurried reflection, "this +is a very serious matter. Edwin is only a poor clerk, and you--" + +"And I," said Kate, rising up, and taking the words from her father, +"and I am the daughter of a man who can appreciate what is excellent +in even those who are humblest in the eyes of the world. Father, is +not Edwin far superior to the artificial men who flutter around +every young lady who now makes her appearance in the circle where we +move? Knowing him as you do, I am sure you will say yes." + +"But, Kate----" + +"Father, don't let us argue this point. Do you want Edwin to go +away?" And the young girl laid her hand upon her parent, and looked +him in the face with unresisting affection. + +"No dear; I certainly don't wish him to go." + +"Nor do I," returned the maiden, as she leaned forward again, and +laid her face upon his arm. In a little while she arose, and, with +her countenance turned partly away, said-- + +"Tell him not to go, father----" + +And with these words she retired from the room. + +On the next evening, as Edwin was sitting alone in one of the +drawing-rooms, thinking on the long night of absence that awaited +him, Mr. Darlington came in, accompanied by Kate. They seated +themselves near the young man, who showed some sense of +embarrassment. There was no suspense, however, for Mr. Darlington +said-- + +"Edwin, we none of us wish you to go away. You know that I have +urged every consideration in my power, and now I have consented to +unite with Kate in renewing a request for you to remain. Up to this +time you have declined giving a satisfactory reason for your sudden +resolution to leave; but a reason is due to us--to me in +particular--and I now most earnestly conjure you to give it." + +The young man, at this became greatly agitated, but did not venture +to make a reply. + +"You are still silent on the subject," said Mr. Darlington. + +"He will not go, father," said Kate, in a tender, appealing voice. +"I know he will not go. We cannot let him go. Kinder friends he will +not find anywhere than he has here. And we shall miss him from our +home circle. There will be a vacant place at our board. Will you be +happier away, Edwin?" + +The last sentence was uttered in a tone of sisterly affection. + +"Happier!" exclaimed the young man, thrown off his guard. "Happier! +I shall be wretched while away." + +"Then why go?" returned Kate, tenderly. + +At this stage of affairs, Mr. Darlington got up, and retired; and we +think we had as well retire with the reader. + +The good ship "Leonora" sailed in about ten days. She had a +supercargo on board; but his name was not Edwin Lee. + +Fashionable people were greatly surprised when the beautiful Kate +Darlington married her father's clerk; and moustached dandies curled +their lip, but it mattered not to Kate. She had married a man in +whose worth, affection, and manliness of character, she could repose +a rational confidence. If not a fashionable, she was a happy wife. +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Heart-Histories and Life-Pictures +by T. S. 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